Hawke loves days like this. Despite the fact that her gait is slow, and her muscles ache from exhaustion, her heart is jubilant. Though long and arduous, Hawke enjoys the time she spends mastering her swordplay.
While it's true that her father is the provider, Hawke often finds herself training into the night in the effort to improve her mind and body.
Hawke is only nineteen but she is her family's second line of defense in case of tragedy she dare not dwell on.
The sun is setting in the horizon when she finally makes it home. The screen door to the back creaks open, the sound echoing in the small house. She looks around cautiously, half expecting to find her mother's fretful gaze but pleasantly surprised when she sees that the kitchen is empty.
The overbearing weight of her mother's disapproval can be exhausting at times. She's happy to have a reprieve from it.
As she closes the door behind her, Rufus, Hawke's pet Mabari, wads over to greet her. She smiles affectionately at the pup and rubs behind his ears before walking over to the table. Placing her great sword against the wall, she sits down to eat the plate of food her mother left out for her.
Hawke sinks into the chair, enjoying the rare silence that permeates the air.
x
Hawke runs a towel through wet hair as she walks to her room. The bath she took, while short, was pleasant and most importantly, got the job done. She's barely through the door when she finds her arms full. The cloth slips to the floor.
A heady chuckle escapes her as a familiar warmth seeps into her skin. She buries her face in soft brunette locks and inhales, the smell of lyrium and roses wafting her senses.
With an arm locked around a slim waist, Hawke pushes the door behind her shut before settling against it. Her grip tightens before she moves back so she can grin down at the girl in her arms.
"Maker, what has mother been feeding you? You're almost as heavy as Rufus."
Predictably, her sister blanches at her words. Pretty brown eyes narrow in annoyance as Bethany glares up at her. "We can't all be wirily like you, Marian." Soft fingers lightly trail along her bicep. "I thought you'd have gained some muscle by now. You're so thin a breeze could knock you over, sister."
Hawke is equal parts offended and amused. "Haven't you heard that it's what's inside that counts, Bethy?'
Bethany releases a delightful little huff as she untangles herself from Hawke's arms so she can step back and look at her. She surveys her closely, possibly checking for any sign of injury. Hawke smiles fondly at her sister, a happy flutter passing through her at the worry she can see in Bethany's eyes.
However, the fond feeling dissipates and is replaced by something heavier when Bethany crosses her arms against her chest. The girls ample bosom pushes up and strains her night shift, almost spilling out of the flimsy material.
Heat infuses in Hawke's cheeks.
Her sister has curves that don't belong on a fifteen year old.
She cuts her eyes away, confused and discomforted by the thought.
Lately, she has found herself plagued by uncomfortable notions, almost vague enough that she can make up excuses for why they exist. This way she can pretend that her eyes don't linger on her baby sisters slowly maturing form and that she doesn't notice how heat swirls sickly in her stomach when they're pressed close together.
Exhaling, Hawke manages what she hopes to be a cheerful smile, forcing the nagging imaginings back into the dark corners of her mind. "Besides." She picks up the conversation from where it left off and gently ruffles Bethany's hair. "What matters is that I'm strong enough to sweep a girl off her feet when I have my way with her."
Bethany's nose scrunches up adorably. "You're a wretch."
"You know it." Hawke pushes up and away from the door, away from her too trusting sister and the lingering temptation of her presence. She walks to her side of the room, undoing the strings of her tunic as she goes before shrugging it off. She tosses it in the corner and picks up her night shift, tugging it over her head with a sigh.
Her earlier exhaustion once again makes itself known. She pulls back the covers and turns so she can say goodnight to Bethany only to pause when she spots the delicate frown on her sister's brow.
Hawke straightens up. "Is something the matter?"
Bethany nibbles on her bottom lip. "It's just...you're out so often now." She wrings her hands together. "and you come home even later than father sometimes. You're already an amazing swordsman, sister. Do you really need to spend so much time training?"
Pausing, Hawke deliberates on the question, sensing that there's more to it than simple curiosity. The answer should be an obvious one. The need to protect her family has always been there, ingrained so tightly in Hawke's being that she can scarcely remember a time when it wasn't at the forefront of her mind.
But…
She collapses on her bed and tucks an arm behind her neck as she leans back against the headboard.
"Absolutely. Have you any idea how impressive girls find me, Bethy?" She asks, signature grin in place. "Why else do you think I stay out so late? They can barely contain themselves when they pass me on their way home. 'Oh, Marian is just so amazing.'" she mimics a high tone. "'Look how her muscles bulge as she swings her great sword.' They practically throw themselves at me! Who knew becoming a warrior would open up so many fantastic opportunities."
Bethany rolls her eyes with a shake of her head. "Why do I ever expect a serious answer from you." she grumbles in annoyance.
Hawke smile softens as she gazes at her sister fondly. Bethany doesn't need to know the real reason why she pushes herself past the point of exhaustion. Her sister is too kind, too sweet. Always clinging to the guilt that Hawke knows weighs on her for the perceived burden she believes her magic places on the family.
She closes her eyes, the conversation drawing a memory to her.
Two sick bastards, Templars circling her then eight year old sisters prone form, laughing and making disgusting jokes that still made her blood boil, even after all this time. In that moment, she had felt a rage that would slowly but surely grow unbearable in the years that came after.
Hawke had cut through the men quickly, the kills messy and satisfying. Blood had soaked through her tunic and painted the ground red but she had hardly noticed. Her focus was on Bethany, always on Bethany.
She remembers hovering over her sister's still body, crying and begging her to be okay even as Malcolm healed her.
Hawke thinks that maybe something inside of her is broken. After that day, she had become fixated on protecting Bethany. The moments that weren't spent training obsessively she spent with her sister, watching over her, making sure no harm came to her. She scarcely let the girl out of her sight.
Perhaps that was why her thoughts had become so...depraved. At times it felt as though Bethany were her whole world. Maybe her sick fantasies were the result of her compulsive need to keep Bethany.
She breathes in and out slowly, willing the tormenting thoughts away. Her eyes shoot open when she feels a familiar weight settle against her chest. She automatically wraps her free arm around Bethany's waist and pulls her closer.
Her heart mimics the beat of drums.
"I don't like it when you stay out late, Ree."
It twists painfully at her sister's words.
"I know, Beth."
Hawke tenses when Bethany buries her face in her neck, her sister's breath causing goosebumps to appear on her skin.
"I miss you." the words are mumbled against her strumming pulse. Bethany's fingers curl around the cloth near her heart.
"I know." She repeats, guilt striking her at her very core. Hawke swallows back the words on the tip of her tongue, words that would reveal too much if she let them loose. Instead, she takes a breath.
"If something happens-" she stops, inhales and starts again. "I-I need to be strong enough to take care of us, Bethy."
Bethany's expression is determined when she leans up to look Hawke in the eye. "Father says I'm getting better at my magic. I can help too. And so can Carver. It doesn't always have to fall to you, sister."
Hawke silently disagrees.
"It gets lonely here sometimes." Bethany continues, fingers tracing Hawke's jaw before moving up to brush away her bangs. "Father is always working and Carver is gone almost as much as you are. Not that he would spend time with me even if he was here. And you know how mother is." Bethany's voice softens a bit. "I just wish you were here more, Marian."
Hawke feels dizzy under Bethany's gaze, intense and loving, full of pleading adoration. Her arm unconsciously tightens around the girl and she is overtaken by need.
"I'm here now." She chokes out, her eyes slipping closed once more, shielding her from her sister's sweet face.
A helpless little sigh is the only answer she receives. Bethany is hurt. Hawke doesn't need to see her to be able to tell that. She hates that her sister is distressed, hates knowing that she's the cause of it.
She cups the back of Bethany's head and draws her close, presses a kiss to her cheek, followed by several more down a tanned jaw. She forces herself to stop when Bethany murmurs her name.
There's a familiar twist in her stomach that makes her nervous. The same feeling of disquiet from earlier returns tenfold. Like before, she pushes it away, ignoring it, hoping it doesn't return even as Bethany's sigh turns wistful.
Hawke shivers as blunt nails gently scratch along the base of her neck. "I worry about you, sister." Bethany curls a stray lock around her finger and tugs. "I'm scared you'll get hurt one day." after a moment, the soothing strokes return. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."
Her heart swells and deflates all at once. She more than understands how Bethany feels. She would do anything to keep her safe. Hawke has and would kill anyone in order to protect her sister and she would do more still, even if it meant giving up her own life.
Still, she doesn't tell Bethany this, knowing the words, no matter how true and unchanging, would only upset her.
They lay in silence for a few minutes before Hawke takes a breath. "You worry too much, Bethy." she murmurs as she strokes the crease between Bethany's brow. "You'll get frown lines at this rate. The last thing you want to do is age prematurely and well, boys your age aren't all that interested in older women." Hawke's grin is light and teasing. She wants to chase away the shadows in her sister's eyes, and though her mind races with exhilarating ideas on how to do just that, she knows she can't act on them.
In the end, she always resorts to this.
Do you actually know how to take things seriously? Carver once asked her this. Yes, she does. Actually showing it is another matter.
"Besides, you know Mother would kill me if I died. Who would she constantly berate if I were to pass."
"Sister, please."
"How am I supposed to enjoy the sweet embrace of the Maker's bosom with that woman nagging at me beyond the grave?"
Bethany giggles, her hands falling away. "Sometimes I worry about that sense of humor of yours, sister."
"Please, I'm a delight, a national treasure." Hawke urges Bethany to her side, settling in behind her so she can secure an arm around her waist. It's easier to ignore what she wants when Bethany isn't facing her. "Andraste herself would swoon at my wonderful charm."
"Maker, go to sleep."
Hawke chuckles lightly, pleased at having distracted her sister. And yet, guilt nags away at her.
She likens herself to a trickster. Her smiles come too easily and her words are nonchalant, empty. What she feels and what she says don't match up. She won't allow them to. The dichotomy of her emotions drives her crazy at times.
She buries her nose in Bethany's hair and inhales. The scent of her sisters soap is comforting and Bethany is warm against her. The guilt slowly ebbs away. She feels secure in the knowledge that for now, Bethany is safe, from the world and most importantly, from herself.
Right here, in this room, at this moment, there's no place she'd rather be.
x