"Carver," my lips are pale and unmoving, and suddenly I'm furious. Furious at Bartrand for leaving us, furious at Varric for even coming up to us that day in Hightown, furious at the Blight for doing this to him, for ripping us away from our home in the first place, furious at Anders for suggesting this fate, furious at Carver for his stubbornness, and above all, enraged and disgusted with myself for allowing Carver to come to this blighted hell hole with me.
How could I have been so careless and stupid? Why hadn't I listened to Mother? How could I have let this happen? I already lost Bethany from something I could have protected her from, and now it's happening all over again.
Stroud looks at me expectantly, the same way everyone else is always looking at me, to make a move, say something brilliant, and it makes me even angrier. I want to tell him to sod off—that I'll find some way to save Carver without his help, but Carver coughs harshly, shaking violently in my arms, spraying my robes and face with his life's blood. The veins curling at his temples, his wrists, are already beginning to darken, speaking of the poison that is ruining him. Killing him. Destroying my baby brother.
"If you want us to take him, it must be now, or we will never reach the surface in time," Stroud says, and I look at Carver's baby blue eyes—and I know I want him to live, no matter what life he'll have. At least it will be a life. Something more than following me around. Isn't that what he always wanted?
"Carver," I repeat, in a louder voice, "I'm so sorry." Tearing my eyes from his, I help him limp forward to Stroud's reaching gloved hands. Reluctantly, I hand my little brother over to the Grey Warden.
Carver's eyes are bluer than ever, his ink black hair hanging in sweaty strands on his head. "I guess this is goodbye, Sister. Take care of Mother."
He offers nothing more and it breaks my heart. Stroud gives me a polite bow. "I am sorry, Mistress Hawke. We will do what we can." And with that, they turn, and what seems like milliseconds later they've disappeared into the void of the Deep Roads. Carver doesn't look back, not once.
There's an eerie silence once the shuffled footsteps of the Grey Wardens disappears. None of us move, and I can feel Varric's and Ander's sympathetic stares on my back. An icy numbness has poured into my veins that make everything seem surreal and hollow.
I hear Varric take a step closer to me, and I turn around. He stands there, alongside Anders, his gold colored eyes a mix between concern and compassion. He is incredibly bad at comforting.
"Hawke—"the voice belongs to Anders. My electric blue eyes snap to his and he stops talking immediately, his brows furrowed.
"Thank you, Anders, for telling us about the Grey Wardens here. And thank you both for helping me bring him here. We should get going," I say emotionlessly, walking past them. "I don't want to be here anymore."
That night, it is very quiet. We find a semi-safe looking place to make camp, and my companions tell me to get some sleep. Anders is to take first watch, Varric the second, and Anders insists on taking third shift again.
Sleep doesn't find me. Every time I close my eyes, I see Carver's face looking back at me, streaked with his blood and the black blood of darkspawn, the hollow look in his eye when he told me he'd be just as dead, just as gone as Wesley.
I should never have brought him here.
He never should have gotten involved with this. He should be back in Kirkwall with Mother—safe. He could have made something of himself there. Become a guard, a mercenary, a damn templar for Maker's sake! Life as a Warden is miserable and backbreaking. Why had I thought I'd been showing him mercy? It was nothing of the sort! I should have let him pass on into the next world. Then at least he'd be with Bethany and Father.
He's probably at the surface by now. Going through the ritual to become a Grey Warden. I'm not sure exactly what happens, but the unpleasantness of it is no secret. Anders won't even tell me what really happens. I've asked him before.
What have I done? Allowing my little brother to become a Grey Warden! What kind of older sister am I? I was supposed to protect them—both of them, the twins, and I failed them both. They're gone.
Father. What would he say about this? He told me to protect them, look after them and be a role model. Bethany always sort of hero worshipped me, but Carver had always been extremely difficult. We but heads constantly. Both of us have short tempers and get sick of each other unbelievably fast. He always used me being a mage against me, even though I didn't choose to have these abilities, and if I could I'd give them back.
I'd much rather be a simple warrior wielding a sword: we'd be safer that way from the Templars, and I wouldn't have to try and hide who I really am. I never let him knew that of course—I told him he was jealous, when in reality it was the other way around.
Carver could have been anyone he wanted! No one would have hunted him for merely existing! No one would have looked at him in fear, like he was a monster, for doing what is so natural for a mage to do!
He acted like I was holding him back, when really I wanted nothing more for him to go find something that made him happy. I wanted him to come with me because I needed him, and because I wanted him to feel as if he worked for something. He doesn't like being handed things. Never has. Carver has pride like I'd never seen.
Tears drip from my eyes and I very carefully stifle the sobs.