"I'm going to beat you this time for sure!" the strained, cracking voice of a boy rung out all across the little farming town. "This time, I will! I-ow!"

Blades of wood thrust upon each other, rigorous clacks ripping through the evening stillness. Birds fluttered down and perched upon the railings of rooftops and the fence posts that overlooked the fields, only to be startled and flap away at the harsh echo of the thwacking toys.

Carver Hawke huffed and grunted as he flung his little sword about, the sticky summer air whooshing against his wide, uncoordinated arcs. Every swing the raven-haired boy made was met with another smack of timber and the smile of his older sister. Across the boy's frustrated glare, dark eyes peered through feathery brown bangs, looking at him with a calmn that riled the hairs on his neck.

"You're still doing it wrong," she said, her voice cool and her stance firm as she parried Carver's attack as if it were a pest flying around her head.

"Shut up!" Carver barked as he launched a second forceful swing. He grunted at the smack of splinters, and he gnashed his teeth as he pressed his sword against hers. "I know how to use a sword!"

"Come ooooon!" Bethany cried, as she watched the battle from close by. She sat atop a makeshift tower of rocks and borrowed stools, arms flailing. "Hurry up and rescue me, Ser Judith!"

"Patience, Princess Bethany!" the eldest Hawke proclaimed, "I shall save you from the tower yet, but first I must defeat the black knight that put you there!"

"You'll never defeat me!" said Carver as he stepped back. He launched at his older sister, raised sword slicing through the air.

With a low sigh and a heavy smack, Judith Hawke deflected her brother's blow. "See, you keep doing that," she said as she countered, a focused sweep against Carver's wooden blade, knocking it out of his hands.

"That's not fai-hey!" His sweaty, splintered fingers recoiled at the loss of their possession and clenched into fists. As he watched his sword tumble against the dirt, he felt a gentle tap against his shoulder. Carver lifted his head and found the end of Judith's sword resting beside his neck. Brow fell flat, bottom lip out, and he groaned. "You're a dirty cheat, Judith. That's why you always win."

"Not true," she said plainly, "a knight always fights with honor and bravery. And she always fights smart. You keep throwing yourself around, it was easy to knock the sword out of your hands. Maybe if you control yourself, you'll beat me next time."

Carver pouted as he plopped onto the dirt, arms folded, clouds of dust lifting around his legs. Judith shook her head as she turned to scoop Bethany from her tower.

"Yay, you did it!" she squealed as she kissed her big sister's cheek. "You saved me from the black knight and his tower of grumpiness!"

"As I said I would," said Judith, "all in a day's work. And look!" she gave a sharp whistle and pointed towards the mabari pup, not yet grown into its bags of fur, as he galloped towards the Hawke children. "Here comes my valiant steed to take you to home!"

Carver pouted again, hoisting himself up and retrieving his sword, giggles of his sisters and cheerful puppy barks at his back. With the wooden hilt in his hands again, he made a careful swing, then another, until his teeth were clenched together again and he was batting it through the air, thrashing about, waiting for all the hot breath to leave him.

"Oh, children!" a deep voice boomed from across the field of dirt and grass. Carver took his eyes away from the finely shaved fuller of his toy to see a broad-shouldered man walk from out of the horizon. As soon as the little Hawke boy made out the man's chestnut beard, his sisters ran to him, their collision blooming in laughter. "There you are, my chickadees!" he said in a hearty laugh as he swept Bethany from out of Judith's hands and swung her about. "Did you all have fun today?"

"Papa! Judith rescued me from Carver!" the little Hawke daughter proclaimed.

"Oh did she, now?"

"Carver and I were practicing," said Judith, "Bethany wanted to join, so we made a game of it."

The mountainous man sighed. "You and he are quite set on this knight thing, aren't you, little bird?"

"Yes! That is, well, I am!" the eldest Hawke cried, her normal low voice cracked in a spike of determination. "I'm going to be a knight and protect everyone! I'll slay dragons and rescue princes and princesses from towers, just like in the stories!"

"Hmm I see," said Malcolm Hawke, with a hum like a distant roll of thunder. "Well, there aren't many dragons, you may have to settle for fighting rats and the occasional bear. Not many princes or princesses in Ferelden, either. You'll just have to rescue some arls and banns instead. And who knows? Maybe you'll even rescue one worthy of marriage!"

"What?" Judith gasped, "Papa, no! A knight is married to her duty!"

"Aww, you don't have to kiss him or anything, little bird, just get him to give you money so we can eat meat more than once a week. Now where's Carver?"

"Here I am, Papa," said the little Hawke boy in a dreary defeated tone, dragging his sword behind him.

The father Hawke squinted, quick studied the dirt on his son's face, the rustle of his hair, and gave a disapproving hum. "Bethany, go back to the house and help your mother, would you?" he said as he brought Bethany to the ground and placed her on her feet with a gentle pat. His dark eyes never left Judith and Carver. "Maker knows she could always use another pair of hands with dinner."

With a cheerful, "Okay, Papa!" Bethany was off, the mabari pup trotting along with her, and Malcolm gave a displeased sigh.

"Judith," he said, voice heavy and stern, "I think you've been too rough on your brother."

"But!" she protested, "I'm just trying to help! How's he going to get better if I go easy on him?"

"I don't want her pity, Papa!" Carver joined, "I can do better! I just... I need a better sword! Judith's is bigger than mine!"

"What? No it's not! They're the same! I keep winning because I'm better and you don't listen to me! Papa made them the same!"

"Then let's trade!"

"No, he made this one just for me! Besides, yours has your nasty boy sweat on it!"

"Children!" Malcolm bellowed. Judith's stance snapped straight like a soldier under inspection and Carver, watching her, mimicked it right after. The father swallowed his anger and sighed. "Now I made you these swords so you could play together while I trained Bethany. Why must everything be a contest with you two?"

Carver's face flushed in red, chubby fingers tightening on his hilt. "But Papa, I just want to be a knight like Judith."

The elder Hawke child rolled her dark eyes. "You only say that because that's what I want! Get your own dream!"

"I can be one, too! You can't beat every dragon and rescue every prince and princess! You can't protect everyone all the time! I can do it too!"

"Settle down, chickadee. Now, Judith, if he wants to be a knight, too, then let him. That's a wonderful dream to have. And so what if he got the idea from you? It just means he wants to be like you. And I think that's pretty wonderful."

Judith pouted. "But if he wants to be like me, why doesn't he listen to me? He'll get killed if he throws his sword around like a mad dwarf!"

"Now, now," said Malcolm, "dwarves are a tough lot. Maybe we just need another teaching approach, hmm? I'm afraid I don't know all that much about using swords, and we can't afford lessons, but surely there's something..."

"I know some stuff from books in the Chantry," said Judith, moving her gaze to Carver. "Maybe you can go with me and Bethany next time."

"I guess," Carver pouted, "but reading's boring. The Chantry's boring, too."

"Aww, it's not so bad," laughed Malcolm, "after all, there's lots of cute girls about your age that go. I'm sure you'll be just as popular with the ladies as I was. Just work the old Hawke charm!"

"Papa!" Carver exclaimed, the flush in his cheeks turning into a deeper, more fevered red.

"Oh please," scoffed he eldest Hawke child, "he's not charming! He still thinks girls are gross. Even though a girl keeps beating him!"

"Sorry, chickadee," he said, patting his son's thick head of black hair. "Here, let me make it up to you. Give me your sword. Yours too, Judith." The Hawke children complied, and Malcolm took a knife from out of his belt. They watched him jab and whittle until he handed the toy swords back, each with their respected names etched into the hilts. "There we are! Now they'll always be yours and yours alone. When you swing those swords, you'll do it as a Hawke, fierce and proud!"

"Thank you, Papa!" Judith said with delight.

"I still think hers is a little bigger..." said Carver.

"Don't worry," Malcolm laughed, "once we get some studying done, the size won't matter, just how you swing it! Now let's be off to dinner. You two are getting so big, how is that? Bethany is so little and dainty... you're not stealing her food, are you?"

"No, she gives it to us," said Judith.

"She gives you her food?" gasped Carver.

"She doesn't like chicken, and she knows I do!"

"But I like chicken, too!"

"Children, please," said Malcolm, "if you want more so badly, I'll figure something out. I'll just need to find a way to get more... coin..."

Judith's head tilted, confused by her father's pause. "What's wrong, Papa?"

"...Carver, you go on ahead. Your mother could probably use some strong hands."

"Okay," he said as he began storming across the field, towards the little house that popped from the horizon, "but I'm gonna beat you next time, Judith!"

"Never!" her determined cry echoed. As Carver turned into a speck, she looked back at her towering father with wide eyes. "Papa?" peeped the eldest Hawke child. She heard a soft shifting, and her father bent his knee to face her. She winced, his musk of wheat and wood shavings made her nose twitch.

"Judith," he said with a rumbling baritone, "you know Carver looks up to you, right?"

She pouted, "He's got a funny way of showing it."

"I know, little bird, I know. He's not as mature as you. He doesn't yet understand I can't always be around for him, because of the magic. And he's not ready to accept these responsibilities. Not like you, my sweet, caring Judith. I've been forcing you to grow up sooner than you should..."

"It's okay, Papa. I'm a woman now. I can handle it."

"Please!" Malcolm could not help himself from chuckling. "A woman, she says. You still cut your hair like a boy!"

"Having short hair doesn't make me a boy, Papa, it just makes me a woman with short hair!"

"Of course, little bird, I'm sorry," he said, giving his eldest daughter a quick up and down. Her face was patched with scrapes and dirt from all the rigorous labor of the day. The bangs of her hair were matted against her rounded cheeks with sweat. Her sniffling nose protruded like the beak of a proud bird of prey. Her ruddy, square chin was firm. Just like Carver's, and just like his own. His two older children did not inherit his magic-something he thanked the Maker for every day-but they received everything else of his.

"Papa, are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine, dear," he retorted with a pat on his daughter's shoulder. "My point is... be gentle with Carver. He's still a boy, and he's not yet to terms with... this life. Remember how frustrated you were when we first had to move?"

"Y-yes..." she said, guilt reducing her rebellious voice to s meager squeak.

"Well, someday we may have to leave this town and start over again, perhaps even again after that. The only constant we have is that we will always be a family. What Bethany and I have, I know it's a burden on the two of you and your mother, so you need to stay together. You'll need each other."

"Okay, Papa," Judith sighed, "I'll try."

"That's my good little bird," said Malcolm, a small smile cracking on his broad, bearded face. "One more thing. Are you quite certain about this whole knight business?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" she asked, her thick brows slanted and rosy bottom lip stuck out.

"Knighthood is a lot of work, a dangerous profession. I don't want to ever see you hurt. Your mother nearly passed out that time you had a scruff with those neighbor boys. Thank the Maker you didn't get a scar. Besides, the King's got plenty of knights already, but the family needs you."

"But I'm doing it for the family! I'll be protecting you! Besides, I've never lost a fight!"

"I see. But there's still a problem. In order to be a knight, one has to be a page, then squire, and those all require quite a bit of mo..."

She gripped her newly engraved sword and jabbed the air above her with its blunt wooden point. "I want to be a knight more than anything! I'll do whatever it takes!"

The father Hawke chuckled as he brushed a sweat-slicked bang from her face. "Well, that settles that, doesn't it? I'm sure you'll figure something out, you're such a smart and capable girl. Carver's right to look up to you. Now, let's hurry home before he eats all your chicken."

Malcolm opened his big, calloused hand to her, and Judith placed her tiny, scraped hand into the folds of his palm. Their happy hums drifted in the summer breeze as they walked home together.