Disclaimer: Not mine.
Haunted
Chapter 3
Marian's eyes blinked open and she groaned, immediately bringing up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight high overhead. Her head felt foggy and her thoughts muddled as she struggled to remember where exactly she was. She clenched her free hand into a fist and felt soft blades of grass slip between her fingers. Outside then, she concluded.
Dogs barked somewhere in the distance and Marian became aware of the pervasive smell of damp soil. It made her oddly nostalgic, though she couldn't for the life of her think why. It was hardly something special. The whole of Ferelden smelled like wet mud even in the height of a dry summer.
"There you are, Sister!" The voice was deep and masculine, with just a hint of a whine. Marian smirked.
"Here I am, Carver," she said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and, eyes not yet fully accustomed to the light, looked around. Oh yes of course. She was on top of one of the hills surrounding Lothering. She'd often come here to think or to try out new spells in secret. There was a long view of the Korcari Wilds and the closer she ventured to the dark, foreboding woods the more an adventurer she fancied herself. "Is there something you need?"
The boy, or rather a man now, huffed and folded his arms across his broad chest. "Father and Bethany came home early. Mother sent me to find you."
Something in Hawke's chest clenched painfully and she frowned before shaking her head at herself. No more napping outdoors; whatever bizarre dream she'd been having out here had clearly messed with her head. "Surely that's good news," said Marian as she rose to her feet. "I understand your resting grump face is hard for you to control, but you could sound a little happier."
"I'm happy Father is home!" Carver protested. "I'm less happy that I got dragged away from the practice ring to search for the great and powerful firstborn. I've been wandering these hills for two hours now. Can't you just sleep in a bed like a normal person?"
"And take away an opportunity for you to complain? Perish the thought," said Marian with a grin. She linked an arm through his and he scowled at her. "Now, dear brother of mine, the weary travellers await my great and powerful presence. Escort me home, underling."
Carver shoved her away from him and off balance. "Bugger off."
She laughed, easily finding her footing and then hooked her arm around her brother's once more. This time he allowed it and the two began an easy walk back down to Lothering. It was a path Marian had travelled hundreds of times and without a thought she avoided every tripping hazard and pothole.
Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to leave the village she knew so well for more than a quick visit to somewhere with her father. Perhaps it was time to start thinking about making a name for herself elsewhere? Somewhere she might meet a pretty girl or a handsome man that could keep up with her. Lothering was wonderful if you didn't mind the smell of wet dog and the overwhelming brown-ness of everything, but the people were a simple sort of folk and Marian sometimes found them difficult to connect with. Then there was the fact that she'd already slept her way through most of the viable men and women in her age bracket. Although, having said that, there was a pretty red haired Lay Sister in the Chantry with sad eyes and a mischievous smile she had her eye on. Unfortunately Bethany was rather fond of the woman and Marian would rather not do anything to jeopardise that friendship. The girl already had so few companions due to her constant fear of discovery by the templars.
Bethany wasn't the only one who feared the templars of course.
The sun was beginning to set behind the hills now which meant Marian had been outside for longer than she'd thought. Though she'd never say so it had probably been a good thing that Carver had dragged himself out here to look for her or she'd have missed both her family's homecoming and dinner. Unthinkable. Luckily, Lothering was already in sight and they were already close enough to hear the gentle bustle of merchants packing away their wares in the small market by the Chantry after a long day of work. Sometimes Hawke couldn't help but wonder how Lothering had recovered so quickly from the Blight.
She paused for a moment and furrowed her brow. Blight? No, that couldn't be right. Must have been another one of the recurring dreams she sometimes had about chains and blood and Qunari. The Fade was a strange sort of place.
As they passed the market Marian eyed a fat loaf of crusty bread on one of the tables, but Carver shook his head.
"No need. Mother has already prepared dinner for Bethany and Father's homecoming," he said.
"She always does think of everything," she replied with a fond shake of her head.
It only took them five more minutes to reach their small home at the other edge of the village. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hawke found it rather odd that it had taken so little time and indeed that it was already approaching evening when normally the walk would have taken an hour and it had barely been past midday when Carver had found her on top of the hill. She easily dismissed the thought, already forgetting she'd even had it in the first place, as they came to a brief stop outside the small thatched cottage.
Carver pushed past her and opened the door. She followed him inside, only to immediately be pounced on by her sister. She spat out dark hair that had somehow managed to stuff itself into her mouth.
"Hello to you too," said Marian with a laugh. "Did you miss me?"
"You know I did," Bethany informed her, pulling back from the hug. Marian gave her a once over, noting that while her younger sister seemed a little tired she seemed no worse for wear. Malcolm Hawke was a hard taskmaster when the mood took him, but he'd always had something of a soft spot for his youngest daughter so Marian hadn't really been worried he'd work the girl too hard. Now if it had been Marian herself it would have been a different story, though her snarky complaints of double standards often fell on deaf ears. Such was the curse of being the eldest child.
"I understand," said Marian solemnly. "I'd probably miss me too if I wasn't, well...me."
"How any of us cope without your constant presence is a mystery," said another voice behind her. Marian smirked and turned around, struck suddenly by an urge to throw herself into her father's arms and never let go of him again. Very odd. She wasn't normally one for sentimentality. Instead she swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat and offered her father a quick salute.
"It baffles me too," Marian agreed. "It's good to see you home and well, Father."
Malcolm smiled at her. "It's good to be seen home and well."
"Now if you could all stop fussing over each other Mother would like someone to set the table," said Carver, rather petulantly interrupting the family moment.
Marian sighed. "Duty calls," she said. Her father squeezed her shoulder as she moved passed him towards the small side room, containing nothing but a table and some chairs, that her mother affectionately referred to as 'the dining room'. Leftovers from Leandra's time as a rich snob, Malcolm had told her once.
The 'dining room' and in fact the rest of their little house smelled pleasantly of cooking meats and roasting vegetables. Marian picked up the small pile of plates and cutlery from under the chair furthest from the door and spread them out along the table. It had been some weeks since she'd been able to set the table for more than just she, her mother and Carver. The nostalgia of her whole family being together again hit her like a ton of rock, forcing her to pause for just a moment. She almost laughed at how absurdly maudlin she was feeling today. If only Isabela and Varric could see her now.
That thought was driven from her mind as her mother entered the room with a heavy pot of what smelled like stewed beef clutched between two hands. Before she could rush to assist, Malcolm appeared behind his wife to help and together they doled out food onto the five plates.
"That smells lovely, mother," said Bethany, entering the room with Carver trailing close behind.
"Thank you, sweetheart," said Leandra, smiling and her youngest daughter. "You two deserved something special after your trip."
"You're not wrong," said Marian. "I've been on one of those 'trips' before. Father can't cook to save his life. I mostly survive on berries and seeds hidden in my pockets."
"That was part of your training," said Malcolm, as he took his place at the head of the table. He spoke as though imparting great wisdom. "It taught you valuable survival skills, did it not?"
"I'm not sure learning to live without flavour in my food is paramount to my survival," said Marian. "Must we boil every single piece of meat until it's even paler than Carver?"
"Hey!"
"Apparently we must," said Bethany. "I asked him the same question a week ago."
They were all seated now and Marian took a small bite of her food. It tasted exactly how she remembered it. Cheap, chewy and packed with salt.
"And unless you want food poisoning that's how we're going to continue to cook," said Malcolm. He sighed and ran a hand over his greying beard as though very hard done to. Perhaps he was.
"It's a worthy goal I suppose," Hawke mused. "I still have nightmares from the night Merrill fed us all her 'mystery meat surprise'. The surprise, it turned out, was several days of vomiting and diarrhoea."
There was a short silence at that and Carver grimaced down at the food on his plate.
"Who's Merrill, darling? A new friend of yours?" asked Leandra.
Hawke frowned. "You know Merrill, mother. She's..." Who was she again? "Well she's somebody. She must work at the tavern."
"That's nice, dear," said Leandra with a rather bland smile.
"That's nice, dear?" Carver mimicked. "Whenever I visit the tavern it's an endless lecture about responsibility and public appearances."
"In Mother's defence only one of us has ever become so blind drunk there that they accidentally set fire to a table and then was bodily thrown from the building by three burly men," Marian pointed out. Carver glared at her.
"And in Carver's defence," her father began sternly, "his older sister should have been taking care of him to make sure something like that didn't happen."
Marian opened her mouth to retort but guilt kept her from speaking. He wasn't wrong and it wasn't for Carver's benefit that the family had to remain clandestine.
"I don't need babysitting," Carver protested. His face flushed with anger and if possible his glower in Marian's direction hardened further. She hadn't seen him this angry since the day she'd considered leaving him behind just before the expedition into the Deep Roads. If only she'd followed her gut instinct that day and ignored his ire maybe things would have turned out differently. Carver wouldn't have...
Hawke's blood ran cold and she sat up a little straighter in her chair. From across the table Bethany put down her fork and looked at her with concern. Something in the atmosphere on the room changed and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. "Is something wrong, Sister?"
"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Leandra. Her kind eyes were focussed completely on her daughter.
Hawke let out a quiet, pained laugh. Shit. "I rather think I'm seeing four of them."
She could see it now. The cracks in the fabric of reality. The way things looked like they could have done but not quite how they had done. The colours were brighter. Lothering had always been so brown and their clothes had always matched it. Her mother certainly hadn't worn that delicate pink and purple number here as she had in the Amell mansion in Kirkwall. Bethany had never looked so old. Hadn't lived past eighteen. And her father...well he had died many years earlier.
"I don't know if I've mentioned this recently but I really hate the Fade," she said with an ironic little smile. Her family began to shift uncomfortably.
"Oh great," said Carver, slamming down his cutlery with enough force to rattle the plate in front of him. "What's wrong now? Not getting enough attention?"
Hawke sighed fondly. "Classic Carver."
The edges of her vision were beginning to dim and the wooden table beneath her fingers was smoothing out as though the Fade could no longer project how the textures of the room should have felt. Well, it had been nice while it lasted, she supposed. She rose to her feet.
"Sit down, Marian," said Malcolm. Her heart ached; she hadn't heard her father's voice in such a long time. Nobody but him ever called her by her first name. "You haven't finished your dinner."
"I'd love to stay and chat, Father," she said, "but as you know I must be going now. Places to go, people to see, demons to hunt down and punish for this little escapade."
Malcolm sighed and Leandra's eyes filled with tears. Of course. The Fade was nothing if not persistent. What fun. "Stay here, love," said her mother. Not her real mother though, Hawke reminded herself. "Let's talk about this."
"I've lived in that dump you call home now too," said Carver dismissively. "Surely your family is more important to you than that hole in the ground?"
"You know family means everything to me," said Hawke, and as she said it she knew how ridiculous it was to argue with these constructs of the Fade. Much like Anders and Fenris when they were in one of their moods, it wasn't as though the world of dreams could be reasoned with. "It's why you're all being used against me."
"And yet we are here and you're there," said Bethany. "Stay, sister. It can be like old times. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Tempting though the idea of an eternity of Carver glaring daggers at me across the table is I'm afraid I'll have to decline." Hawke raised a hand to awkwardly scratch the back of her neck. "It feels a little odd saying this to my own imagination...or to whatever demon is toying with me...but it really was nice to see you all again."
The world around her was beginning to melt away now. The placid faces of her long dead family had twisted in anger and she looked away. She'd rather her last memories of them not be one of them glaring hatefully at her.
The musty smell of disuse and smoke were the first thing Hawke's conscious mind registered. Then came sound. Someone was pacing up and down the room and just out of her hearing two people were muttering. Unfortunately, the next sense she became aware of was taste. She swallowed against her dry throat and only just managed to prevent a cough as her fuzzy tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Back to reality.
"Hawke?" A warm hand pressed itself to her forehead and then gently across her cheeks. "I think she's waking up."
The pacing stopped and she felt the soft vibrations through the floor of someone dropping to their knees beside her. "Hawke, if you don't open your eyes right now I will never have sex with you again!" That would be Isabela then.
Someone scoffed. "Liar."
"Now now," said Hawke. Or at least that's what she'd tried to say; it came out as a gurgled cough.
A strong arm wormed it's way under her torso and lifted her into a sitting position. "Take it easy," said Isabela. "Drink this." Before she could ask what 'this' was a mug of some sort was pressed to her lips. She opened her mouth and allowed the cool liquid to slide down her throat. Just water, disappointingly. She could really do with something a little stronger.
When the cup was taken away Hawke took a deep breath and forced herself to open her eyes. It took a few blinks before her eyes adjusted, but the room was dark so it wasn't as painful as it could have been. As it turned out it was Isabela holding her upright while Merrill hovered over both of them with a look of worry in her large eyes. Hawke blinked again and looked over to the side where Aveline and Varric where watching her carefully. A fire had been lit in the fireplace at the side of the room and the light from the flames flickered oddly over their faces, making them look tired and gaunt. She tried to smile at them but she was sure it came out as more of a grimace.
In the left-hand corner of the room, bizarrely, was a large, stationary golem with pale blue lyrium etchings on it's forehead and along it's shoulders. She eyed it for a moment.
It was then she noticed the deep throbbing in her head. She groaned and resisted the urge to reach back and feel the damage. At least it distracted her from the emptiness and disquiet in her heart.
"What happened?" she asked. This time her voice was much clearer and her companions let out a sigh of relief.
Then a hand shoved her hard in the shoulder and she almost fell backwards. "Ow!"
"You went and got yourself knocked out is what happened!" said Isabela. "Don't you ever do that to...Merrill again!"
"Isabela," Aveline scolded her, but the pirate ignored her.
"Don't tell me you were worried about little old me?" said Hawke. This time she actually managed that grin.
Isabela sighed and shook her head.
"Are you okay, Hawke?" asked Merrill. Her hands were clasped together and she fiddled with her own fingers. Both of their staffs sat propped up against the far wall, Merrill's adding brightness to the corners of the room that the firelight couldn't reach.
"Don't fret, Merrill," said Hawke. She straightened her back a little as though to prove it. "I'm fine. My head isn't bleeding is it?" Aveline shook her head. "No? Then yes, I'm fine. I'll be better after a stiff drink of course."
Varric snorted. "That can be arranged. Assuming we make it out of here in one piece."
"I like your optimism," said Hawke. "Now if someone could please tell me why I'm...am I lying on the floor? You couldn't have put me on the couch?" Isabela opened her mouth to answer. "Ugh...never mind."
"You were hit on the head by a rogue, flying vase," said Aveline, answering the question she truly wanted to ask. Her head gave another uncomfortable throb. "Does anyone else get the feeling that this house is toying with us?"
"I'm beginning to think it's no ordinary spirit," Hawke agreed. She cleared her throat and Isabela held the cup to her lips so she could drink again. "When I was unconscious I was in the Fade."
"You were asleep," said Aveline. She folder her armoured arms. "You're a mage. That's hardly noteworthy."
"She was unconscious," Merrill corrected, looking to Hawke for confirmation. "It's not the same and sleeping. I mean...I don't think it's the same. Were you dreaming, Hawke?"
She hesitated before answering. "Yes," she said.
And suddenly everyone's attention turned to her. Perhaps it had been something in her tone.
"A demon?" Aveline asked.
"I assume so," said Hawke. "A demon disguising itself as the entire Hawke clan at any rate."
"A family reunion? How sweet," said Isabela. Her tone was light but there was still a hint of concern in her eyes. It was touching, really. Both that she cared at all and that she cared enough try and lessen the emotional blow.
"Oh yes," Hawke drawled. "It was splendid up until the point I decided it was probably time to leave. They didn't like that part. Very keen on my joining them in the warm embrace of the Maker's bosom instead."
While Merrill, Aveline and Varric seemed a little uncomfortable at this revelation, Isabela looked thoughtful. "Exactly how big was this bosom?" she asked.
Hawke let out a small laugh, not even caring at the flare of pain in her skull at the sound. "It wasn't nearly as impressive as yours," she said. "I wasn't tempted for even a moment."
"Right answer, sweet thing," said Isabela, pleased.
Now that Hawke had regained functionality again, she leaned forward from Isabela's supportive arm around her back. The pirate took the hint and released her, moving herself backwards to sit by Merrill.
Then with small movements Hawke began to stretch her aching limbs. She wasn't sure how long she'd been lying on the hard, stone floor but it hadn't done her old bones any favours. Obviously she was becoming too accustomed to living the high life in the Amell mansion. Perhaps she could start spending more nights in the Hanged Man. She preferred it there anyway; it wasn't as quiet and certainly not as empty. The scent of stale piss and vomit wasn't ideal but after a while she barely noticed it.
"So," she began, after giving herself just long enough to gather her thoughts, "I have a horrible feeling I know what's going on here."
Her eyes met Varric's and he inclined his head into a nod. "I have a horrible feeling I've come to the same conclusion," he said.
A beat. "Well I'm glad that's settled," said Aveline sarcastically. "I don't suppose either of you would like to enlighten the rest of us? Or we can loiter here idly and wait for the 'ghost' to pick us off one by one I suppose."
"The idol," said Varric, confirming he was indeed having the same horrible thought that Hawke was having. "It's still in the house."
The idea had been niggling at the back of her mind for some time now but Hawke hadn't been able to fit the puzzle together until now. It had actually been Varric's strange behaviour that had clued her in. Nothing but forces beyond reckoning could have dampened his sense of humour.
"Balls," said Isabela.
"That...actually makes a lot of sense," said Aveline, though she didn't look happy by the revelation. "So what? We find it and get rid of it and all this goes away?"
"In theory," said Hawke. In practicality she had some doubts. Something told her the idol hadn't quite finished playing with them yet. "We could try hitting it first and see how that goes."
"I foresee this ending wonderfully," Varric muttered. He looked away and scowled. Still not anymore cheerful than he had been before Hawke took a sharp blow to the head then.
"I don't see how anything could possibly go wrong," Hawke agreed with a crooked grin.
"Does that mean we're not leaving anymore?" asked Merrill, disappointed. "I was rather hoping we could leave."
"Sorry, Merrill," said Hawke. She began to mentally steel herself for movement; right now standing up seemed like the more monumental task in her future than dealing with the red lyrium. "Now that we know what it is we're dealing with we can't leave it here for some unsuspecting looter to walk in on. I'm rather bored of chasing down mad people all over Kirkwall."
"You might have a concussion," Merrill pointed out. "Wouldn't it be better to rest first? You could be sick or faint again..."
"I don't have a concussion, Merrill," said Hawke patiently. She probably did have a concussion but that was neither here nor there. "I'm not slurring my words or anything."
The elf still looked sceptical but seemed to have no more complaints she wished to share. Honestly, if given the option Hawke would rather head home herself. Her head was pounding something terrible and after her visit to the Fade she wasn't quite in the mood to traipse around this dusty old death trap. What she needed was some good old fashioned bandit hunting. Some mindless destruction and violence to sway her thoughts away from the less pleasant aspects of her existence that had been just been brought to the forefront of her thoughts.
Oh, well. She was sure Isabela would be more than happy to help distract her once they were free and clear of this place.
"Are you okay to walk?" asked Aveline. She moved forward as if to help Hawke stand, armour clanking along the way, but Hawke held out a hand to stop her. She'd rather not be dragged to her feet by her wrist if it was all the same.
"I'm sure I'll manage," said Hawke. Aveline shrugged her shoulders in response as Hawke rolled forward onto her knees and then struggled to her feet. The room swayed before her and for a moment she almost lost her footing. Then Merrill took hold of her elbow, giving her the time to orient herself.
"Well that was bracing," she said. "Time to move on?" When nobody indicated either affirmation or opposition Hakwe sighed. "Don't all shout out at once."
Isabela let out a disgruntled sort of noise and crossed the room to pick up both of the staffs resting against the wall. She threw them to the mages (Merrill almost dropping hers). "All right. Let's get this over with then. If I get hit in the head by flying crockery though I'm not going to be happy."
"I'll make sure to put my own head between you and any projectiles that might be thrown our way," said Hawke. Isabela rolled her eyes but couldn't quiet stop the corner of her lip from twitching upwards.
"You shouldn't do that, Hawke," said Merrill seriously. "You've already been hit on the head once tonight. Another one might crack your...oh that was a joke, wasn't it? I'll shut up now."
"Oh, Merrill," said Isabela with fond exasperation.
It was Varric who finally decided they'd lingered long enough in the small room. He brushed past Hawke with his eyes cast down and his fingers tapping along to a rhythm nobody else could hear against his thigh and reached for the door handle.
"And here we go again," said Hawke ruefully.
Varric turned the door handle and pushed.
And nothing happened. He paused and looked back at the group, eyes meeting Hawke's for just for a second. Then he tried again, this time throwing his whole bodyweight into the heavy wooden door, shoulder first. It didn't budge.
"No!" Aveline protested. She marched forward. "We are not locked in this room!"
Varric dove aside just in time for Aveline to grab hold of the door and rattle it loudly. Hawke could feel a headache of epic proportion building up in the base of her skull. But of course. Aveline took a step back and then charged at the door, her metal casing crashing loudly against it, and still the door did not move. At this point Hawke wasn't even surprised.
"Maybe you're supposed to pull it," Isabela suggested. Aveline shot her a scathing look, but then attempted to pull the door towards her. Still no movement.
"Uh oh," said Merrill. Her hands twitched around her staff and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't want to stay in here anymore."
"It isn't exactly at the top of my list either," said Varric. He stood stiffly beside the fireplace and Hawke tried not to notice the way the flickering light cast eerie, demonic-looking shadows across his face.
Another crash as this time Aveline took two steps backwards and threw herself at the door with all her strength. Hawke flinched and reached up to pat her head gingerly. "All right that's enough!" she said.
Aveline stopped for a moment before smashing her fist into the door one more time. She turned around to look at Hawke with pure mutiny in her eyes. "I really hate this place."