Hawke's Oath
Garrett Hawke sat at the bar in the Hanged Man. Alone. People can sense when another person is angry or unstable, and Garrett Hawke was putting off major vibes for both. Not even Isabela, who was accustomed to dealing with all manner of crazy (and sleeping with most of it), was perched on her usual barstool. Instead, she was sitting at a table near the stairwell, watching Garrett with worried eyes.
Garrett could feel Isabela's gaze. In fact, he felt the subtle gaze of everyone in the room. He ignored them. He just couldn't give a shit what they thought.
Bethany. How could it have come to this? Garrett ordered another shot of whiskey, straight, and threw it down.
Bartrand's deep roads expedition has been an unmitigated cluster fuck. Well, maybe not entirely, the payoff had been big. However, Bartrand's betrayal and attempted murder had not sat well with Hawke. If that wasn't bad enough, what he found when he got home…
The memory was almost too much to contain. He ground his teeth and forced his tears to stay in check. Mother had begged him to not take Bethany on the expedition. Mother had suffered so much that he couldn't bring himself to do it. It made sense to leave her too. Garrett was nervous about having himself and his sister in such danger at the same time. Bethany had protested, but Garrett agreed with mother that only one of them should go on the expedition.
Which was all well and good, until Garrett returned to find Maker-damned templars hauling his sister, his Bethany, off to the fucking gallows.
He had very nearly gone to arms right then and there. He was confident he could've killed them all himself, but he was not confident he could've done so before Bethany was harmed. So he made the hardest decision of his life and stayed his hand. He wondered if Cullen had any idea how close he came that day to meeting the Maker.
Mother had collapsed into wailing sobs when they took Bethany and for once, Garrett hadn't tried to contain his emotions. He had held his mother close and they wept as only those who had lost as much as they had could. Mother had cried herself to sleep on Garrett's shoulder. He carried her off to her room and laid her on her bed.
That had been two months ago. He had barely spoken more than a dozen sentences to mother since.
Garrett's father was dead, and responsibility to take care of the family fell to him. And he had utterly and completely failed in that responsibility. Garrett failed at Lothering, and his little brother paid the price. He had failed again in Kirkwall, and now his sister was in the hands of people with the same sort of compassion you found in a butcher knife.
He just couldn't face mother. He couldn't look in her eyes and see the loss that was, ultimately, his fault. His. Fault. He had been entrusted with everything mother held dear and he'd lost it all. In hindsight, maybe it would've been better if Bethany had accompanied him to the deep roads. Maybe it would've been better if Bethany had gone into the deep roads and he had stayed home with mother. It wasn't as if she couldn't have handled the expedition as well as he had, and if the templars had come and not found Bethany, he would've been free to punish them, kill them for what they had attempted to do to his sister. Or, he thought, maybe it would've been better if the ogre had killed me instead of Carver. It would have the advantage of simplicity.
"Garrett," a musical little voice said.
He turned and his glassy, half drunken gaze met Merrill's large grass green eyes. He didn't particularly want to talk to Merrill either.
The little elven woman was so sweet and innocent. Their friendship had gone a bit beyond mere friendship in recent months. However, he still didn't want to talk to her. She was just so pure and lovable, while he was the unclean. Somewhere inside, he was afraid the stain of his dishonor and failure might somehow taint her inherent goodness if he spoke with her.
"Do you need something?" he asked without emotion.
"No, but I think you do," Merrill replied. She took a barstool to his right. Garrett considered what a sight they must've made. He had the large, hard trained musculature of a man who was accustomed to using a large, two handed sword on a regular basis. Merrill probably tipped the scales at one hundred pounds soaking wet, and was so petite she appeared to be frail. When Garrett had first met her, he was convinced a strong gust of wind would've blown the poor girl over.
Garrett Hawke, however, knew that appearances could be deceiving. The little elven woman sitting beside him was possibly the deadliest individual he'd ever met. He'd seen her turn the ground enemies stood upon into a raging inferno so hot, that not even ashes remained of them.
She was smart, dangerous, and capable. She was also his friend, and perhaps more than just that. He wanted to send her away, but she deserved better than that.
"I need my family, whole and safe," he said. "Mother is just slowly withering away. Without her and Bethany I'm just…just…"
"I know," Merrill whispered. "By the Creators, I know."
And she did. Merrill had no family, and no one in her clan had ever befriended her. Garrett didn't understand that. She was socially awkward at times, but she was sweet and was without any deception in her heart. The fact that none of her clan had befriended her had left him with a very low opinion of them. If you couldn't get along with Merrill, there was something inherently wrong with you. Even Fenris wasn't as much of a dick as normal when she was around.
A commotion from the front door of the pub caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw a few templars filing in.
"Might want to keep a low profile Merrill," Garrett muttered.
"I've learned to conceal my talent," she whispered. "They won't suspect a thing."
"All the same, you might want to sit somewhere else for a bit."
The templars were standing in the back scanning the crowd, clearly looking for someone. Merrill might've been socially awkward and naïve, but she knew this dance well. She picked up Garrett's shot glass, stood, and walked off towards a table, giving the perfect appearance of someone who had received her drink order and was returning to her own table.
One of the templars muttered something when he spotted Hawke. The clanking of armor announced their approach. Hawke made sure his skinning knife was in its usual spot on his belt.
A striking but worn looking blonde in full templar issue plate seated herself to Hawke's left. He knew the woman by reputation, but had never spoken with her before. That was a state of affairs he was happy to maintain, but she apparently was having none of it. Hawke tossed off his whiskey and motioned for another.
"Serah Hawke," she began. "Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard."
"I know who you are," he said. Turning, he looked at her three companions. "Ser Thrask, Captain Cullen, Emeric," he nodded to each of them. "Was there something you wanted, Knight-Commander?"
"Not especially. I thought we might talk about your sister."
"You thought wrong," Garrett spat.
"I don't mean your family any harm," Meredith held up a placating hand. "Try to understand our reasons."
"I understand your reasons perfectly well," Garrett said. "By the way, what the hell are you doing down here anyway? You could've sent any one of them," he waved in the general direction of the other templars, "to have this little talk. Hell, you could've sent a recruit for Maker's sake. Surely you have better things to do than pester drunks."
"Just a bit of community outreach as it were," she said.
"But surely your talents aren't required for that," he drawled. "Shouldn't you be out doing templar stuff? You know, slaying demons, fighting abominations, kidnapping people's children, that sort of stuff?"
Meredith sighed. "Look, I just want to talk. That's all."
"Bullshit, I'm not as stupid as I look. You want something. What is it? My family, perhaps? Would you like to kidnap my mother and uncle now? Do that and you'll have the entire Amell lineage."
Meredith's veneer of politeness and calm evaporated. Good. Garrett was tired of her pathetic acting anyway.
"You have started making waves, Hawke," Meredith spat. "The people talk about you like you're some kind of damned folk hero. It's been that way ever since your last two expeditions. Two trips into the Deep Roads. People are talking. That isn't a problem per se; what is a problem is the way you openly mock the authority of the templars."
"Ego feeling a bit bruised?"
"Hawke," she said warningly.
Garrett turned away from Meredith, not deigning to even look her in the eye when talking to her. "We're done here."
"You get away with far more around here than any one man should, Hawke," Meredith spat. "If it were up to me, your whole family would be locked in the gallows for harboring apostates."
"Wonder of wonders," Garret began, "but it's not up to you. Unlike you, the viscount in this city has some common sense about such matters."
Meredith turned red with anger, but before she could speak, Cullen stepped in.
"Please, can we not discuss this like adults?" Cullen asked.
"I'm still waiting to hear just what the hell we're supposed to be discussing, Captain," Garrett replied.
"We were hoping we could convince you to tone down your public criticism of the order. I'm not a fool Garrett, I'm not asking you to like us or promote us. I wouldn't expect you to, all things considered. We're only asking that you keep your opinions on us quiet," Cullen said.
"Which is not much to ask," Meredith snapped. "Especially seeing how we have your sister in our custody."
Garrett's eyes hardened. Meredith didn't see or didn't know the signs, but Cullen did. It really was the wrong thing for Meredith to say.
Garrett spoke calmly. "Captain Cullen, Ser Thrask, Emeric, you all seem to be good men, regardless of what I think of your profession. Captain Cullen, I know that you do not visit abuse on the circle mages for kicks as some of your brethren do, as it's not your character. Emeric, I know you well enough to know that you have a caring heart and would not see anyone come to harm needlessly. Ser Thrask, I know you less well, but you seem a kind man." Garrett did not mention aloud how Thrask had killed another Templar on the Wounded Coast to prevent a massacre of a few apostates who didn't deserve it.
"It comforts me to know that there are decent men among the order. However," Garrett continued amiably, "if I catch wind that Bethany has been abused, hurt, or is considered for being made tranquil, I will kill you all without regret, and your general good-heartedness will earn you no quarter."
Meredith's eyes flashed fury. "That's it. Captain Cullen, arrest this—"
She never finished the sentence. In one fluid motion, Garrett drew his skinning knife and rammed the tip of the blade through Meredith's right hand, nailing it to the bar. Before she even had time to scream, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled back, forcing her eyes skyward. He then reversed his direction and slammed her face down, hard on the bar.
Garrett repeated that particular process three times more, each impact generating a most satisfying snap or pop. After the fourth and final slam, he hauled her head back and noticed a couple of teeth embedded into the wood of bar. The sight made him smile.
The other templars were dumbfounded, eyes open wide and disbelieving what they saw. They didn't even start drawing their weapons until after Garrett had finished beating Meredith's head against the bar. While they hesitated, Garrett drew another blade, this one a short sword he kept as a sidearm, and rested it across Meredith's throat. "Sheath them, gentlemen, if you prefer for her head to remain attached to the rest of her."
Meredith's nose was broken, as was her left cheek bone. She was covered in her own blood and was missing a couple of teeth. "You're mad," she grated through clenched teeth. "You will not—"
Garrett twisted the skinning knife, eliciting a whimper from Meredith.
"Quite possibly," Garrett agreed. "But for all things there is an appropriate time. War, peace, love, hate; there is a time for all these. Even madness has its appropriate place."
"You will not get out of this," she said.
"Oh, but I will," Garrett said casually. "By the way, where are my manners? Barkeep! A drink for my guest."
The bartender, visibly shaking, prepared two drinks and set them in front of Garrett. He snatched one up and downed it in one pull.
"You see Knight-Commander, unlike most people I've gotten over my fear of you. You know all those stories that are circulating about me facing a sentient darkspawn in the Deep Roads?" Garret asked. He lowered his voice a bit. "They're true."
Garrett continued. "His name was Corypheus. He was once a man. In fact, he was once a magister lord of the Tevinter Imperium. You know that story the Chantry is always telling us about how the magisters of Tevinter corrupted the Golden City? As it turns out, those just aren't stories. This man WAS one of those who corrupted the Golden City. One of the magisters old. His magic was so powerful, even your templar talents would've been worthless against him."
Garrett's voice hardened. "And in the end, for all his frightening power, he tasted the end of my sword. So believe me, Knight-Commander, when I say that you and your men pose no real threat to me."
"And why should I believe you?" she choked out over the pain in her hand.
"You are a templar are you not? You can sense magic, can you not?" Garrett drew the greatsword from his shoulder that Larius had called "The Key of the Hawke". "This blade killed one of the magisters that destroyed the Maker's paradise. After that, it killed an ancient rock wraith in the Deep Roads. Your templar senses will tell you that I am not lying."
Meredith did her best not to show any reaction to the blade, but Garrett saw the truth in her eyes. She could sense the power that the blade had been exposed to. And she knew. She knew every threat he had made was not idle, and that he truly could do just as he had promised.
Cullen was staring at the blade, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Maker's breath…"
"Even were that not enough, I am on speaking terms with the Arishok. Though I don't share his worldview, that old horned bastard likes to prattle on at length about how degenerate this city is and, funny thing, as days go by I'm starting to understand his point. If you really want to push this, I don't think it'd be hard for me to arrange an incident that would...draw his ire. Hell, I could go down there and convert to the Qun and probably talk him into it within a day."
Meredith stared daggers at Hawke. "You would do this? Abandon your faith?"
"Knight-Commander," Garrett said heavily, "she's my sister. There's precious damned little I wouldn't do. If you push me on this, if you harm Bethany, things will get extremely, shockingly ugly. Do you want that?"
Meredith shook her head.
"Good." Garrett examined Meredith's pinned hand. "You'll want to get that looked at it. It'll need some disinfectant too." With that, Garrett snatched up the other drink he had ordered, and poured the liquor over the open wound.
Meredith stifled another scream.
"Serah Hawke, please, this behavior is beneath you!" Thrask exclaimed.
"Not anymore," Garrett said. "We all have our price, Ser Thrask. Men, being what they are, are all willing to sell their honor and dignity for the right price. My price is the safety of my sister and, for her, I shall gladly exchange what honor I have."
Thrask said nothing more, but Garrett thought might've seen a miniscule nod of approval.
Garrett turned back to Meredith. She was starting to get pale and glassy eyed. "Listen well, Knight-Commander, as I will say this once. The templars are out of control. Caging mages like animals is a sin and an abomination before the Maker and an offense to human dignity. If you continue as you have, this will end in tears. And they will not be mine."
"Now," Garrett said almost jovially. "We truly are done here." Without warning, he jerked the skinning knife from Meredith's hand. She collapsed to the floor, and Garrett made no move to catch her. He left the shocked and terrified patrons of the Hanged Man without a look back, and went back to his uncle's home.
Garrett walked into Gamlen's hovel. Surprisingly, mother was still awake. She was normally in bed by sundown, and would rise early. Mother was, instead, sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace.
"Mother," Garrett greeted. Leandra's perpetually mournful eyes settled on her son. Garrett thought he saw her eyes flash something. Something like longing.
The expression in her eyes left as quickly as it came. "Garrett," she said, looking him over. "Have you been drinking again?"
Garrett sighed. "Yes, mother. Look, I'm tired. I'm going to turn in."
He thought he saw Leandra's expression fall a bit. "Of course, my son. Before you turn in, I was wondering tomorrow if—"
There was a knock at the door. Garrett drew his short sword. "Stay back from the door."
"Are you expecting trouble? What have you done, Garrett?" Leandra asked.
"Later," Garrett said.
Garrett cracked open the door. Instead of the expected squad of templars, Merrill stood at his door.
"Merrill," Garrett said. "Do you need anything?"
"Garrett, I'm so worried about you. That was very much not like you," she said. Garrett could see that the petite elven woman really was distressed.
"What was very much not like you?" Leandra asked. "What have you done?"
"I'm sorry messere," Merrill said, addressing Leandra. "I will leave."
"Wait," Leandra said. "I sense that there's some trouble, and Garrett won't talk to me. Maybe you can get him to talk."
Garrett felt ashamed. He always did around his mother these days.
Merrill stepped inside. "Oh, your home is so nice! Much nicer than the alienage. Not even any rats!" she said with her usual cheery voice.
Garrett smiled. Merrill could light up a room without even trying, despite his present state of mind.
"Maybe you can tell me what trouble my eldest has gotten into now?" Leandra asked.
"Well, there was this group of templars that came into the Hanged Man looking for Garrett. They were lead by that dreadful Knight-Commander that everyone is scared of," Merrill said. "She was trying to make Garrett agree to stop criticizing the templars so openly. She threatened Bethany as a way to make Garrett do what she wanted."
"Oh, Maker preserve us," Leandra said. Leandra knew all too well how her eldest son would react to something like that. "I take it things got out of hand."
"Well, I suppose you could say things got…in hand first," Merrill said. Garrett grimaced.
Leandra started trembling. "Do you…think they will hurt Bethany?" The fear in Leandra's voice shamed Garrett further. He was supposed to be protecting his sister, not potentially endangering her with his explosive temper.
"No," Merrill said. "I believe you humans have a saying, something about putting the fear of the Maker in someone. Garrett pretty much did that to the Knight-Commander. Everyone else in the bar too, come to think of it."
Garrett sighed. "I shouldn't have reacted so rashly, but no, they won't harm Bethany. Word has gotten around about the battle with Corypheus. I showed Meredith the blade I slew him with. Her templar senses were good enough to tell her the magnitude of the foe that was slain with it. Besides, for now, I probably will tone down my public criticism, at least for a time."
"You should have seen her face, messere," Merrill chirped. "When she wasn't gritting her teeth in pain from the knife Garrett had rammed through her hand, you could see the terror in her eyes. Was really rather exciting to watch, come to think of it."
Leandra buried her face in her palms. "Oh, Garrett. So much like your father."
Garrett said nothing.
"Why aren't you speaking to me anymore?" Leandra asked.
"I am speaking to you now mother, am I not?" Garrett replied.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she said.
Garrett turned away from his mother, and stared blankly at the wall.
Garrett was surprised to hear Merrill speak. "When I was a young girl, I was apprenticed to Marethari. She did well enough raising me I suppose, but she was not my mother and she never tried to be. I envy the two of you. I have no family. Up until I met you, Garrett, I really had no friends either. Please don't lose what you have. It's precious, and rare, and you never know how wonderful it is until it's gone."
Garrett's heart skipped a beat. Merrill was a smart woman, but also naïve and not very good with the "social graces". She might not have known the first thing about proper modes of address in court, or traditional noble style dress, or which side of the plate the fork went on at a formal dinner. For anything that mattered, however, she was wise beyond her years, as she had just proven once again.
Garrett just couldn't hold it in anymore. He didn't bother to hide his tears, or hide the pain in his voice.
"Mother," he said. "I tried. I tried the best I knew how, but I couldn't do it. I was supposed to look after Bethany and Carver. Bethany's locked up in the gallows and Carver…" he sniffled and wiped at his eyes. "It should have been me, not Carver. It should've been me. I wish it had been me." He looked at his mother. "I feel so ashamed."
"Oh, my son," Leandra said. She embraced her son and held him close. "It's not your fault. None of it was." For a long time, neither spoke.
Steel entered Garrett's voice. "Bethany will not spend the rest of her life locked in the gallows. I don't know long it will take, but I WILL bring her home, with the Maker as my witness."
The motherly embrace ended, and something flashed in Leandra's eyes. An old fire, something that hadn't crossed her expression in years. "Your father," she said with granite certainty, "would be incredibly proud of you."
"I'm sorry I was so cold to you, mother," Garrett said. "I couldn't bear to look you in the eye. I don't even feel worthy of being your son."
"You will never stop being my son," she said, embracing him again.
Merrill spoke up. "That's so sweet how sharing a family hug can solve so many problems." Merrill stopped herself, clearly worried. "Oh dear, I shouldn't have said anything, should I? This is a private family affair, I should just leave."
"No," Garrett said. "You shouldn't leave. Precisely because this is a private family affair."
"Exactly, so I should—" Merrill stumbled to a halt when it hit her what Garrett had said.
"Oh. Oh…I…" Merrill's eyes became watery.
Garrett had always believed important things in life that needed to be said, should be said. However, the most important things in life, those things you will remember during your last moments, generally didn't need words at all.
Garrett beckoned for her. She came to him, and Garrett found himself embracing two of the three most important people in his life. It was bittersweet for the absence of the third.
Hang on, Bethany, he thought to himself. I will bring you home to a place where you will not have to run anymore, and no amount of templars will stop me. Not even the Maker himself will stop me.