Summary: Sister. Daughter. Friend. Lover. Champion. Mage. These are all things that Aisling Hawke, in no particular order, happens to be and could become in the years that follow after the exodus from Ferelden, her home, to the "free city" of Kirkwall in the Free Marches. There's only one slight problem: upon arriving, with her family, Aislingcalled "Ace" by her loved ones—was summarily forced into the Rite of Tranquility. Now a Tranquil, robbed of her emotions, her connection to the Fade, and a great deal of her sense of self, it is left to her siblings to tame mighty Kirkwall without her... or is it?


So, this is a fic that has been simmering on the back burner for ages. I have, quite possibly, had this thing on my mind for several years, yet I've never gotten around to writing it... until now. It will, hopefully, span across the entire game of Dragon Age II—from Act 1 to Act 3, with snippets of the intermediate times—and, quite possibly, some things said of Dragon Age: Inquisition. So, that being said, it will be quite long, as you can imagine, and will take quite a bit of time—most of my ideas seem to be large, sprawling things like that - so, please, do be patient with me!

Note: Any dates, calendar months, or holidays I might mention at any time in this story have been taken from the wiki, so aren't actually a creation of mine. There are no actual given dates of when Acts begin or end, though the game, coinciding with the Fifth Blight, does begin in 9:30 Dragon—again, no actual month—so this story begins somewhere in 9:31 Dragon, with some months of leeway given with passage from Gwaren to Kirkwall and other travel issues so, through Varric's narration, those dates can be estimated and extrapolated, but they're my guesses, not necessarily canon. It will essentially end—if I decide not to encroach upon Dragon Age: Inquisition and don't get caught up with other things - in 9:40 Dragon, one year before DAI and the destruction of the Conclave. So, yeah, I get ten-odd years to play with. What joy!

Note the Second: For reference, and for the sake of having it here, Thedas has a twelve month calendar, with those months having thirty days each, and have five universal holidays each year. The holidays happen on the first of each month on which they fall. There are two names for each month, the Tevinter Imperium's names for them and the "low", common names that the Southern nations use. I will be using the more common ones—besides, screw Latin! Those months are: Wintermarch, with the First Day holiday, Guardian with Wintersend, Drakonis, Cloudreach, Bloomingtide with Summerday, Justinian, Solace (*snort*), August with All Soul's Day, Kingsway, Harvestmere, Firstfall with Satinalla, and Haring.


Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own any of the characters from the Dragon Age franchise—that all goes to Bioware, EA, and Origin (whomever wants to claim responsibility for what I'm about to do to them, really). I would, however, like to say that if someone attempts to rip off this story and turn it out as their own, I am not afraid to say that I will curse you black and blue. Tevinter Magisters ain't got nothin' on me, son.


Carver is back.

He is sitting at the chair by the desk in my small chambers, fiddling with loose threads on his tunic. I note this and, as I walk through my door, that his sword is leaning against said desk without it's sheath and I ponder the ramifications of telling him to be more careful with my things. I decide against it, as the desk isn't even owned by me—it's the Chantry's – and I barely use it as it is. He is the only reason I have the chair by the desk at all, otherwise my room would be quite utilitarian—just like every other housing chamber in Kirkwall's Chantry.

He is my only visitor, as it is. It makes him comfortable, so it stays. He smiles at me, a sort of wavering twist of his lips, and I give him a much more placid variation in return as I cross the scant few feet to my bed to sit. Both are forced anyway.

"So," Carver starts, with a rough clearing of his throat as he fidgets more, looking down at his dirty boots. The silence drags on and I turn my face towards the single window in my room as nonchalantly as I can, averting my eyes so I can only see him in my periphery. The Chantry garden is out there, both medicinal herbs, shrubs and bushes, and the occasional fruit bearing tree. It is sunny and bright this morning, with a gentle breeze blowing the flowering plants, and a few birds frolicking in the few fountains. My room, some of the sisters and initiates whisper, has one of the best views in the Chantry. Too bad I can't actually appreciate it, they sneer afterward. "Our work with Athenril ended today."

Right, I think. The elven smugglers he and Bethany had been indentured to. The old me would have probably made a snarky remark about Gamlen and his debts having done at least something good for our family. Experience with the Undercity and it's ilk was useful. Instead, I simply glance back over with a raised eyebrow, "Oh?"

It works. Carver immediately begins to expand upon their new plan of action. Now that they're out from underneath the thumb, and protection, of Athenril's smuggling and racketeering business he and Bethany are essentially sitting ducks. Well, Bethany is, at least, being a mage in a city notorious for it's mage-hunting templars. Normally, if caught she would simply be dragged back into the Circle at The Gallows and kept under lock and key. Maybe solitary confinement or extra guards set up to watch her for any vulnerability or weakness. After me, though... well. One infraction in a family is one thing. Two, and hiding the fact? It wouldn't be pretty. Carver might be able to get out relatively unscathed, but Bethany would follow in my footsteps—or worse. Mother would never survive that.

Apparently, there is an expedition coming together to venture into the Deep Roads for...whatever they can find and isn't nailed down. Carver hopes to convince the organizer of the expedition, a dwarf merchant by the name of Bartrand Tethras, to allow him and our sister on as guards. It's not that bad of a plan, really, and it's not like I have any alternatives—the restitution gifted to them by the Chantry for my... injury is good enough to live off of but it won't get them out of Lowtown. Then again, there's no doubt that Gamlen won't manage to gamble or whore as much of the money as he can when he can so it's probably best that they have some sort of plan. The Deep Roads is full of lost riches and artifacts, so they're sure to find some things of value. They'll be paid well for it, even if it's only guarding the others.

I tell him this, in a voice that has very little inflection and with barely a blink of reaction to my, admittedly, blunt break down. Carver doesn't even scowl a bit and though there is a frown it's tinged with pain, not anger. The old Carver would have done his best to pick a fight from any number of my words, would have spat and scoffed and pouted resentfully at me from that chair. This one, though, merely sits there and listens before nodding sadly, eyes staring into the empty space beneath my bed before flickering up to my face and back. It would probably be disheartening, even depressing, to see this change in my little brother, had things been different. He catches my eyes on one of those glances, winces, and resolutely begins to babble to cover the silence.

"I think I'll go pick up Bethany from the market—did I mention she's gotten to know Elegant, who's now Lady Elegant, the little priss got herself married now, so she hangs out there at her potion's stall a lot, think she might be thinking of picking up the craft... Anyway, I'll be grabbing her after..after this and heading back up to the Dwarven Merchant's Guild office to talk with Bartrand. Think I should get it done before someone else snatches up the positions. Mother probably won't be happy about it, would probably say I should think more on it, but it's...it's a good opportunity. Can't let it go to waste." Carver coughs, seemingly uncomfortable now that he's done, and I turn to face him again. "Enough about me, though. How.. How've you been, sister?"

I give him a small smile, making sure to crinkle my eyes as I do it, and start in on about my week. It's the twelfth day of Cloudreach, a day away from the end of the second week, so I haven't actually been all that busy in the Chantry proper—next month, I mention, will be more busy with Summerday what with all the marriages that are likely to be performed, as well as the procession of young children that will be coming by to learn about the responsibilities of adulthood so I probably won't have much time for our visits—but I still do list the duties I've performed. Each day is relatively the same, what with being only a Cleric I mostly take care of things in the archives and the libraries, and helping out in the kitchens, keeping the upper levels orderly, or, rarely, helping with the orphans.

For not the first time, as I talk Carver has this pinched look on his face, as if he has something he wants to say. I could probably guess that it's something to do with my workload, which seems like quite time consuming and dull, but he says nothing, listening and silently nodding. Before, I would have said something along the lines of, "Of course it's dull. It's not like I could enjoy it if it wasn't or be bothered that it is," but that would be needlessly cruel, so I don't. Instead, I talk of the things I found in and around the pews, the things cooked in the kitchens that most pleasing to my palate, and the confessions I've heard in shadows alcoves of the upper levels. It eases the tension in his body, in the scrunched expression on his face, and I know that I have at least done something good with my day. It is silent for a while longer as we both look towards the window and watch the birds flutter about, alighting delicately on the edges of fountains and sipping from the rainwater gathered there.

"I think I'll be heading out now, sister. It's been...good seeing you." I stand as he does, nodding with that practiced smile of mine. He comes forward, reaching out and suddenly pulling me into a tight embrace which I return with the same strength, if not the same emotion. "I'll come back soon, to tell you about how things go, OK?"

"Please," I speak up, voice muffled in the padding of his tunic, breathing in the scent of home and family, knowing that if I could I would have teared up as there are small dog hairs tickling my nose from Herakles' last tackle of a greeting. Carver's chin is digging into the top of my head and I wonder when he grew taller than me, if it had been such a gradual thing or he shot up over night. "Whenever is most convenient for you, Carver. Tell mother and Bethany I said hello, though."

There is a choked noise above me, his grip tightens to an uncomfortable degree as he nods roughly, mussing up the neat bun of my hair, before he releases me. I waver a bit on my feet at the loss of his hold but Carver is already turned away, sheathing his sword, and hurriedly walking out of the room. From the sound of his breathing, he is probably holding back tears, and the noise of his footsteps disappears quickly. With steady hands, I reach up and untie my hair, noticing a figure coming up the corridor as I move to my desk to retrieve my brush.

From my periphery comes Sebastian, all soft smiles and big blue eyes, as he raises a hand to knock on the door. I nod at him to come in as I gather my hair and begin to brush it back into an orderly fashion. He waits as I do this, leaning against the threshold and staring out the window, such life and color in his eyes that I wonder what goes on behind them. Once I'm done, I find my chapeau, with it's crisp white veil, and move to put it on, but Sebastian quickly stays my hands.

"Sorry," He says, with his Starkhaven brogue and apologetic smile, "Just thought we could talk before we go about our duties; that thing goes on, and it means the day's already started."

Giving him my best facsimile of a wry smile, I drop my hands back down and simply hold the chapeau in my hands. A thought slides through my mind that it's good that Sebastian had caught me at this point in the day, as I have already put on the rest of my ensemble—robes, gloves, and boots—so he wouldn't end up embarrassing himself by finding me in my shift, but I don't voice it. "Good morning, Sebastian."

"Good morning to you too, lass, "He dimples at me, smiling widely and sitting at the same chair Carver just vacated. I sit at the chair actually meant to be used at the desk, hat dropping onto the relatively clean surface. "Another Friday, same old Carver. How'd the talk go?"

I shrug, quickly going over the encounter in my head. "Relatively well. He and my sister are contemplating getting in on an expedition into the Deep Roads some dwarves are setting up in Hightown, as guards of all things. Though, Bethany reportedly has made friends with an alchemist downtown, so she may pick up the craft and go into business at some point. Should that happen, Carver could always ask Aveline to put in a good word for him with the guards. Either one seems like a worthy venture for my siblings."

"Right you are, lass, right you are." Sebastian nods, hands on his knees, picking at his robes—they are much simpler than my own, and white where mine are black, and much less elaborate; essentially, the perfectly understated look for a brother of the Chantry.

"What about you, Sebastian? I recall you talking about how you haven't received letters from your family yet. They're running a bit late, yes?" Having gotten to know Sebastian quite well this past year, after the initial difficulties of court, one could probably call us friends. He certainly to believes so, and I don't disavow him of this notion—again, that would just be hurtful. I know all about his relationship with his family, Starkhaven's own ruling family, the Vaels, and the circumstances as to how he came to be within the Kirkwall Chantry. Like me, he also is somewhat in debt to Grand Cleric Elthina herself, though his is a much more amicable relationship—mine being something more like blackmail and immensely amounts of guilt.

Frowning, he shakes his head, "No, not a word. I don't want to worry about it, but something... something in my gut tells me there's something wrong." There is a tense, pensive moment as he glares at his knees and I try not to make the moment awkward. "I've decided that if I don't hear anything by midday, I'll head up to the Keep and petition to see the Viscount. I may be only a third son and a Chantry brother at that, but I'm still a Vael and they're my family so that should matter for something. A word, at least."

I nod, hoping that the expression I plaster on is reassuring once he looks up for it. I don't actually know much about Viscount Dumar himself, never met the man, but Aveline, being a Aveline Vallen of the city guard now, has been in relatively close proximity of him, what with the main barracks being in the Keep itself. He's supposedly a rather fair, level-headed individual, but essentially powerless in the face of Knight-Commander Meredith and her ilk—were I any different, I would have been boiling with rage at the thought of her name, but I'm not so I don't—so I don't actually hold out much hope for any real help for Sebastian. Then again I don't actually think that it's anything other than late mail or his family simply not caring enough to send anything in a timely manner - they've considered him a disgrace to their name thus far, it's a wonder they hadn't actually disowned him yet, though sequestering him within the Chantry with vows of chastity and abstinence would be the next best thing. At least he's no in the Starkhaven Chantry anymore.

My expression seems to bolster Sebastian and he nods resolutely back, a newly formed grin stretching across his, admittedly, gorgeous face—I can still recognize aesthetics, damn it—before he starts in anew. He rambles on a bit about his week so far, what with it nearing it's end, while even stopping to ask for my own experiences. While Sebastian actually deals with the people on a regular basis, though less so than actual Mothers and Sisters here or Elthina herself, I go out of my way—by both design and request—to avoid the masses. People find Tranquils to be unnerving and, in some cases, disgusting so it's in my best interest to skirt the edges of the day to day Chantric visitors. My robes themselves were merely an allowance to help me blend in, and the chapeau with added veil to conceal the "unsightly" brand upon my brow. It doesn't stop some of the more fanatical or prejudice Sisters, or even Mothers, disliking or spurning my company altogether, however, but it's not like it can actually hurt my feelings either way. It's not like I can get lonely, but that certainly doesn't seem to stop Sebastian from going out of his way to talking to me like this several times a day. I can't, honestly, tell if he sees something like kindred spirits in me—which would be bad—or if he honestly likes me—which would be worse.

Nevertheless, this goes on for several minutes, with Sebastian himself being his usual lively, if not stiflingly devout, self and supplying much of the chatter—he really is quite personable, enjoying dealing with the Chantric that do come into the cathedral and being quite skilled at it as well. Our conversation, like all things, had to end at some point,, though, and when there is a suitable stopping point. It, like all things, has to end and when there is a suitable stopping point, I do raise my hand to halt the on-coming babble. With a smile, I nod to Sebastian and fit my hat over my bun and drop the veil down, "The Sisters in the kitchen will be wroth with me if I'm any more late, Sebastian. We can take midday, though, and have our meal together. Afterward, if your letters still haven't arrived, when you return from the Keep you can help me organize the children's section of the library before day's end."

The pout that had grown from my first words soon disappears and Sebastian is beaming at me by the end to which he then bows quite formally, "Sounds like a splendid plan of action, dear Sister Hawke. We'd best be on our way then, yes?" He rises first, already sliding out the door and grasping the handle so as to close it behind us. Smiling my patented smile, I nod and head out after him, but not before closing the window and giving one last glance at the little birds on the fountain outside.

They fly away once I've closed the door, and the image of them disappearing into the sky stays with me hours later.


All right, I have to know... what did you think? It was good, right? Sorry nothing good happen and none of the other companions showed up, but I swear, it'll happen! But, look, Sebastian! He's a cute little puppy, yeah? So, yes, leave me a review/comment, telling me what you thoughtor if you caught any issues or typos or just if you have a question—and follow me to hear the rest. I honestly think this might come out quicker than my other ficsMaker knows those are coming along glacially slowbut I am getting a new job this week, so, it might not.

~Ash