A/N: I always played around with the idea that Hawke is disabled in some way, and my favorite is that s/he is mute. It's hard to communicate with someone who can't speak, even if they can fully understand you. To make the situation worse, I played with the idea that s/he was incapable of learning certain things, in this case to read and write. I can't say that I think this story is good or bad, but I'm just putting it out there. This is probably the first story that I've written as it comes into my head, but it is also the first one that I got through most of before trashing. I feel weird having the main character a woman that several people adore, but that kind of comes up in the game, so I don't care as much now, I suppose. In this version, events are added/rearranged, but pretty much everything is there. Hawke is a mage and Carver is actually more her best friend, a brother who was best able to communicate with her.
So, I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I obviously do not own anything affiliated with Dragon Age series.
Warning: Alludes to graphic scenes, but not really graphic in nature.
Main Pairing: Really supposed to be SebxF!Hawke, a little AndersxF!Hawke too.
Chapter 1
"It's your entire fault!" Carver yelled into the blank face of his older sister. Lucy was silent, as always, as he stormed around the small room they once shared with their mother and uncle in Lowtown. Occasionally he would stop in front of her still body to curse her name and tell her that she was a heartless whore that deserved to die instead of their family. When he was empty of his threats and damnations, he looked her in the eye, saw what he always saw and his resolve was broken once more. Her expression did not give away her pain and her urge to ask for forgiveness, but he knew it was there. He placed his hands on her shoulders and searched once more in the hopes that he was wrong. It was always there, whether she knew it or not, and it tore at him. That unspoken sentence hung around her like a ghost along with every word she was never allowed to say. Admitting defeat, he pulled her into his chest and felt terrible as the tears freely fell down his face and splattered against her sandy colored hair.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean it. It's… It was never your fault, sister. Please forgive me. I … I will always forgive you. I understand. They all understand. Just…" he stopped, feeling her wrap her arms around him and tugging tightly. It was always her way of saying that she still loved him and that he was free of guilt. He melted into this familiar embrace and wished deep in his heart that he could hear what she wanted to say.
When Gamlen and their mother had died, Carver had been devastated while Lucy stood motionless by their bloodied bodies. No curse or blow could release him of the anger he felt when he looked at her, just standing there like it wasn't her family lying on the ground. Even though he watched as she killed their murderers, he could not forgive her at that moment. She had incurred the wrath of Meeran, allowing his money to go to someone else, and he decided it was most fitting to have their lives dashed in the middle of the night. His sister had known there was something wrong when they returned from the Deep Roads to an empty house. When they found them, it was too late, but death still found those men at the end of his sword and her staff. Now, they were alone, in this tiny hovel, with all the money they could have dreamed of, only to share it between them. It wasn't fair.
Everyone was sitting at the table in Varric's suite, downing ale or milk (in the case of Anders and Merrill) and playing a nice game of strip Wicked Grace. Of course the two sly rogues were winning, basically at each other's cheating throats, while the others admitted defeat in between bouts of underhanded jokes. The door, which had been shut to offer at least some privacy to the meek in the room, had opened without a knock or invitation to enter. Everything became silent when the slight form of a Hawke stood in the doorway, pausing briefly to be acknowledged, and sat down on the edge of Varric's bed, looking at no one in particular. Under the watchful eyes of the players, though they continued to play their game, she removed the heavy staff from her back and propped it against the wall. She picked up the book lying on the bedside table and though Varric did not commonly allow others to look at his unfinished work, the older Hawke was an exception. He knew that she just liked to stare at the pages, pretending to read as she usually did until something happened that she could participate in, like a child without many friends.
The game went on as normal, and when it finally finished, with Varric as the winner, the group disentangled their clothes, dressed with laughs and drunken threats, and moved on with mixed glances at the lonely girl who had chosen to alienate herself rather than disturb their game. When all were gone, Varric closed the door behind them, removed his signature coat, and walked up to Lucy, still pouring over his book even though the pages in front of her were blank. He attempted to formulate a good joke in his head, but the gears came to a grinding halt as he noticed the crumpled note in her left hand. He cleared his throat, grabbing her attention long enough for her to remember why she was here, and the small piece of parchment traded hands once more. A glimpse of sadness passed behind blue eyes before she returned her gaze to the apparently interesting blank pages. Sitting down in his velvet chair, Varric unfolded the small square to reveal a larger one, written in a familiar hand that had been twisted slightly and splotched at the bottom with water.
"Whomever my sister places her trust in,
Though my sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she cannot possibly work her way out of what is to come. I ask that, if it within anyone's power, to please shield her from any further harm and to make sure that she still has a chance at finding happiness in this world.
Through a series of events that have been hidden from you that follow my dear sister, the only ones left from the Amell family is Lucy and I. As a result, our neighbors have finally found it appropriate to sell my sister to the Templars. They were aware of her previous tactic in removing attention from our family in Lothering and took advantage of this carefully hidden fact. I am unsure if she is unaffected and am even more unsure if those monsters will be satisfied with only what they have done to her.
Without a home or family, Lucy has convinced me to return to what is left of Lothering or at least to Ferelden where I may find old friends. It is better this way; it will deter further harassment like last night and will make it easier for her to hide amongst her friends.
Please, as her last hope to have a life, keep her safe and happy.
-Carver Hawke"
"Lil' Hawke…" Varric murmured as he finished reading the note once more, only just realizing the stains were tears and the normally neat handwriting was scrawled in torture. He looked up at what he figured was a broken woman who had just lost everything she called family and home as she looked upon pages yet to be written on. Refolding the paper, he placed it in the bedside drawer and sat next to her. One short arm reached out behind her to hug her close while the other gently closed the book that offered no entertainment to one who could not read. Or maybe she had been reading what was to be written in the future, on those unmarred pages? He left it to mull over later.
"Hawke—I mean, Lucy… Do you understand what's in that note?" She nodded twice, a sign that Varric knew meant she was very sure. She did not look up, which he also knew meant that she was thinking very hard. "So you know that you cannot go back to that house?" Two nods were given once more. "That you won't see any of your family ever again?" She gave two slow nods and swallowed unconsciously. "You can stay here, with me, unless you would rather be somewhere else…" She shook her head and looked at the floor. Her hands began to tear at the feathers decorating her robes. Varric noted that there was a fist-sized chunk missing from either side of her shoulders.
"I'll pick you up a new bed tomorrow, today you can sleep here. I'll just—"He was cut off as she turned quickly to him, throwing out her arms to wrap around him and forcing him into the soft mattress. His breath was knocked from him for a short period of time as he tried to figure out what kind of situation it was. The situation, however, became obvious as two breasts were pushed against his stomach and a stream of warm water washed down between his chest hairs. This was the first time he had ever seen her cry.
"So they're gone," Aveline said rather bluntly. Varric stared at her in a way that said "of course, didn't I just say that?" She sighed and sat back in her chair. In front of her was the note left in the dwarf's care, along with a copy of a templar's report of an apostate that had avoided apprehension not long ago. The report offered no description though the storyteller and pirate wench had informed Aveline that it most definitely revealed that the Templars in question had been 'persuaded' to let the apostate and her family go. With cringes, they were also able to identify in a more detailed report of how she was allowed to escape the Gallows or death. "Those damn Templars. How could they even imagine doing such a thing? It is a disgrace to a once proud order. I am not one to assume the worst of such noble people, but I have to admit that the evidence is rather convincing, even without your 'deciphering'."
"I could tell it was true by as much as I could recover…" the healer interjected, his tone solemn with a tinge of restrained anger. At first he was outraged at such an event, but when he had heard that the once immovable Hawke had broken down into tears, he had been moved to a reserved stance as just a friend. He was conflicted when that poor girl was led into his clinic once everyone had been removed. Justice wanted to use her to prove his cause. Anders wanted to help her as she squirmed uncomfortably under his unfortunately cold fingers as he prodded places he now knew were just another source of her silence. Only Justice held him back enough to keep him from removing all of the evidence in an attempt to free of her of this permanent scar. "I could tell it was recent, though it only covered what was from a long time ago."
"Though I do not agree with mages, no one should have such a fate. I've seen it amongst the slaves several times and in this case it is even more unfortunate that instead of being scarred into silence, she could not speak out in the first place." The elf stood in the corner, propped against the wall. It was always certain that he disapproved of the fact that Lucy was a mage, but there was a mixture of respect and concern whenever he had spoken to her through Carver. He had found solace in knowing that she could not read and write like he too was cursed, though it came as a shock to him when she admitted it. Now he remained fairly silent as he was conflicted between the oppression of mages and the destruction of an innocent soul.
"This is terrible. I've heard about it from the city elves, but it did not seem so… real until now," Merrill said softly from her seat in the far side of the room. Isabela remained silent and her expression betrayed her concern and anger. Sebastian was absent, having been left with the duty of watching Hawke in the Hanged Man. He had volunteered to be her personal guard when someone else could not be present, saying that his ever growing conflictions could only be resolved by the Maker, not a meeting and accusations, and being there for a similarly torn person. No one complained, deciding it was for the best that the pro-templar rogue not to be a part of a round of death threats. He had been sweet enough, in his own way. The prince had even removed his belt buckle of Andraste's face on it to allow Lucy to run her fingers over as he whispered prayers and encouragements. He even offered to be the one to get back in touch with her brother if she so wanted. The man's shoulder had been the second one that the shattered mage had wept on.
"I will try with whatever power I have to get through to the Knight-Commander. I know it sounds like I am talking as the Captain of the Guard, but I believe this is a situation that should be resolved with words before we can turn to violence, especially since we do not exactly have a voice in the matter." A few protests were quietly murmured amongst them before they decided it was for the best. They all, except for Aveline, returned to the Hanged Man for much needed drinks and maybe a normal game of Wicked Grace.
It was the quickest moments of Carver's life as two Templars in heavy armor burst through the door, one shoving the poor mage to the ground while the other shut the door behind him and wrestled the protective brother against the wall. Through his rage he only caught glimpses of torn clothes and thrashing limbs. All he heard was what he already knew as he watched the face of his once proud sister go from horror, to a blank stare, to look that he frequently saw on the faces of whores in Lowtown's back alleys. He screamed that she be let go as the burly man thrusted hard into his sister, sounds that would have been of ecstasy if her voice had not been rendered silent at birth were forced from her throat. Her brilliant eyes dimmed and rolled back under half-lidded eyes as the laughing man commented on how trained she was for an apostate. Carver found enough strength to wrestle the man off of him when the bastard plowing his sister said that she must even give out to her brother. In his renewed rage, the little Hawke punched his sister's assailant in the jaw, sending him flying across the floor and leaving Lucy bare and exposed in the dirt. Carver turned to knock out the remaining man when he himself was shoved to the ground by a blow that sent his head reeling.
The young man was barely aware of his surroundings as he heard muffled laughs, jokes, and threats. He could feel his clothes being removed gently but greedily by hands he could remember. His voice was lost as he felt a sensation he had only felt once envelope him and he curled his hands into hair that felt similarly familiar. When the feeling had been slowly removed, he groaned in need before quickly being plunged into a river of exploding senses. It was warmer and more inviting than the previous treatment and it made every muscle in his body tense as it quickly moved him up and down like a wave at sea. But he was soon sent back to his clear sense when he released all of that pent up energy with a moan so loud he was sure the Maker had heard. He remembered this feeling and looked up through unclouded eyes to who he didn't expect to be his older sister. She stared back with glazed eyes and a hungry expression. Quickly he looked around for the damned Templars who had barged into their home, but none could be found. It was just him and his sister who had been pleasuring him in a desperate act of need.
"Sis…" The words he wished to say, like 'It's okay,' or 'Don't worry, I'll kill them!' were lost as he felt her grip tighten. What should have been disgust or anger was replaced with pity as he watched her struggle back to herself. While she still could not move in shock, he gently plucked her from his hips, carried her to the bed in the other room, and watched as pleasure turned to horror, to sadness, then complacency. The young brother gathered up the clothes from the floor, throwing her torn and stained ones into the fire after removing the important decorations. He stared blankly into the mirror before deciding that cleaning himself and his broken sister was the most important thing at the moment. With a spare rag, he removed any visible evidence from himself and her body and tossed it too into the fireplace. When he returned to the bedside to say encouraging things and get her ready to sleep the nightmare away, she merely offered a small smile. He couldn't believe he was crying as he slipped her under the covers and began writing his letter.