"No! Sister, this is a terrible idea."
Carver was pacing, his hands flailing about as he repeatedly informed her how ridiculous and terrible the plan she'd just shared was. And yet all she did was sit smugly as he paced, his armor clanking with his movements.
"What's the harm?" she asked, a tired and bored edge creeping into her tone.
"What's the harm?" he repeated, incredulous. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, whirling around and flinging his arms in the air emphatically. "He's the bloody Knight-Captain, that's what the harm is!"
Hawke narrowed her gaze at him, pursing her lips. "Why does that matter?"
Carver's mouth dropped open. It closed again and then opened on repeat a few more times. No words came out. Not at first. When they did come, they didn't piece together properly as he stammered. Hawke knew this look. Knew her brother well enough. He was angry. Seething mad. And yes, perhaps she'd done it on purpose, but she was sick of "because of templars!" being the only "reason" for her not to do something. And the only way to drag a better excuse out of him was to piss him off. That and she was bored.
As his mouth continued to work and find the words, she watched as the color in his face flared.
"It matters!" he finally managed coherently. "He's… you're… Maker. It's like Ser Bryant all over again." His anger stilled as he slumped in a nearby chair by the fireplace. "Ashley," he murmured shaking his head. "You are impossible."
Hawke stiffened at his accusation. That was the last place she expected him to take this argument.
"It goes against all of Father's rules," Carver continued. He stared into the fire, reflections of the flames dancing along his features. He blew out a harsh sigh, rubbing his forehead in thought.
Hawke's eyes widened in the mean time, nostrils flaring as she struggled to wrap her head around everything he'd just said. All that he'd just accused her of doing. Of all the things he could have said, of all the excuses and reasons. Her temper began to flare at the mere thought he'd drag their father into this. She couldn't believe he'd done it.
"Father's gone, Carver," she snapped. Electricity began to spark and dance across her skin as she rose from her seat. "And Mother. It's my life, I'll do what I want with it."
Slowly, Carver turned his gaze on her. But where she expected to see more anger he looked… resigned. Weary even. Not even a hint of surprise crossed his features. None of it served to sate her anger, however, instead she found herself even more irritated with him.
"Oh yes," he waved a hand dismissively. "Far be it from me to tell the Champion of Kirkwall staying away from the Gallows might keep her from winding up there permanently."
She narrowed her gaze at him, lip curling in her mounting fury. The impassive way he watched her spurred her on further as she stalked closer. Their eyes met for a brief moment and Carver sighed again, shaking his head and looking back into the fire.
"Do what you want, sister," he groaned. "But my influence with the templars only goes so far."
The flaring magic began to settle as Hawke stared at her brother. Never had he rolled over so quickly before. Not when they were younger and especially not in the more than four years they'd been in Kirkwall. Anger quickly shifted into suspicion as she eyed him.
"What's your game, Carver?"
His brows furrowed as he looked up at her. As if he expected her to buy the innocent puppy look. He knew something she didn't. He had to, it was the only explanation she could conjure.
"No game," he shrugged.
Hawke wasn't ready to let it go, however. "In 22 years you have never let something drop this quickly."
"What? I'm not allowed to grow up?" he growled.
"Sure you are," she tossed back. "But not this quickly. What do you know?"
"Nothing!"
Her gaze narrowed even further until she was practically squinting at her baby brother.
"Don't look at me like that," he snapped. "You won't listen to me anyway. You never listened to Father, and Mother may as well have never said a word to you. I'm done fighting over this."
Hawke frowned, slumping down into the empty seat opposite Carver. They were quiet a long time, only the crackling of the fireplace breaking up the silence. She finally broke the silence, looking over at him. "You're a giant pain in the ass, you know that?"
Carver laughed. A deep, hearty, belly laugh. "What can I say?" he answered once his laughter settled. "It runs in the family."
Hawke puffed her cheeks at him, feigning offence. "Just for that," she declared, standing up. "You get to bathe Dane while I'm gone."
"Gone? Where are you… oh Maker." Carver rubbed his temples again, shaking his head and muttering to both Andraste and the Maker under his breath.
Hawke smirked, humming lightly to herself as she swept out of the room and promptly dashed out the door of the estate.