Hey guys! So this starts out like pretty much every single Hawke POV story; I tried to make it as interesting as possible, though if you've played DA II this will be very familiar. The rest of the chapters will be far more individualized. I'm sticking as much to canon as possible – however, it won't be 100%.

I won't continue this if it's unpopular/boring, so PLEASE leave me a review! If I get follows/positive reviews, I will be posting a new chapter each week.

Thank you and enjoy!

All I could feel was the blood pumping furiously through my veins; a vital, frantic thud that pushed me to run faster. My breath came in short grunts as I maneuvered my way across the rocky, barren landscape; my lungs were burning, each breath feeling as if I was sucking in fire. The distant horizon was smoky, the landscape beyond blurry. Our home. That had been our home, and now it was aflame.

This didn't feel real.

I had halted my frantic pace, to stare at the view in disbelief, and my brother nearly crashed into me from behind. He and my sister, following closely on his heels, doubled over, sucking in wheezing breaths. I twisted around as Mother didn't appear for a few moments, my heart clenching with sudden guilt and worry – I had nearly forgotten her in my fear. I was a coward. I started to stride back, past my siblings, when she hobbled into view, coming from around a rocky bend, clearly worse for wear. I appeared immediately at her side, and she sagged against me, looking pale and tired.

"Mother," I whispered, my voice taught with anxiety. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"We – must," she garbled, her words slurring from exhaustion. She shifted suddenly, trying to stand on her own, but I held fast.

"Mother, please. Let me carry you."

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but one look at my face seemed to stop her. She nodded sharply, her gray hair coming undone from her low ponytail. I bent down on one knee and allowed her to clamber onto my back; I shifted slightly, assuring her security, before turning to my siblings, whom had begun to bicker.

"Why didn't we leave sooner?" My sister was shouting, looking furiously at my brother. They looked remarkably similar, as only twins did. Her bright blue eyes were even brighter in anger – anger driven by her acute fear. She was obviously scared out of her mind; it was easy to see in the tremor of her slender, pale hands, and the slight hoarseness of her voice.

My brother seemed not to realize this. "Me? Why are you asking me?"

There was suddenly a screech behind us; way, way too close behind us. Bethany whirled around, whipping her hand up and bringing her arm down in a fluid, sluicing movement. A wall of fire burst to life behind us, and with a shouted curse I shot a few feet forward, keeping Mother out of harm's way.

"Jeraud, language," she snapped, rapping me slightly on the side of the head in reprimand.

This pulls a smile from me; of all the things going wrong, she would pick at my language.

"Carver, back off," I snarl a moment later as my brother refused to back down from my sister, who was growing pale from the energy used to sustain the wall of fire. Several darkspawn – horrible, rotting things straight from a nightmare – were groaning and grunting and screeching from the other side. Bethany couldn't keep this up much longer. "We need to get out of here," I get out, shifting slightly to keep Mother from falling.

Bethany and Carver fall silent, agreeing for once. Bethany meets my eyes with her gentle blue ones and smiles with gratitude; Carver's eyes were dark, and he storms past me to continue along the bottom of the small canyon road.

"Come," I say in a gentler tone to my sister, and usher her ahead. She catches my hand and gives it a squeeze, before running to catch up with her twin brother, engaging him in argumentative banter.

"They will never get along, will they?" Mother asked in defeat, her voice directly in my left ear. It was tinged with sadness, and it filled me with unease. No, I didn't want her sad.

"I'm sure they'll get along one day, Mother. Everything will be fine," I assured her earnestly, and I am rewarded with a chuckle.

"My darling boy," she cooes, before slapping my shoulder. I am relieved that the sadness has receded. "Let's catch up to them before they kill each other."

I obey immediately, my feet moving of their own accord. It was with ease that I navigated the rocky terrain, despite Mother's additional weight. She was so light, it was hardly a hindrance. The bubble of sadness is brought to life once more by the thought; she had been unable to eat as she should since Father had died. No matter what we tempted her with, she remained sad and small.

I catch up to Bethany and Carver within minutes, and in silence the three of us pound down the dirt path. Bethany and Carver fall back to flank me, and I am humbled by the trust that they place in me – have always placed in me. I will not fail them.

"Wait," Bethany snaps, halting suddenly. Her expression was cross. "We can't just keep wandering aimlessly. What is the plan?"

"We need to keep moving," I urge her as Carver paces irritably behind us, rolling his stiff shoulders. "As long as it's away from the darkspawn."

And from Lothering, our doomed home.

"I was thinking Kirkwall," Mother replies thoughtfully from my back, and I stiffen with surprise.

"Kirkwall? Are you sure?" Bethany asked, her eyes widening in shock. She looked so young, so out of place in this rocky, desolate terrain.

"There are a lot of Templars in Kirkwall," I agree worriedly, my voice tightening. As if any Templar would get within a mile of my sister. My blood heats at the thought.

"We have an estate there, and family," Mother pleads, and I see the fight leave Bethany. It was hard for any of us to refuse Mother since Father died; none of us could bear her disappointment.

"Well, I guess we don't have much of a choice," she sighs in resignation. Mother relaxes, relieved that she would not have to fight her darling girl.

"Kirkwall it is then," I start to say, but am interrupted by the distant sound of clashing blades. My mother climbs off of my back, and I quickly whip out my bow, knocking an arrow expertly into place. My muscles coil in preparation as I slink forward, signaling to my siblings to keep behind me. They both behave; Carver quietly draws his greatsword, his brow creased in concentration. We round the bend in such a manner, and are met with the sight of a fearsome melee; two people amidst a horde of darkspawn, one with vivid, flaming red hair, and the other a soldier, fighting desperately not to be overwhelmed.

I clamber agilely to a rocky outcropping, and let loose a hail of arrows. My adrenaline is up; pulsing through me, pulling everything into a sharper focus, and a laugh escapes me as I see the darkspawn filth start to fall as my arrows pierced their fleshy, rotting hides. Bethany lets out a cry, and starts flinging fireballs at the mass. The two in the center don't look up as they battle for their life; the man seems wounded, limping slightly, though viciously fending off anything coming near the woman. I pause for a moment, distracted by the sight that was my sister, who was radiating a blue aura as her energy heightened. Her lips were curled into a vicious snarl as she decimated the darkspawn in her path. They crumple under her onslaught, and I catch two particularly clever ones trying to sneak up behind the warring pair below us. My arrows pierce straight through their soft skulls, and they collapse. Carver is a whirling nightmare, sunlight glinting off his ever-bloodying blade, and I am filled with pride for my siblings.

Finally, they are dead, and the man collapses, the sunlight glinting off of his steel armor. The four of us hurry down, though as we approach he struggles to his feet, his face set in hard lines of inbred, prejudiced hate.

"Apostate," he spits, glaring at my sister, reaching for his sword. A cold fury sweeps through me, and Carver and I close ranks in front of Bethany like a curtain.

"Wesley," the redheaded woman mutters embarrassedly, looking down.

"By the Order of the Templars, I place you under – "

I knock another arrow.

"First darkspawn, then Templars," Bethany says delicately. "The Maker has a sense of humor."

"Wesley, they just saved us. Surely the Maker understands," the woman – presumably his wife – tries again, and this seems to calm him.

"I – of course," Wesley mumbles, backing down. I also release my aggressive stance, though I keep my hand tight on my bow.

"So much for the wrath of the Templars," I say quietly, mocking him, though rage colors my voice. I hear Bethany snort behind me.

The woman shoots me a glare, and I try to soften my expression. It is not her I am angry at. "I'm Aveline Vellen, and this is my husband, Wesley."

"What are you doing out here?" Bethany asks from behind me, curious.

"Same thing as you, presumably. Running from the Darkspawn," Wesley murmurs, looking very pale. Both of them looked exhausted and blood spattered, though we did not have time for reprieve. From the distance, we hear shrieking and screeching and the chittering unique to a particularly foul breed of darkspawn.

"We never get a break do we?" I grunt, before running towards the writhing black mass of darkspawn coming for us from the top of the hill.

With ease and familiarity I knock and fire arrow after arrow, my arm straining from the speed at which I pushed it. I felt a vicious satisfaction as I watched monster after monster fall to the onslaught of my arrows, Bethany's magic, and Carver's impressive swordsmanship.

We Hawkes did not fall easily.

Once the majority had died, we sprinted ahead, the rough thudding of six pairs of feet and our labored breathing our constant companions. We emerge into a dusty, sandy clearing, Aveline supporting a weakening Wesley. His brow with wet with sweat, and his veins stood out in stark contrast. Six weaving canyon roads spread before us, and I glance over at Bethany curiously, opening my mouth to inquire her opinion, when the ground rumbles beneath us.

We hear a vicious roar, and out of instinct I push Bethany aside and leap out of the way as a massive, muscled behemoth darkspawn barrels toward us, its stout jaw straining against the rows of jagged teeth protruding from it. I jump up, and am momentarily frozen with horror.

The beast was heading straight for Mother. Before I can react to what was happening, Carver leaps in front of mother, his eyes blazing in defiance.

"You will not touch her!" He roars in a challenge, and the beast accepts it with a far more impressive roar, shaking its massive horned head. "Maker preserve me," he prays, before charging towards the monster.

The next few things happen as if in slow motion; Carver, his dark hair whipping wildly in the wind, suspended in midair, his sword heading straight for the beast's chest, and for one moment, I thought he would actually succeed.

I was wrong.

Time sped up again as Carver's massive sword clanged against the beast's armor, and he is quickly snatched up in a purple fist the size of a cow. Carver is crushed like a doll and tossed to the side, Mother's dismayed cries reverberating off of the canyon walls surrounding us.

"NO!" I bellow, my vision going red with rage. I see the beast's hungry, angry eyes focus on me – likely drawn to my shout – and it roars its awful roar in response. I let off a succession of arrows, and watch as they pincushion its ugly, pinched face. Bethany is beside me, her warmth guiding me, as she let off fireball after fireball, tears streaming down her red cheeks.

But arrows weren't enough. Shrugging off my bow, I catch sight of Carver's bloodstained greatsword at my feet. I pick it up and charge the monster, shouting out a garbled cry as I lunge.

"For Carver!"

I leap, and by some miracle of miracles, the sword just barely misses the beast's breastplate and sinks directly into the fleshy part beneath its collar bone. It flinches in shock, and after a moment, sinks to its knees with a thud that knocks Bethany off balance. I withdraw the sword with both hands, kicking it out of the monster, and quick as a flash, I drive the blade home through its skull. It falls backward, its arms splayed, as I whirl around to help Bethany to her feet. She races to Mother – who is bent over Carver – and falls to her knees with a heartbroken wail.

I make my way over slowly, not wanting it to be true, not wanting to see…to see…no. Carver…he can't die. Dying…no. This can't be happening.

"Carver, wake up. The battle is over," Mother sobs, clutching Carver's bloody, unrecognizable face. I stand over them, staring down at my brother, casting a shadow over the two women. His body is crushed, his ribcage a visible, shattered mess, and his glazed eyes stare lifelessly at the smoky sky above him.

"You!" Mom snarls, turning to look at me with her broken, disappointed, disgusted eyes. "This is your fault! You never should have let him…" her words catch in her throat, and she lets out another dry sob before turning back to Carver.

It's as if she's stabbed me. The pain spikes through me, leaving me breathless with it. I bow my head with shame….with misery. My fault. This was my fault. Why did I freeze? Why wasn't I beside Mother, protecting her? My baby brother…dead. Because of me. I sink to my knees, burying my head in my hands.

Moments later, I feel Bethany's soft arms encircling me, providing me comfort I didn't deserve. I turn my head to lean into her shoulder and let out a drawn-out, shaky sigh. My fault, all my fault. Distantly, I hear Aveline and Wesley approach, though I am caught in my own personal nightmare.

"Mistress, allow me to commend his soul to the maker," Wesley offers weakly, and I tune him out. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

Suddenly, as if electrocuted, I snap to my senses. It is I who should be comforting her, the other way around.

Plus, as much as it pained me, we needed to move. We are not going to survive here.

"Mother," I say gently, gathering my sister into my arms, squeezing her gently. "Carver wouldn't want us to waste our lives."

"You! Don't speak to me!" She spit, wounding me further. I keep my expression impassive as my insides churn with guilt. She's right. I should have saved him.

"We're too late," Bethany piped up weakly from beside me, her head turned to the left. Darkspawn were pouring out of the six dirt roads connecting to this clearing. I study my sister's face, as she studies mine. Her eyes are anguished.

Goodbye, Bethany. I press a desperate kiss to her forehead and pull my Mother to my side. She grabs Carver's ruined hand, leaning into me and bowing her head. Wesley and Aveline stand silently behind us as we await the inevitable teeth and claws and death that charge at us. We die as one, at least. The thought is the only bright light, and it brings me a strange, guilty relief. At least Bethany and Mother and I had not had to suffer the pain of Carver's death for far too long. And we perish as a family; surely the Maker will allow us to find one another at his side.

There is a sudden, overwhelmingly loud roar that rocks the very ground we crouch on, and we dive to the side as a massive jet of fire appears from above us, searing through the darkspawn as easily as butter. A massive red dragon crashes down into the clearing, squashing the darkspawn about to converge on us, and lets loose another stream of fire. It roars, and picks up a darkspawn in its claws, tossing it aside. As it turns, its massive, armored, and dangerous tail takes out another line with ease.

When the darkspawn in the clearing were all dead, I slowly raise my head as it turns toward us, and my eyes meet its vicious yellow ones– they were surprisingly intelligent, but just as cruel.

Well, it was a better death than death by darkspawn. It had a far more noble ring to it than 'mauled by darkspawn while cowering in a corner'.

Steam issues from its scaly maw, and it beats its wings, stirring up the dirt around it. The silhouette of its spiky head slowly disappears, and when the dust clears, an old woman in an armored corset stands before us.

Her hair was a bright, vivid white, styled like dragon's horns. She wore a silver circlet that inverted sharply, allowing her nose protection, and her eyes were yellow and fierce, studying our group with a predatory stillness that made my hackles rise.

If I wasn't so numb over the sudden loss of my brother, I would most likely have been more impressed that she had just transformed into a dragon. I barely hear her as she speaks, her voice as ancient as the land itself.

"Nice trick, that dragon thing. Seems useful," I find myself saying, and she blinks, surprised for a moment. Then her eyes narrow, sizing me up. At last, she decides she is amused, and lets out a dry chuckle.

"Who are you?" Bethany demands from slightly behind me, her voice scared.

"I know who she is," Aveline speaks up from behind us. We turn to her; she is crouched protectively over Wesley, who had fallen, apparently too weak to stand. "She's the Witch of the Wilds."

The Witch shrugs. "Some call me that. Also, Flemeth. Or, Ash'ebellenar. Or perhaps an old hag that talks too much." She cackles, highly amused by her own wit. "You're Ferelden. You're on the run from the darkspawn. Won't your king miss you?"

"He'll probably miss his life more," I reply dryly, which makes her laugh again. The sound pleases me.

"Clever child. I like you," Flemeth says fondly, blinking at me with her strange yellow eyes before turning from us. Bethany starts forward in a panic.

"Wait! You can't just leave us here!"

"Oh really? And why not?" Flemeth asks slowly, not turning around. "On my way over here, I saw a most peculiar sight. A mighty ogre, vanquished. I was curious. And now, my curiosity is sated. What more could you want of me?"

"We're going to die here. We need to get to Kirkwall," Bethany implores, her desperation evident in her voice. I reach out to take her hand, pulling her away from the strange witch and back towards safety, back towards me.

"Kirkwall?" She repeats, facing us once more. We've caught her attention. She purses her lips thoughtfully. "I can get you to Kirkwall, as long as you promise me a small favor in return," she murmurs after a moment of deliberation, and from her neck she removes a thick, golden amulet. "It is not far out of your way. Outside of Kirkwall, there is a clan of Dalish elves; take this amulet to their keeper, Marethari, and your debt will be repaid in full."

I nod, reaching out to accept the amulet automatically, but Bethany stays my hand. "Wait, Jer. Can we trust her?" She asks in a small voice, her big, blue eyes focused on me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Flemeth smirk at the question, but I ignore her and clasp my sister's cold, small hands in my own. "We don't have much of a choice, Bethy," I murmur to her, in what I hoped was a soothing tone. I turn back to Flemeth, closing the distance between us, and extend my hand to accept the amulet. "I will deliver this as soon as I am able," I promise quietly.

Flemeth smirks again, but deposits the amulet into my hand. I tuck it away under my tunic quickly, before retreating back to my family. Mother is hunched over Carver, weeping quietly, and Aveline is crouched over the limp Wesley. The veins protruding from his face were black, and when his eyes snapped open, they were milky white. Something was wrong.

"Before we go, there is one more issue that needs to be resolved," Flemeth said in her gravelly voice, advancing on Aveline. Aveline leaps up, drawing her sword; her red hair is askew and she looks panicked.

"No. You will not touch him!"

"The disease that has entered your man is irreversible, child." Flemeth's tone is almost…sympathetic. Whatever disease Wesley had, it was the permanent sort. Her tone made it apparent.

"Disease?" I question the woman, who turns her yellow eyes on me once more. I drop mine almost immediately, respectful of her power, and I can almost feel her radiate her approval.

"Yes. The Blight has entered his system."

"And there is no cure," Aveline croaks.

"The only known cure is to become a Grey Warden," Flemeth corrects her.

"They all died at Ostagar," I murmur, sighing. My heart goes out to Aveline.

"Not all of them, though the last ones left are now beyond your reach."

"How long until…?" Bethany asks, her voice trembling. She goes to crouch next to Aveline, who had sunk back to her knees beside Wesley. Wesley had opened his eyes; they were a pale, milky white. I doubted he could still see, but they sought out his woman nonetheless. He reaches out feebly, and she grasps his hands in her own strong ones.

"Not long," the Witch replies gently.

I join my sister at Aveline's side, searching her face. "Aveline, he's your husband. It's up to you."

"No…you can't ask me to…" Aveline chokes, shaking her head in violent denial, but Wesley squeezes her hand.

"Please…I knew…when I saw all that blood. Please. The Blight is a slow death…I…can't," Wesley manages to get out. He reaches down and withdraws a dagger from his belt. "Be…strong, my love." A bead of sweat rolls down his face; he did not have long for this world.

Aveline closes her eyes in defeat, closing both hands around Wesley's. A single tear rolls down her cheek as, together, they poise the blade over his heart.

Wesley nods his encouragement, keeping his white eyes on his wife.

"I love you," she breathes, and together, they drive the blade home. It is true to its mark, and Wesley lets out one last gasp, his wide, unseeing eyes fixed on his wife.

I don't know how to comfort her, and I feel Flemeth radiating impatience from behind us. It isn't wise to keep a dragon waiting, though my heart was heavy. Two down, both men.

As it had always been. Men always seemed to die. Father, Carver, Wesley. I look down at my rough, scarred hands, and frown, wondering when it would be my time. Surely it was soon, from the trend.

"Come," Flemeth snaps from above us, her eyes glinting with impatience. "I do not have all day, and you have a ship to catch."

I stand obediently, and offer Bethany my hand to help her to her feet. She accepts it, heaving herself up and brushing off her white tunic, and releases me to go whisper to Mother. I turn to help Aveline to her feet, but she is already standing, seeming to want to get away from the prone figure of her husband.

"I'm fine, thank you," she says quietly, and with her head down, she goes to take her place beside Flemeth.

"Mother, come on. Carver…he…he can't come with us. We must save our grief for later," Bethany was saying as I approached the pair.

"Don't you speak to me of grief!" Mother snaps out, holding the limp body of Carver close to her. She was staining her robes with his dark blood. "You know nothing of it."

Bethany turns toward me, her young face wounded, and I gently help Mother up. The fight leaves her, and she holds in her tears as the three of us go over to Flemeth, who was growing more impatient.

I spot Carver's greatsword lying on the ground beside him where I had discarded it, looking alone and small. I take it up and sheathe it, saying a prayer for my fallen brother. I did not dwell on it, for I could not take the overwhelming, crushing sense of grief that threatened to bring me under – as it did with Father. Bethany and Mother were relying on me, and I would not fail them. As I did for Father and Carver.

"Come, then," Flemeth says in her grating, raspy voice, and she raises her arms, looking towards the heavens. As she is returning to her dragon form, her voice suddenly echoes in my head.

Hurtled into the chaos you fight, and the world will shape before you. Is it fate, or chance? I can never decide.

I flinch, startled, and for a moment as I stare into the whirling dust storm that Flemeth had become, catching her blazing, yellow eyes trained on me. They were cold, curious, and calculating.

The next moment, the giant red dragon had reappeared, and was peering down its snout at us expectantly.

"She wants us to…ride her," I say blankly. "We're going to ride to Kirkwall…on the back of a dragon."

The dragon lets out a great, throaty chuckle before shuffling its wings impatiently.

I help Bethany clamber on first; she was very careful not to spear herself on one of Flemeth's spikes. Her face was set in lines of grief as she gazes back, and I know she is looking at Carver.

Mother takes my hand gingerly; she is still angry with me. As she should be. I pretend this doesn't bother me, offering her a smile as I help her up behind Bethany. Once she was seated, I look behind me at Aveline, raising my eyebrows.

"Oh, very well," she snaps after a moment, taking my proffered hand and heaving herself up behind Bethany and my Mother; I hide a true smile at this. Once the women were secure, I clamber up behind them, taking care not to stab Flemeth with Carver's sword.

"We are ready," I call out, and Flemeth grumbles under me in response. With a massive stroke of her wings, we are swept up into the air. She lets out a happy roar, seeming to enjoy being airborne once again. I lean forward, placing my hands next to Bethany's, keeping the three women in a crude semblance of a protective cage. I couldn't bear anyone else dying on my watch.

"Here we come, Kirkwall," Bethany hollers, and with Aveline's hair whipping sharply at my face, I squint my eyes and peer into the sunset we were flying into. Hopefully, we would be able to rebuild as a family in Kirkwall, and Bethany and Mother would no longer be sad.

How so very, very wrong I was.