Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age.
Cold Comfort
Bethany doesn't know how to comfort her.
Marian doesn't look up, doesn't move, doesn't make any noise. She's like ice; frozen, as parts of her fall away, and Bethany wants to make her feel better, but she doesn't know how.
No one approaches her. Not Varric, or Sebastian, or even Aveline. She sits there, staring at her hands, still as death. Bethany wonders if she has died. It wouldn't surprise her.
She looks around herself, at the fine layer of powder that covers everything. Remains of the Chantry, and the Grand Cleric, and of everyone that Marian had sworn to protect, and now she can't. She can't even move. She just sits at the back of the Gallows, knees drawn to her chest, staring at her hands and the blood on them.
Bethany isn't sure whose blood she's seeing. Anders's? Carver's? Mother's? Possibly none of them, she thinks. Possibly all three.
But no. She knows whose blood has her so still, who is haunting her in these last moments before the templars swoop down upon them. And she wants to comfort her, Maker how she wants to, but she doesn't know how.
Orsino is keeping his distance. All the mages are. Even though it isn't their fault, even though they have done nothing wrong, she can feel the fear rolling off of them. She echoes it. She doesn't know what Marian is thinking, but she knows that it isn't a place where any of them will be welcome.
"Hawke." Sebastian has finally summoned the courage to approach her. "Hawke, we need to get ready. These people -"
"Let them die," she snaps. "All of them. The mages. The templars." She clenches her fists, and Bethany can hear the tears she won't shed. "Everyone. I don't care. I don't."
She's lying, and they all know it; they've seen Marian when she doesn't care. They've seen her when she's insanely happy and when she wants to die and they know when she doesn't care, and this isn't any of those times. She doesn't know what's wrong, but Bethany knows she still cares.
Sebastian kneels beside her. "Hawke," he says, "you can't let this-"
"I can't do anything," she whispers. "I can't save you. I can't save these people. I couldn't even - "
She stops, and Bethany steps forward. "Sister," she says, laying a hand on her shoulder, "Fenris-"
"Don't touch me," Marian hisses, jerking away from her. "This is your fault. Yours and Orsino's and all your precious little Circle's, because none of you wanted the unpredictability of freedom over the routine of imprisonment."
She pushes herself to her feet, clenching her jaw. She crosses her arms over her chest, takes a deep breath, looks up. Bethany knows what she's doing; she's seen it before. Marian is trying to convince herself, telling herself that she can do this, that she absolutely isn't under any circumstances going to let them see her cry, that this, too will pass and she'll wake up in the morning and be fine.
They both know it's a lie. But it's what Marian has to do, because falling apart is not an option. Giving up is not an option. As much as she hates the Circle, as much as she hates herself, she cannot quit. There are people she needs to protect. And she needs to protect them, or else she'll lose herself.
Marian looks back down, watching them, and there's a glint in her eyes, a glint of steel and fire, and Bethany knows that she will protect them, because she made a promise, because she has nothing else to lose, because she is her sister and as much as she hates her now, she will not lose the last of her family.
"Let's get this over with," she says.