Author's Note: This is a bit unorthodox, I know, but this story will feature a pair of Hawkes as brother and sister. My reasoning is due to the ambiguity of Hawke's age in-game and the fact that I've come to associate my Hawke very strongly with a friend's Hawke. I am at a point now where I have trouble separating the two, so I decided to write this fanfiction from the perspective of there being a four Hawke children.

This story is the sequel to Painting Your Roses.

The Dragon Age series belongs to Electronic Arts and Bioware.


The Blight hit with little warning.

For most, at least, this was the truth. Fereldens were usually fairly stubborn, even when the truth was smacking them in the face. They would much rather hide in their homes and pretend that life was going on the same as it did the day before. But of course, this was not true. Anyone with eyes could see that the Darkspawn were growing bold, attacking the surface with a reckless abandon that would betray the theory that their numbers had been wiped out during the fourth Blight.

Claudia was content in doing nothing to stop the invasion, though she was keenly aware that it was truly occurring. She had enough on her plate, what with two apostates to keep out of the Chantry's sight and five mouths to feed. It would be easier just to flee the country, to set up base anew in Orlais, or somewhere equally as foreign. But, that would require learning a new language and dealing with self-absorbed pricks who would always treat her as being lesser because she was born in Ferelden.

No matter how intent she was on avoiding enlisting, fate had another thing in store for her. One day, when she was about her routine errands in the village, a recruiter for King Cailan's army was posted looking for able-bodied men and women to help with the Darkspawn threat. Claudia tactfully avoided the Chantry, not that she normally had much business there. Mostly everyone in Lothering knew that she was clever with a pair of daggers and could disarm traps with her eyes closed. The crown didn't need to know that, though. Yet, as she returned home, she was displeased to find Carver making his case to their mother as to why he should be allowed to enlist.

The scene that unfolded was a typical one for their household, but trying, nonetheless. Carver was just short of yelling his demands. He was always so angry, mostly due to his young age and the constant hiding. Their mother was unwavering. Her youngest would not enlist to fight Darkspawn, especially after she lost her husband to them just three short years ago. Claudia cringed at her argument, but continued to put away the things she had procured at the shop. Poor Quentin was sitting at the dining table, desperately trying to diffuse the situation with playful banter and offering to brew up some calming tea.

He looked so much like their father, Quentin did. It was a fact that their mother often reminded him of whenever he was being particularly complacent and agreeable. His dirty-blonde locks hung in his face in a similar fashion, denoting the fact that he was either too busy or too lazy to get a proper trim. The state of his three-day stubble also contributed to this. Their father had been the same. He was much too busy training Quentin and Bethany to hide their magic that he never bothered to get a shave. The one difference Claudia could pick out without going too far into genetics was his electric-blue eyes. Those were the ones that both their mother and Carver wore, as well as Claudia. The similarities only grew the more he attempted to calm the arguing pair.

Claudia, on the other hand, spent the first eight years of her life thinking she was some orphan child that their parents had picked up on the side of the road and took pity on. Due to her shock of burgundy waves that none of the Hawke children besides her possessed, it made it easy for Quentin to tease her about her parentage. Whenever he was feeling particularly prickly, or she had done something cruel to him, he would remind her that her "real" parents hadn't wanted her. Claudia never cried. Oh no. Tears were for the weak, so instead, she would exact her revenge by hitting Quentin until he cried. Then, she would spend the following days with punishments like no dessert, or helping their mother care for the twins.

Even so, she grew into an attractive woman, one who favored her mother's side much more favorably than in her youth. People would comment on how she looked high-bred, like generations of careful breeding when into her sultry pout and womanly figure. Their mother would often remark upon how she looked so positively Amell, even down to her waves of red hair. So, Claudia assumed that she really was the product of planned reproduction. Unlike Quentin, her resemblance to their father was rarely mentioned, save when she was being a sarcastic clown. The same phrase always accompanied this mood: you're just like your father.

Their argument had risen to a fever pitch, one that roused Bethany from the other room. She had been poring over her grimoire in secret, but could not concentrate with her twin's yelling. Claudia, on the other hand, was amused. It was nice to not be the one on the chopping block for once.

It wasn't long, however, until their attention turned to her.

First, their mother chastised her for propping her feet on the table like a heathen. Claudia remembered it well because it was when things started to tip into an unfavorable direction for her. Carver looked at her, at first to cast her a cold look, for he knew she was drawing enjoyment out of his suffering. But, it shifted. His blue eyes sparked, then shot back to their mother with promise.

"Can I enlist if Claudia does so as well?"


Can I enlist if Claudia does so as well.

This phrase was the fuel for much of Claudia's frustration the next passing weeks. Naturally, their mother agreed to those conditions. While Quentin was the oldest, his capabilities with magic made it unlikely that his services would be suggested. So, Claudia was the second-best option. She remembered how her younger brother practically ripped her from her seat and dragged her to the recruiter. The man was older, with an eyepatch. She only recalled his missing eye due to her inquiring about how he lost it in the first place. Carver was mortified, which humored her.

The next few weeks were the most grueling that Claudia had ever faced. The training was excruciating. Due to her roguish nature, she was often sent to scout the Wilds, which she hated. Bad memories surfaced, ones that, while she couldn't quite grasp, were still there and made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. More pitiful than that was back at camp, when she would see that small encampment that the Templars circled around like hungry vultures. Claudia had half a mind to do something to deter the Templars just long enough to give their charges a taste at real freedom. Her siblings and father had been lucky; with her watching their backs, at least they got to experience life outside of the Circle.

But, the worst yet was that battle.

None of the training, none of the morale-boosting speeches given by the King or that bearded Gray Warden whose name she forgot the second it was mentioned had prepared her for that night. The rain came swiftly and suddenly. It seeped into her leathers and chilled her down to the bone. She was a rogue, and better fit for flanking the enemy than meeting them head on, so she was assigned to a battalion destined just for that. Before she could even see them, Claudia could feel as they approached down to her very core. Darkspawn were horribly grotesque creatures, ones that had plagued her nightmares since her father's death. And, they carried with them a noxious odor of death and decay. Those with her that hadn't seen such a horror before had not anticipated it, few even vomited at the stench. Claudia's own stomach had begun doing backflips, ready to expel its contents. She bade it to still, though acknowledged that it would do her little good if she became sick.

The actual battle, though short lived, felt as if it had dragged on for hours. Flanking an enemy was difficult when so many were pouring into the field that she couldn't count. And, there was the nastiness that was the taint they carried in them. Claudia could out-maneuver them any day, which was as useful skill as any out on the field. Still, it did little good when that black ichor fountained up out of their wounds every time one of the warriors sliced off a limb or through a torso.

Morale was already at an all-time low, but as those mammoth ogres charged the field, a real, palpable fear settled in. Claudia witnessed first-hand as one crushed the King like a grape. The whole field erupted in a cacophony of anguish for their fallen monarch. Then, the signal flared up, the signal that was supposed to summon more troops to the field. They were fighting a losing battle against an unpredictable foe and desperately needed the reinforcements. No one showed, and more blood was shed.

Claudia considered this her time to quit the field as well. After finding Carver, which was very much a story for another time, they abandoned their posts. Lothering was their destination, and warning the hamlet of the impending destruction was their goal.


Claudia was lying in bed, her arms lazily situated behind her head. She was focused on a particular knot in the ceiling, watching it with some interest as the sounds of Carver polishing his greatsword filled her ears. After they had abandoned Ostagar, they were on the run. It was a grueling struggle, one that amounted to exhaustion. They had both been fatigued from combat already. Both suffering minor wounds as well. Neither knew anything of medicinal herbs, except that elfroot was used in healing potions.

"I still don't think it's a wise idea to be squatting in someone's house while we heal." Complained Carver.

Over the course of the two hours they had been there, he had brought up this point about six times, not that Claudia was counting. She was far more concerned with her newfound Mabari companion, whom she had taken to calling Ser Biscuit. The dog had found them just prior to stumbling upon the house, and had apparently taken a liking to Claudia. He was in the bed with her, hulking head resting in her lap. Occasionally, he'd swipe his moist tongue upon her knuckles in a sign of affection.

"I'm sure they'll understand." Claudia mused. "People absolutely love having complete strangers pick their locks and sleep in their beds."

Carver scoffed. "We can do without the sarcasm right now, Claudia."

"Oh, but little Carver," she begun, rolling over the word little with a particularly cruel undertone, "if I don't laugh, I fear I may burst into tears at this very moment!" The woman feigned upset, her arm draping over her forehead as if to imply a fear of fainting. "With our King dead, I fear of what will become of Ferelden."

"Can you not act like a complete bitch for once?" Carver bit off his words angrily. Though she couldn't see him from her post on the bed, Claudia was positive that he was glaring. "Ferelden is going to enter a state of absolute chaos, and you're making light of it."

Claudia shrugged. This adjustment caused the dog in her lap to shift, anticipating that she was about to leave the bed. "They'll figure something out. Maybe Maric has a secret lovechild floating about somewhere and he'll ascend the throne."

"You're spouting nonsense."

"Am I?"

Carver silenced, not from seeing her side of the argument, but from not wanting to incur further ridiculous remarks from his older sister. This was well enough for Claudia, who had since chased the languid Mabari hound from her lap and risen to her feet. Time was wasting, and the horde was growing closer by the minute. She doubted if Darkspawn took routine breaks as they had; they probably trampled over their fatigued as they fell to the ground in exhaustion. Claudia didn't really want to think about it.

Taking her lead, Carver rose as well. His comically large sword was fastened to the strap upon his back, signifying that he, too, was ready to take his leave. Before doing so, he cast his older sister a look, an accusatory glance that suggested that she had purloined some of the possessions of the people who called the small cottage home. In response, Claudia revealed her empty palms and patted down her leathers as if she were on trial. Normally, he would have cause for concern, but in that moment, the woman was far too tired for searching through chests and drawers for shiny coins and potentially valuable baubles that she could pawn.

Lothering was only a couple-hour walk from their position in the cottage. As a trading outpost, most roads in Ferelden crossed through there. Claudia didn't want to travel the roads, however. With the Blight being a potential threat, she imagined that there were a lot of shifty people traveling them. Carver had, to her surprise, agreed to braving the brush. It was a longer walk, sure enough, but safer still. And, she doubted if the horde would be able to pursue through dense foliage as readily as two humans were able to.

To neither of their surprise, Lothering was in a state of chaos. Refugees from all over the southern part of Ferelden were densely packed into the sleepy hamlet. Claudia and Carver could scarcely navigate the narrow roads for fear of stepping on someone who might have set up camp in the pathways. Many were poor, dirty, and most likely have been sleeping out in the cold all night. Some of the Templars who often reported at the Chantry were trying to direct these poor souls in that direction, but there were just so many that they appeared to be having the reverse effect.

The Hawke residence was technically in the outskirts of Lothering, which made it easier to keep Quentin and Bethany concealed. It wasn't a big house; the cottage was a small, three-room residence that the five of them shared. Bethany and Claudia shared their mother's room with her since their father's passing, while Carver and Quentin resided in the other. And, it was the first place that the Hawke family could truly call home.

There was an ominous feeling that cloaked Claudia as she stepped into the door, Carver trailing close behind. Bethany, Quentin, and their mother were all sitting around the table, satchels filled to the gills with small, sentimental possessions and sundry goods. The staves that both mages used were propped up against the wall nearest the door. Crude blades were fixed to the bottom of each with lengths of rope and leather. They looked secure enough, though.

"Claudia! Carver!" Their mother leaped from her chair at the sight of her children and embraced the both of them tenderly. She studied Carver's face carefully, brows knitting together when she took in the sight of the various nicks and cuts that dappled his skin. When she made her way to Claudia, she pushed her hair from her face and studied her with the same intensity that she wore with her son.

"Thank the Maker you're both okay."

"A few Darkspawn are no match for me, Mother." Claudia's chest puffed out proudly in an effort to convince the others that she was confident in her abilities. They didn't need to know of the fear that she wore in her heart.

"Still," Said their mother, brushing aside her eldest daughter's claims, "I worried for the both of you and prayed every day for your safe return."

Claudia held little faith in prayers or the Maker. But, she also did not wish to start an argument so soon after walking through the door. It brought her mother comfort, which was enough to bring her comfort for the time being. Still, their packed possessions and overall agitated demeanor troubled the young woman. She had been sure that she and Carver were the first to make it out of Ostagar alive. And yet, they appeared to have received news of the impending Darkspawn horde nearly a day before their arrival.

"Dare I ask where we're headed off to in such a hurry?"

Quentin shrugged casually. "You wouldn't believe it, but a group of Wardens came through here and warned us of the horde headed in this direction." While not typically strange, Claudia was fairly sure that they had all died on the field with King Cailan. Her brother had more to say, however, so she resisted the urge to butt in and mention this. "They took that Qunari and Carver's girlfriend with them, too."

Carver tensed up at the word girlfriend, which elicited an amused grunt out of the two eldest children. They boy had developed a crush on a Cloister Sister who was new to Lothering's Chantry. She was a pretty sort, with lovely red hair and a subtle Orlesian accent that drew in the masses. Quentin and Claudia took a cruel sort of pleasure in teasing their younger sibling about it, despite their mother's urging to stop pressing him.

"What of these Wardens?" Asked Claudia, neglecting her chosen pastime for once. "What sort of people were they? Can their word even be trusted?"

Again, Quentin shrugged. "Not sure. I was so distracted by how attractive the lot of them were. Before that, I had thought the order to be a bunch of grisly, battle-hardened men with missing limbs and covered in scars. These ones were strapping young men and comely—"

"—Quentin." Urged their mother.

"Sorry. Anyway, we really haven't the time to dally. Quickly gather anything that is of value to you so we can head off."

Carver folded his arms, visibly displeased with this plan. Claudia knew that it was probably ill-planned, given the rushed manner in which they were forced to devise it. Just by the way Quentin spoke, he was anticipating them to ask where they were headed. And, judging by how his eyes shifted around the room uncomfortably, he hadn't the answer to that question. Claudia couldn't blame him. If the tables had been turned, she doubted if she could have conceived a believable escape out. But, time was ticking, lending her no time to contemplate their next action.

"I suppose we have little option, then. We run."

Carver was visibly displeased. His arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowing over both of his older siblings in the gesture. "Where are we supposed to head, exactly? We haven't much coin, and the whole south of Ferelden is inaccessible due to the horde."

Claudia was already in the other room. She had left the door open as to remain a valid participant in the conversation. At the foot of her bed was a chest where she kept her worldly possessions, though few were important in the face of danger. Her fingers danced over the one good dress she owned, mentally checking it off her list of priorities in the process. There were a few other things she considered, but eventually dropped into the trunk to leave. These mainly consisted of toys that she had convinced herself had sentimental value, a sparing stack of bound love letters that she read to get a laugh, and some loose jewelry with little monetary value, but it was pretty enough to look at. Only two things resided in the chest that she truly cared about: her father's wedding band and his grimoire. The ring was easy to locate; she had it laced through some of the cording on her dress as to not lose it. However, the book was nowhere to be seen. Claudia tore through her possessions, each one fluttering across the room as she flung them about like a merciless tornado. Even after she had evacuated everything, the book was not there.

In her haste, Claudia barreled into the main living quarters. She wasn't upset, but in a hurried frenzy that just wouldn't be sated until it was found. The remaining four looked at her strangely. Carver was already packed with a satchel that she assumed to be filled with useful things, though the hilt of his favorite wooden sword that he used to train with as a child was poking out.

"Where is father's grimoire?" Demanded Claudia. Her hand drifted to her hip, making her look far more upset about the situation than she truly was.

Quentin's gaze shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh…I took it out of your trunk."

Silence filled the room. Everyone seemed sure that Claudia would become angry with him over this development. Surely, he was looking for something embarrassing to tease her with. She had gotten him good the last time, and the family was still convinced he was out for revenge.

"It's not like you have any need for a grimoire!" Shouted the blonde in his defense. "And, we weren't even sure that you survived the battle!"

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, dearest Brother." Remarked the red-haired woman with cold sarcasm.

"Regardless of what we believed, we really should be going." Their mother was uneasy, and understandably so. They were wasting much time. And, with how much ground they had to cover before they could feasibly call themselves safe, arguing amongst themselves over a book was probably not the best of ideas.

"You're right." Bethany chimed, having been silent throughout most of the discussion. She reached for her bag off the table and slung it over her shoulder for safe keeping. "We haven't much time to be wasting on such trivial things."

The other three nodded in agreement. Each divvied up the remaining packs amongst themselves, though were conscious enough to supply their mother with a few healing poultices and a small hunting knife in case things became dangerous for her. There was an unspoken agreement laid out that they would all watch for her safety above their own. They each had some form of martial training, whereas she hadn't.

No more words were exchanged as they spent the last remaining moments in their familial home. Memories came and went, memories of a simpler time, when the twins were still children and Father was still alive. Holidays were spent as a family around that table. The tall tales their father used to weave still burned in the hearts of each and every one of them. Every memory felt fresh, like they were reliving them one last time before they had to say goodbye forever. None bothered with clinging to the hope that their home would still be intact after the Darkspawn ravaged everything.

One last fawning look was cast into the house that once filled to brimming with such life and love, then, the door shut behind them for the last time.