Brother Dearest.
Summary; What if The Deep Roads expedition took a different turn when you finally found our way back to familiar ground again? What if you didn't need Anders to save your brother? Or is that all just wistful thinking..?
A/N; This is my first official fanfiction I post on the internet. English is definitely not my native language, so I apologize beforehand for any incorrect spellings and grammatical errors.
and just to make a short story even shorter, this was mainly written because I felt compelled to create an own sort of scenario about what happened in the deep roads expedition for my custom Hawke Geem, whom is my bloodmage is Dragon Age2. :)
dialogue and event may or may not be accurate to the official storyline, just as how this story may or may not be continued in the future.
R/R!~
**All Dragon Age content belong to BioWare, I receive no compensation nor do I make any profit of this fanfiction.
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Two full weeks, and an additional two because of a cave-in —- there were wounded everywhere, boys' went missing. Thankfully Sandal was found unharmed. Dark Spawn invasions, spider infested detours, brother betrayal, lurking Emissary's and countless Shades. Numerous Profane.. And Rock Wraiths. Demon deals, Maker knows what he's missed to mention.
Geem Hawke knew right from the start that the Deep Roads expedition would be difficult, you're not told to gather up 50 sovereigns for nothing; but he never thought it would be That difficult. That it would be "we-barely-live-to-see-the-surface" kind of difficult.
It took the quartet another five days to find a familiar part of the Deep Roads, finally sensing an end to their torment they breathed a sigh of sincerest relief. Bickered a little with Varric for good measures, to get the spirit up again.
Little did he know, they had yet to see below the surface of the concept of torment.
—
–"Think we could... take a break?" It wasn't really until I heard my brother's faint voice that I noticed just how far behind the boy had fallen, "I feel... wrong." Or how exhausted and out of breath Carver sounded. Somewhere to my right I heard Varric casually assume the deep mushrooms from before were at fault, he didn't seem too worried, but it made me wonder why we gambled on eating them at all as I threw a glance over my shoulder and replied;
–"We can make camp if you're sick." But furthermore, it wasn't until Merrill suddenly dashed past me that a coil of confusion came along. Spread smothering hot inside my chest, and concern exploded onto my dirtied face once I had turned and saw her catch Carver around the arm before he could collapse completely.
–"Carver!" Why I called out so loud was a mystery, but somehow I felt compelled to. To let my brother hear my concern. Carver didn't answer though, and Merrill merely helped the boy to the ground; kept him stable in a sit with the same worried frown marring her delicate features. Her lips moved, and his lips moved but I could hear nothing of what they said, if they even said anything. Regardless, it takes only another second before I'm at their side, searching for signs of injuries with Carver now in my arms while Merrill holds his hands almost panicked. Her knuckles already whitening from the pressure.
–"–-just like that templar, I'll be just as dead, just as gone.. " Carver continues in disoriented mumbles then comes to explain how he thought the nausea was nothing, changes to how he Hoped it was nothing; deems himself an idiot –- which I can't really object to, he can be a real moron sometimes, always keeps his troubles to himself just like me. Family trait probably.
–"I'm not going to make it." That caught my attention, and in turn I hug him just a little tighter against myself. Maybe an attempt to be reassuring. Perhaps it's for no reason in particular. "I can't, not to the surface, not.. not anywhere. It's getting worse.." Distress lace his words, they're heavy and thick, he's scared. Trembles just the slightest, and I'm at a loss of how to comfort him.
Varric comes into view, a pained expression creasing his forehead. It must be bad.
–"We're in the middle of nowhere," I want to scream, tell him to stop right there, that I don't want to hear it. But my throat's gone too dry to make a sound, then the dwarven rogue is already saying that one thing I wished he wouldn't. "we can't help him.."
Somewhere, somehow I must have been prepared for this, or I'm simply too struck by shock to remark on it. Merrill isn't as lucky, -if that's even a the word to be used there- has to cover her mouth to hold her voice. Little sobs and hiccups escapes despite her effort, somehow that only worsens the situation.
–"I'm sorry it had to end like this." Carver speaks again, almost inaudible now, like a whisper. But it's not for me. I watch silently as his bare forearm flexes, like the faintest spasm, in attempt to bring his hand to squeeze the small one still clutched tight and cramp like around his own.
Maybe it's an attempt to reassure her. Perhaps it's for no reason in particular.
Instantly I'm reminded of Aveline, of Wesley and memories of how abrupt the taint had claimed the templar over is suddenly flooding my head. I know I have to do something. Anything. It's like instinct and it must happen soon. Carver is already too many shades too pale, like a ghost, a sheen of sweat visible against his forehead. The blight is affecting his breathing too, destroying everything too fast for me to be rational.
–"You'll do it," I crease my forehead at his whisper, "won't you, Brother?" at his desire.
How.. How could I kill my own brother? Because Carver asked me to? Where was fair in that, where was - "don't worry so much of me. I can take care of myself Mother, you'll see."? How could this happen? In what manner of punishment was this supposed to be justice? I've never interfered with templars businesses or caused too much trouble for myself with my magic. I never practiced where people were around to get hurt and never did anything to piss anyone off so badly that my baby brother should have to pay the price with his life for it! I already lost Bethany, I already lost my father, when would this madness come to an end!?
–"You always did ask for the world, Carver."
–"...And you always gave it.."
–"Close your eyes," I don't know what I'm saying, "I'll make it alright." I have no control of my movement. But as I shift my hold around his shoulder his eyes close obedient to my command, and I feel the light pressure of his head fall against my shoulder, accepting whatever is to come. For a moment I see Bethany there, lying untroubled and still, and then I see my father. Merrill stares up at me, pleading, begging, but I ignore her green doe like eyes full of tears and reach for the dagger at her belt instead. I don't know why, where or how I lost mine but it's insignificant now, hers' will do just fine. It's for the same purpose, doesn't need to be anything fancy, just get the job done quickly.
–"Hawke, phe.. please.. please don't.." Although there's no move to interfere as I bring the dagger up to the juncture of Carver's neck and shoulder, it's not until Varric rests a meaningful hand on her arm and calls her "Daisy" in that soft voice of his, indicating something inevitable is about to happen, that she turns away. Every hue of anguish, distress and heartache conveyed into that one devastated look on her face.
–"...Merrill," tentative and soft I call her attention, despite her efforts she seems unable to ignore it and eventually has no choice but to meet my eyes, lithe frame shaking almost beyond control; quaking with indescribable grief, "keep talking to him." her eyes dilates in disbelief, and I let the curved blade of her Dalish dagger down across the palm of my hand.