Title: 100 Themes Challenge #99 - Solitude
Rating: T because there's war bits?
Words: 2,376 words
Summary: Carver reflects on his life, and his reasoning behind his choices and what he has become.
Note: Massive spoilers for Dragon Age 2, though would be right before end of Act 3. If you don't want spoilers, don't read it plz. Also this is my version of Carver; I think he has a lot underneath, and this is obviously with a rivaled elder Hawke sibling who is kind of bitchy but shhhh. Let the boy be sad, please. Prolly a lot of mistakes, I didn't read through for errors, so don't shoot me. D:
"Maybe if you spent less time at the Rose or with your templar friends, you'd know what was going on."
The words stung worse than Carver believed was intended. But the bottom line was that they were intended to sting and bite, and coming from Anders... It was no question. The others of their ragtag crew stood in the library of the Hawke estate, looking away from the scene between the two men awkwardly.
"Would you just tell what's wrong with my sister?" the younger Hawke growled at the healer, his fists clenching at his sides. The flash of anger in his eyes, reminiscent of the Champion's, was enough to elicit an answer.
"She'll live. Minor injuries, but she'll be fine."
He nodded, and turned on his heel to leave.
No one protested.
It was always easier to relax when he wasn't there.
He knew that. He created an atmosphere of argument, complete with sparks ready to fly and spitting comments prepared to fire. But he when he had heard from the Knight-Captain that the Champion of Kirkwall had been ambushed by slavers while only in the presence of a glowing elf, Carver was not so uncaring for his sibling as to not check in on her.
In fact, the moment he had heard about it, he had requested to go and see his elder sister, regardless of the fact his watch shift was to start in a half hour's time. The new Knight-Captain had granted him the time, quickly assigning the patrol to a younger, newly knighted templar, and he had left that very moment. He had to know she was all right, even if he didn't see her.
Carver cared very much so for his sister. He loved her as the only person he had left in the Maker-forsaken world he lived in; as the one he had always rivalled in attempts to make himself better, to earn the respect of. He would defend her from anything and everything he could. That's all he had ever tried to do. It was his duty as the warrior, as the only son of Malcolm Hawke, to try and protect his sisters, even when they didn't need it, what with their magic. But he had always tried, and had hoped it would be the thought that counted, despite the snarkiness he exhibited in efforts to separate himself from the shadow of the Hawke.
He walked through the arrogant buildings of Hightown, his thoughts wandering to past more than they were concentrated on the present.
The templar recalled a time when he had been younger, before his twin had been able to use her magic. Their father had wrapped an arm around their elder sister, smiled on her with pride. They were going to go into the forests next to Lothering to begin her training, so she could master her magic outside of the Circle's control. Bethany had been devastated that she wasn't big enough yet to learn, that she was going to be left behind.
Even as a child, Carver had always tried to protect her, make her feel better. He'd pulled her braid to get her attention off of the shrinking figures, and took her hand before guiding her towards the barn, where they would play Darkspawn and Gray Wardens with their toy staff and sword until she forgot all about her sadness. It worked. By the time father and Marian had returned, she had too many things to tell Papa about to bother begging to be taught spells, too.
But then four years passed. Bethany turned twelve, just as Marian had. Father put his arm around her shoulders, and their sister grinned at the addition to the mage training sessions. They all walked away, laughing and happy, into the woods. They left him alone, uncaring of what he did.
Father died. Carver was the only man left in the family; he had to protect his mother, his sisters. Had to make sure no one would suspect the apostates for what they were. He joined the King's Army, as a swordsman, spending the seasons after the harvest in the militia camps. He grew sarcastic, hardened, as a result of his sister trying to boss him around when it was he who had to go and make good relations with the Chantry there, make sure the templars liked their family enough to not investigate the odd rumours that were passed around if an accident happened, or Marian was uncaring.
He took care of the farm during the crop seasons, made sure it was in order, made sure the fields got ploughed and the crops got picked in time while his sisters practised their control to avoid detection, to make every effort to master their magic and conquer the alluring call of the demons. He didn't mind the lack of help; he would rather they remain safe. But the jabs at him being a worthless brute, even as a joke from his sister, hurt, and made him strive to prove himself worthy of the respect he felt he deserved, after years of ensuring their secrecy.
The King called for men to fight the Darkspawn. Carver jumped at the chance to serve at Ostagar, and show his ability, despite knowing the dangers involved. His mother begged him not to go, that it was far too dangerous. But he was already ready to leave, hugging his mother and twin while shouldering the disapproving look of Marian.
"You're going to leave us in favour of a hopeless cause."
He had turned around, gone to the door.
"Abandon your family."
She didn't see what he was doing as anything but a selfish act, in hopes of finding glory. He picked up his bag, strapped his sword to his back.
"Have fun with the Darkspawn."
A month passed before the Battle of Ostagar. He watched his friends die on patrols, tainted by the evil in the Darkspawn blood. He watched ogres rip men limb from limb, emissaries create walking bombs out of his comrades to kill others with the explosion... Blood. Blood and fire and screams everywhere. And all he could think about was his sister taunting him, chiding him for leaving. That, along with the ingrained will to protect his family, was the only thing that kept him going.
But then the King died. The Wardens were gone. And he ran. Carver ran and ran, because he was still alive and there was a chance he could get back and get his family out of Lothering. The hoard was on his heels, forcing him to fight for every inch he gained between he and them.
But he made it. He made it to his home, filthy and exhausted, and they left with what they could on their backs. And his sister took the lead, because she was eldest and had the strongest magic. He didn't say anything, but followed dutifully, charging into battle whenever Darkspawn tried to get close, to endanger his family.
But he couldn't stop the ogre. He watched in horror as it pummelled Bethany to the ground, blood spray flying, until it flung her body to the side like a broken doll. His fighting was mechanical after that, the work of years of practise and repetition, but his mind was blank. He couldn't think straight. All he felt was a pit in his stomach open, sucking him in, no matter how hard he struggled to keep going.
They couldn't even give her a proper burial. They had to leave her there, a broken corpse. The callousness Marian exhibited, even if just to force them to press forward, sparked further resentment. Their rivalry grew in the gaping hole Bethany's death had left, which he blamed himself for. If only he had grabbed the ogre's attention first... If only it had been him instead of sweet, innocent Bethany...
They got to Kirkwall, made it their home. He did as his sister wished of him, if only because he had nowhere else to place himself in the new world he was definitely not a part of. His mother tried to latch them back into the Amells; a time long past, with Gamlen's selling of their estate. But he still worked with Marian to get the fifty sovereigns, to go to the Deep Roads.
He no longer had his twin, but he still had to do his best to protect Marian from Kirkwall's Circle, no matter the risks she was taking. He voiced his dislike of the companions she chose, allowing them to join their rank without proper investigation. He tried to act as some sort of sense for her, but all it did was grant him the contempt of his sister and her new comrades, though with time he grew to terms with a few of them.
The expedition came upon them; Mother wished him to stay home, and Marian agreed. He stayed. It was hard to let her go into the danger alone; the protective instinct that had ingrained itself into his personality screamed in protest, telling him to go regardless of what they said. But with Mother being alone in Lowtown... He listened.
The realization that he needed a way to separate himself from his sister came soon after her departure for the Deep Roads. Aveline had refused him for the City Guard, but he was not turned down by the Templar Order. He joined them of his own free will, hoping to make some sort of difference in the infestation of malevolent blood mages in Kirkwall. His training with the King's Army gave him an advantage over the squires who were just starting, and his ability to endure spells from years of pranks by Marian set him apart.
The look on his sister's face when she returned was one of betrayal and hurt. She yelled at him. Called him a traitor to the Hawke name, told him never to come back. The only thing that kept their relationship from ending right there was Mother begging them to stop fighting.
Three years passed by like that, tension high strung between them as he worked hard in the Order, and became a full-fledged templar while she spread the name of Hawke throughout the ranks of Kirkwall. He was not accepted or welcomed in the Hawke estate. His snarky demeanour left him with next to no friends in the Order; and those who were not put off by it were of the "all mages must die" variety. He had no one close, but he didn't make efforts to fix that. He still met Mother for lunches weekly, and he looked forward the time he spent with her as a blessing.
And then she was taken from them. Another blood mage took her—no, murdered her- and left Carver and Marian alone. In the joint guilt they both felt for her death—Marian for not getting there sooner, Carver for not having followed the lead, both for not looking after their mother closer—they mourned together, but past that their relationship remained the same.
Another three years passed; he spent his time hunting down malificarum, protecting the people of Kirkwall from their violence, and, as he found himself doing more and more as the abilities of his sister was told, keeping the Order from going after Marian. Sometimes he wondered if she thought about that; why she was not captured and forced into the Circle, for being an apostate. Was it just because she was Champion? Or perhaps his efforts, dismissing rumours and stealing away the written orders to go after her before burning them had some effect.
Carver walked through the high arch of the Gallows, the full moon illuminating the courtyard and the tall, bronze statues. He nodded at the men on duty, and walked into the Templar Hall alone. His thoughts laboured on, crushing him with the depression he realized had become his life. Entering his room in the barracks, he stared at the neat, tidy space in front of him. Everything was in order, from the sheets on his bed to the papers on his desk. His armour hung on the stand, the flame enveloped sword visible in the moonlight streaming from his window.
This was his life. This neat room, with its suit of templar armour, bare of anything else.
He moved to sit on the bed, and bent down to grab at something in the space between the mattress and the floor. Pulling out the box, he braced it on his knees before opening it carefully.
His fingers grazed over its contents, sorrow and a building emotion swelling in his throat. There was the locket they had found in the Amell estate... Bethany would have loved it. There was a book of Mother's, something random that he never read... But in between the pages she had flattened the flowers he and Bethany had given her over the years as children. She had kept them all. And lining the base of the box, protected by a sheet of glass and frame, there was a portrait of the Hawke family.
It was before Marian had turned twelve. Before the siblings grew apart. Before Father had died, before he had seen the horrors of war, before Bethany was broken into pieces and Mother murdered. Before he had lost the people he cared about most, one by one. Before he had turned into the callous, harsh man he was, before the relationship he had held with his only sibling turned into a rivalry only buffered from hate by their shared blood.
An explosion of a single water drop hit the glass, joined by another.
It was from a time that he could hardly remember. A time when he had belonged somewhere.
But now...
His shoulders shook as he mourned over a concept so vague and blurred, he couldn't explain.
It was a concept that he had lost, and could never get back.
He would just continue forth, like he always did, pretending nothing mattered.
He would carry on, acting like he didn't care. It's what was expected of him.
But he would go into his room and look at the box's contents, and realize every time just how alone he was.