An idea that's been popping around in my head. Its also going to incorporate as many kmeme fills as I can possibly manage to weave in. This chapter written to a combination of the Ranconteurs, Florence & the Machine, and RJD2. Don't ask.
Rated for graphic violence and some language. For now.
Marian Hawke stares at the bearded man and his Templar buddy with her arms folded over her chest. To her right, her younger brother Carver mimics her pose in a more intimidating form with his large stature equivalent to the other men's and his cheek still bruised in the shape of knuckles. There's something oddly familiar about the shaggy fellow standing in front of her, though she couldn't say why it is he looks so familiar because there's no way they could have met. He's wearing the heavy robes of a Circle mage and she can tell from the way his eyes keep flashing around and then widening in amazement that this is his first time outside of the Tower.
"Are you two really qualified to recruit for the Wardens?" she asks, lifting a sardonic brow. Carver snorts next to her in a nonverbal approval at her smarminess. Encouraged, she presses on. "Not that your other recruits are exactly winners." She glances toward the fire, where a knight in Redcliff livery mutters frantic prayers and a grimy-looking fellow shoots her a wink and a smile that reveals brownish-yellow teeth.
The mage stares at her face for such a long time that Hawke is tempted to swat him. Since arriving to meet the king's army three days ago, she's had to hand out a few violent reminders that she is as good a fighter as they are- often a better fighter. Perhaps the Wardens haven't heard of how she punched her own brother for trying to stand up for her and then proceeded to kick a man's teeth in. As her arms drop and her fists clench in preparation for another righteous ass-beating, the bearded mage blinks and shakes his head faintly, as if to ward off a spell. Which is entirely possible. Bethany does the exact same blink and head-shake when she's done casting very complicated magic, as does their father. Perhaps it's a mage thing.
"I'm simply asking if you two would be willing to talk to Duncan," the mage sighs. He rolls his eyes and she shoots a sidelong scowl at Carver because the gesture reminds her of him.
Hawke does not lower her guard or her hands, but her eyebrows relax from their scowl. "Why? You haven't even seen us fight," she says. And then she asks, "Were you just doing magic? Are you even allowed to do it without Templar permission?"
The Templar behind the mage laughs and pretends to cough, but does a poor job of hiding his guffaw. Her eyes cut to him momentarily; she's never seen a Templar with a sense of humor, much less a sense of humor regarding mage-Templar relations. His eyes twinkle at her and she realizes that they are very blue and for all that his armor is repulsive to her, he is exceptionally handsome compared to the boys she's flirted with in the village growing up, albeit in a sweet and adorable manner that quells any attraction. Not that he needed help wearing that armor. She focuses back on this familiar-looking mage, trying to decide where she's seen his features before.
"I- what?" the mage sputters, his cheeks flushing a bit under the stubble. How long has he been out of the Circle and why hasn't anyone offered him a razor? His eyes narrow a bit and bushy brows contract into a frown under his messy dark hair. He lowers his voice to a whisper and steps a bit closer. "How did you know?"
She gives him a slight shove backward. "I've seen mages before, Mage," she snaps.
"Come on, Amell," says the Templar. He has a gentle, amused voice. "Duncan will have our asses if we don't get over there soon."
But his words mean nothing after the name. Her head whirls with all of her mother's old stories of Kirkwall and she sees Carver reach for him. Her hand shoots out, lightning-fast, to catch her brother's wrist. Amell looks at their exchange in confusion, turning from the Templar to the Hawke siblings with raised brows.
"Is something the matter?" the mage asks. He looks from one face to the other while the Templar looks from Hawke to the Amell fellow who must be their cousin or something. His brown eyes dart around for a moment and he steps close again. "Are you an apostate? I didn't feel any magic coming from you, but then again, apostates are said to be rather clever." His lips quirk a bit and then his eyes shift away for a moment and she feels a bit sorry that he hasn't enjoyed the same freedom as her sister- if frequently running from your life and not making friends to avoid being caught can be considered 'freedom.'
Carver's elbow digs into her side just as she scowls and snaps, "No." She takes a step back from him with a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Maker, what the hell is wrong with you, Mage?" Before the scene can get any worse, she grabs her brother by the elbow and wheels him around with her. They stalk back toward their tent together.
"You did a mighty good job impersonating an ignorant mage-hating peasant, sister," Carver hisses in her ear. She pinches his arm and he swats her hand.
"Shut it, you lumbering twat," she grumbles, giving him a half-hearted shove. "There was something off about him. Anyway, we probably shouldn't advertise our enlightened views in a camp full of military and legal authorities."
He sighs and rebounds from her shove to sling a muscled arm around her shoulder. "His name was Amell. You heard that, right? He's related to us somehow. A cousin, you think?" he asks, raising his brows in puppyish enthusiasm. His hand snakes up to pinch her cheek and she growls. "Did you notice he's got the same haircut as you?" he cackles before sprinting off, giving her a shove to ensure he can outrun her.
Hawke chases him down without effort, springing into the air when she's a few feet behind him and landing with both feet and hands on his back, crouching over Carver's prone form. "As long as I can whip your ass, little brother, don't mock the hair."
Garrett's sides burn. His hair clings to his forehead and dripping sweat stings his eyes but he does not stop running. Only the silent Qunari, Sten, keeps pace with him. He can hear Alistair and Leliana cursing behind him, darting over rocks and around dead trees, but he does not slow. He crests a hill and sees the massive ogre running up toward the Hawke family, those dark-haired siblings he met at Ostagar. He spots a third sibling, also a dark-haired girl, but with a sweeter face than her sister. And a gray-haired woman and his heart pulses frantically.
Both of the younger ones are yelling things at the ogre, stepping between the monster and their mother. The oldest, the one who goes by her surname only, slides back against the rocks near where the ogre approached and has her daggers out, preparing to launch a more stealthy attack. To his surprise, as she stands there, her figure blends in with the shadow until he can't see her for all he searches.
"Maker, give me strength," the girl cries, flinging a flames at the creature.
"You soulless bastards!" the boy screams, leaping up alongside the blaze of fire with his blade lifted above his head, intent on slashing down.
The eldest Hawke leaps from the shadows at the same time, flying onto the monsters back as her siblings attack him head-on. Garrett rushes down the hill until he is in range, already tracing the symbols with his fingers and muttering the words with his lips. His paralyzing spell lands a second late, as the ogre sweeps an arm out, knocking both of the young ones aside as well as their mother. All three slam into the rocks with a crunch, but the siblings- twins, he thinks, looking at them- land atop their mother.
As his spell hits, Sten leaps into the fray and he sees a red-haired woman with a shield yelling at the monster and fighting with the same style of battering bashes and darting stabs that Alistair uses. He remembers seeing her among the soldiers at Ostagar. Garrett extends a hand and a shock of lightning shoots out, widening in its wake to sizzle into the ogre. A rock sails at him and Alistair appears just in time, skidding down the hill and slamming his shield up into the stone to break it. His feet scrape back in the dirt and Garrett sidesteps a collision. Leliana steps up beside him and draws her bow, sighting along it and letting fly with a murmured prayer. Her arrow lodges in the ogre's neck as he tries to buck the eldest Hawke off, but she clings with her daggers embedded in his thick hide, lips drawn back from her teeth in a snarl as she twists the blades. Sten whips his giant sword over his head and slams it into a heavy arm as it descends toward Alistair and the redhead, their shields snapping together in tandem as their army training proves far more useful than he imagined. The beast's forearm falls free and both shields shift to let it slide to the ground.
The ogre rakes his remaining arm back over his head to claw at Hawke. Garrett sends a blast of raw spirit energy directly into the beast just as she flips up into the air, flying over the massive horns. Her knives flash down just as his magic twists and rips. Its head bounces away just as its body explodes. Hawke keeps up her deadly dance, the momentum of her strike reversing to carry her out of the way of the blast.
Her eyes flick back to him briefly and then she flips her blades into sheaths on her back with a flourish. She sprints toward her family, shouting for them. The twins have managed to shift off their mother, both with several broken bones and blood running from their noses and mouths. But her body is crumpled, her chest caved in on one side and her labored breathing sends a spray of blood from her lips. He can't help but feel that same pull he did at Ostagar when he first saw Hawke and Carver walking through the camp, this time more frantic. He sprints after her, hurrying to kneel with the battered bodies and already remembering his healing lessons with Enchanter Wynne in the Circle.
Hawke cradles her mother's head in her lap, shivering in some spasm of horror. "Mother," she whispers, her hand cupping a blood-misted cheek. Beside her, the female twin is shaking with gurgling sobs around her broken jaw, blood and drool pouring from her mouth in equal measure. She lies on the ground, curled around their mother's side as best she can with the growing stain of blood along her ribs. The male twin sits up more, his face pale and his eyes fixed on their mother, a hand wrapped around hers in spite of the bone protruding from his forearm. At his elder sister's single uttered word, he leans over and vomits off to the side, spitting and then tipping his head back against the rocks for a moment.
Garrett can save the twins easily, but not their mother. He can see that her lungs are too full of blood to drain in time, that too many fragments of bone have entered her bloodstream, and that her back has been broken and she will never walk again even if he could save her. So he sets to work patching the claw-marked gash on the girl's side, knitting the tissue and cracked bones together before she can lose any more blood. She shivers and looks up at him with golden brown eyes, eyes he remembers seeing in his own reflection when he had access to mirrors in the Circle.
The old woman gasps and her hand fumbles to grasp his. He turns to stare at her, his heart thudding. "Garrett," she coughs, bleary eyes softening. She smiles at him. "I knew I'd see you again one day." Her fingers tighten on his hand for a second and all three of her other children stare at him suddenly.
His throat closes and he can feel the eyes of his companions and the redhead from Ostagar as he stares down at the dying woman. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, stroking her hair out of her eyes. "I was too late to save you." His chest aches and he feels tears burning his eyes. Just as he found her, he's losing her completely. A soft, ragged sob escapes him and he feels the mage girl's hand join theirs, gripping tight around both his fingers and the woman's. Garrett closes his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mother."