She found him sitting alongside a spindly tree, set against the toadstool-infested pond that harbored a great many of the fish mother used in her creamiest stews. How Leandra managed to create such delicious concoctions, from ingredients scrounged through the ugliest dregs sometimes – well, it never ceased to amaze her, really.

And Garrett was busily working to provide their mother with some more fish, it looked like. He sat there, with the line tossed haphazardly into the water as his hands manipulated the twine. He eyed her through the brightest blue eyes as she approached, turning his inky dark head towards her as she glided closer. "Sweetest brother. We'll eat well tonight, I assume."

Garrett looked away, staring down into the brown water. As if the mud below the surface was so much more interesting, she thought. He murmured, "Doesn't look good, I'm afraid. No bites." She fingered the briefest tendrils of his hair softly, just rubbing the strands between her pale fingers for some small moment. So soft, she thought.

"I know you want to do better, Garrett. There's nothing more important to you, than providing for us all. Keeping us safe … secure. You'll find some fish. I know it. I believe in you."

Garrett leaned his head back, just enough to knock her fingers loose from his hair. He sighed as he considered the turning of the clouds in the sky overhead, the waxing of the sun towards the end of the day. It wouldn't be long before they both returned home, she imagined.

Garrett dropped his head, turning sideways as he look over towards the back walls of those houses lining the old highway, with all its pale stone and arches. Like he was afraid to look at her, maybe. "You always did. Believe in me, that is. I'm truly sorry, Bethany. I know that doesn't mean much. Not here."

She frowned at him. "Of course it means much. It always means so much. But there's no need to be sorry. You can do as you want, here."

Garrett turned around to look at her, and she marveled at the beauty of his eyes. Blue, like a brilliant sky with just the palest wash of clouds moving through it. And full of the hardest knowing. Sorrow. And pain. "Goodbye. Bethany … I will miss you."

The demon spluttered, "No! I can give you … everything! No!"

Garrett jerked awake, his eyes flying open into the darkness of the hold. The surface under him rolled again, and Garrett moaned slightly as his stomach roiled with cruel discomfort. But the harsh, muffled groan from nearby offended him even more and he twisted his head around, searching through the darkness.

Carver was curled into a mean-looking ball of distress, huddled on a sorry-assed looking pallet flung down onto the hard wood decking. He'd mashed himself against the wall in a desperate bid to keep his body as still as possible. But the effort seemed as failed as their escape from Lothering had been, and even in the dark Garrett could tell his baby brother was hurting badly.

Maker, but he hated this fucking boat!

At least their mother seemed to be handling the journey well enough. She was sleeping in the only excuse for a cot the tiny closet of space they'd been shoved into actually boasted. Leandra had protested the arrangement, of course. Their mother was always so coolly polite. Polished. Like the most elegant velvet, all burgundy richness.

Garrett had snorted when she tried giving the bed up to Carver. "He can handle the damn floor, mother. Better than you. Sleep, now." Carver didn't argue against him, either. Garrett might have been surprised, considering how Carver had butted heads with him repeatedly all the way up to the very docks there in Gwaren. He could barely manage to turn left instead of right without his brother insisting he was wrong!

Not that it mattered, though. There simply was no way either of Leandra's sons would tolerate her slender frame resting on the rough surface of the ship's floor, when there was a semi-comfortable cot sitting right there against the wall. No, they just planted themselves right down on the floor in a neat circle around her bed. Guarding, watchful as always.

As he should've for Bethany, Garrett thought. And he bit his lower lip against the now-familiar pain that consumed him for another long, terrible moment. He battled back the image of his young sister's pretty face, the startled expression on her features when the ogre snatched her up and swung her high over its head … Garrett moaned again, rolling over onto his hands and knees as he moved towards Carver. Because his sister was gone; he only had Carver to take care of now.

And he simply couldn't afford to get sick all over the floor. There wasn't any time for it, at the least. He wasn't particularly inclined to provide for his own needs, either. Not when they were more important, more precious. Bad enough he'd failed them so much along the way, that they were so much strugging, hurting already. Whatever he could do, however much he could give - Garrett would not stop, nor falter a single step more!

To the damn Fade with anything that stood in his way, now!

Garrett reached Carver, then. His brother jumped into wakefulness, startled at first. But his eyes flew wide as he stared up at Garrett through the blackness. There were no colors, not in the dark. But Garrett make out the pale curve of Carver's eyes, knew they were the same incredible blue as his own. Just as he knew Carver's eyes would fill with bitterness and recrimination every time they focused on him, too. Carver blamed him, nearly as much as he blamed himself. Nearly.

Oh, Garrett liked the look in Carver's eyes. It was like being punished, like a flogging he endured with every glance and blink of his brother's eyes. Now he snatched at the sense again, and grunted, motioning to Carver to move. Carver tried shaking his head, "No … I can take care of myself! Damn it, Garrett!"

"Shut up. You'll wake mother. Now do as I say, Carver." The resentment almost literally consumed the space between them. That was familiar enough, too. Garrett ignored it, exactly as he did every time. He only went about doing what needed doing, and to flames with any protest his little brother wanted to give him.

Garrett settled himself behind Carver's frame, sliding his legs alongside both his brother's sides. Until Carver rested with his back pressed into Garrett's chest and the back of his head bumped Garrett's collarbone. Carver bit his lip to keep from spewing the mess he could feel in his stomach, moving, moving. If only the world would stay still for just a little while. Then it wouldn't be necessary for his brother to help him, soothe and comfort him. Because the pain was ready and regular and damned enough. Carver didn't want to feel glad. Or worse, grateful to Garrett. Who he wanted to hate, wanted to.

Because hating someone was easier than hating himself.

Then Garrett's hand settled on top of Carver's belly, palm down. Warm and heavy, his fingers outstretched to cover as much of Carver's innards as possible. Carver could feel the wash of Garrett's breath over the top of his ear as his older brother hummed just once, and then the soft glow of light from Garrett's palm began filling the space. Carver gasped slightly, his hands flying up to cover Garrett's hand on his stomach before any strangers noticed the soft light that came from the healing, that glow of care and concern that seemed so much a part of his brother and so much different than the abrupt hard edge he showed the world so often.

It wasn't the first time Carver had wondered if Garrett's magic spoke more truths than his brother admitted, even to them. The warmth of the healing, that seemed so disparate, so much different than the cold abruptness of his mannerisms and character. Like Garrett showed all of them only a hard, bitter shell, and underneath it was someone who loved and cared and worried.

But then Carver would think, that Garrett wrapped himself in a shell like a lie. Like he had to hide himself from them, because he didn't trust, didn't believe they were as good and strong to take care the way he did. Like they were just as bad the Templars, and his nature was as secret as his magic. Did Garrett think he was nothing but an ugly ass of a Templar, then? Why couldn't he open up to Carver, share that much of himself? Wasn't Carver good enough a brother?

And that's how each brick in the wall of resentment Carver constructed took shape, one by one. Until the wall dividing the two brothers was a looming, terrible thing, and Carver couldn't see any way of jumping it or breaking it down. Then Carver reverted to bickering and sniping at Garrett, and Garrett pulled away even more. So there were more bricks. Like an endless circle, with no end in sight.

But for now they both only huddled together, there in the dark. Garrett's eyes were closed as he concentrated, his senses smoothing across the magic between them as he eased the distress to Carver's system. He encouraged the fluids beneath his hand to gentle, dissipate. Until the pain twisting Carver's guts into knots slowly quieted, slowly, slowly. Before it disappeared entirely. The healing glow softened and glittered only briefly before twinkling into nothing again. Then it was quiet, and Garrett felt all alone again.

Carver snuffled against Garrett's shoulder, and Garrett sighed when he felt the tease of dampness against the fabric of his shirt. Figures, that Carver would finally fall into sleep and leave his damn drool all over Garrett's clothes. No good deed went unpunished, at least. Garrett raised himself, pulling his legs back so that Carver slid down onto the pallet and Garrett was able to climb to his feet.

He glanced around, clicking his tongue towards Woden. The hound raised his large head to regard him with bright, intelligent eyes that glittered even through the dark. Woden panted sleepily enough. But he padded over to settle his large body onto the floor beside Leandra's cot. A wall of solid Mabari defense, between his mother and any damn fool that tried to threaten her. He grunted approvingly, as Woden laid his head down on both paws to watch Garrett climbing up the ladder into the open air above decks.

Garrett breathed deeply as he moved fast towards the ship's railing, stepping quietly enough the tread of his boots on the deck surface went virtually unnoticed. He was good at that, at moving fast through the shadows. If it weren't for the magic in his blood, he might have done good work as a bladed mercenary somewhere. Goodness knows, he'd always wanted something that simple for his life. Not to suffer the burden of magery, instead.

Now he moved quickly. He almost didn't make it. But then the splash of the waves against the ship's hull was all that covered the sound of his retching, and he hung there, limp and depleted against the rail as he panted through his mouth to ease the burning nausea. Then he watched the slide of the nighttime sky against the dark line of distant horizon, relaxed into the calmness of the late night time. Not his proudest moment, actually.

"Hawke."

Garrett turned his head to consider the ship's first mate, watched the man step out from beneath the shadows of snapping sails overhead. No uniform, not for the crewmen of some simple cargo vessel like this one. Not even when the cargo had turned into retching dregs of refugees, either. The ship's officer was dressed simply, in a linen shirt with a leathered jacket and boots. In the low light, his red hair, even, only barely shown. It looked brown there in the shadows.

Garrett felt his lips twist into a sardonic smile at being caught in so embarrasing a circumstance. He was probably green with illness right then, probably looked pitiable a creature. Right up there with sad little puppy dogs, with their great big eyes all round with misery. Garrett murmured, "I'm awful at this, Brand. Seriously. No one will ever call me a sailor."

Branden stepped closer to him, until his lean hip was only barely shifting against Garrett's side. Garrett shivered delicately at the subtle promise, lowering his chin to better consider the turn of Branden's jaw, the curl of his neck into his shoulder. The first mate handed Garrett a flask, left him a moment to wash his mouth clean with some good, strong wine. Branden only barely smiled, "You'd get used to it. Only takes a little while. Practice keeping your feet under you, is all it takes."

Another promise, actually. Promise of a place, somewhere to stay for a time. But not one Garrett would ever think to accept, even if his stomach could handle the thought. He shook his dark head, closing his mind to every chance and possibility. Past the immediate, past this brief moment when he might forget how many people were counting on him. Just for a little while, at least. "Not everyone's designed for this sort of life, Branden. I have … responsibilities. And this damned boat of yours is too small!"

Branden chuckled. He lifted his fingers towards Garrett's face, ghosted a single touch along the dark lines of tattoo circling the younger man's neck before he trailed his fingers along Garret's jaw. He slid his hand towards the back of his head where he grabbed onto the fall of thick black hair, there. He held Garrett's head still, so that their gazes met, so that they connected and stayed so for a long moment. "Ah, Hawke. Not the first time someone's told me I needed a bigger … boat. But I'll show you what I mean, about standing tall and straight. How much a difference it can make. In the meantime, at least." Branden sighed, "So unfair, Hawke. So, so unfair."

Garrett smiled back, his face close enough to Branden's that he could feel the first mate's mint-flavored breath crossing his cheeks. Good man, that he chewed on some mint first. It showed some minute care, for only that much of Garrett's own comfort. And he drank it in, that brief pleasure, lost himself in it. If only for a little while, at least. "No apologies, though. Life's too damn unfair, to go around apologizing for it."

Branden agreed, right before his mouth swooped down to cover Garrett's own. "Indeed."

Garrett Hawke is the hero character of "Dragon Age 2", created by Bioware and Electronic Arts. All characters and story are their property, and I make no claim to the story they told. They did an incredible job, and I am only grateful that I had the chance to experience it! Kudos, Bioware! I am beyond grateful you created such a remarkable story!