A/n: this was a difficult one to write and, I suspect, to read. I don't particularly enjoy making my characters suffer (you never would've guessed by my choice of quests so far, I know)), but I do find it very interesting to get into their heads and explore their reactions to difficult situations. That's the fun of role-playing to me, really. Thank you all for reviews, you guys really inspire me to continue!))
Edit: damn, this document manager really messes up my documents sometimes -.- Now it went and swallowed a long word.
Disclaimer: do I even need to state the obvious?
Denial. The flowers must've been from that suitor her mother was going on about lately. Leandra was a beautiful woman, and even all the grief and hardships of her life could not destroy that beauty. Yes, that must've been it. Mother deserved a little happiness after all they've been through, didn't she?
"Bodahn, is mother home?" Miriam asked, never taking her eyes off the lilies.
"No, m'lady, she went to visit your uncle a few hours ago," her 'manservant' answered, still bewildered at her behavior. Relief and embarrassment flooded through Miriam. It was alright, her mother just went to Gamlen, and flowers… flowers were just a coincidence.
And still…
"I'm going to meet her. She shouldn't wander the Lowtown on her own," Hawke put her cloak back on and gripped her daggers tightly to stop her hands from shaking. She kept saying to herself that it was only natural to fear the worst, considering what happened to the rest of her family, but that did not mean the worst would happen. It did not help much; she broke into a run as soon as she was outside.
This short run only served to intensify her anxiety. She had just enough sense left to stop by Fenris's mansion and rattle madly at the door. It felt like he was taking forever to answer.
"Mothergotwhitelilies!" she blurted out as soon as she saw the elf.
Fenris never wasted time with unnecessary questions. Fear in Hawke's eyes, her impatience and two words, "white lilies", explained enough for him. They were already quickly walking down the street when their direction made him doubt.
"Have you found out where to look?"
"I'm going to check Gamlen's house, and…" uncertainty crept into her voice.
"We need to tell Aveline so her guards could start the search. And we need to find the others. If you are right and he is a blood mage, we will need their help," the elf reasoned.
"There's no time," she didn't even pause. She needed to be sure, to see her mother at Gamlen's and laugh about her foolish fears.
"Miriam," Fenris grabbed her shoulders, wincing momentarily as an unpleasant surge shot up his nerves from lyrium lines on his palms. This stopped Hawke, but the rest of her body still stubbornly tried to continue on its way. He spoke quickly, but firmly. "You are always the one who stops and thinks instead of rushing head-first into the battle. So stop and think now, this is the only way you'll help your mother. This is a big city, and she could be anywhere. We need others to find her. We need Aveline and her guards."
"But it will take forever!" she tried to get out of his grasp, but he held her firmly. "Fine… you're right, again. You go to Aveline. I'll check Gamlen's. Meet me there."
"Don't go after her alone," he warned, looking at her grimly, and let her go.
Hawke did not waste any more time. Yet she stopped before the door to her uncle's house to catch her breath. It was a sudden thought that her mother and Gamlen were inside, and she would look really stupid bursting in with wild eyes and city guards at her back. Her mother had to be there.
"Leandra? Maker, where have you…" she heard uncle's annoyed voice as he was opening the door at her frantic knocking. Then he saw her. "Oh, it's you."
"Where's mother?" she did burst in at this point and looked around, still hoping against reason that mother would be there.
"Do come in…" Gamlen rolled his eyes and followed her inside. "She's not here. Something more important that visiting her brother must've come up," he sneered. Hawke could think of many things that were more important and very few reasons for her mother to even talk to her embarrassment of a brother.
But she wasn't here. And if she wasn't here…
"She might be in danger, uncle. We need to find her," she said urgently, trying not to hit him. "There is a murderer in the city that targets women like her."
"What? You think she's…?" Hawke was surprised and somewhat sadistically pleased to see panic on his face. All the time they spent in this city, uncle acted like he'd prefer they all just disappeared and stopped inconveniencing him. But now Gamlen rushed out. "I know the path she usually takes, we'll follow along, maybe find something, or maybe someone saw her!"
'Don't go alone', Fenris told her. But she wasn't alone, was she? She was with Gamlen. And she couldn't wait, she couldn't be late again. A street urchin told them about a wounded man Leandra was helping. Even now it wasn't too difficult to make out a trail of blood they left.
Anger. It was boiling in her as she frantically searched for half-trampled drops of blood on the road or smudges left by a bloodied hand on a wall. It was boiling in her as she started to recognize the way to the foundry where she caught a glimpse of the murderer not so long ago. Back then they searched the place top to bottom, and failed to find anything save for bones and a ring. There was no doubt left now. In her anger she saw only this destination and took little notice of her friends and a few guards joining them, trying to berate her for acting irrationally. She didn't listen; she didn't have time to listen. She couldn't be late again.
The bloody trail led them to the foundry and, once inside, to the trapdoor they missed the first time. How could they miss it? Shades and other creatures of the Fade attacked them every step of the way from here, slowing their progress. It made her even more furious to be so close and still unable to get to her mother.
"Just die, I don't have time for you!" she growled, her daggers creating silvery ribbons in the air with the speed she swung them. But still it was not enough. As the shade that attacked her dissipated, she looked around frantically to see everyone absorbed in fighting. She slipped away, keeping to the shadows.
Suddenly she caught a glimpse of her mother's face, but her heart fell as she realized that it was only a portrait of a woman that looked remarkably like her mother. There were candles carefully arranged among trinkets that must've belonged to the woman and, before the portrait, there was a fresh bouquet of white lilies.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" pleasant, yet hopelessly mad voice commented. Hawke turned right to see a middle-aged man smiling at her. Next to him a woman in white wedding down and veil sat with her back to Miriam. "But the picture doesn't do her justice. I searched so long for her face, and finally found it. You are lucky: you will see what she looked like in life."
"What have you done to my mother?" Hawke demanded, trying to make out something behind the veil. Why didn't she move? Why didn't she turn when she heard her voice?
"Ah, Leandra. Such a sweet and kind woman. She spoke very highly of you. I think she believed until the end that you would come for her," the madman still seemed calm, oblivious both to the young woman seething with anger before him and to the sounds of fighting getting nearer. "But I digress. Behold the true miracle that only love is capable of!" He cupped the bride's chin and made her stand, the glow of magic evident in his touch. The woman slowly turned around and looked at Miriam with vacant dead eyes.
Those eyes looked at her from her mother's face, surrounded by stitches, framed by golden hair that wasn't hers.
Hawke dropped her daggers. She jumped at the maniac bare-handed, grabbing his throat before he could react, her white-hot rage finding release in a surge of magic. There was no incantation recited, no complicated passes. Only pure hatred smashing through all barriers of reason, promises and self-control.
"Miri…" a quiet voice broke through the rushing of blood in her ears. A voice she didn't hope to hear again. This gentle voice soothed the anger away as Hawke let go of the charred body of the madman and rushed to cradle her mother. With the mage dead Leandra did not have enough energy to stand. Miriam could see it, her mother's life slowly slipping away.
Bargaining. She was willing to do it. She understood now how mages fell victim to demons, as she sat there holding her mother, rocking her like a child. Was it even her mother? She didn't care. She could not believe that nothing could be done.
"I knew you'd come for me," Leandra managed a weak smile.
"Shh, don't waste energy," Miriam whispered. "We'll find someone to help you. Just hold on."
"It's alright, child. I will see your father now. And Carver," her mother tried to raise a hand to touch her, and Hawke grabbed it and pressed it to her cheek. It wasn't her mother's hand. But it did not matter. "I have always been so… proud of you… love."
"Mother…?"
"I only wish… I did not leave you here alone," and with that last whisper she was gone. Impossibly thick silence fell in the room. Hawke was aware of many eyes on her, but it seemed no one moved, no one even breathed as she closed her mother's eyes, placing a light kiss on each eyelid, and very gently lowered her body on the ground. No one called out to her as she walked out. No one commented on the burnt remains of the maniac. Later she would pointedly suggest to Aveline that the madman got burned by his own misdirected fireball, and the Guard-Captain would just as pointedly agree with her. Her mother's body would be carried out and many would come to the funeral. The mage's horrible laboratory would be burned to the ground.
But none of that mattered to her as she walked back to her family's home, completely numb and seeing nothing except those dead eyes.
Depression. It enveloped her in a thick blanket, drowning out outside sounds. She didn't cry, the tears just would not come. She was content to just sit on her bed staring in the fire for the rest of her life. It seemed eternity has passed until the door opened with a creak.
"Everyone is down in the hall," Fenris said as softly as he could manage.
"Let me guess, you drew straws and you got the short one?" she didn't joke. It was simply an automatic reaction of her mouth that didn't even require her brain to step in.
"I am not very good at finding words for such times," the elf admitted, coming closer to the bed.
"Good. I don't want to talk."
She was answered with silence. He made no move to leave, but he did not speak either. This silent support was incredibly annoying to her, gritting on her nerves until she blurted out "It's my fault, isn't it?"
"Do you think so?" it didn't escape her how he avoided the answer.
"The meaning of freedom, my dear Fenris… is that you cannot blame anyone for your actions but yourself," she chuckled humorlessly. "If I did not leave her alone, if I worked harder on that case, if I was faster…"
"It is not my place to give you forgiveness. But…" he sat down next to her. "She did not die blaming you. Her last words were of love."
The image of her mother's last smile flooded back into her memory along with her gentle loving voice. Hawke's face contorted as tears finally came. She rushed to Fenris and felt the elf tense as she clutched at him and hid her face in the curve where his neck connected with shoulder. She heard him exhale a slow strained breath and felt his hand on her shoulder in a touch as close to embrace as he was willing to give. And for now it was enough as she sobbed into his tunic making her first steps towards the final stage.
Acceptance.
