Notes: Short story family drama prequel in my History of Lies series (Cullen/Hawke in Kirkwall)
This story was written in response a request for how "Mari's relationship with Malcolm and Leandra. And because I imagine this might make a difference, how Mari might moderate her behaviour when it's Leandra and Malcolm in the same room vs what Mari might say to them one on one."
Peaches and Gin
Family matters flowed easily when father was alive. My youth was full of joy. Me laughing until my sides ached, bare feet kicking in the air as I rolled backward on the floor, hands clasped as my elbows locked, index fingers pushed together and pointing up as I shot sprays of frost into the roof beams.Father threw peach pits into the air for me to shoot. Whenever I hit one, it would plummet to the floor, falling as an icy hailstone. PLONK! I would roll fast and dodge out of the way under the table. Another peach pit would loft into the rafters and, just as fast, I would slide on my side, fingers taking aim. KE-PLONK! CRASH! A peach pit hailstone knocked a cooking pot from a shelf and our old mabari jumped to his feet, barking at the sudden clatter. Carver yelled at me and Father to 'knock it off, would you?' He was trying to read. Bethany rolled her eyes and smirked behind her needlework. All the while, Father and I howled just as loud as our barking dog. Side-splitting laughter forced me to clutch my side but Father tossed another pit into the air. The pit careened straight toward the little glass window on our front door, leaving me no time to take a breath as I took aim. I forced out a bolt of ice that knocked the pit from its trajectory. The ice-bound pit crashed into the door-jamb just as Mother walked in.
"Oh, Maker!" Bethany shouted. Eyes wide, she clasped her hands to her mouth.
"They've been at it the whole time you were gone," Carver yelled.
Father shrugged as Mother surveyed the hail storm wreckage within our little house. And there I was, rolling on the floor, laughing loudly, stoked on the buzz of mana and all the excitement of my perfect score. Every peach pit had been shot in midair. Father knew I was good.
Sure, Father and I always faced the same punishment for our misbehavior: cleaning up the mess we'd made and repairing whatever we broke. Carver made snitty comments as Bethany chortled.
Mother stood with her hands on her hips, "Malcolm, none of this would have been tolerated in my parents' house. This is not the way to raise children."
But for all that Mother complained, her eyes spoke otherwise. We would never finish the cleaning before Mother said she would take care of the rest. And then she and Father would go off to their bed or out back behind the house to sit on the bench near the pond. That's how I remember them. That's how life was like when I was young.
.
.
The Chasind say every family has a protective spirit that holds their household together. Each evening the Chasind sprinkle drops of gin around the entry of their dwelling to feed their familial spirit, keeping it healthy, keeping it alive. The spirit that held our family together died with Father, but even now I cannot say for sure what we did wrong.
Without Father, sudden sounds in the house were unwelcome. One day while I cleaned our pantry, an empty jar of wild berry preserves slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor.
"Mari! Don't do that in the house!" Mother shouted from the other room.
"I didn't do anything. I dropped a jar while cleaning the pantry."
"I said stop doing that in the house. Just stop. We cannot afford your carelessness."
She didn't bother to come out and see what had broken. The jar was beyond repair but I found a way to make money to replace it. I always did. Mother was too proud to take charity from the Chantry, and perhaps a bit too frightened. We had learned to be self-sufficient with our garden, our chicken coop, and our fish traps. Whenever we needed money, I'd find someone in Lothering who needed work done.
Each evening after supper, Bethany fell into the habit of asking Mother about her life in Kirkwall. "It must have been really nice," Bethany said. "I can't imagine what it was like to have servants and everything. Can you tell me about your parents' manor again?"
As the months passed, Mother talked about Kirkwall more and more. Bethany asked about the Viscount's gardens and Mother would describe the shapes, the scents, and the colors of exotic cultivated flowers. Bethany wanted stories of holiday food and fashionable dresses, and Mother recounted tales of her youth among Hightown's socialites. Her memories conjured spirits of a foreign past. We closed our eyes and listened to her voice paint images of splendor and wealth.
"Maybe we could go live there?" Bethany asked, but only once.
"No, Dear, we can't. The templars. Don't you remember? Kirkwall is home to the largest templar base in all of the Free Marches. We cannot go there."
"Oh, right. Never mind," Bethany said.
"But eventually, we'll need to move on," I said. "Just like we did when I was young."
"We've lived here for nearly ten years," Mother replied. "If you stay out of trouble, we can remain here for ten more."
"Fat chance that will happen," Carver said.
I reached over and gave Carver a shove. "Look who's talking. I'm not the one who shot a hole in Patter Gritch's rain barrel."
"I fixed it. Okay? My foot slipped when shooting targets."
"Oh, that's quite a slip," Bethany rolled her eyes. "Are you shooting arrows that can make sudden turns around the corners of buildings?"
"Look. I'm not the one who iced the chanters' board," Carver shouted.
"Mari!" Mother cried. "Tell me you didn't."
"All right. I didn't."
"Don't lie to me! Why would you do something so stupid? Do you have any idea what your father did to get out of Kirkwall? It wasn't just me and him, it was you too. I was pregnant with you. Four months pregnant when we received help to sneak onto a boat that got us out. How could you do such a stupid thing?"
"I—"
"There are no excuses, Mari. None. Of all the Maker's holy creations, for just once think about your sister. We don't need trouble."
"But we've handled it before," I said.
"Your father handled it. Your father always handled it and you are not your father."
Some arguments weren't worth having. It was best to remain silent rather than conjure memories of a ghost who was unable to provide us aid.
.
.
The next day as we walked home from the village market, only the sound of gravel crunching under our feet accompanied us. We could have made it home without incident, but Carver opened his mouth.
"Hey, Sis, weren't you supposed to go to Farmer William's summer pasture to finishkilling those giant spiders by the stream? He won't pay you until it's done."
Carver just had to bring this up.
"Mari?" Mother drew out my name as a warning. "Why are you so reckless? What you are doing is stupid. Stupid and dangerous."
"We need the money."
"If the templars see you, you know they must report you. You know this, yet you do these things nonetheless."
"No one will report me. I'm just being helpful. Anyhow, Ser Bryant is more concerned that no one starves during the hunger months of the winter. The Chantry already has enough mouths to feed. Anything that helps the farmers, helps Ser Bryant."
"Don't push your luck, young lady. All it takes is one disgruntled person with high standing to speak out against you. Next, the templars knock on our door. Don't think you can charm your way out of that."
"Sucking Ser Bryant's cock might tip the scales."
Mother was stunned into silence.
"Sweet Maker! Sister!" Bethany gasped.
Mother looked straight ahead as she sped up her pace, leaving us behind, letting Bethany express disgust and shock for her. My remark would cost me days of silent outrage from Mother, but the argument had ended. I knew she would never bring it up again. Not that it stopped my siblings, but they were far easier to handle.
"Mari, you really have a knack for saying the inappropriate," Carver scolded. "Couldn't you try refraining for once?"
"You are really horrible," Bethany chimed in as she suppressed a laugh with her hand.
"Don't you think Ser Bryant looks lonely? It's been a year since his wife passed on, and he's always been a reasonable man. Well-mannered. Always looking out for what is best for everyone here in Lothering. And he's good looking too." I said this loudly enough to make Mother's posture stiffen as she sped up her pace and widened the distance between us.
"You really don't know when to stop," Carver scolded.
"I doubt you said that to Peaches," I replied.
"What?"
"Told Peaches to stop. I know you didn't."
"Wait…"
"Behind Barlin's shed. Carver, you know what I am talking about."
Carver's lips drew into a thin line.
"Peaches?" Bethany asked.
"Marlene," I said to her. "The one who works in the orchard. So, Carver, will she sneak us a free bushel? You know how much Mother loves fresh baked peach pie."
"Peaches?!" Bethany exclaimed.
"Both of you can shut up now," Carver snapped. "It's none of your business."
"It is once you put your cock between her legs rather than in her mouth. We have enough problems, Carver. We don't need any more."
"Listen, I'm careful, okay? And this isn't your business. I can't even believe we are talking about this."
"Carver!" Bethany smacked her twin on the arm.
"This topic is finished." Carver stalked away.
Bethany and I watched as our brotherhurried down the wooded trail that swung by the fishing pond east of our house. We slowed our pace as we walked alone.
"Has Carver told you that he plans to join the king's army?" Bethany's voice sounded far away.
"No, he hasn't." I wasn't surprised. "Did he tell you why?"
"Oh, you know, just the same old reason Carver always gives. "
What she meant was a rude phrase that ended any possibility of conversation while providing no information at all. It hurt to think that Carver was joining the army, leaving Mother with no one else but Bethany and me, leaving us to live alone in our little house at the edge of Lothering.
I couldn't help feeling jealous. I wanted to leave too. I wanted to see oceans rather than our fishing pond. Smell the acrid smoke from foundries. Bustle through crowded markets as people spoke Antivan and Orlesian and sold exotic wares. Eat pink and yellow marzipan cakes any day of the year. Hear the sound of my boot heels echoing through grand halls. Sit in an overstuffed high-backed chair inside a room with bookshelves covering every inch of the walls. Mother stories of the Free Marches beckoned me, although Denerim or Val Royeaux seemed just as good given how little I knew about the larger world. I had never seen anything outside of rural Ferelden.
No one in our family would admit it, but I suspected all of us believed Mother should return home and end her self-imposed exile. Lothering wasn't right for her, especially without Father, but she would never go back to the Marches as long as Bethany and I stayed with her. I was ready to go anywhere, ready to strike out on my own, but Bethany? It was hard to say, although I was starting to guess her plans.
Carver had grown into a petulant bore, but at least he looked beyond our house for ways to make a name for himself while earning coin. He never talked about it, but I knew he wanted to lease a farm in the bannorn and propose to Marlene. As for Bethany, she shrunk into herself as she grew toward adulthood. She was lonely, although she never admitted it, not even to me. As girls her age began to gossip about future mates, Bethany smiled softly as she returned to her handiwork. She shied away from boys out of fear that they would learn her secrets. She stopped calling on her childhood friends whenever she went into the village. Instead, Bethany sat in the Chantry and listened to priests recite Andraste's words, or she begged for fanciful stories told by Sister Leliana. Deep down, I think Bethany wanted the Chantryfolk to see her for who she really was. She wanted them to take her in and make her part of their family.
Meanwhile Mother clung to our little house on the edge of Lothering. The walls shrunk around us year by year. Every night we dreamed of lives lived somewhere else.