Hawke gave out an exasperated sigh as she shut door behind her.
'I am the Arishok. Look at me cross my arms and grunt cryptic sayings. But wait, now I am some moronic zealot. Let's threaten the Arishok and see what happens! Because annoying a seven foot horned giant who leads other giants is a great idea!'
She shook her head.
'Why the hell am I the "official mediator" for these two fucks? Last time I checked, "diplomat" was not in my job description. Better to have sent Avaline...'
She snorted. Send Avaline? Now that was a joke. The Guard-Captain of Kirkwall was more blunt than a club.
'Whatever, I'm home and the Qunari business is done with... for now.'
"Mother, I'm home," Hawke greeted.
'Now time for the second storm...'
To say Mother did not approve of her daughter's new role was an understatement. How many hours of worried mother-speak had she sat through? Hawke could hear it now.
'Where have you been, young woman? I was just about to call the city guard for you. Blah blah blah.'
However, to Hawke's surprise, out of the foyer came not her mother but her uncle.
"Gamlen?"
The grouchy gray-haired man grunted an affirmative. It always disturbed Hawke that both him and her mother did not age well. Between the widening wrinkles, oily hair, and terrible fashion, Hawke could imagine the horror of becoming... old. She gave a shudder.
"What's with you?" He asked, noticing her tremble.
"Nothing," she lied.
He narrowed his eyes for a moment. It didn't take a genius to catch Hawke's fib. But, before he could follow up, she decided to push the conversation along.
"Anyway, why are you here?" She asked, genuinely curious. "I know you don't like to come up. Too "prissy", I believe?"
To her surprise, Gamlen did not take her bait. At least not in the way she had expected.
"Leandra didn't come to our weekly get-together." His tone was... worried.
"So what? Mother might have just forgotten or something."
He crossed his arms and gave a deep frown. Internally, Hawke groaned.
'Maker, just like the Qunari. I wonder if the Arashok has been recruiting...'
"Leandra doesn't just "forget". She hasn't missed a single one since you two moved out of the piss-end of Lowtown."
Despite the potential gravity of the situation, Mother missing and all, Hawke couldn't let this slip up.
'Piss-end, eh? Sorry, uncle. Left yourself open to this one.'
"Wait, we moved out of your place. Wouldn't that make your house the piss-end of Lowtown? And by extension, the target of the Maker's crotch? I assume that is where the piss is coming from."
Gamlen's face fell sullen.
Hawke frowned. "What? I thought it was funny."
"Cathryn, listen to me. This is serious."
'He used my first name.' She could feel her stomach churn. 'Mother not coming must really be spooking him.'
Leaving her frown in place, Hawke conceded. "Okay, Uncle. You have my attention."
He exhaled. It wasn't until the tension left Gamlen's body did Hawke realize just how on edge he was.
'Maybe it would be better if I kick this off.'
"Do you have any leads? Anything that is causing this worry? Aside from Mother not showing up?"
"Well, no," he admitted, tartly.
Hawke slowly closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. Here her uncle was in the middle of a panic, because... Mother was tardy. And here she was almost beginning to worry as well. All while being serious. Maker, she hated serious. She slowly opened her eyes.
"You're kidding me." Hawke said flatly.
"Look. I just know Leandra is in trouble. I just do."
"How am I supposed to do anything when all I have is a hunch?" Her agitation with her uncle was beginning to show.
He stared at her, almost pleading. The grouch of an uncle she knew melted into a desperate brother worried for his only sister. However, Hawke wasn't in the sympathizing mood. Gamlen had worked her up, and she was not going to let that go.
"Well?" She demanded.
"Dammit. I don't know!" He admitted, frustration erupting from his niece's behavior.
Gamlen slammed his fist against the wall. The result was a crash of glass hitting marble flooring. Both Amells turned to face source of the crash.
"Shit, Uncle. You made a-"
Her words stopped when she saw it. There, glass strewn, it lay: white lilies.
'No. No. No...'
She refused to believe it. It had to be a mistake. A coincidence. Yet, she knew. Her heart forced her sight to turn away. However, her mind could not be fooled. It knew. Her eyes returned to fallen flowers.
Unaware of Hawke's internal struggle, Gamlen began to apologize. "I'm sorry, I just didn't mean t-"
Hawke interrupted. "Mother mentioned being courted, yes?" Her words were distant.
Hawke's out of character tone left Gamlen at unease. "Umm, yes, I think so. It was so silly, I didn't believe her."
At first, Hawke could only ask herself how? How had she not connected the dots? Then came the why? Why had she not paid attention to her own mother?
'I...I can't do this. Not now. I have to act.'
"Uncle." She didn't even look at him. "Go get the Guard."
"The Guard?" He parroted.
"Yes. Tell Aveline I need her. Now. Meet me outside the Hanged Man."
Without giving more than a puzzled look, Gamlen took off. Some small part of her was impressed the old geezer could still move even remotely swift. When the door slammed shut, Hawke finally turned away from the lilies.
'It's going to be okay. This-this is just an average day in Kirkwall. If I haven't had to save someone from some psycho then something is wrong. Yeah, just another day...aside from the victim being your mother.'
With those not so comforting thoughts, she made her way out. If anyone knew if something was awry, it would be Varric.
Hawke gazed blankly at the wall in front of her. Between a rather regal painting of her grandfather (before his tragic fall from social and political grace, of course) and a shiny silver shield from Maker knew where laid a wonderfully bare portion of wall. There, she found herself lost in thought.
'Why? Why did this happen?'
She almost slapped herself. What a stupid question. Especially when she already knew the answer. Yet... it didn't make her feel better. She clenched her fists. Mother. Her mother. Because...
'Because of me. If I had been quicker. If I had been stronger. If I had just listened to Gamlen and not wasted time...'
Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. Immediately, she regretted the decision. Memories flashed by her. The blood. The smile. The sti-. A sudden slam brought Hawke hurtling back into reality.
"Where's my sister?!" The words were clear, even from the foyer where she sat. It helped that the masculine tenor voice was at least two steps above yelling.
There was a brief silence. 'Probably Bodahn shitting his pants.'
The idea almost made her smile. Almost. Instead, all that came was a sigh. The coming storm was not a surprise. That it hadn't come sooner was.
A series of increasing loud stomps ended with one word. "You."
Hawke turned her chair and self to face the source, her brother. In another world, she would have been happy to see Carver after three years. Rocky as their relationship had always been, he was still family, her little brother. It was amazing really. That the man in front of her was once a boy who would never shut up or stop whining. It was an incredible transformation. There he stood, a broad-shouldered figure filled out with muscles, hard aqua eyes much like her own, resting on a sharp clean shaven face, hair cropped and short. He was... handsome? Also, he was livid.
"Answer me, dammit!"
Hawke slowly got up, silent. With careful steps, she strode to him. Some part of her was caught off-guard that her sibling was a head taller than her. Had he really grown that much? She remedied the problem with a simple raise of her head. Finally, she locked eyes with him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
It was so faint, almost like a dying breath. But, that was all she could muster. Nights of grief and days of sorrow had left her emotionally exhausted and physically raw. Whatever facade she had been able to put up had been shattered after the night at the tavern.
"Sorry... you?" Carver spoke slow and low. "Sorry? That's it?"
He snickered. Then, he broke into laughter. It was not of joy or mirth, but of contempt and outrage, in equal measure. Hawke watched the twisted spectacle until it concluded with Carver kicking a nearby chair. Specifically, the Golden Oak seat that Hawke had been residing in before his visit. Between the force of the blow and Carver's steel tipped boots, the chair stood little chance. It flew several feet backwards, splinters exploding from where metal met wood. It was miraculous that neither of them was injured.
"'Sorry' doesn't cut it, sister. It doesn't make things better. It doesn't make things right. And it DOESN'T FUCKING BRING HER BACK!"
Spittle flew onto Hawke's face. The mess made Carver look away, not wanting to watch as she wiped it off with a simple motion.
'You're right, Carver. Sorry doesn't do shit.'
"I'm... I didn't mean to scream in your face. It's just, Gamlen just showed up. He said that Mother was..." Although his back was turned, Hawke could feel the whirlwind of emotion coming from him. He turned, choosing to not quite look at her. "I didn't even believe him the first time he said it. Just shooed him off. It wasn't until yesterday that I finally bothered listening to him. I suppose I should have wondered why the bum would come to the Gallows every day for a half a week, unless it was something important."
He looked down, cursing his own failings.
"I should have been the one to tell you, Carver-" Hawke started, voice faint.
"Maker, no," he protested. "Noble or not, money or not, an apostate can't just walk into the Templars' quarters and expect to waltz out free."
'That's not totally true.'
However, she said nothing, and let the matter slip away. They stood there lost to the quiet. It might have only been a second or maybe minute or even possibly an hour, but eventually, Carver shattered the silence.
"Sister." He paused, uncertain of how to proceed. "How did she di- Gamlen wouldn't te- What happened?"
She opened her mouth, though no words would come out. Luckily, her brother wasn't finished.
"And why? Why did you let this happen? Why couldn't you save her?" His voice began to rise. "You're bloody Cathryn Hawke! You're supposed to be the hero!" How could you let her... let her... die?"
There it was.
'The hero? I am the hero?'
Even after the past years, he still had that damn idea stuck in his head.
'And I just... let her die?'
The cold somber that had gripped her flashed into heated rage.
"I AM NOT SOME FUCKING HERO!" It was her turn to yell. No, this was beyond yelling. Each word left her throat in pain. But, she couldn't stop. "I AM NOT FUCKING ANDRASTE! I AM NOT THE MAKER! GET THAT FUCKING SHIT OUT OF YOUR HEAD, CARVER!"
His face lost color. Her outburst molded his expression into a paragon of shock: eyes wide, mouth agape, brows raised.
'Yes, look at me. See how it feels. How I feel. And this is just fraction of it. A sliver.'
There was some satisfaction in gazing at her brother's frozen form. How long had he rode her? On and on about being "in her shadow"? About how...
'...wetness?'
Along her cheeks a pioneer struck a path. One that hadn't been traveled in days. Her hand rose to deal with the lone pathfinder, only to hesitate. There, slowly rolling down her cheek, was a tear.
She was crying? The revelation took her aback. Did she still have tears to shed?
There was an impasse. Part of her wanted it to stay there, a reminder of the hurt she held. To show the world she wasn't some higher being. That she was simply human. But, she couldn't though, not now. Still, it took her a moment to find the strength and do away with the drop. With that she continued the discussion.
"It was magic." Hawke's words found themselves returning back to their original softer state. "Blood magic, of course."
"What?"
The mold of emotion that had held his face in place broke, allowing it to fall to confusion.
"A blood mage killed her."
"It was magic? You're telling me magic killed her?"
Her silence was answer enough.
"Magic. It is always magic." His voice was a hollow bitterness. For the first time since she had apologized, he allowed his eyes to return to hers. "You know what the Knight-Commander tells us Templars? That magic is a curse. That those who practice it are worse than the Blight. That they need to be put down."
He laughed. Oh, what a terrible thing it was. It was neither bitter nor angry. It was worse than that. It was empty.
"I thought they were spouting nonsense. I mean, you're a mage. Father was a mage. Yet, for every good mage I see, there a thousand others. Like the one who took Mother." He shook his head. "Maybe the Knight-Commander is right."
"You... you believe that crazy hag?" She sputtered.
"Look at what they do. They consort with demons. They corrupt people's minds. They are a threat."
That these hypocritical words were coming from him.
"Oh, yes. Let's all bow down to Knight-I-Am-A-Tyrant-Mage-Hater-Commander Merideth." Hawke raised her arms in mock praise, before dropping them. "Because it isn't like the number of Tranquil isn't rising like the population of horny rabbits left to fuck in the open field!"
It was incredible, really. Yes, she had never got along with Carver. But, twice now he had managed to break her into full fury.
"It's for their own good, dammit!" He yelled back in response.
"For their own good? Is that what they say? Because taking away someone's ability to feel is acceptable? To murder what makes them them?" Her face was flush with heat. "You're a fucking dipshit."
"What did you just call me?" His words were deliberate, just waiting for her to provoke him.
And did she realize it? Yes. Did she understand that insulting his intelligence was one of the deepest cuts she could make? Yes. Did she care? No.
"Oh, did it not make sense? You. Are. A. Fucking. Dipshit."
'That's right. You heard me.'
"Somehow, you believe that to murder a person is a crime. But, to murder who a person is isn't?"
She shook her head.
"I didn't think it was possible, Carver. The Templars made you even stupider than bef-"
Regardless of whether anything Hawke had said was true or if it was just her emotions speaking, there was something that was certain: Carver hit a hell of a lot harder now. The savage fist came without warning from the right. It wasn't even a gut shot. Nothing but face.
Amazingly, Hawke suppressed a cry of surprise. Even as she hit the gray marble floor with nothing to cushion her except her shoulder. It took everything that was left to not heave from the blow.
Not moments after the tumble, Carver realized what he had done.
"Shit. I-I didn't mean..."
She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes (at least, the eye that wasn't just forced shut), trying to ignore the pounding pain.
"Just go."
How long did he stand there? Perhaps staring at her and the black eye he had probably gifted her. Or maybe he had left when she had asked him to. Whatever he had done, he was gone when she managed to pry open her good eye. Seeing this, she closed her eye once more. She was alone again; thoughts almost as muddled as before he had come. The only difference was now one thought was clearer most.
'If he's a dipshit, so am I...'