The Amell Estate, Kirkwall, 9:18 Dragon
There's only two rough knocks at the door before it's kicked open, the locks breaking from the sheer force of it.
"Mistress Amell!" Melara cries in warning, before two large templars push the young elven woman aside as they step into the foyer. The two middle Hawke children scamper onto the balcony, glaring at the threat standing in their doorway.
Carver throws a paperweight at the taller templar's helmet and it collides with a resounding clamor before the second templar throws him kicking and flailing over his shoulder. Rayna gets a few punches in before the same templar pushes the two siblings into a bedroom and barricades it by pushing a small armoire in front.
Their shouts and kicks at the heavy door remain unnoticed as the templars delve farther into the estate, looking for their target.
"No..." a choked sob leaves Leandra's lips and her eyes widen in horror when the templars barge into the nursery. "Please!" She clutches her youngest child to her chest. "No!" Bethany clings unblinkingly to her mother with no notion of the events surrounding her.
Bethany doesn't cry when she's pried from her mother's arms, only stares back at Leandra with her big hazel eyes, looking over the shoulder of the templar as he carries her out the door with a seemingly uncharacteristic touch of gentleness.
Leandra falls to her knees, despairing sobs wracking her body as she loses her second child to the Circle.
She'd never had to the opportunity to ask Revka how much it could hurt.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Hightown, Kirkwall, 9:19 Dragon
Leandra Hawke always notices the stares her family receives on the way home from the Chantry service every week. She firmly clutches one of Rayna's hands in her right, and one of Carver's in her left. Her only remaining children not cursed with magic and never far out of her sight. Rayna attempts to slip from her mother's grasp as they near the Viscount's Keep, but Leandra tightens her hold as she navigates through the Sunday crowd of nobles to get home.
"Lady Amell," they always nod at her when she passes, as if her husband had never existed.
"Lady Amell," the eligible noblemen kiss her hand, as if to see how heavy her rings weigh on her small fingers.
"Lady Amell," the women she knows from childhood kiss her cheek, as if to check if her icy demeanor since her return to the city has defrosted at all in the years she's been back.
"Why do they call you 'Amell?'" Rayna wants to know, as soon as they arrive at the estate. She squirms in her new dress, tugging at the long sleeves. Leandra reaches over to tuck her daughter's stray wisps of hair behind her ear, but Rayna twists away with impatience, waiting for an answer.
"Why can't we visit Bethany?" Carver demands loudly, clenching his fists and close to tantrum, though he's getting too old for such behavior.
Leandra Hawke has no satisfactory answers for her remaining children, and the way their defiant lyrium-blue eyes shine and black hair falls haphazardly in their eyes reminds her of him so acutely that she's afraid if she opens her mouth only a sob will come out.
"It's time for lunch, pups," Melara swiftly intervenes, ushering the two into the kitchens as Leandra's heart clenches at the use of the thoroughly Ferelden petname.
Like a true born and bred noble, she waits until she's behind her own closed chamber doors to release her tears.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
The Viscount's Keep, Kirkwall, 9:26 Dragon
Leandra watches as another young noble approaches Rayna. She recognizes him immediately. The first-born son of the Markhams, a wealthy family claiming distant lineage to the VanMarkham dynasty in Nevarra. He can't be more than twenty, just two or three years older than Rayna. A good match then, if a bit pompous for her tastes.
Although, Leandra would gladly weather weekly tea with the Markhams if it could give Rayna some stability and happiness. Maker knows she needs it. And if the pair gave her a few grandchildren, all the better.
For a foolish moment, Leandra thinks her daughter's agreed to a dance when the Markham heir's hand reaches out to grasp Rayna extremely low on her waist.
In half a heartbeat, Rayna stomps on his right foot and has the young man's wrist in a painfully twisted grip. He lets out a strangled yelp but Leandra's quick little rogue has already released him by the time others have turned to see the commotion.
The Markham boy storms away, red-faced and in a huff. Rayna stays put, looking as passive as ever, except for that self-satisfied smirk only Leandra recognizes. Carver approaching his older sister with a barely-concealed grin tells her she isn't the only one who's seen what's just transpired.
One half of her, the Amell part, sighs in a way Leandra associates with her own mother, as if to say, another suitor tossed aside without regard for the consequences.
The Hawke part, sounding very much like Malcolm in her head, whispers that's my girl.
-x-x-x-x-x-x
The Amell Estate, Kirkwall, 9:23 Dragon
Leandra's heart pounds spastically as she paces in front of the fire in the foyer of the estate.
She's too young for this, far too young- Maker, please...
Mature for her age, yes, and very cunning. But also stubborn and secretive and just as beautiful, and not yet fifteen. Too young...
The chiming of the Chantry bell startles her, reminding her that it's midnight and her daughter is not in her bed.
She takes a few steps towards the entrance and stops, as if torn between running around the streets of Hightown, raising a racket in search of her little girl, or just falling into the armchair near the fire and crying.
Just then, the locks on the door rattle and she hears the door creak in protest to being pushed open very slowly.
Even in the incredibly dim entryway lit by a single candle, Leandra can see Rayna's disheveled hair, clothed in a man's tunic and breeches that are oversized, awry, and even torn in some places.
"Where have you been?!" Leandra demands, hands on her hips even through her relief that her daughter appears unharmed. She watches Rayna visibly flinch and jump in shock, her electric blue eyes wide as she makes eye contact with her mother.
"Mother... I... It's not-" Rayna stammers guiltily, face paling immediately.
"What are you doing in those clothes?" Leandra adds sharply, scrutinizing her.
Suddenly, Rayna's face then floods with color, dark red with abashed embarrassment.
"Mother... where do you think I was?" she asks, almost inaudibly. "Who do you think I am?"
"You tell me, Rayna," Leandra crosses her arms and avoids the eyes Rayna received from Malcolm, not honestly wanting to hear the truth of her daughter's nightly escapades.
"These are Carver's old clothes," Rayna finally beings to explain. Leandra's eyes finally meet her daughter's again, the weight of relief in her chest replaced by confusion.
"But why-"
"I've been practicing fighting with Genevieve across the road. I found Father's old daggers in one of the cellar rooms." Of course, Leandra thinks, the mysterious duBlancs from Orlais. "I think her mother is a bard," Rayna adds conspiratorially, as if they can hear her.
"I'm sorry, love; I didn't know what to think," Leandra apologizes, stepping closer to brush the hair from Rayna's eyes. "There's criminals that come out at night, even just outside the estate. If something were to happen to you..."
"They don't see me," Rayna assures her. Leandra sighs.
"I don't want you doing this anymore," Leandra commands firmly.
"But Mother-" Rayna protests.
"At night," Leandra finishes decisively, causing Rayna's face to light up hopefully. "I'll have none of this sneaking about. You can practice in the garden during the day, and maybe- maybe I'll see about you having lessons with Carver."
It's what Malcolm would have wanted.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
The Outskirts of Highever, Ferelden, 9:9 Dragon
Malcolm rubs his wife's heavily pregnant middle as if it's a mummer's crystal ball.
"Here I thought you a mage, not a fortune teller."
"Shhh... he hushes her playfully, grinning as he leans over to press his ear to her belly. "I need to concentrate." She stifles a laugh and rolls her eyes as he hums under his breath. "Yes. Just as I suspected. There's a big storm brewing in there," he finally announces, matter-of-factly. "A storm to crack the sky and wreck ships." Leandra's lips purse at his words.
"Storms can help the land thrive as well," she adds, scolding her husband. "They're not always so destructive."
"Right you are, as always, my dear," Malcolm teases. "Shall we name her Raindrop, in that case?" he questions, kissing her rounded stomach.
"Her?" Leandra raises her eyebrows at him. He shrugs. "He's a boy, love, I'm sure of it," she insists stubbornly.
"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" he compromises, strong hand still resting on her abdomen. Leandra places her hand atop his and squeezes lightly. "We'll find out as soon as this little storm decides to come."