'm certain I can put this into words now. These past two weeks have been...incomplete. Mother suggested I write it down. That's what I did before.
Before. Yes. There is a distinct difference between Hawke , and Hawke. I recognize it, but can no longer feel it. When I think of before, it seems… surreal. I'm simply a omniscient narrator of a story that is no longer my own. It's hers. Carver won't look at me. Bethany holds my hand constantly and weeps on my shoulder. I don't know how to comfort them. Mother refuses to address it at all. I'm certain she thinks after some time it will just go away if she ignores it.
This will not go away. The fade that used to flow through my fingers is nothing but an echo of a children's tale. I must continue, must not let them fall behind. This will not hinder me from keeping my family safe, I promised father I would keep them safe. We'll be in Kirkwall soon enough.
Flemeth surveyed the aftermath of the grisly fight that stretched out before her. For a moment it seemed like her intervention had been for naught, until four figures started to stand up from the piles of darkspawn corpses. Three of them immediately ran to a still figure next to a pile of bloody ogre. The last helped a man at her feet into a sitting position. He may as well be a corpse.
She opened her mouth to say something when the oldest woman screamed.
"BETHANY! BETH WAKE … UP… BETH," the woman wailed, violently shaking the lifeless girl. The words streaming from her mouth were no longer coherent, but the strained babbling of a woman clearly just robbed of her world. A young man, who by the looks of it was the twin of the fallen girl, grabbed the old woman, pinning her arms to her chest with his own. The woman resigned herself and leaned back into his chest, face and eyes to the Maker.
The last living figure was a girl not much older than these siblings. She stood at the fallen girls feet, her right hand hugging her left hip around her waist, the left hand over her mouth as if contemplating the scene. She observed the body, she looked at the old woman being cradled, and as she ran her hand through her short black hair she turned slightly and locked eyes with Flemeth.
The realization of what she was dawned on Flemeth as sure as the tranquil sun crowning the girl's forehead.
This is not how it happens. Flemeth let the small thrill of panic course through her veins before righting herself. She should be used to this by now. She could only pull the strings of fate so far before they broke. This small snag in the fabric of destiny is only part of the bigger picture, It cannot alter my intentions.
"Well, well. What have we here?" Flemeth closed the distance between herself and the group of survivors. "It used to be we never got visitors to the Wilds, but now it seems they arrive in hordes."
The tranquil girl walked forward to meet her. The left hand coming down the back of her neck dropped to the other to grab the small daggers she held out of sight.
"I do not know what you are, but I will not let you harm us."
Smart girl. The tranquil may be cut off from the fade, robbed of their emotion, but they were logical. A woman who was a dragon not five minutes before may have helped them, but was still a danger nonetheless.
"Dear child… let me? Without me you'd be another corpse on the pile." Flemeth let a grin creep onto her face. "I was merely distracted by an ogre being felled by a small band of refugees; as this is noot an easy feat, my interest was piqued. Now that my curiosity is sated, it's time to move on."
"That's it?" The boy released the old woman to join the girl's side, towering over her. "You're just going to leave us here?"
"You're safe for the moment, is that not enough?"
The girl raised a hand to silence the boy's rebuttal, never breaking eye contact with Flemeth. Her face a solemn mask.
"We're fine, we can get to Kirkwall on our own."
"Oh, Kirkwall! That is quite the destination, so far to simply flee the darkspawn."
"Our home is gone, but that matters not to you." The old woman started to wail again.
"I see, hurtled into chaos, you fight and the world will shape before you." Is it fate or chance, I can never decide. "Fortune smiles on us both, I may be able to help you yet."
"I believe my sister already told you, no." The boy answered, hulking arm reaching for his broadsword.
"We don't need you, old woman."
"As it turns out, I need you." Flemeth watched as the the girl stopped and shared a glance at her brother. She offered a small shrug and turned her attention to the red-haired woman holding up what looked to be a Templar.
"Should we trust her, Aveline?"
The redhead held the Templar's head close to her chest as she met Flemeth's eyes. "I know what she is, she's a Witch of the Wilds."
"Some call me that, also Flemeth. Asha 'bellanar. An 'old hag who talks too much'... but does it matter?" She broke eye contact with Aveline and advanced on the tranquil girl until they were practically nose to nose. "I offer you this, I will get your group past the horde in exchange for a simple delivery to a place not far out of your way. Would you do this for a "Witch of the Wilds?"
The girl didn't flinch. "I have to get to Kirkwall first, Witch. "
"Ah, but you will do it." Flemeth took a step back and rested a hand on her hip. "There is a clan of Dalish elves near the city of Kirkwall, deliver this package to their Keeper, Marethai. Do as she asks with it and any debt between us is paid in full."
"Before I take you anywhere, there is another matter.." Flemeth turned her attention back to Aveline and the Templar that was clearly struggling to breathe. The woman must have realized Flemeth's intentions as she immediately jumped to her feet.
"No, leave him alone!"
"Oh child, what has been done to your man is in his blood already.."
"You LIE!"
"Aveline", the Templar choked on his words, "she's right, I can feel the corruption inside me…"
The redhead raised her hands to argue with the dying man, but the tranquil girl stopped her.
"Aveline. Stop. I know you're feeling pain right now, but he is a liability."
Flemeth expected this response. There was no pity, no empathy. This was about survival. "The only way to stave off the corruption is by joining the Grey Wardens, but the last are now far beyond your reach."
"Aveline, please. This corruption is a slow death.. I can't…" The Templar could barely hold his head up now.
Flemeth watched as Aveline picked up the Templar's dagger from his belt. She kneeled beside him and placed a hand on his forehead, and kissed the hand while gripping the dagger tight. Flemeth couldn't hear the words Aveline whispered to the dying man.
"Aveline, no. I will do this." The tranquil girl dropped to her knees beside the redhead and took her own short dagger in hand. "I cannot stop your husband's death, but I can send him swiftly to the maker. You do not want this weight on your shoulders." She patiently waited for Aveline to form a response.
Finally, the redhead sniffed and let out what Flemeth could only describe as a war cry. The outward display of a great, necessary burden being taken from her soul. She dropped the dagger and whispered softly,"Thank you, Hawke."
The girl, Hawke, took Aveline's hand and motioned for her to walk away. Aveline joined the old woman and Hawke's brother next to the corpse of their sister.
Flemeth watched as Hawke methodically turned Wesley's head to the side and pulled her dagger swiftly across his neck. The fresh blood spurted onto her hand as she calmly sat back on her haunches. She wafted her hand across her face to push her hair away from her eyes, and wiped it off on Wesley's tunic. When she locked eyes with Flemeth once more, devoid of any pain or regret for what just happened, a small trail of viscera graced the bridge of her nose. "It is done."
"Without an end, there can be no peace. It gets no easier, and your struggles have only begun." Flemeth reached out to Hawke and placed a small package into the girl's hands. When their hands touched, she swore there was a moment fear flashed across her face. No, just a trick of the dying light of sunset.
You have no idea child, the storm that awaits you. May the burden of your tranquility be the gift that softens the blow.