Lowtown's dusty buildings stood silent as the young man struggled to his feet. Unsteady, lurching steps propelled him slowly through the shadows. His left arm hung limply at his side while the right was wrapped tightly around his middle. Hearing men burst out from the tavern behind him, he staggered to the wall and did his best to melt into the darkness. Their laughter moved off and he continued on. His vision began to swim as he came upon the stairs leading to his destination. A He paused at the bottom as if to collect himself. A halting step, then two but on the third his toe caught the lip of the stair and he crashed down with a cry. Groaning and writhing, he coughed and spattered red on the sandy stone. He looked up and managed an awkward crawl to the top. His left arm was useless, but still he tried to avoid putting weight on his damaged torso. Each step seemed higher than the last. He could barely see the door just a few feet away. With his last measure of strength, he summoned an ice ball and sent it flying into the rough hewn wood of the door. He heard the thunk of the impact as his head dropped to the dirt and he lay there too weak to move. After a long pause, he heard the door fly open, and the sound of voices.
Leandra smiled. She had finally managed to get a somewhat pleasant conversation going between the two sourpusses of the house. She'd never tell Carver, but he always did remind her a little of Gamlen. Her brother was talking about the basics of wallop, trying to puff out his chest a little in front of the lad. Throwing a little joke here and there was all she needed to do to keep Carver engaged. The younger man sat honing the large blade per his usual habit in the evening. Even as she saw his resemblance to Gamlen, her dear husband seemed to look out from their youngest boy's eyes when he smiled. It had been so long since they'd lost him. The sickness taken hold so quickly, then he was gone before they really had a chance to say goodbye. She gave her head a little shake to clear the cloud of melancholy in her mind. These moments were too few to spend them pouring over the past. Her eldest would be home soon, and then she'd have all her loves together under one roof. Gamlen too, she thought slyly.
A dull thud sounded at the door, drawing everyone's attention. "Bah, pay it no mind!" Gamlen grumbled, "probably some filthy urchins throwing dung." Carver's eyes narrowed, "No, look at the door." A small circle of frost appeared near the bottom hinge. "What in the world?" Leandra muttered as she moved toward it. "Mother!" Carver jumped up, "Let me." "Carver, don't be silly. It's probably nothing." "Why don't you just let me to take care of it?" Carver asked exasperatedly, "Just go stand over there by Uncle Gamlen." Leandra slid aside as Carver, blade in hand, strode boldly for the door. Pausing a moment, he tossed it open and jumped aside. When nothing struck out at him, he stepped through to see what was there.
"Brother!" he cried, seeing the limp form at the top of the stairs. Carver dove to his side, checking his pulse at the neck. It was fast and shallow. Turning him over, he began to see why. The elder Hawke's face was swollen and beginning to bruise, his lips peppered with the same red that trailed from his hairline. Looking around, Carver saw no immediate threat, but that could change in an instant. Laying his blade down, he grabs the shoulders of his brother's leather jerkin began to drag him inside. A strangled yell went up from the wounded man, but they had to get him out of the open.
"My darling!" Leandra shouted as she rushed toward him. "Let me get him inside!" Carver barks. Leandra backs away form the door with her hands to her mouth. Her son. He groans sharply as Carver lowers him to the floor. The young Hawke hurries outside and returns with his blade. Leandra knelt next to her boy, tearfully pleading with him to open his eyes.
Carver spies his uncle fidgeting nervously by the table. "Don't just stand there Gamlen, help me!" "What do want me to do?" he asks defensively. " Grab his legs, we have to get him into a bed." "No don't move him anymore! Can't you see the pain he's in? We need to get a healer!" Leandra interjects. "He can't stay in the middle of the floor!" Carver growls. "If we move him again, we could injure him more," Leandra counters quickly, "I need you to run and find that healer friend of yours, and bring him here as quick as you can." "And leave you here alone?" he asks incredulously, "Whoever did this to him might be waiting to finish the job!" "Who is that elf who lives nearby? The one you two have been traveling with?" "Merrill?" "Yes! Gamlen can go to her and ask her to fetch the healer. We don't have time to argue!"
"Now hold on!" Gamlen objects, but he's interrupted by a fit of coughing from the pathetic form on the floor. Leandra tries to lift her grown son, but can't quite manage. Carver jumps in to help and Leandra is able to slide behind him for support. She takes a handkerchief and wipes the fresh blood from his lips. His wet breathing worries her even more. Hawke's eyes open for a moment and make contact with his uncle's. Even Gamlen's selfish nature couldn't withstand their silent plea. Without another word, Gamlen hurried to the door and out into the night.
After he'd gone, Carver took a good look at his elder brother. His left shoulder was misshapen, obviously out of socket. There were bruises and scrapes all over his arms that looked suspiciously like boot marks. The skin on his hands was split open at the knuckles, which had bruises of their own. His face had continued to swell on one side, the normally sharp cheekbone all but disappearing underneath the darkest bruise Carver had ever seen. The wound on his head was still bleeding down the edge of his face and into his collar. His big brother who had always stood so strong, now lay as weak as a babe in his mother's arms.
"Carver, get a blanket please," Leandra softly interrupts Carver's reverie. A few tears hang in her eyes as she draws her wounded boy closer. He groans slightly, and Leandra plants a gentle kiss in his hair. His skin feels slightly chilled, the wet sounds in his breath continue to worry her. Carver returns with the blanket and lays it across them both. "He'll be alright. Mother. He's too stubborn to die." After that, they sat in silence.