Notes: A bit of a short chapter, but a lot has gone on and I figured the characters (and readers) could use a rest. Enjoy the peace while it lasts...
***The Void's Deceit, Crew Quarters***
Hawke and Carver had been very close when they were children and things were, as far as they knew, much simpler. Before they understood how magic and lineage actually worked they would pretend to knock each other back with spells, and when they got older they grabbed sticks off the ground, knocking them together in pretend swordfights and one-upping each other with tales of imaginary heroics.
It was a far cry from the tense, trying relationship they'd had in Kirkwall. Hawke didn't know why it all started to go so south when the Blight hit, but when it did he brushed off any serious attempts to discuss the matter with jokes while Carver was obviously in desperate need of validation and support. The more guilty Hawke felt the less he acknowledged the problem, until finally he was stuck wearing a smartass grin at all times and Carver couldn't stop scowling, despite what either of them was actually feeling at the time. At some point giving in to caricatures of themselves had become preferable to simply communicating.
Hawke couldn't even remember how he and Carver ended up alone and completely lacking any sort of topic for conversation. He retraced the events of his day, remembering back to the way in which Anders and Merrill awoke at the crack of dawn in the hopes of hearing Andraste's grand plan for them. Their excitement came to a screeching halt when they found the prophetess kneeling on the rear deck of the ship with her forehead pressed to the wood, muttering something that Hawke could hear a great deal of seriousness in even if he couldn't understand her. There was also something about her body language that made him step back, her posture a mix of exhaustion and complete surrender.
The skies were clear and the waters were calm, meaning that only a few crew members were needed to run the ship. When they found Hawke and his companions standing around idly they invited them to the crew quarters for drinks, an invitation all four of them happily accepted.
Drinking with the crew ended up being an unsurprisingly effective time killer. No one noticed that the sun had begun to set, too busy exchanging stories or asking Anders and Merrill what kind of tricks they could do with their magic. Hawke deemed their afternoon of drunken antics an absolute necessity for the upkeep of their sanity; proof that the world didn't always need to be ending and, even if it was, they didn't always have to act like it was.
The crew was in the middle of throwing silvers toward a betting pool in the hopes of convincing someone to take a flaming shot of whiskey, and Merrill was gripped with a terrified and yet wholly excited terror as she waited to see if anyone would actually do it.
That left Hawke and Carver alone on the opposite side of the room, both of them with their backs against the wall, sipping their drinks to give themselves an excuse not to be talking.
"How much you want to bet they end up lighting the ship on fire?" Carver asked, raising his mug of ale toward the chaos.
"I don't think it's a matter of 'if,' really. I think it's a matter of when."
And then there it was, the same agonizingly awkward emptiness that always filled the air when they were stuck at Gamlen's with no work for the day and no coin to go out. As the seconds ticked by Hawke felt as if everything that came too mind was too smalltalk-y, but the longer he went without saying something the more that anxiety compounded.
He looked over at Carver, praying that his brother had a topic in mind, but the young man seemed thankfully preoccupied at the moment. It was easy to follow the line of Carver's gaze straight to Merrill, and Hawke began to feel as if older brother code dictated that he congratulate Carver with some sort of "atta boy" remark that made Merrill sound like a hard-won prize, but all the platitudes people generally used in that situation were, in Hawke's opinion, asinine and disrespectful to both parties.
He took a deep breath and let out a long, place-holding "So..." in order to buy himself more time. He was so desperate for common ground that when something sprung to his mind he blurted it out without even thinking. "Mages."
Hawke watched as Carver stopped mid-way through taking another sip of his ale. "What about mages?"
"You know," Hawke said suggestively, though he had no idea what he was trying to imply.
Carver shook his head and returned to his drink, but when his eyes caught sight of Merrill once again, Hawke could see how his brother used the mug to hide his embarrassed grin.
The alcohol burned its way down, but it was pleasant and familiar, the warmth relaxing Hawke as it traveled through him. "I can tell she makes you happy," he said as he nodded toward Merrill. "You've been acting much less... you-ish."
"You really are an expert at ruining moments, you know that?"
"Carver, we don't do 'moments.' You should know this by now."
"You're right, I probably should." The bitterness in Carver's tone was surprisingly light-hearted, and Hawke was just happy to have some bit of familiarity back, if even for a moment.
"Oh, I can't watch them do it," Merrill proclaimed as she skidded her way between the two brothers. She faltered a bit with her footing and watched her drink fearfully. When nothing spilled out, however, she stared into her mug before tipping her drink over. "Emma halam."
"Dalish," Hawke noted, recognizing the telltale marker that indicated when Merrill had had enough. "Carver, why don't you be a gentlemen and escort this young woman back to her room?"
"I don't need you to tell me wh-"
"Oh, I like that idea," Merrill interrupted. She stared up at Carver with a shy smile and a more than healthy flush to her cheeks.
"Right," Carver agreed in a bit of a dazed monotone. "Yeah, let's..." He looked over at Hawke, Merrill tugging a bit at his arm. "I'm just going to..."
"Bye Carver," Hawke said with a smile, watching as the two of them disappeared down the hall.
"Ah, young love," Anders sighed.
"Don't you have fireballs to juggle or something?"
Anders laughed and finished off his drink. "It's not every day I have people asking me to perform magic. Though who knows, maybe that'll all change soon."
"If Andraste ever gets around to telling us what in the Maker's name is going on." Hawke cringed at his word choice. "Pun not intended."
"You know," Anders began, "Things could have ended up completely different for you. You could have been born a mage."
"Aw, you're drunk too, aren't you?"
"You know your lineage. Magic on both sides. What if you had been a mage?"
Hawke raised an eyebrow. "At least half of Thedas would be on fire at all times."
Anders smiled as if he were about to laugh, but no sounds came out. Instead he put his mug down on a nearby table and took Hawke's free hand in both of his. "Just... promise me you won't change."
"Alright, I promise not to grow up and take things seriously any time soon," Hawke said with confidence.
"I used to know someone like you. A well-meaning smartass who covered up his passion for his cause with sarcasm." Anders paused and stared down at where their hands met. "He's gone now, but being with you makes me feel like a part of him is still here."
"I'm beginning to feel jealous."
"Don't, just..." Anders let out a nostalgic and affectionate sigh. "Just know that I love you, alright?"
***The Void's Deceit, Cabins***
"My... heart's desire?" Carver repeated.
The two of them were on the floor of their room, Merrill lying on her back with her head resting on Carver's lap. They found she got less seasick in that position, and Carver was happy to oblige.
"That's the best translation I can think of," Merrill explained. "I mean, it's what the individual words mean, but it's...more than that. You- you go through life wanting and desiring all sorts of things, like money or power or skill, but your vhenan'ara, that's someone- the only person- who you... yearn for? Oh, forget I said that," she dismissed, waving her hands in the air above her as if she were brushing her explanation aside. "Yearn is such an embarrassing word. So awkward and... romantic."
"Awkward and romantic sounds perfect," Carver replied. He ran his fingertips gently along Merrill's hairline, brushing the dark strands back to reveal more of the elf's forehead tattoos. It was a welcome distraction from the itch of the question lodged in the back of his throat, his anxiety tangible enough to make him cough. After rehearsing a few versions of it in his head he ended up combining them all and asking "Can I ask you why?"
"Why what?" she asked. "Why you? Why that word? Why then?"
"Actually, the answer to all of those would be nice."
Carver immediately regretted asking when he watched as Merrill frowned and her energy seemed to deflate, but she began explaining before he could apologize and annul the entire conversation. "I thought that traveling with Helena and her brothers would be like traveling with the nobles. By the time we got to the Grand Cathedral I thought I had lost you. You didn't have to come with me to Orlais, after all. I mean, it wasn't your calling or your responsibility. I figured that by then you had thought, like everyone else usually does, that I was being stupid and you weren't willing to risk everything for someone like me."
"I never thought you were stupid," Carver told her. "Not then and certainly not now."
"I suppose that is fair," she remarked before adding, "The part about not thinking I'm stupid now, after speaking with Andraste. Though I wish I knew what she wanted. Or maybe she doesn't want anything at all. Maybe she's upset with me- about the blood magic or the Eluvian or something."
"I doubt she'd call out to you like that just to yell at you. You're a powerful mage, Merrill," he reminded her, and partially himself as well.
"Yes, well, the Keeper acknowledged my abilities and my clan needed my magic, but in the end they both ended up plenty angry with me." Without warning she hoisted herself up and spun around to face Carver. "And what if you are right? What if she does need me for something? I'm no leader, I can't fight in a war." Her head dropped until her chin was pressing into her chest. "I'm not strong like you."
Carver bit his lip and raised his hands up toward her, but when he found he had no idea what to do with them he let them fall back to his sides. "You're a strong person, Merrill. I wish you saw that."
"You... give me too much credit," she insisted.
Carver sighed, feeling entirely incompetent as he stared down at the floor. "Yes, well, I could say the same to you."
***The Void's Deceit, Rear Deck***
"The Maker has ordained a place for each of us. We have only to serve."
It was advice that Sebastian had given hundreds of times before, and yet when he repeated it to himself he found it more difficult to follow than he could have ever imagined. Had it been Sebastian's celestial duty to murder Justinia in defense of Andraste? Was there to be no justice for Elthina? Was he truly willing to condemn the Chantry in its entirety to see her true message brought back to the people of Thedas? And what did she even want with him? She seemed content to let him go and never speak to him again, and with all the stress and self-doubt clawing at his psyche, Sebastian was on the verge of being fine with that.
Having discovered that Andraste was deep in prayer and thoroughly blocking out anyone who tried to speak with her, Sebastian returned to his room and attempted to follow her lead. It proved to be impossible for him to focus, however, when all that came to mind was uncertainty and apprehension. After all, what else did he have for options? He had killed the Divine. It did not matter if he believed in her or her cause, because his actions in that moment had decided for him.
He could hear Hawke and the rest of his companions drinking and conversing loudly with the crew members, but Sebastian didn't drink anymore and the idea that anyone could be laughing it up instead of agonizing over the future made him infuriatingly jealous, and he didn't want anyone to see him like that. He wasn't proud of how he'd been acting, but the shock of all this new information wasn't helped by being forced to work with Anders.
The hours crawled, but eventually the sun did set on Sebastian's day of self-reflection, forcing him to realize how little progress he'd made under his own guidance. He finally gave up on that endeavor, his feet bringing him to the deck before he had even decided to go.
Andraste was no longer kneeling with her forehead to the ground. By then she was sitting cross-legged with her hands on her knees and her back to the sea, staring straight ahead as if she'd been waiting for Sebastian for hours and he was late.
"If you were done praying you could have found me," he told her. "I think I deserve answers if you have them. Have I not proven myself worthy of your trust? Have I not already killed for y-"
"He is gone," she spoke without looking at him.
"Excuse me?"
"He is gone," she repeated. "I have felt nothing since the moment I awoke on this ship. Running for the coast was the last instinct I felt guiding me. After that..."
Sebastian approached her slowly, feeling responsibility weigh on him with a crushing force. "The Maker has truly abandoned us then, if He will not even speak through you."
"No," she argued, finally looking up at him. "The Chantry was as much a deviation from His will as the Imperium was. He would not turn away after we had come so far." She nodded her head toward the space in front of her, inviting Sebastian to sit so they could face each other.
When they were on an equal level Sebastian felt a good deal of his stress retreat for the moment. "Then what has happened?" he asked her.
"I suspect magic, and I have my guesses as to the who, the where and the how. That cannot be fixed now, however, and until it is I must create a strategy using the guidance that had already been bestowed upon me. I know I must return you and your companions to Kirkwall. I believe we will discover our purpose there; that is, if the winds ever decide to pick up. After that I fully intend to finish what I started. Maker's will aside, it has been my will for centuries to see the Imperium fall, and I will see it happen."
"What of the Chantry then?"
"They shall be my Blight."
Sebastian eyed her with a sidelong glance. "Your... Blight?"
"They shall weaken each other," she clarified. "And after that I will strike them both down. There is no room in the Maker's kingdom for those who uplift themselves by climbing the bodies of their oppressed."
"And how do you intend to do that with just the six of us?" he asked. "Seven, if you include Isabela."
"I..." When Andraste looked away Sebastian felt a distinct shift in the conversation that caused him to lean in toward her unconsciously. "With your cooperation, I would like to have an army to lead against them."
Sebastian was struck suddenly by the realization that they were alone. Everything became so apparent in that instant: why he was the one who found her, why she hadn't described her plans the night before, in front of everyone else. "You want to lead Starkhaven's armies," he finally said aloud. "You are asking to... rule alongside me?" He couldn't bring himself to believe she was actually suggesting such a thing.
Andraste nodded. "And before you try lying to me like you did Hawke, know that I am already aware of your cousin's unwillingness to rule. I know about Goran's letters, and I listened for six years as he prayed every night for your return."
If Sebastian had felt that this woman still lacked the proof needed to back up her claim, then her knowledge of his cousin's predicament would have abolished it. He did indeed have a stack of letters from Goran in his Chantry quarters, all of them begging Sebastian to return and claim the throne. The Harimanns picked well when they chose the boy, taking into account his age and his temperament. Goran was only fourteen at the time of the Flint Company slaughter, and he wasn't known for being bright or bold. "Goran's rule may be ineffectual, but it has led the nobles to form a fair and democratic governing body that has served Starkhaven well in the absence of the royal family."
"And what will happen to Starkhaven in this war?" she asked. "Do you not come from a line of princes and princesses who were steadfast in their devotion to the Chantry? Would Goran and the nobles not want to fight the mages and avenge the Divine?"
Without even knowing he was engaged in battle, Sebastian suddenly found himself defeated.
"It was never my intention to trap you in some awkward political marriage to a woman you barely know," she said as if she were apologizing, "but when I regained my mortality it was not Anders or Merrill who found me, was it?"
Sebastian needed a moment to evaluate the situation, but it was hard to think clearly when his mind was reeling from the implications of Andraste's proposition. Considering he had taken vows of chastity, marriage could not have been further from his mind, though the way in which Andraste's discomfort mirrored his own did allay his uneasiness a bit.
And yet her questions, which weren't questions at all really, had already given him his answer. Without proper leadership the whole of Starkhaven's military would either fall in the rebellions or to Andraste herself; because while Sebastian believed the woman would have a difficult time rallying and training her own army, he did not doubt that she could.
"I do not see an alternative in this matter," he answered, "nor will I offer you any less than I offered Justinia. I was willing to go to war for her because I believed it would give me purpose. I have, since then, discovered that my calling may... lie elsewhere."
"This is not an easy thing for me to ask of you," she stressed, "but it is vital to my cause."
"Is it not Thedas' cause?" Sebastian argued. "Do you not wish to eradicate injustice and spread the word of the Maker so that he may look upon us as he once did? This is far larger than both of us, and I understand that sacrifices must be made to ensure the good of the whole in the end." The words sounded so dignified and so sure, and Sebastian would have given anything to have actually believed them.
"That is... noble of you to say." The statement seemed like only half a thought to Sebastian, but Andraste never finished it. Instead she stood herself up and turned toward the stairwell that led to the cabins. "It is late, and I need to rest. You should retire for the evening as well."
"I think I will stay a bit longer," he decided. Andraste nodded and wished him a pleasant evening before disappearing below deck, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts and prayers.
"The Maker has ordained a place for each of us," he recalled once again as he watched her slowly and carefully walk away. "We have only to serve."
***End Part 1***