Author's Note: This is my first full length fic, and I'm really looking for feedback as to how I can improve my style/structuring. If anyone would be interested in beta-ing please let me know.
Welcome to Hindsight.
-Manda
Hindsight
Chapter 1: Moving Forward
Sometimes you have to look back to begin to move forward.
Far, far beneath her, the waterfall crashed down onto the rocks. The leaping, spitting water made the cave humid, but under the circumstances it was the best place they'd found since leaving Kirkwall. In truth, such a hiding place could not have come at a better time – Carver's injuries alone would take days if not weeks to heal, despite her best efforts. Then there was the other matter, though in all honesty she was trying to avoid thinking of it.
The scent of the water here lacked the salty tang it had had back in Kirkwall, and she found herself missing the sea in a way she had never thought possible. In the years that Kirkwall had been her home, the sea had served as nothing but a reminder of loss and exile, but now she missed it like a torn limb.
It was early morning, and the sun was rising in the distance over the tangled forest they had stashed themselves in. The waking birds flittered and sang below her, making her ache for those moments of peace she had for so long taken for granted. Everything she had worked for, everything she had built for herself in Kirkwall was gone, and at this moment the knowledge struck her like a knife wound to the chest, seeming to steal her very breath.
Had circumstances been different, had Carver not needed her, had there not still been hope, she might have been considering something desperate, stood there on the cliff top. She did not have the option. Now, more than ever she was needed, and even as her mind flooded with the wreckage of her life, she knew that she would stand tall and face what was to come.
She did not realise that she was cold until she looked down at her trembling fingers. The conduits of so much power and the sources of so much fear. The people of the Free Marches, perhaps the entirety of Thedas, needed these fingers to be strong, to demonstrate the good that magic could do in the world. It seemed almost impossible that she could have come so far.
"Shaping our magic, child, is a matter of control," he said softly, deft hands guiding her own into their rightful gestures. "Your fingers must be strong and agile, to move through the gestures without a second thought. A life can hang on the success or failure of a spell – every movement, however slight, must be made responsibly."
She shivered at his touch, her heart thudding with love for the kind, gentle man who held her in his arms. Sitting on his knee at the kitchen table, she concentrated and, moving her fingers as he had taught her, lit a sputtering flame on the wick of the candle. With a whoop of joy her father had swept her up in his arms, lifting her ceiling-wards and spinning them round as they laughed joyfully at her success.
Even now, almost fourteen years after his death, she drew strength from the voice and tenderness of that gentle-souled man. In her moments of greatest struggle, loss, fear, his words were comfort and a power far greater than any she had ever known.
"Sometimes, child," he had said to her that night in the firelight, the night of her betrayal, "you have to look back to begin to move forward."
As the sun detached itself from the horizon, she remembered the love that lingered in his eyes as he said those words. When the others were looking at her in little less than horror, when of all of them he was the one with the most right to feel her treachery, he forgave her, and in doing so gave her the right to begin forgiving herself.
Turning her back on the morning, she re-entered the cave. Lighting the end of her staff she followed the route that had become second nature to her in the last three days to the cavern in which they were sheltering. The fire was still burning, and Carver kept his vigil beside it, leant up against the wall. Turning her back on the other bed, nestled in a ledge on the wall of the cave she knelt beside him, trying to ignore the sheen of sweat against his ashen skin. Despite his undoubted agony and the grip of his lyrium-deprivation he was holding together better than either of them would have expected. He even forced a smile as he registered her presence.
"No change in the patient, doctor," he murmured, glancing over her shoulder with a wry look.
"Good," she said quietly, touching her fingertips to his icy forehead. "Thank you."
In other times, Carver might have joked to see her thus, uncertain and worn, but now even he could see the gravity of their situation. Stranded at the top of a waterfall with only a lamed Templar for company, with half the world hunting her for one reason or another, her distress held no humour, even for him.
She drew a deep breath. "I think I'm ready to give you some more healing, if you want."
Despite the shattered fire of his legs, he shook his head. "Rest a little more, sister," he said, seeing the relief flicker in her eyes. "At least eat something. You've been fretting for days."
Relief gave way to frustration, as she cursed herself for her weakness. "I wish I were stronger for you brother, if only Anders..."
"Anders can't help us now," he interrupted as she hung her head, "and you are doing the best that you can. I'll be walking soon enough."
She frowned. "If I'd paid more attention in those lessons," she said quietly, cupping his cheek, "it wouldn't be a matter of healing one fracture at a time, or waiting for my mana to regenerate."
Carver chuckled weakly. "From what I understand, you were fairly distracted in those lessons."
She laughed despite herself. "Perhaps I was. Maker, it seems so long ago."
He smiled, seeing the bit of colour return to her cheeks. "It was, wasn't it? Nigh on seven years," he said, not shrinking from her touch, "Things have certainly changed."
Despite herself, as she shifted into a seated position her eyes flickered back over her shoulder to the bed on the ledge. Seeing the pain in her expression, Carver took her hand. "Don't worry sister," he said, "you'll be the first to know if anything changes."
Forcing a smile, she turned and busied herself with toasting what remained of the bread, trying to ignore the sounds of uneasy breathing coming from the ledge, pretending it was nothing more than the fire's roar. She passed the first slice to Carver.
"I never thought I'd have to stomach your cooking again," he said good-naturedly, watching her work. "Although even you'd have trouble ruining toast."
She chuckled lightly, spreading soft butter onto her slice. "Don't worry," she said. "We can both have a good laugh later when I'm trying to skin a frozen rabbit."
They ate in silence, savouring what they both knew would be the last bread in a long time. If they'd had any inkling of what was coming when they left that town, maybe they'd have bought some flour and yeast, something long-lasting. As it was, they were both stuck within shouting distance of the cave entrance until Carver could walk or even stand unaided.
Finishing her food, Ariadne got to work using up her mana almost immediately. Beginning with what was always the most pressing matter, she swept her hand over Carver's torso, boosting his kidneys and purifying his blood to prevent the build up of infection. That done, she scanned his feet and ankles. Aside from a little swelling and a small amount of scar tissue, the healing she had done so far had taken better than she could ever have expected. With a deep breath she moved her hands upwards, and winced almost immediately.
"You know," her brother muttered wryly, "you really fill me with confidence when you do that."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I don't mean to worry you. It's not that I don't think I can fix it, I can. It's just so complicated that I hardly know where to begin." Looking up she saw him frowning, and tried to explain. Concentrating her attention on the edges of a large shard of bone in his left leg, she gave it the slightest dose of healing. "A big break like this I could heal very easily, it's very clean and practically in position already, but it's the fragments I'm worried about," she said, shifting the tingling healing magic to the surrounding chips of bone as Carver hissed through his teeth, "There are so many of them, there's no way I can piece them all back into place, but by the same count I can't leave too many of them out of the healing bone," she sighed. "If I were... a better healer, then I would just dissipate them, let them disperse into your bloodstream."
"But you can't," he said evenly, glancing up at her.
"No," she said sadly, "I can't. My lessons ended at battlefield patch ups. The best I can do is get you limping, I suspect, and even that will take days."
"Good thing we haven't any pressing engagements then, isn't it?" he muttered through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he leant his head back against the wall.
She laughed softly. "It certainly is," she murmured. Carefully manipulating the fragments with her gestures, she drew several of them back in line with the wounded bone and, with effort, sealed the back into place. With her mana failing already as she turned to the right leg, she chose a larger, aligned splinter and swept it back into place quickly, before spending her little remaining power on boosting the pain-dulling aura that was the only thing keeping her brother conscious. Spent utterly she sat back from him, pressing her fists into her eye sockets as she leant forward onto her knees. She barely registered the slowing of her brother's breathing, rousing herself only when he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Thank you," he said breathlessly, "I feel slightly less like my legs are made of broken glass."
Exhausted, they sat for a time in silence, hearing only their own breathing and the snapping of the fire. Eventually Ariadne stirred herself to add more wood to the dimming blaze, and to put the kettle on the fire to boil. The fire was larger than she felt safe with, but she knew that it was the only thing keeping the moisture from breeding infection in the cave, the last thing either of her patients needed. Moving slowly, she sat beside him against the wall.
"Carver?" she said quietly, uncertain whether he was awake. He grunted. "Do you remember what happened with Kester?"
Azure eyes snapped open. "Maker's breath sister," Carver exclaimed, looking down at her in surprise, "of all the things for you to bring up! Yes, I remember. How could I forget?"
Her cheeks flushed with colour as she avoided his gaze. "I know, I'm sorry it's just..."
He frowned, leaning his head back against the wall. "Sister, that's so far in the past..." he paused, at a loss for words, "Even I couldn't begrudge you for it now." He could sense her discomfort. "Why mention it?"
She sighed, running a hand over the perspiration coating her forehead. "It's just..." she hesitated, "something father said at the time, about learning from your mistakes. I told him everything, you know, everything that happened..."
Carver scoffed slightly, nudging her with his elbow. "Now come on, I can't imagine for one second that you told him everything."
She laughed, leaning against his arm slightly. "You know what I mean," she said peaceably, "everything important. He helped me make sense of it all, talking through what happened," she paused slightly, remembering, "That I didn't share every last detail hardly mattered, because I was thinking about it, processing it."
"Going through what happened step by step?"
She nodded fervently, her voice gaining in strength. "Exactly," she said, "taking the time to consider each moment, the signs I missed, how I could have acted differently. Not simply to berate myself, but to understand where I went wrong."
He looked down at her, his head tilted slightly to one side. "You want me to stand in for father?"
"No Carver," she said, looking up at him, "I want you to be you. I'd just like you to listen, if that's alright?"
He smiled, moving his arm to put it around her shoulders. "I think I can manage that," he said kindly, gesturing vaguely at the cavern, "It's not like we have anything better to do."
She didn't start immediately, moving slowly to rebuild the fire a little, before resettling herself in the surprising comfort of her brother's arm. Their eyes met, and they laughed together.
"Who'd have thought we'd be like this?" he said warmly, eyes twinkling in his pale face, "We used to go at it like cats and dogs."
She smiled, seeing the colour returning, in a small measure, to his cheeks. "As I remember it, it was mostly you going at me," she replied, her lips twisted in a smirk.
"Alright," he sighed, "you've got me there. Will I never hear the end of what an arse I was?"
Her lips spilt into a grin. "Not while I've got breath to scold."
"Or Varric."
"Or Fenris, Isabella, Merill..."
"I get the point..." he trailed off, his expression faltering. "Do you... do you think they're safe? Wherever they are, I mean?"
Her eyes darkened, and she shook her head. "I hope so, Carver. I really do."
He drew a deep breath, letting the air hiss between his lips in just that way that father had when he was thinking. The memory half choked her, and she felt the prickling rise in her eyes.
"So," he said, interrupting her thoughts with a clearing of his throat, "I believe we were going to talk about how you fell in love with the man who brought everything we ever knew crashing down around our ears."
"So we were..." she shifted her position, drawing a steadying breath into her lungs, unsure if she knew where to begin. "Well," she said finally, "if I'm honest, I think things started the first time we met him, when you left me in the clinic."
Carver's chuckle reverberated through her arm. "Very diplomatic," he said with amusement, "I think 'abandoned' might have been more appropriate."
She shrugged. "All you wanted was to keep us out of the sight of the Templars, and the first thing I did after leaving Athenril was to get into a fight with thirty of them," she said, pitching a worn sigh. "If the situations had been reversed, I'd probably have done the same."
As the disturbance started waking patients, Varric moved to intercept. "Carver," he intoned, keeping his voice even and low. "See reason. Hawke couldn't have known how that was going to go down, none of us could."
Gesturing angrily at the figure slumped on the cot beside them, Carver snapped his response. "Yes, she could. Anyone with half a brain could!" he turned away from his companions, his voice rising as he threw his arms in the air. "Break into the Chantry in the middle of the night, with a Grey Warden apostate, no less, what else would you expect?"
Varric stepped forward, turning to look the younger Hawke sibling in the eye. "Hindsight's a beautiful thing, Junior," he said, struggling to maintain his own composure. "No need to lose it while your sister's still out cold."
The dwarf glanced back at Hawke's unconscious figure as Carver huffed a grudging assent. Anders bent over her, checking her pulse. "I'm amazed she held it together as long as she did," the warden said appreciatively, sensing the faintness in her aura that could mean only one thing. "That Lieutenant's smite must have hit her straight in the chest. She'll be out for a couple of hours at least."
A smile tweaked the corner of the dwarven merchant's mouth. "That's our Hawke," he said quietly. "March two days on a broken ankle just to prove a point."
"Oh that's right Varric," Carver exclaimed, stepping between the dwarf and the cot. "say it like you're impressed with her. You're as bad as he is. You'd think she'd have learned something when she got Bethany killed."
An arm inserted itself between them, and Aveline stepped forward with a stern look. "Carver, calm down."
"No Aveline," he exclaimed aggressively, stepping up to her, his cheeks flushing with colour, "I will not calm down! If my fool of a sister is going to risk our necks helping every fool with a sob story and something we need she'll never make it to the Deep Roads. Not to mention that he's a Maker-forsaken..."
With that, the healer was on his feet, his eyes flashing with fear. Aveline put her hand firmly on the boy's shoulder, her expression severe. "Keep your voice down!" she said firmly.
"Please friend," Anders chimed in, his voice wavering with uncertainty and alarm, "you're making a scene."
Carver's eyes widened. "I'm making a scene?" he exclaimed, trying to push past the guardswoman. "Oh, that's rich coming from you! We all saw it in that Chantry..."
Varric has had enough. "Carver!" he growled, seizing the teenager by the back of his shirt, "We're leaving. Even if I have to kick your ass from here to the Hanged Man myself."
Scuffling, struggling and generally complaining, the dwarf and his oversized child of a companion made their way out of the clinic, leaving Aveline and their latest recruit standing over the sleeping figure of their leader. When the door closed behind them, Anders sighed in relief, allowing himself to fall back into a chair.
Gathering his thoughts, he watched with interest as the rough guardswoman removed a gauntlet to brush the straying hairs from the sleeping woman's face. An unexpected tenderness that spoke volumes of her regard for the unconscious figure.
"Well," he half-sighed as she straightened up, "at least you'll be here when she wakes up."
"I..." Aveline hesitated, her expression awkward, "About that. I have duty – I'm due back at the Keep in less than an hour."
"Oh," he said, sitting forward in his seat, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Well I suppose I'll just have to hope she recognizes me when she comes round."
The sun was still shy of rising in the Overcity by the time she woke, her shoulder aching from sleeping for hours in the same position. Her eyes flickered open slowly, revealing a dimly lit space. Across from her, the warden Anders had fallen asleep in his chair, slumped down in the seat. He breathed gently, his chin resting lightly on his chest. He hadn't been sleeping long. Blinking as she raised her head, she realised that what she had a first taken to be a room was actually a small space enclosed by canvas screens. The place smelt of Darktown.
As she sat up, the creaking of the cot roused her companion, and Anders's eyes opened. Allowing him the privacy of his waking moments, she glanced around the makeshift room. Someone had removed her armoured padding, and lain it on a table beside her. They'd also removed her boots, leaving the miserable remnants of her socks open to the air. She turned to look at her companion, her mind filling with questions. Seeing her quizzical expression, he shifted himself back into the seat, straightening his back with a yawn.
She swung her feet round and onto the floor, sitting herself on the edge of the cot as she rubbed her eyes. "I... where am I?"
Sitting forward now, the healer leant across to a small table to pick up his thick coat, his slender arms prickling with the night chill. "Still at my clinic," he said, drawing the heavy, feathered fabric into his lap. "I use the screens at night to make it a bit more... homey."
Seeing him sitting them in his rough woollen vest, she realised that he was slimmer than she'd expected. Narrower. Those pauldrons were pretty bulky. She smiled, yawning as she glanced at the screens. "Does it work?"
"Not really," he said, leaning forward to retie his loosened boots. "Sometimes a bit when I'm tired, but then I have this strange... knack of knocking them over," he feigned a puzzled look before the doctor in him took over. He looked up into her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
She shrugged slightly, sweeping her auburn fringe with her fingertips to get it out of her face. "Better, I think. I had no idea I was so exhausted."
He smiled kindly, turning his attention to the second boot. "Templars make a speciality of it," he said wryly. "I'm surprised you haven't had your mana drained before."
She yawned deeply, stretching her elbow behind her head and shifting her neck, feeling the joints click back into place. "Oh I've come close a fair few times, but I suppose we were always too careful," she said quietly, a twinkle creeping into her eyes. "Or good at running. Things nearly turned ugly with Aveline's husband when we were leaving Lothering, but other than that I haven't been up against a Templar in years."
That caught his attention. Anders looked up at her sharply. "Aveline was married to a Templar? And she's your friend?"
Her expression wavered, she paused. She ran a hand over her locks in a nervous gesture, gathering them with her fingertips and letting the strands tumble forwards. "Wesley was... killed by the taint. We never really knew him," she said slowly, thought lines appearing on her brow, "What with him and Bethany... We were all grieving, and we needed each other if we were going to stay alive. It made sense."
"Bethany?" he asked, watching her face carefully. She glanced at him sharply, her breath catching in her chest. His eyes shifted uneasily. "Your brother mentioned her."
What little light there was left in her eyes was snuffed out in an instant. "Oh," she said dully, avoiding his gaze. "She was... my sister. Carver's twin... She died when we escaped the Blight," she looked up, her saddened eyes connecting briefly with his own. "She was a mage too."
The intensity in her eyes startled him, the rawness in her expression touching him in a way he hadn't expected. "I'm so sorry," he said weakly.
She shook her head, getting to her feet. "Don't be," she said briskly, reaching for her staff leaning up against the wall. "It was over a year ago, after all. I don't blame myself anymore."
He smirked slightly as he rose, shaking out his coat. "Why don't I believe that for a second?" he asked kindly.
She shot him a wary glance, but seeing the honesty in his expression, relaxed, smiling in return. Moving around the screen she found herself in the open ward. He followed her, shrugging himself into his coat. She turned to him, her expression confused. "So Carver just left me here, with you?"
He nodded reluctantly. "Varric took him off to the Hanged Man," he said quietly, eyes flickering over the sleeping forms of his patients, "and Aveline had guard duty."
She rolled her eyes, returning to the screened area to collect her pack and armour. "Why am I not surprised?" she muttered darkly.
"That he'd abandon you to the care of a complete stranger?" Anders replied, adding with a wry smile. "An abomination, no less?"
Bending over her pack she glanced up at him, flashing a quick smile that did something unexpected in his chest. "More that he'd make a scene," she said, matter-of-factly. "Only thing guaranteed to make Varric head home."
She stood up, pulling her armoured tunic over her head briskly. "I should get going," she said, smiling amicably. "Mother will pitch a fit if I don't make it back to Lowtown tonight," she looked around at the dim chamber, uncertain, "Assuming it is still tonight... is it?"
He smiled at her confusion. "It is, just about," he said, collecting his staff. "I'll walk you back. You shouldn't go through Darktown alone in your state."
"No really it's..." she turned quickly, dizzying herself. She paused, feeling his hand supporting her elbow in a fluid motion. Their eyes met. She blushed slightly, embarrassed at her weakness. "Thank you," she said humbly, "that would be kind."
Beside her, Carver chuckled warmly. "And that was the moment?" he said, his voice laden with scepticism, "The same night he reveals he's an abomination and stabs his best friend right in front of you. Your eyes meet his and you go weak at the knees? Sounds like a bad romance novel..."
"You would know," she muttered darkly. "And it wasn't like that. The look I saw in his eyes was as surprised as I felt myself. There was..." she sighed, feeling the inadequacy of her words, "a tenderness in the gesture, the moment. A way of being he'd forgotten, and that I'd never even learned. It was... intimate."
She drew a ragged breath, astounded at the power the memories still held over her. "Of course," she said thoughtfully, "it had been unconscious, and the moment our brains started working again it became... painfully awkward. He started to walk me home."
The path back to the Overcity was more convoluted at this time in the night. Luckily Anders knew which routes to take to avoid the worst of the marauding gangs, and the refugees respected him too much to push their luck.
"So where exactly do you live?" he asked brightly, helping her step over an open sewer. "I heard all the smugglers have palaces in Hightown these days..."
"I..." she faltered, taken aback, "you know about that?"
He shrugged casually. "It didn't take me long to figure out that you were the Hawke people keep mentioning," he said plainly. "Not many Fereldens making a name for themselves in this city."
"I suppose not," she replied quietly.
He glanced over at her, saw the discomfort in her expression. "Hey," he said cheerfully, "far be it from me to knock another soul's profession. 'Darktown quack' doesn't exactly pay the bills."
She gave him a dark look. "At least it's something you chose. I prefer not to think of our servitude with Athenril as my 'profession'."
The bitterness in her voice surprised both of them, and she felt the need to explain, walking purposefully down the dim alley. "My Uncle couldn't afford to get us into the city, and it wasn't as if we were safe hanging about at the Gallows. It was either working with Athenril, or becoming a mercenary," she said flatly, and shuddered. "I couldn't bear the thought of killing people to make a living. When it came down to it, we didn't really have a choice."
That... wasn't what he'd been expecting. The darkness in her face showed that he'd touched a nerve. He tried to lighten the mood. "For someone who doesn't like killing..." he said, gesturing to lead her up a winding staircase, "you're pretty good at it."
They could feel the air from the Overcity breathing down onto them now. She paused for a moment inhale it, sweet compared to the myriad musty tunnels. She looked at him, the torchlight soft on his features as he too stopped to breathe, his eyelids fluttering shut. "There isn't much I wouldn't do to protect my family," she said, though her look said she wanted to say more.
"Except?" he said, feeling the inevitability of the question.
She hesitated, trying to put the matter as delicately as possible. "Your... arrangement with Justice."
The expression made him chuckle. "Arrangement?" he said, raising an eyebrow, "I've never heard it called that before."
She frowned, her mouth twisting uneasily. "I mean, is that all there is to it? Or are you..."
They had reached the top of the staircase, and he paused, turning his face up to the open sky. "You want to know if I'm a Blood Mage?" he said, matter-of-factly.
She looked at him seriously, and he could feel her tensing for the response. "I have to ask," she said firmly. "I can't risk my family any more than I already have."
He sighed deeply, and flashed her a smile. "Well then, you're in luck," he quipped, "I'm terrified of pain."
He watched the relief clear her expression, felt the tension in her relaxing as she recognised where she was and began to lead the way. "You know," he said casually as he followed, "most apostates are perfectly reasonable people. Blood mages are the exception."
That certainly stopped her in her tracks. She spun on the spot, facing him with a curious expression. "You think I'm judging you because you're an apostate? I..." she hesitated, and then giggled. "Oh that's priceless!" She descended into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand.
It was fairly common for mages to get a little giddy when they were recovering from a smite, but this seemed excessive. Now it was Anders' turn to frown. "Is it? I seem to be missing something..."
"Well," she said, still giggling slightly, "me judging apostates would be pretty rich. I've never even seen the inside of a Circle!"
"You..." his frown deepened, "you've never been inside the Circle? What, not even back in Ferelden?"
She shook her head, a little too enthusiastically. It was almost as if she were a little tipsy. They did say that the first time you had your mana ripped from you was the hardest, but he'd been too young to really remember. "Not once," she said, proudly, "it's a Hawke family tradition."
Now it hit him. "That's... Hawke's your family name?" he said, his eyes widening significantly, "As in Malcolm Hawke?"
Her burgeoning smile split into a grin, as she gestured at her face. "The proud progenitor of my fine blue eyes and mahogany locks," she said as she turned a corner, heading down an alley with the briefest flash of a backward glance, "My father."
This really was something. "I had no idea."
On the other side of the narrow alleyway she paused for a moment to allow him to walk beside her. "Why would you?" she asked, cocking her head slightly. "Most people just assume that Hawke's a nickname, Carver too..." she paused, musing for a moment. "It's a shame really... my eyesight isn't even that good."
He hardly seemed to hear her, looking at her with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. "So you've lived as an apostate your whole life? With your family?"
She nodded, leading him up a staircase. "Bethany and I were both mages," she said happily, stopping outside a large, wooden door. "Father trained us himself." She gestured vaguely at the building behind her. "This is it. Thank you for walking me back, and I'm..." she hesitated as her energy bubble deflated. Her eyes darkened as she remembered why they were even talking. "I'm... sorry about your friend."
The memory hit him with startling vividness. He'd been so caught up in the conversation that it had half-slipped his mind. His expression fell, and his questions curled into ashes in his mouth. He looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see blood on them. "Karl was a good mage," he said quietly, "a good man."
He looked up at her, saw the sympathy in her expression. "I don't doubt it," she said, adding after a pause. "At least you were able to give him peace."
He nodded weakly. "I was... I just wish it didn't feel so empty."
She understood that, knowing the pain of a hollow consolation. She bowed slightly, watching the pain flicker over his features. "One day, maybe you could tell me about him?"
The naturalness of the gesture took him aback "I..." he stammered, "I'd like that."
She smiled at that, a pretty, earnest motion in her soft featured face. The moment stretched slightly, and a thought occurred to her. "Actually..." she said hesitantly, "I don't suppose I could borrow you tomorrow? I have to head up to Sundermount to make a delivery and I... don't know quite what to expect."
That piqued his curiosity. "That sounds ominous," he said, "I thought you were done being a smuggler?"
She frowned. This whole thing was too complicated. "I am," she said awkwardly. "This is... a favour I have to do for someone. Someone who saved my life."
He smiled wryly, leaning forward slightly. "You know," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "you're not doing a very good job of making this sound less ominous."
She flushed slightly, though it was barely noticeable in the moonlight. "I... Sorry. I understand if you're too busy."
Her apology, unease masked in formality, amused him. "No, no," he said, waving his hands slightly. "Don't mistake me. If you'd like me to tag along, I'd be more than happy to." He turned his eyes skywards for a second. "I could do with getting out of the city."
Her expression brightened immediately. "Really? That's... great. We're meeting at the city gates at sunrise."
She turned to the door, unlocking it as gently as she could manage. Opening it near-silently she looked back at him with a half-triumphant smile and whispered. "I'll see you then."
He nodded, backing away slightly. "I look forward to it."
Turning, he made his way down the steps and back towards Darktown, but not before he heard the distinct sounds of a woman's complaining voice and the sigh of a disappointed and caught daughter.
Sometimes, there were distinct benefits to not living with your mother.
"How very apt," Carver said, shifting slightly as he scratched at his left temple, "no good tale is complete without the Witch of the Wilds."
Ariadne smiled, adjusting her position against his shoulder. "Oh, I don't know," she said, frowning thoughtfully, "She's not in Dane and the Werewolves, is she?"
Her brother shrugged vaguely. "I always figured she made the wolves, myself."
"Good call," she paused for a moment, teeth tugging at her lower lip. "You know, I always wondered what he must have thought of me, blathering away like an idiot about my family like that when he'd just killed his oldest friend."
"He was probably expecting it," Carver said with a slight grimace. "Forced mana deprivation does that to mages. Knocks them out, fills them with manic energy and then knocks them out again. Meredith did a study. Certainly explains why you slept for ten straight hours once you were home."
She frowned, pulling back to look into her brother's face. "Meredith did a study?"
Carver nodded, his teeth gritted slightly as a shudder rocked him body. "Meredith did a lot of things," he said, sweat beading on his forehead as he moved his hand to grip his thigh, "sheliked to be... thorough."
His body shook as another spasm flared up from his leg, turning his face green. Ariadne turned to face him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "What's happening? There must be something I can do."
He groaned deeply, pressing his hands down on his leg as it shuddered. "It's just..." he muttered, his voice little more than a growl. "These spasms... when my legs twitch like that I can feel... everything."
Thinking quickly, Ariadne leant forward, tilting her brother's face up to look into hers. "I could try paralysing them," she said quickly. "That should ease the spasms, at least for a while."
The next shudder engulfed him, leaving him breathless with pain as she stroked the hair back from his face. Trying to focus on anything other than the pain he nodded. "If you think it will help. I'm willing to try anything right now."
"Of course," she said, moving over him in a moment, summoning the little mana that had returned. "Just... hold still... there."
She watched nervously as the tension left Carver's shoulders, seeing the relief in his face as the tremors stopped she sighed. "Maker's breath this is exhausting," she said softly, leaning into his arm. "It's yet another drain on my mana. This whole process is just going to keep taking longer."
Carver nodded slightly, weakened almost beyond the point of speech. "I know," he whispered, "but there's nothing else we can do."
