A/N: Originally posted on AO3. I should not be allowed to post stories when I have too many I'm already working on that haven't been updated . . . shame, shame on MFJ.
Bethany Hawke had always made a habit of picking plants wherever she went. She wasn't sure where she picked up this habit, but she blamed it on her father Malcolm. He knew how to make any potion humanly possible. And elvenly possible and dwarvenly possible too, she was sure. He had made a prudent point of taking plant samples wherever they went and wherever they traveled. He taught her what plants were dangerous to eat and what ones weren't, and what ones were just for looking at. She knew all the possible environments and places where elfroot could grow in any given area and had a knack for always knowing where to find it; a valuable skill to have with the kind of life that she and her family lived.
She wasn't a master herbalist like her father, though. Malcolm Hawke had tried to teach her how to make simple poultices and potions several times with varying amounts of success, but it never quite stuck. More often than not her attempts exploded in her face, like that one time – well, her older brother would be able to tell you the story better. She was unconscious for most of it. Bethany didn't really like collecting herbs like her father, though, she just liked collecting flowers; everywhere she went, her father went around finding ingredients and she went flower-picking. This wasn't her father's fault, but her mother's. Leandra Hawke loved flowers, especially daffodils and lilies. Her absolute favorite was jasmine, but that never seemed to grow in the places they went these days. Mother always liked the color yellow; said it was pleasant reminder for her, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the ponderous overcast skies. As for Bethany's favorites, she wasn't a fan of the big showy flowers and was rather partial to Dame's Rockets, catchflies, and snapdragons. Although she did secretly adore orchids. And roses were rather nice, too.
Even if the plants Bethany picked never really had any practical or medical purpose, it was just pure habit by this point. She never even kept the half of them. Sometimes she would press them into books she was reading and use them as bookmarks. Most of the time she would just forget that they were in her books and discover them, dried out and wretched several years later and wonder what in the world she'd been thinking back then. She did it anyway, though, and though she could never pinpoint why she continued to do it, the hobby passed the time while her family was on the road.
You see, Bethany Hawke was an apostate. So was her father. Her mother, elder brother, and twin brother were not and she wasn't certain that they hadn't gotten the better part of the bargain. Her father always insisted that Bethany's talent for magic was a wonderful gift, but so far she hadn't seen her magic do anything but inspire fear and bring her family copious amounts of misery. Because of her and her father's magic, they'd never been able to live by their means. Or out in the open. Or in the general vicinity of anything remotely resembling intelligent life, really. Ferelden may have been a free country but it treated apostates just like everyone else (except for Tevinter, maybe, but Bethany certainly didn't want to go to a place where something like slavery was not only legal but encouraged!). Her father said that magic was a gift of the Maker, though, and the only reason that they'd have to hide is because of man. It was mankind's fault, that they treated and squandered one of the greatest natural forces in the world – magic – the way they did, and didn't give it the proper respect; they confined it to Circles where it would stagnate instead of letting it flourish in the world like it was meant to.
Mages were hardly considered human; Bethany knew how it felt to be looked down upon as something less than human, to be fixed with a look that should be reserved for vermin and insects. She'd seen the looks on people's faces when they discovered what she was. It wasn't something she'd wish on anyone. It almost made her wish she hadn't been born this way, but she didn't; she believed her father when he taught her that it wasn't her fault, it was mankind's fault. Because no one, Malcolm always said, was born to suffer and die, and no one was meant to be punished simply because of what they were. Not every mage was a blood mage, but mankind didn't like making that distinction, he said; mages weren't meant to be this way, he said. We're supposed to be free. She'd often asked him when she was younger why they weren't. He never really had an answer, he just got this very sad and lost look on his face and told her that it was baby steps. One step at a time. Or, a foot in the door. It would take time, to make it all better, but one day, it would be better – that was a promise.
Bethany wished she believed that, but it's very hard to. She'd been taught by her father that the Maker wasn't what the Chantry had said (because no benevolent deity would abandon their children so) but the Chantry had said that because of mankind's folly when they persecuted his Bride, he'd deemed everyone unworthy. And from the looks of things, she wasn't sure that they were wrong. Bethany had seen some things that didn't look like they'd been designed by a benevolent deity like the one her father described, including blood magic and abominations. She'd never seen them in person, of course, but knew they were possible. She didn't like to dwell on it too much. Dwelling just brought room for doubt. Still, food for thought on the long roads: Bethany reasoned that maybe no one was right about the Maker since no one could seem to agree on what he was, and she was more or less willing to accept this. It didn't affect her much one way or the other.
Ho-hum.
She and her family (and their dog) were walking along the Imperial Highway. Two days ago they'd been attacked by bandits who didn't know what they were messing with: a powerful apostate, his irritated and travel-worn wife and their three children aged fifteen to eighteen – one of whom could cast a very mean fireball (she liked fire spells) and the other two who'd been playing with swords since they were old enough to handle one. Not to mention one very defensive mabari warhound named Chomper. Bethany almost felt bad for the bandits. Almost. Currently, her mother and father were discussing things in hushed tones. She didn't have to eavesdrop to know that they were talking about her. Whenever they got hushed, they were always talking about magic and evil templars and the Circle and apostates and such. She didn't like listening in on those conversations anyway. They never ended well.
She was walking next to her twin brother Carver, and they shared one of those looks, the ones that only twins share. They could sometimes read each other's minds. It wasn't magic, it was just instinct. Parents, Carver was scoffing silently as he rolled his eyes at her. What a joke. Bethany rolls her eyes and silently admonishes him. You shouldn't talk about them that way. You shouldn't be so quick to defend them, he tells her with his eyes. Bethany rolls her eyes again. I'm not, she says, but I just… Bethany frowns. I don't like it when they argue, Carver. Neither do I, he silently agrees.
Their imaginary conversation comes to an abrupt end when their older brother Sean, who is walking silently in front of them mutters back to them, "I can hear you two thinking all the way from up here, you know."
"Oh?" Bethany smiles. "Are you a mind-reader, brother?"
"Hardly. I just know the only way an older brother knows, you know?"
"Um, no?"
Sean grins. "Exactly."
Carver scratches his head. "You never make sense, Sean."
Her older brother sighs and likewise scratches his head. "Yeah. I know. None of you lot appreciate my genius."
They walk in silence for some great distance and Mother and Father eventually stop their whispering-argument. Bethany is glad. She hates it when they argue. She thinks Carver can sense her relief. Her mood definitely perks up when she spots a bit of Columbine along the road and snatches them. Sean rolls his eyes at her habit like he always does, and her parents merely smile. She reaches down and pets Sean's mabari, who pants in delight.
Before long they were in a new place. It was different from the old place. They never stayed in one place very long.
"This place is different," father informs. "Lothering's quiet. Chantry isn't as observant. Not as many templars. We should be able to stay here for a long time."
"I hope so," Sean says darkly.
Carver shrugs. "Well, it can't be any worse than Gwaren, can it?"
Bethany remembers Gwaren. She had liked it there, but her brothers hadn't. The Chantry there was a place of peace as well as dread for Bethany; sometimes, when she had been left to her own devices, she would go down to the Chantry in Gwaren and talk to the lay sisters. They never suspected anything, but her father had been furious. She never understood why he was so angry, since he was the one who taught her to hide her abilities as a mage and he was a very good teacher. The best place to hide is in plain sight, he sometimes said, but don't ever go out of your way to be obvious. She eventually reasoned that it was just something that parents do, they worry unnecessarily, even when you have things under control and you know what you're doing. Malcolm had told his daughter that even if she thought she knew what she was doing, she wasn't, because she was a teenager, and that meant she couldn't do anything without supervision. That had just made her mad. Bethany frowned and pouted and eventually her father relented. Be careful, was all he said. It was all the advice she needed. I'm always careful, she told him. You shouldn't worry so much. We're going to be fine.
Bethany wasn't sure why father thought Lothering was different. He had always made a point of mentioning that they couldn't ever stay in one place very long, but even with the lax Chantry influence in Lothering, it couldn't be that different… could it? It certainly didn't look that different.
Either way, as soon as she they arrived, Bethany went about the Ritual almost immediately. She had a very good memory, good for memorizing people and names and faces, even if it came at the cost of being directionally challenged. (Carver always teased her about the one time they had let Bethany carry the map and they'd ended up criminally lost in the Bannorn. They were trying to get to Highever and somehow ended up in Rainesfere, which was about the exact opposite of where they wanted to be. Mother just couldn't stop laughing. Bethany'd been so humiliated and had blamed it on the map, of course. I mean, who wrote it? What sadistic cartographer made it so hard to read? It should've been simpler!) Regardless, as soon as they arrived in Lothering, Bethany, Carver, Sean, and Chomper went to the Chantry.
It seemed like the opposite of what they were meant to do; Bethany always felt a bit uncomfortable within any distance of any Chantry, regardless of how nice the people were that worked there or whatever. It comes with being an apostate; the Chantry teaches that apostates, i.e. mages that live outside of the Circle of Magi, are to be punished for their crime of not living in the Circle and should be avoided at all costs because they are evil, evil, evil. Er, well, more or less. It wasn't really that bad, Bethany was sure, but that was just the impression she sometimes got. More importantly, though, the Chantry was home to the templars.
The templars were everything that Bethany feared. She couldn't help it. Even their strange helmets were unsettling. Their combination of robes and armor weren't just enough; they had to possess the ability to strip any mage in sight of all mana in the blink of an eye. And she'd also heard very frightening stories (she didn't really believe they were true but she had nightmares nonetheless) about the horrifying ways they treated apostates when they found them and the terrible things they did to blood mages. She was no blood mage, but she was absolutely terrified of the templars. Their abilities to strip mana just weren't enough, she thought darkly. Bethany didn't know how they did it, and father had tried to explain it once but had failed; all she knew was that the templars could almost literally smell magic from a mile away and that was bad. But Bethany knew how to be careful, and Carver knew how to brawl, and Sean knew how to lie them all out of just about anything they couldn't avoid or punch their way out of. She felt as safe as she could be when setting foot into the Lothering Chantry for the first time.
It was smaller than she'd thought. It smelled of incense. And it was full of templars.
But, not as many as she'd thought there would be. Most of them had helmets on, but the ones that didn't she quickly scanned and committed faces to memory. In the event of running into them when they weren't in their armor, she had to be prepared. It was the tradition in the family, wherever they went, that someone would take Bethany down to the Chantry so she could get a good look at the templars.
Bethany took a deep breath and looked up to her older brother. He looked down at her and nodded, nudging her. You can do this, he said silently. She looked to Carver. He just smirked and said silently, good luck. Jerk, she thought back at him and reached for his hand. He gripped it tightly and they tried their best to look as inconspicuous as a young apostate and her brothers and their dog could be.
The three of them went about the Chantry for a good hour before Bethany had had enough. She pretended to pray, they milled about, speaking to the sisters or explaining that they were new in town and didn't know a soul (no one was surprised to see strangers as Lothering was a hub of travelers, despite its small size) and one of her brothers made sure to stay at her side at all times, just in case. Be prepared for every eventuality, Malcolm Hawke had taught them. He taught them well.
Bethany had got the chance to speak to the grand cleric. She couldn't remember the grand cleric's name. She and Carver afterward shared a brief joke about how Bethany should've been struck by lightning just by entering the grand cleric's office alone. Bethany also met a few of the lay sisters. One of them, a faintly Orlesian woman, was very friendly and told her all about Lothering. She apparently was new to Lothering as well. For some reason or another, she made Sean very nervous. Carver liked her well enough. Bethany had asked subtly just how many templars they had here in Lothering. The red-haired Orlesian woman laughed and said 'plenty.'
Overall Bethany gathered the names of only four templars that she had seen in the Chantry without their helmets and knew the faces of five others. One of them was the Knight-Commander of that branch of the Chantry, even – Ser Bryant, he was. And there was one named Ser Maron, and one named Ser Reginald, and another named Ser Kiernan.
All in all, it had been a productive day. Their father had been pleased. Bethany promised that she'd go back tomorrow and learn more. You have to know exactly who and what to avoid in order to get any good at avoiding, her mother said. Bethany agreed wholeheartedly. Know your target better than they know you.
Their parents had acquired lodging for the next few nights at the tavern slash Inn, called Dane's Refuge. It never ceased to amaze Bethany how little people noticed her family when they were passing through. To her, it had always seemed as if the words "I AM AN APOSTATE" may as well be tattooed on her forehead. To her, it was obvious. It was always fascinating at how little people paid attention or even cared about the Hawkes, especially Bethany and her father, and when she thought about it more it was kind of frightening that everyone didn't notice she and her father were mages. Not that she wanted them to notice by any means, oh no, no, no, but still.
"What do you think the people here would do if they found out I'm an apostate?" She whispered to Carver as they began trudging to their rooms at the Dane's Refuge. Chomper growled at her question, although he might have just been growling at a nearby cat he saw. Bethany could never be sure with the dog.
Carver just snorted. "What do you think?"
Bethany pouted. "You're so surly, you know that?"
"No, I'm tired."
Sean snickered from behind them. He reached down and patted Chomper out of habit and the dog looked up at his master in undisguised delight. "They'd probably crucify you and father if they knew."
Bethany nodded and smiled. "Probably. Guess I shouldn't go around chucking fireballs?"
"That would be a no."
She sighed. "It's strange, to think people would turn on us… just for what we are."
"And unfair," Carver added darkly.
"Yes," she agreed, "and unfair. I know they're only afraid, but if only they knew that…"
"That what?"
Sean picked up her train of thought: "that's there's nothing to be afraid of? Bethany wouldn't hurt a fly. Mosquitoes, yes, but flies, no."
Bethany grimaced. "Mosquitoes are awful."
"She'll certainly incinerate those little bastards, but not flies or pretty flowers or bunnies or kittens. Our little sister is a good apostate!" Sean grinned and made to pat Bethany on the head but she swatted his hand away.
Her face scrunched up in thought. "I'm not sure the templars believe in good apostates."
"They're scared of her because they don't know better," Carver snapped. "They should, but they don't. They're all closed-minded bastards." Sean opened his mouth to argue but apparently thought better of it and just shook his head.
Bethany frowned, deep in thought. "Well, no point in dwelling on it." She shrugged and headed towards their given room. She was still in deep thought by the time they began unpacking.
"Hey, Bethany," Sean said suddenly, startling her out of her reverie. She looked up at him curiously. "Just a question, nothing serious but… have you ever thought about blood magic?"
She blinked, startled even more at the question. Carver was staring at their older brother like he'd grown a second head. "Er, I suppose so. I mean, I have thought about it."
"Bethany!" Carver cried out.
"I'm not saying I ever considered learning it," she corrected quickly, "but I've thought about it. Thinking about something is a far cry from giving into it."
Sean nodded in understanding. "I've just… always wondered what drove mages to it."
"Father says blood magic can control people, distort their minds, make them do terrible things. I certainly wouldn't ever want that. I have enough problems with my magic as it is right now, I don't need more power. Wouldn't it just make me a bigger target?"
"I don't know, a little extra kick would be something," Sean smirked, "but we wouldn't want you to suddenly morph into a monster and have to be put down by the templars."
"Definitely not," she emphatically agreed and went back to unpacking, the conversation apparently over and Sean's curiosity satisfied. Her brothers were strange, she mused contentedly.
The idea was that Bethany's family would stay at the Dane's Refuge for as long as necessary until Leandra and Malcolm managed to find a more permanent residence. The very next day when Bethany and Sean went to the Chantry to go about templar-memorizing again, Carver and her parents would go house-hunting.
Four new names with faces were added to Bethany's mental list: Ricard, Simon, Lambert, and Antoine. The friendly Orlesian lay sister they'd encountered the day before was named Leliana, and she had been quite helpful. There were two other sisters Bethany found out the names of – Ardalace and Yvette. She also knew the name of the Chanter that stood outside the Chantry doors most days, next to the Chantry Board – Chanter Devons. Bethany was reasonably certain that they weren't very many people left in the Lothering Chantry (it was a very small town, remember) that she didn't either recognize or know the name of. It was a relief for her, to put a name and face to her fears. She always felt less like there was a sign above her head that read "PLEASE TURN IN THIS APOSTATE TO THE NEAREST CIRCLE" when she knew what was going on around her. Even Sean was picking up a bit on her confidence, which was definitely reassuring. Her brother may only have been eighteen but he was by far the best swordsman she'd ever seen (even better than Carver, although she'd never say so to Carver's face – he'd never forgive her for it) and so it was very comforting to have Sean Hawke at her back.
"Well, brother," she said, looking back up at him. "I think we're done here for the day."
"Good job," he grinned. "Took you long enough though. I won't be sorry to see the back end of this place – you know how nervous Chantries make me." She rolled her eyes.
The two went the long way through town and looked at some of the shops. Lothering had few. Window-shopping only, of course, but it was good to get a feel for the town. It was a peaceful sort of place. It wasn't pretty by any means, but according to Sister Leliana it was a place of contemplation, the kind of place where you could stop and take a breath for as long as you like. It was a place of rest.
Rest.
That was really the only word Bethany needed to hear. She was only fifteen but she was so very, very tired of running. She'd been running her whole life from the Chantry and its villainous templars. She didn't hate them for chasing her – she understood that to their perspective, she was just as evil as she thought they were. It wasn't a comforting thought. Sometimes she wished she could just be like Carver and have everything be black and white and simple. She didn't want to understand her enemies, she just wanted them gone, or to be gone from them. She couldn't out run them forever, either.
She sighed. "What?" Sean asked, concernedly.
"Oh," she sighed again. "Nothing. Hope mum and dad were right about this place. I'd like to stay here. It's not bad. A little gloomy maybe, but peaceful."
"Tch, better than Gwaren."
"I didn't think it was that bad."
"It was too."
"No it wasn't," she countered impetuously, "it wasn't bad at all. It would've been almost fine, if not for that one incident, and if not you and Carver hadn't—"
Sean cut her off quickly, "yeahletsnotgetintothat. Let's just, er, get back to the Inn. And you're right. Gwaren was just fantastic. Full of… nice, great people, and fortunately stupid templars."
Bethany laughed at this. "True, what with the flaming barrels."
Sean laughed too. "Yes, how could I forget—I was there, remember? Right in front of Ser whatshisname. Rochefort or whatever."
"Don't think I've ever been so scared in my life," she admitted.
"Me neither," Sean said quite seriously. "I nearly had a heart attack and father was practically apoplectic – not to mention Carver's reaction."
"Don't remind me," she murmured darkly.
"But seriously enough," Sean continued, "Mum's a genius. Can't believe she managed to talk us out of that – although I suppose it wasn't hard after the explosion. Explosions can be pretty distracting."
"Ugh, Dad wouldn't let me out of the house for weeks. I was miserable. And with Carver. He wouldn't stop teasing me about it for months after, even. You weren't there for that, so don't say I'm exaggerating – it was just awful. Worse than when he nailed my pigtails to the bed!"
"I bet. Wait, you remember the pigtails?" Sean blinked. "That was … when you were six, wasn't it?"
"I remember everything," she said breezily. As they were heading back to the Inn a thought struck Bethany. "Hey, why did you ask me about blood magic yesterday anyway?"
Sean shrugged and kicked at the stone of the bridge beneath them as they crossed over the creek that led back to the tavern slash Inn. "I said I was just curious. Father's gone off about it often enough, about how anyone who does it has no excuse, that it's the 'point of no return' and whatnot, because it's evil or wrong, blah, blah, ranting, blah. The thing is, though, I've never seen it so I wouldn't be able to say for myself whether or not it's evil."
"You… don't think blood magic is evil?" Bethany said quietly, darting suspicious glances around to make sure no one was listening.
Sean frowned at this. "No, I suppose not. It's not like blood magic itself controls you, is it? It's all in the mage. I think some people are evil, blood mages or no. Then again... well, I just think you need to see something in action or practice yourself in order to really judge it. Father probably has probably seen plenty to know what he's talking about, but I certainly haven't. I was just curious as to your opinion. You've never talked about it, really."
Bethany looked down at the ground. "For me, it's not even a matter of whether or not it's evil. I mean, it probably, definitely is, but that's not what matters. People hate it anyway. It'll always be a stigma."
Sean caught up on her line of thought again – he was good at that, he and Carver both. "Everybody does hate maleficarum, this is true. Well, not everyone, I'm sure, but the vast majority of people seem to. I suppose 'good' and 'evil' wouldn't matter much, even if you were using blood magic for the right reasons – people will react the same way, by running away in terror and, if they're templars, with stabbity death."
"And cackling while they do the stabbing," Bethany had to add.
"Yes, cackling, don't forget the cackling."
Bethany sighed again. "I'm not sure there are right reasons for using blood magic, brother."
"Oh," he sighed, staring up at the blue sky, "I don't know. I could see it. Protecting a loved one, that would be a good reason."
Bethany thought about this. "I suppose if we were attacked by bandits or something and you all somehow managed to become incapacitated… and they attacked Mother… I would do it. I would… use blood magic. But not because I'd want to."
"Oh, definitely not. But if you had no choice? If they forced your hand?"
"Well, maybe. I don't know. I don't know anything about it, I mean, um, blood magic, except that it comes from demons. Only place you can learn it, I think. I-I-I'd have to, um, make a deal with . . . And anyway, we should probably stop talking about this," she dropped to a whisper, "'cause people will overhear us in the Inn. Which will lead to Ser Lambert knocking at the door."
Sean rolled his eyes and opened the door to the Dane's Refuge for the both of them. "Pfft. Lambert… what a dumb name. Do you think his parents hated him?"
"I don't think they would've named him Lambert and given him to the Chantry if they didn't hate him," Bethany told him, dripping with sarcasm, but smiling nonetheless. Sean smirked briefly and the two left to see if Carver or their parents had gotten back yet.
Malcolm and Leandra managed to find a house. It took some searching but it was there. Cost them nearly all the money they'd managed to save, but Bethany was beyond ecstatic. A house! A real one! They'd get to live normally. Well, if Father was right and if they could stay under the radar. They'd have to live far beneath their means but Bethany didn't care much. She could go and do normal things, like maybe wear dresses and cook and clean and find daffodils to pick for Mother.
Mother was happy. Bethany was surprised at how happy her mother was, all things considering. Her mother had been a noble by the name of Amell before she'd run away from Kirkwall with her father. Bethany had always wondered what it would have been like, in Kirkwall, or in a noble's household. Mother sometimes told her stories about her youth, but she always cut them short and ended up with a very sad look on her face. As fascinated as Bethany was by her mother's side of the family, she didn't want to bring up bad blood or memories (as seemed to be the case with her mother) and let it rest. She focused on being content with their new home. It didn't stop her from daydreaming, though, about what would have happened to the little girl she could've been in Kirkwall, in silk dresses in bright colors and satin gowns, hundreds of ribbons and… decent meals every day… then again, she still would be a mage, she reasoned bitterly, so she would've just ended up in the Circle. She knew enough about the Circle from her father to know that it wasn't a place that she wanted to be.
And yet…
Sometimes, but never aloud, and only to herself during quiet nights… she'd wonder.
Wonder if it would be so terrible to be surrounded by other mages, her peers, to sit around and hone her gift all day. Sometimes she'd think it wouldn't be bad at all, maybe it would be okay to do as Andraste commanded, and that maybe father was exaggerating… but then she remembered that all of the Circle's activities would be done under the watchful gaze of the templars, who sat around waiting to strike at the exact moment a mage looked even remotely rebellious. She wouldn't be able to live like that. But then again, if she'd always been living in a Tower full of mages and their guardian monkey-helmeted templars, she probably wouldn't even know different. It wouldn't be so terrible.
But she wasn't a Circle mage, she was an apostate, and she wasn't sorry about her state for one second. Those little renegade thoughts about how her mother had given up so much for her father, and her brothers had given up so much for Bethany, and how the family as a whole had suffered because of her and her father's gifts… they weren't very common thoughts. Still, they were there, and they tended to crop up the more time they spent in Lothering.
Well. At least Chomper was happy. He liked to run around the outskirts of Lothering in the farm fields and bring back random rodents he'd killed for the family. Sean thought it was adorable, but Bethany thought it was kind of gross. Still, at least the mabari was happy enough, and there were plenty of bones to chew on and bury in the ground.
Carver got antsy after a month. It was normal for him to get antsy. Bethany was usually able to balance him out but he kept getting nervous about the templars and all but hissed at the merest mention of magic around the dinner table. Eventually, he and Sean had it out and by the end of it, Carver was irritated but subdued and Sean was just plain irritated. Brothers, Bethany thought sulkily. Were they like this all over Thedas?
The Hawkes had never stayed in one place for too long. Six months was the longest Bethany ever remembered being in one place. One didn't make friends or ties because that just made the leaving harder. But Malcolm insisted that they were going to stay in Lothering and make it a home. It was worth it to at least try.
Bethany wasn't sure how to try. The lack of permanency in their lives made all three of the siblings unsure of how to continue. The town had acclimatized to them a bit, even. It was the strangest thing to see someone recognize them outdoors. Especially in the Chantry. Or at the Inn. People would wave and smile in familiarity, not contempt or fear. Bethany was just unsure of how to even go about making acquaintances, so she did the only thing she could do – she asked her mother for advice, and then went to the Chantry for more advice. The Chantry may have been the bane of her existence as an apostate, but they weren't all bad. Just the templar part of them was bad. She found that she rather liked Sisters Leliana and Ardalace and discovered that really, none of the sisters in the Chantry had always been sisters and were a bit more worldly than they let on. Leliana didn't say much about her life but she dropped some hints that Bethany eagerly caught on to.
Gradually, as the months went on, she started to get to know their neighbors. One of them had a daughter her age. It was all Bethany could do not to shout from the rooftops, "I AM A MAGE AND MAKING FRIENDS, HEAR ME ROAR," but at least Carver got a laugh out of it when she told him. Although the neighbor's girl was a lot more, er, moody than Bethany was. It was a bit strange. She was a bit strange. Her name was Melissa, and she had short blond hair and the darkest eyes Bethany had ever seen. Melissa was always angry at something and reminded Bethany more than a little of Carver, which made her laugh. Carver was always mad at something. It's what made Carver Carver, and what made Melissa Melissa.
Her brothers took a bit longer than Bethany did to acclimatize, so to speak. To her knowledge, Sean hadn't set one foot in the Chantry since he had helped her go about her templar-memorizing those months ago. She thought it a bit funny that her elder brother, the backbone of steel, the best fighter she knew, had this strange, unconditional fear of the Chantry. She had more reason than he to be afraid of it and yet he avoided it like the plague, whereas she made a bit of a point to at least go there once a week, if not to check for any new templars than to chat with the sisters.
At least Leandra Hawke approved of it. Her father didn't have to like it, Bethany making rounds to the Chantry, but he trusted her enough not to accidentally give away their secret. Mother gave her all sorts of pointers on how to go about being friendly and meet new people. Strange, how those things were so foreign…
Mother was happier than Bethany had ever seen her. Happier than Chomper, even. She'd fit in with the people of Lothering quite nicely. Lothering wasn't a pretty town but it had its charms, and more importantly it was home. It was a small town and everyone knew each other and greeted each other in the streets. Bethany couldn't help but smile when mother went off to chat with some local lady during her day-to-day.
Livelihood was the biggest problem in Lothering. Luckily, father took care of most of it – his vast knowledge of herbalism and alchemy was finally useful for more than attempting to teach Bethany the rudiments of making a salve (it never worked out and Bethany had stopped trying a year ago). The people of Lothering were grateful to have someone of his skills around and didn't question much. Bethany was amazed when it turned out how right father was, about this incurious little town.
The Hawkes seemed to fit in just about perfectly. Sean even eventually got a job and found his niche as the apprentice of a local blacksmith. It never seemed to really interest him much but he joked that it at least kept him in shape. Bethany studied magic with her father at night in private and helped mother during the days and in public. Carver foundered, and his sister worried, much to his annoyance. Carver always had a difficulty fitting in. He always blamed it on Sean and being stuck in his big brother's fat shadow, but Carver never really went out of his way to get out of that shadow. Bethany knew him better than anyone else, though, and knew it didn't mean much. She was his twin, after all. If she didn't know when to take him seriously and when to not than she wouldn't be a very good twin sister, would she? Carver was never really happy with their place in Lothering but she knew that at heart he was grateful to finally have a place to sit down and rest for a while. To finally have a place they could really call home. He was restless, but not too restless. Neither upset nor content.
Everything was peaceful. Everything was fine. Everything was quiet for the first time in Bethany's life. Lothering wasn't anywhere near perfect but it was home, and that was all that mattered. The longer they stayed, the more attached she got. They didn't live in the main town even, just on the outskirts, but they were still a part of the community, a part of the whole and belonged – and that sense of belonging had been something Bethany had wanted and dreamt of her whole life. It shouldn't have been possible because of her and her father's apostate status, but that didn't matter. They were finally in a place that was called home. That was all that mattered.
It wasn't fair or right that it could have been taken away so fast. It was a page straight out of one of her many nightmares.
Her family didn't like leaving Bethany alone. Someone was always there, whether it was Sean or Carver or her father or Chomper or her mother. She was always guarded. It had been this way even before the minor incident in Gwaren – not just because she was the apostate, but because she was the darling little girl. She didn't like it, really, but she didn't have reason to complain. At least she was never lonely and always around family, always around those she loved and those that loved her in turn. Still, it was a bit irritating.
She was with Chomper, walking through the outskirts of Lothering and towards the Imperial Road. She never went too far, usually sticking to the woods outside of town and idly, pensively strolling along. It was a bright and sunny day, the sky was a radiant azure with virtually no clouds at all. It was the end of summer and the roses were just beginning to bloom. She'd been by the Chantry earlier to see them. Wild roses weren't as pretty but she liked them all the same.
Bethany's fondness for 'weed-picking,' as Carver called it, had led her to memorize virtually every type of wildflower or plant that grew near Lothering. She didn't like many of the flowers around, though. The outskirts were covered with yarrow and lavender. The smell was wonderful but they weren't her favorites. She looked around for anything yellow besides golden yarrow to bring back to mother but was disappointed to find nothing nearby. Oh well.
"Hey, Chomper," she murmured, scratching the mabari's ears. The dog perked up. She liked Chomper. She was pretty sure that Chomper liked her, even if she wasn't his master and he was only with her because Sean ordered him to (the mabari had only imprinted on Sean). "See anything fun to do?"
The dog huffed in boredom. "I know the feeling," Bethany sympathized.
It was sad, but Bethany was bored. Mother was off chatting with one of her friends, Carver was doing… something with Barlin, she didn't know, and her father and Sean were working. Bethany w0uld never admit it to anyone but sometimes she felt like a third wheel. Her family had spent all of her life protecting her secret and she didn't know any way to make it easier except by hiding her magic as best she could. Sometimes she was jealous of other people, leading simpler lives without the secret of magic hanging over their heads like a suspended… anvil or something. And there was always the chance that at any second that anvil could come crashing down and her secret would be out and everything would be ruined. Again.
But there was no other option. It was this or the noose. Or the Circle. Or Tranquility, which was the worst possible thing that could happen. She'd rather get beaten at the hands of the templars and live in misery than become Tranquil. Her most frequently occurring nightmare was being made tranquil. To be unable to feel, or dream, or…
She shuddered and scratched Chomper some more. He panted happily.
"Lucky dog," she sighed idly. "You don't have to worry about mean men in skirts and armor knocking at your door. You just bite people on the rump."
Chomper looked up at her, head cocked and gave a sad little whine. "No, I'm fine, Chomper," she assured the dog, who looked vaguely relieved (or constipated… she wasn't well-versed in doggy facial expressions). "Just bored."
It wasn't long before something came along and relieved that boredom.
There she was, passing the time, second by second, lost in thought, when everything came to an abrupt halt – a piercing scream ripped through the air, high pitched and panicked. Bethany tensed, standing ramrod straight. Chomper growled and started barking.
A few seconds, and then another scream. Chomper howled. "That sounds like a child!" Bethany cried and Chomper tugged at her skirt. "Quick, find it, boy."
Chomper charged off with Bethany in tow. She tripped over rows of plants and irregular ground following the warhound father and farther away from Lothering and towards the woods. Another scream shot through the air, this one louder than the other two but shorter, and Bethany began to panic. She took a page out of her brothers' books and started cursing under her breath.
It was over a small hill and right on the edge of the woods where she found it – a small boy, facing down two very hungry and rabid looking wolves. Bethany didn't take the time to question the scene (what was this child doing out here?! And wolves?!) – she didn't think at all. It was a knee-jerk reaction. She stretched her hand forth and out came an explosion of fire, incinerating the two animals threatening the child. Chomper howled and darted forth into the woods, chasing something only he could see – another wild animal, no doubt.
Bethany, unthinking, ran down the green knoll towards the small boy and placed herself in front of him, scanning the area for any more threats, instinctually winding up a bit of mana in case she needed another spell.
The wolves were scorched and very, very dead. Seeing no other threats, no sudden movements out of the corner of her eye, she turned to the boy….
And then cursed her head off. Or rather she would've if she hadn't been overcome with ice-cold terror.
"I-I-I-" she stammered at the small child's wide-eyed stare. "I…" All the excuses she could think of died on her tongue. "No…"
"The-the-that was…" the boy was just as confused as she was. Bethany felt her blood run cold. She had used magic. Magic. In front of a little boy.
Instead of reacting like she expected the little boy to, though, he gasped in delight. "That was awesome!"
"Wh-what?"
"Was that magic?" He jumped up and down, blue eyes shining in admiration, red hair bouncing. She stared at the boy, scared out of her wits.
"N-no, no it wasn't," she rushed. "It wasn't magic, it was a combustion grenade. A combustion grenade!"
"A what? A comby-what? I've never seen magic before! Do it again!"
"No," she snapped and grabbed the child's hand, bringing him in close, shaking him and panicking out of her wits. "Listen, you shouldn't be out here, your parents could be so worried!"
But he wouldn't drop the subject – "WOW! REAL MAGIC!" He cried.
"Shhhhh!" She urged. "No, it wasn't magic! You're seeing things!" Oh Maker, I'm doomed, I've doomed us all…
"I heard mages were really scary," the boy whispered confidentially, "but you saved me! And you're not scary at all! You're really pretty. You don't even have horns. Real magic! Wow!"
"It wasn't magic!" She hissed. Horns? Who told him mages have horns? Oh no, oh Maker… "Listen, you shouldn't tell anyone you saw that. Ever, ever, ever. It wasn't magic. Yes, I killed them, but it was… uh…" She tried to remember what she'd said earlier. "It was a combustion… thing. Grenade. It wasn't…a fireball. It wasn't at all." Bethany felt a tug on her sleeve and noted Chomper at her side, whining plaintively. His muzzle was bloody, but he was unharmed. Chomper looked at the wide-eyed child they'd rescued and whimpered.
This little boy could destroy everything, Bethany thought darkly, not relishing the thought at all. He needs to understand…
The little boy frowned. "So it wasn't magic?"
She sighed in relief, even though she wasn't very relieved at all. "No. It wasn't. You shouldn't tell anyone that it was magic, or… or we'll all be in very big trouble. Do you understand?" Chomper whined and whimpered pathetically for emphasis.
"Well… okay, miss mage, it wasn't magic."
Bethany slapped her forehead in despair and grabbed the little redheaded boy's clammy little hand. "What's your name? Where do you live?" She asked, hoping that he would forget all about this – hoping and praying, because things could go very badly if he didn't.
"Me? Me—I'm Eric, and I'm, uh, six!" He said, holding his hands up and counting incorrectly. It would've been adorable if Bethany weren't in a coldblooded terror at the moment.
"Right. I'm Bethany, not 'miss mage.' You shouldn't call anyone that, understand? That's a terrible thing."
"Oh. Um. Okay! I live, er, that way!" he pointed vaguely in a direction that wasn't remotely near Lothering. "I just got lost."
"Right. Do you live in Lothering, Eric?"
"Yep!"
Bethany rubbed her hand over her face, trying to quell the shakes that were threatening to come over her. A new realization dawned on her – what if there had been a templar nearby? Oh Maker… they can sense magic from a mile away… I have to tell father… no… can't worry… what have I done? "What's your mother's name?" She asked shakily.
"Sarha. She's harvesting today. I didn't want to."
Okay, so he's a farmer's son. Maybe… maybe he'll forget… oh Maker, I hope he forgets… "Okay, let's find your mother, and remember, that wasn't magic. It wasn't magic at all. Understand?" She knew she wasn't making a good case of it but Maker's love the boy was six and she was more terrified than she could ever remember being.
"Okay," Eric said easily enough and gripped her hand more tightly. A brief, fleeting thought had Bethany marveling at the fact that this child had recognized magic when he saw it and hadn't shied away from her… but she couldn't afford to enjoy that. She was an apostate. Her family was harboring her and her father from the templars.
Oh, Maker… please, please, please, let this child forget what he saw, I don't want to have to leave another home behind.
