Interlude 2
"But what is this, that I can't see
with ice cold hands taking hold of me."
- Oh, Death — Jen Titus
9:27 Dragon, 3 Kingsway
Malcolm Hawke dies on the 3th of Kingsway, in the 27th year of the Dragon Age. He doesn't die alone, but surrounded by his sons. The circumstances leading to this event aren't what anyone can call fortunate: a simple hunt in the woods turned into a bloodbath when they were ambushed by maleficarum. The fate is a strange thing — half his life he feared the Templars, always looking over his shoulder, never letting his guard down… Only to be killed by his own kind in the end, his blood used and turned against him.
He dies thinking of his wife and children: he didn't kiss Leandra goodbye when they left in the wee hours of the morning. He hasn't taught Bethany that last kinetic shield that he considered too difficult — he wanted to wait till her next year. The trip to Denerim he planned in secret to surprise the kids and Leandra with will never happen. The smith hasn't finished the sword he commissioned for Carver's birthday, and the book for his twin won't arrive for a week. He regrets so much and has done so little… He thinks of all the words he didn't say, and all the smiles he didn't see, and all the kisses he didn't give or get, and he achingly, desperately doesn't want to die.
Carver holds his hand, fingers cold and sweaty, while Gareth presses a poultice that won't help to the wound in his abdomen, blood is seeping through the thin fabric. It is too little, too late, and not enough. Nothing could help him, save for a miracle or a proficient healer. There isn't one in sight.
They are kneeling over him. The earth is soft, and muddy, and red. It stains their clothes with dark brown streaks, and Malcolm thinks that it will be hard to clean later when the blood sets in. Leandra won't be pleased. Then he thinks that it probably won't matter, considering that he... Well. He will be dead. She will have to deal with it somehow. Laundry will be the last of their problems.
With the last of his strength, he squeezes Carver's hand, waits until their eyes meet. "I'm proud of you," he says. One less regret to carry into the Fade.
He turns to his other son. Gareth, his oldest, reliable and steadfast, always quick with a smile or a scathing word, and with a sword. His first and — he is ashamed to admit — favourite child. He sees sorrow and anguish in them both, but in Gareth he sees the iron will that shines through his pain.
"Take care of them," he says, coughing. Red spit bubbles over his lips. "I'm counting on you."
Gareth swallows a sob and takes his other hand. "I promise, father."
He will keep this promise to the best of his abilities. Nobody knows or even can guess it yet, but it won't be enough. In the end, nothing he does will be enough to keep his family together. He will inevitably lose them all one way or another.
Malcolm smiles, blinks: once, twice, and the third time his eyes stay closed.
Carver cries now, forgetting to think that he is too old for it. Grief renders him weak, and he slumps forward, tears falling on the unmoving chest. This sunny autumn day the seeds of fear and resentment of magic are planted. It will take time to take roots and grow, and he will always love his twin, but. Today he hates mages for the first time.
Malcolm Hawke dies on an afternoon too warm for Kingsway, with his sons by his side, surrounded by the corpses of the blood mages that killed him.
