Hawke watched as the half rotten corpse slowed to a crawl. Unnatural ice, emitted from her staff, steadily enveloped the zombie's form until, a moment later, ice had swallowed the undead creature whole.
'A woman. It was a woman...'
The signs were there: hips wide, body shorter, breasts...breast, actually. One was missing. The sight was too much. Hawke gave out a battle shout as she swung her staff down on the ice. With that came an explosion of frozen shards, each filled with corpse bits.
'It's going to be...'
The thought ended before it could be finished. Who was she fooling? How many reanimated bodies had she fought through? All of them victims of the madman who had taken Mother. What made her believe that Mother wasn't already...?
'No, dammit! I will save her. I have to.'
"Don't worry, my pretty." A soft, ethereal voice cooed from behind her. "I'll save your mother..."
Hawke spun with a jump. Ahead was a slender, naked, feminine form strolled toward her, caressing itself. Its eyes held a demonic purple glow, matching its skin tone, and, in place of hair, grew bull horns. It took Hawke no time to recognize what this creature was: a demon, specifically an embodiment of desire. Perhaps, it had been summoned by Mother's kidnapper. Or maybe, it was just attracted by atrocities committed here. Either way, Hawke didn't care. It was in her way and that was mattered.
"...Then you and her can be a happy family again."
In another time, Hawke might have taunted the dark spirit. Told it off in some lewd way, or questioned its ability to procreate. Instead, she just pointed her staff at it. On cue, lighting began to spew out of the oversized wooden walking stick. The creature only had time to hiss before the wild energy struck. With frightening ease, the magic ripped through the demon's body like wet paper. As spell faded, Hawke could hear the sizzle of charred flesh hit the ground.
The violent display brought Hawke no satisfaction though. It was just another obstacle that had been removed.
'Who's next?'
With that in mind, Hawke pivoted her body and glanced around looking for her next victim. All she found was one Varric and one Aveline. Both were roughly ten feet away wearing grim faces. Or was it concern? Were they directing whatever they felt toward her? Hawke stared. The truth was, the sight of them was almost unexpected.
'Am I really so gone that I forgot about my own friends?'
If she wanted to be honest, the answer would've been "Yes." And that was distressing. Oh, Hawke knew her mind was a panicked mess. But, something like this? What if she sent that lighting spell not at a demon but at her favorite dwarf?
'Fucking stop. Just focus. Kill bad things. Find the fucker. Save-''
"Hawke?" A deep woman's voice asked.
Someone clasped of a Hawke's shoulder. The sudden touch gave the mage a jolt.
"We should continue." Aveline spoke, stoic face unchanged.
Hawke nodded and began to take a step.
She stopped, however, before any ground could covered. "You two okay?"
Varric raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we be asking you that?"
"It's just. I'm..." She bit her lip. Maker, the pit in her stomach was akin to an abyss. "...distracted."
Her word choice earned her another perked eyebrow from Varric.
"I mean-" She sighed. "During that last fight, I forgot you two were even here. I was so focused on-"
"We're here for you." Aveline assured, cutting off Hawke's sentence.
"You heard her." Varric followed up. "We have your back."
Those small assurances gave a warmth to Hawke. The cold panic and fury that held her previous melted. For now at least, she could stride forward to face what lay ahead with a clear mind. She closed her eyes and let the tension release from her body.
'Thank you.'
With that silent thanks, she opened her eyes and looked at her companions.
"Alright then," The Hawke's voice found its bravado tone triumphantly returning. "I believe we have madman to catch and my mother to save."
As usual, Hawke was garnering looks in the Viscount's Keep, the hub of Kirkwall's government, as she somberly stepped through its main hall. The various nobles that lounged about here had always made whispers about why wouldn't they? The scion of a respected aristocratic family that had fallen from grace only to rise again like a phoenix, incidentally Hawke's heraldry. Not just that, but said scion was a Ferelden halfbreed that had returned as a refugee only three years ago. And to put a cherry on top of it all, she was an apostate...in a city that was almost overtly run by the Templars.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, for her the nobles were not talking about Hawke's origins for once. Instead they had something much more interesting to gossip about; where Hawke had been the last two weeks.
Even in her melancholy, she couldn't ignore them and their prattling.
"She's finally shown up. About time. The Qunarri negotiations have fallen apart while she's been gone..."
"Where do you think she's been?"
"Who knows? Hopefully she deals with the brutes now."
Like a fly buzzing about one's face, the whispers assaulted her ears. On and on it went.
"Did you hear? Lady Leandra has been missing for some time now."
"Indeed. And neither the Guard nor the Viscount have said a thing. Useless bunch."
"If they cannot protect the Amells, how can we expect them to protect us?"
On second thought, this was worse than some insect flying about. Hawke rubbed her head, attempting to avert the oncoming migraine. The motion did not help.
"Is that a black eye?"
"I think so."
"How do you suppose she got that?"
Finally, she found herself past the entrance hall. As Hawke climbed the staircase the gossip began to fade away.
'Thank the Maker.'
At the end of the steps, she took a right. Ahead of her were the Guardsmen barracks. There too was a general chatter, but, the Guard was filled with common folk more interested in mundane things like what to eat for midday or whether or not tonight was a drinking night. Due to her... unique relationship with the Captain, Hawke's presence rarely caused much stir. However, as she slowly approached Aveline's office, she could feel sideways glances thrown at her.
'Perhaps if I wasn't moving about like a brooding brute... or Carver...'
She cringed and subconsciously touched the blue bruise on her eye.
'Yup, I'm still a dipsh-'
Solid wood. Aged oak to be precise. That was what Aveline's office door was made out of. Oh, Hawke knew that. She had come here more times than she could count, which was pretty high. What she could count to was the number of times she had smacked herself face first into the door: one.
Down she went, ass slamming onto the cobblestone floor. Which was worse? The snickers of the Guardsmen or the resounding pain on her face and arse? Regardless, the answer to the situation itself was clear.
'Fuck. Me.'
With a "knock" like that, it was no surprise the door swung open in an instant. Aveline stood in front of her with a concerned look on face.
"Not. A. Word," Hawke grunted, cutting off anything her friend might have wanted to say.
The redhead opened then closed her mouth. Realizing action was better, she offered a hand with a sigh and shake of her head.
"Thanks." Hawke grunted as she took the help.
Propped back on her feet, she began to dust herself off. Her task froze, however, when a she heard a snicker from behind her. Slowly turning to face the sound, Hawke found that the whole barracks was eagerly watching her shenanigans. Indeed, the chatter had gone all but quiet.
Before the awkward moment could last longer, Aveline stepped in with a slight clear of her throat. "Serre Hawke, if you would step in."
Understanding Aveline's less than subtle message of "Get in here", Hawke made a retreat into the office.
"Right...uh, just be sure to... shut the door..." She muttered as she stepped past Aveline.
The Guard-Captain happily obliged. As the click of the door closing gave sound, Hawke planted her still sore bum in one of the seats. Part of her wanted to grumble about why Aveline had to acquire cushioned chairs, but there were higher priorities.
'Alright, I cam here for a reason...'
What was that reason? She squirmed, unable or just unwilling to confront that reason. Instead, she sat there waiting for Aveline to return to her desk. Hawke could feel her stomach begin to churn as she sat. It was a feeling akin to eating rancid food and only realizing it after it was being digested. On the bright side, she didn't have to worry about puking her innards plus some.
"So," Aveline started as she seated herself behind her desk. "How are you doing?"
Ignoring her unsettled gut, Hawke replied nonchalantly, "Well, my ass hurts. Interestingly enough, so does my face."
"That's your fault." Aveline replied, rolling her eyes. "And speaking of your face, what happened to your eye?"
Hawke subconsciously moved her hand to her left eye, not quite touching it.
"Well..."
"Hawke, you don't have to tell me." Aveline reminded her. "I am not going to pry. Just know I am here for you."
Hawke looked down. How many times had she heard that before. Cliché words, yes, but some part of her liked them. Honestly, more than just a part of her. There was a truth in it that gave them a meaning, a reassurance, and a warmth against the loneliness.
She brought up her head again. "Thank you, Aveline."
The Captain gave a reassuring nod.
"Well, umm..." Hawke started again.
It came to Hawke's realization that it wasn't just that answer to Aveline's question was painful. There was also the matter of putting it into words. Yes, she could just say "Carver came. We argued. I provoked him to hit me." But, that wasn't right. At least it didn't seem right. She knew there was more to be said. Unable to think up of whatever that was, Hawke opted to go with simple.
"... Carver."
"What?" Aveline leaned over her desk. Was it in disbelief or just not hearing the word, Hawke could not tell. She decided to assume both.
"You know, my brother? Carver." She repeated. "Or as you prefer 'a bit of a tit.'"
Despite Hawke's repetition, Aveline still refused to accept the answer. "Carver actually came a talked to you? After three years?"
Was it sad that there was that much of a wedge between them? That her friend was surprised that he would seek out his sister after a death in the family? To the outsider, it probably was. But for Hawke, it was just an accepted reality.
"Yes. Yes, he did." She assured.
"Still doesn't explain the eye." Aveline replied.
"No, it does. Carver hit me." She paused. "Well, throttled would be a better word."
The Captain shot out of her seat.
"That arrogant brat-"
Oh, did Hawke want to agree. She could hear her brother even now. It echoed in her mind. "Maybe the Knight-Commander is right." Hawke's hand clenched into a fist. She could feel her blood boil. All over a half dozen words. Then she found herself lying on the floor again. Eyes shut. Alone.
'I was as much a brat as he was...'
"Aveline." Hawke interrupted.
"What?"
"I...it might have been my fault... It was stupid."
"What do you mean your fault?" Aveline asked, still unseated.
"You know how you say I should shut up more often?" She replied, ignoring the question.
"Yes..." Aveline affirmed slowly.
"I should shut up more often."
The Guard-Captain of Kirkwall could only shake her head at that. Beneath her breath, she muttered something Hawke could barely pick out. Something about Amells being block-headed morons.
Hawke decided to continue, with a sigh. "He came because he wanted to know what happened. So, I told him. Sort of."
"What do you mean 'sort of'?" Aveline questioned.
"I said it was blood magic."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
The redhead made a disappointed face at Hawke. "Why?"
"I don't know." She replied uncertainly.
Aveline loosened her expression. It reshaped itself from disappointment to an ambiguous unhappiness. The Guard-Captain crossed her arms, but said nothing. Hawke felt her shoulders slump as she watched Aveline settle into a posture she knew all too well.
"I don't know why," Hawke started softly. "But..."
"But..." Aveline said, breaking her silence to prompt her friend.
"But," Hawke repeated "Things got ugly after that."
Aveline patiently stared at her this time.
"To start, he said that the Rite of Tranquility was a good idea."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Aveline did not ask again. Instead of refusing the words, she embraced her outrage. What followed was a slam of her mailed fist on her oak desk. The resounding thud was not only audible but made a neat fist shaped indention in the desk. The sudden noise caused Hawke to jump.
"Sorry." The Captain grunted. It wasn't particularly heartfelt. "Saying that though. Who would be so-"
The thought sounded again. 'If he's a dipshit, I am too.'
"-I said some things too," Hawke interrupted. "Remember me saying 'I should shut up more often'?"
Aveline furrowed her eyebrows. All the while she uncrossed her arms and leaned in. "Exactly what did you say?"
Her tone was saturated with suspicion. Three years had taught Aveline just how much of a mess the mage could make with that tongue of hers.
"That he was stupid." Hawke replied simply. "And that the Templar's were making him even stupider."
This time, Aveline couldn't even give a "What?". She just stared at Hawke.
"So, he gave me this." Hawke stopped to point at the lovely fist sized black spot around her eye. "He tried to say he was sorry. I... didn't let him. Just told him to leave."
Usually, when something complicated happens, it takes people a second to process exactly what happened. For stupid events, the time to understand what just happened is longer. The seemingly endless silence Aveline gave as she struggled to comprehend Hawke's story was a testament to the astronomical stupidity of Hawke and Carver's actions.
"I just..." Aveline began. "Maybe it's because I never had a brother."
"Lucky you." Hawke replied flatly.
"You two are family aren't you?" Aveline continued, ignoring Hawke's quip. "Isn't family supposed to stick together."
Hawke said nothing in response. Instead, she frowned as her stomach twisted in guilt. How many times had Mother pleaded for them to get along?
"At least, that's how I remember it with my father.
"Your father?" Hawke asked, curiosity snapping her personal self-pitying spiral. "You never spoke about your father."
"Never thought I needed to." Aveline answered stoutly. With a pause, she continued. Her tone softer, but still steady. "Truth be told, I always envied you Hawke. You got to know your mother. Mine? All I have are fragments. Impossibly long, fiery hair. Fair skin. And a smile that always reminded you're never alone."
Hawke crossed her legs and leaned forward. This was a side of her friend she had never seen. It was almost like meeting a new person.
"My father I do remember. A big, burly man with thick beard to match. But, with me, he was just a big stuffed bear." Aveline's face warmed at some unsaid thoughts. "Anyway, every night he would put me to bed with a storybook. Stupid things. Dragons. Heroes. He would read the words, but I would get to turn the page. That was important to him...and me. That it was my choice."
The Captain shook head, snorting.
"It's silly isn't it?" Aveline asked, question not quite directed to Hawke.
"No..." She replied, trailing off.
There was certainly more on the cusp of Hawke's tongue, but, nothing seemed to follow the lone word. Aveline didn't mind, though. It was clear that more than just thoughts of the past gripped the Captain.
"...no...it isn't silly. Not at all." Hawke continued, slow and deliberate. "Is-is he gone?"
It was a blunt question, out of character for Hawke. Yet, it was one that Aveline took in stride.
"Yes. He is." She answered, words tart. "Wasting illness. A year before the Blight began."
Aveline closed her eyes. It was clear she had already remembered. The past clear in her head.
"When I came to see him, he was already far gone. Face pale, beard scraggly, eyes gaunt. He was a shadow." Her head shook, trying to reject what was. "Yet, he wasn't gone. Not quite. When he saw me...he gave the widest smile. It was the same love I had always known. He was still the man I loved."
Finally, Aveline opened her eyes, jade in color, now wet.
"For what little time we had left, I was the one who would read to him. And, he would turn the page. Toward the end, I would help him. But, it was still the same game. Our game."
The redhead exhaled. It was a display that made Hawke realize just what she had asked from her friend.
"I'm sorry if-"
"-Don't be sorry." Aveline countered. "I said it because I wanted to. Not because you forced me."
Hawke opened and closed her mouth. This was clearly a level of trust Aveline had not shared with many.
'The least I can do is return the favor...'
"Aveline." She started. "Can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
"Have you ever wondered why I always introduce myself as Hawke?"
This. This took Aveline by surprise. For all the somberness and heart-to heart moments, this... If Aveline wanted to mask any interest, she failed.
"Yes."
For what is worth, Hawke did a better job of holding in her reaction than her compatriot. A simple, knowing grin graced her face.
"You've placed bets haven't you?"
Aveline's face began to acquire a red tinge.
"No." She unconvincingly sputtered out.
"How much?" Hawke asked, arms crossed.
"I'm not telling!"
The mage cocked her head inward, brow raised. Disbelief given form.
"...last time I checked it was...", Aveline conceded. "...fortysovereigns..." She mashed the last words together, as though attempting to sneak them by Hawke. It was a failed attempt.
"What?" This time it was disbelief given voice. "That's enough to buy a small house!"
Aveline did not grace Hawke with anything more than slight look away. Hawke, however, did not care. She was more than happy to carry on a one-sided conversation.
"How in the world did you even build up that size of a pot?" She ranted. The question gave her a realization. "Wait. You were betting with others. Who else? Varric? Isbella?"
The Captain attempted to keep her stalwart gaze away from Hawke.
"Those two are obvious." Hawke stated. "But, that isn't enough...no...Anders? Feneris?"
If Aveline's face had been glowing red before, she was now radiating a glorious rouge.
"You people...and you say I am trouble! At least Merrill wasn't a part of this..."
Hawke tapered off. At this point, even beets paled in comparison of color to her friend's face. No doubt, water would turn to steam if it were to even come close to Aveline's being. Hawke's mouth went slack.
"Even...Merrill?"
"I'm no-not saying-any-a-a-word."
The mage opened her mouth to speak once more. Instead of words coming out, air came in as she took a breath. She tried once more. The result was more or less the same. Finally, she closed her mouth. The sight was enough to snap Aveline's heat spell.
"Hawke, I didn't mean to hurt you." She apologized. "It's just...it was weird. Your mum, your brother, your uncle, your whole family always went by first name. Except you. We...just got curious. One thing lead to another..."
"...and forty sovereigns ended up on the table." Hawke finished, amusement in her voice. "I'm not upset. In fact, I'm touched. That my friends value my worth to be at least a hovel isn't something most people can say."
Aveline wasn't sure how to approach that kind of statement.
"Well, when you put it that way-"
"Don't worry Aveline, I think of you as almost half as valuable!"
Aveline shook her head in defeat.
"Guess it's too late to ask this not to go to your already massive ego."
Hawke made hurt gesture.
"It isn't that big." She started. Aveline's crossed arms caused Hawke to amend her statement. "Okay, it might be a tinsy bit large. But, it could be bigger."
The redhead gave a small hah.
"Anyway, I owe you a story don't I?"
"If you don't mind." Aveline replied simply. By this point, her face had returned back to a state of normalcy.
"I don't." Hawke's words had lost their sense of joy. They were not somber, but rather mellow. "At least, I don't mind for you."
With that, Hawke took a moment to collect herself.
"You know, I don't think I've told anyone this." She warned.
Aveline said nothing, her focus merely on listening.
"So, like you, he died a few years before the Blight. It was...sudden. But, not a surprise."
"What do you mean?"
"You see, mages don't usually live as long as non-mages. I don't really know exactly why, but what..." Hawke stopped to move her jaw, to feel out saying the word. She got no further than the "fa". It made her tongue recoil. "What he said is that it is because of our magic. As we get older, our magic becomes more and more powerful. The cost is that our lives become...I don't how to describe it. He said you start to feel less alive."
"Less alive?" Aveline repeated, trying to grasp a concept that she could never understand.
"I haven't really felt it myself. And, honestly, I don't want to. But, well, one day he was gone." Another pause. It was almost insulting to Hawke that someone who was your very world could just be dismissed with a simple sentence.
'He was gone...He is gone...'
"Umm..." She started, before realizing she had lost her train of thought.
"Damnit. Where was I?'
"Fuck, it's been eight years. Still gets me."
"There's nothing wrong with crying."
"Crying?" Hawke asked.
On cue she felt something wet tickle her cheek.
"Shit." She sniffled. "Uh, anyway, as you can see I was close to him. 'My little shadow' is what he would call me. Probably because I followed him whenever I could. I mean how couldn't I? Everywhere he went people smiled and laughed. Jokes, smooth talk, flattery, he could do it all. It didn't matter who he was...what he was. Mage or no."
Hawke let herself take a shuddering breath.
"And...when he was gone..."
'There it is again.'
This time, she didn't let it stop her. Not here. Not now.
"...it just wasn't the same. No more smiles. No more laughs." Another pause. "It was reminder. He was dead. And it wasn't just me who felt it. Mother wouldn't go shopping after that. She knew. Bethany and Carver? They were barely even teenagers. But, they knew. To see my family like that. I couldn't."
More than a few tears trickled down her face now.
"So, I thought. Then, I remembered. I was his shadow. I could fill the gap. It wouldn't be the same." She stopped, realizing a terrible thing. "You could say...I was a shadow of his true self..."
Hawke let herself give a few sobbing chuckles. Aveline, on the other hand, gave an audible facepalm.
As her fit ended, the story continued. "I could be the one to tell the jokes. To smooth talk. To flatter. And when I did, people began to smile and laugh again. Just like before."
Aveline held her tongue, at first. Understandable. Especially, when a person you would call one of your best friends acted and lived the way they did in large part because they were trying to fill the gap their father left behind. Not much could prepare you for that. It was on that thought, Aveline realized that it still didn't quite explain the 'Hawke' thing though.
"One question though, why-"
"Hawke." Hawke interrupted.
"Yes." The Captain affirmed.
"Hawke." Hawke repeated, before continuing. "Name's Hawke. That's what he would say." She let loose weak smile. "Is it my turn to ask if that is silly?"
Unlike before, Aveline's response was swift. "Only if it's my turn to say no."
Hawke could say nothing to that. She could, however, let her smile grow in appreciation. Aveline let herself find her own smile, matching Hawke's. For who knew how long, they enjoyed the silence.
"Drink?" Aveline finally said.
Hawke nodded.
Less than a minute later, Hawke found two empty cups in front of her. Accompanying them was a scotch, Antivian if she guess correct. In another time, Hawke would have teased Aveline for holding out on her. Antivian anything was always expensive. But right now, she was just happy to hear the sound of amber liquid greeting glass. Together, Aveline and Hawke raised their glasses to toast.
"To the dead."