As soon as the battered door to Gamlen's house, a rundown hovel which the Hawkes were forced to call their home, came into view, Noah was greeted by deep barking that echoed through Lowtown's slums. Somebody had used white chalk paste to paint the heraldry of the City of Chains, the stylized dragon of the Imperium upon the eroded, rusty metal. Signs like these, remnants of when Tevinter had ruled over these lands appeared everywhere all over Kirkwall and Noah just knew that his mother was going to make him scrub it off when she saw it.

With the thought the dull throbbing just above the rogue's left eye intensified and he reached up to rub his brow though that never made the headache go away. And Hawke's head was far from the only thing that hurt. He shuffled along, every step sending a painful jolt from his hip up to his shoulder. Before he reached the short flight of stairs the doors opened a fraction wide and muted light spilled out. Hawke heard a scratching noise followed by a whine and then Maul pushed past the door and into view, claws skittering over stone.

"Down, boy," Hawke greeted his Mabari, not because the dog had done something wrong, but because he wasn't sure he would survive two hundred and fifty pounds of war hound leaping at him in welcome. Maul backed up and settled for wagging his stubby tail and licking the back of his master's hand.

Noah absent-mindedly scratched the dog behind its ear and when he looked up Carver was standing in the doorframe with his arms crossed, a disapproving frown on his face and a stained cloth in one hand. "So the abomination did not kill you."

"Why, brother, you sound so disappointed," Hawke retorted but the sarcasm fell flat as he couldn't muster much heat to put into the words. It was late and he was tired as well as sore and confused. "Couldn't let me indulge in the illusion that I have a family that cares?"

Carver glared as his brother pushed past him, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards, but he stepped back to let his sibling enter and closed the door behind Maul.

"Must you crush my dreams so brutally?" Hawke toed off his boots and put them in the cabinet to his right, slipping his feet into the soft slippers they wore in the house. One of Leandra's rules and he was not going to antagonize her over something so trivial if it made her happy. Even if it was, in the end, a hopeless cause. Dirt seemed to be an essential component of Gamlen's house. With fresh mud trodden on the floor at least he would know what it was that made it so sticky.

They had been anything but wealthy back in Lothering, but their cottage had been neat and clean. Hawke remembered the colourful embroidery and decorative doilies his mother had made to brighten up the rustic furniture and floors that were sanded and scrubbed and strewn with sweet rushes. It had been home, simple as that.

"Hawke." Aveline had been sitting at the kitchen table but she stood when the rogue stepped into the room, followed by his brother and dog. He noticed that she was in her guard uniform again and wondered whether she had stayed for his sake or to prevent Carver from doing something stupid like running after him. "You got yourself into trouble."

It wasn't a question and he did not bother denying it. "We ran into templars. And guards, in that order. They cornered us in a side-street."

Aveline remained standing while Carver sank down in one of the rickety chairs. If possible, he looked even more put out than he had before, his frown having turned into an outright scowl. "How did the mighty Noah Hawke escape? Did you fight your way through legions of templars? Will the Order come knocking on our door first thing in the morning?"

Aveline had called Carver a tit, once. She hadn't been entirely wrong about that.

Hawke edged past the redheaded guard and scooted along the narrow bench until he was wedged between the table and the wall. "I went down on my knees and pretended to blow the abomination in a street where even Isabella wouldn't let herself be seen."

That wiped the scorn right off Carver's face.

"Why, brother? Would you have liked to be there? I can give you details. I was pretty close to his- staff."

Carver choked, eyes going wide and flushed a vivid scarlet while Aveline muttered a strangled Maker's Balls, Hawke".

For his part, the mercenary needed something to cut the pain. He didn't like getting drunk, that sensation when alcohol took the edge off what happened around him, turning it soft and blurry and robbed him of the clarity of his thoughts in addition to making his body disobey him. It had not always been like that, but dwelling on things past had never improved the now and that bloody templar had gotten him good when the apostate healer had done his glowing trick. He had heard his bones break. The pain hit him a moment later and for all their bickering, Hawke was glad his little brother had been there to keep that templar bastard from finishing him off when he was down.

The rogue undid a buckle and carefully slipped out of the self-made harness that held his weapons and tossed the daggers on the table to join Carver's sword. He then flipped a back part of the bench up and reached inside the secret compound, fingers feeling around.

"What are you looking for?" Carver had gone back to rubbing oil into his blade, but his gaze flicked up when he heard his brother rummaging about.

"It's where Gamlen keeps the good stuff," Hawke replied and pulled a bottle out by its neck. The label looked fancy, just like anything Orlesian and the liquid inside was a rosy gold. "Aveline, could you- ?"

She handed him two glasses and set them down before he could finish his question.

"Thanks."

"Where does he even get it?" By all means Carver appeared to have forgotten that he was cross with his brother.

"He steals it." Hawke poured with a raised eyebrow at Aveline and when she waved him off continued, "Goes to the Rose and spends twenty silver on... whatever and they never suspect anything when he sneaks out with a bottle or two."

"How do you know?"

"I followed him, once. Back when he found where we stored the bribe money from Harimann," Hawke said before he could catch himself.

Aveline sighed, eyes at the soot-stained ceiling. "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that."

"He'll be so pissed," Carver cackled with malicious glee and sipped the liquid, nodding his appreciation at the taste.

Good. If he focused his hatred on their uncle, he might lay off Hawke for a while. The rogue raised his own glass to his lips and emptied half of it in three big gulps, his eyes prickling slightly with the burn. A smooth, slightly fruity cognac, the drink was meant for better than being chugged down like tavern ale, but all Hawke cared about right now was getting shitfaced enough so he could fall on his bed and pass out.

Just then there was a soft noise from the back and a moment later the curtain dividing the room was pulled back and Leandra, dressed in a nightshirt and with her silver hair in a braid for the night, paddled into the kitchen. She blinked at light, but when she saw her son, not one second passed before her arms were around him. "Oh, darling. I was so worried when Carver came home without you."

"I'm fine, mother," Noah mumbled into his glass. He never quite got around to inventing a better lie.

"How did your job go?" She asked softly with a sideways glance at the bottle of hard liqueur. She did not comment on it, and if her lips grew just that bit thinner she just brushed her hand through his unruly hair in that way he liked and he knew they weren't getting a dressing down this time.

"Badly. Really, really badly."

Leandra nodded, her other hand tightening on her eldest's shoulder. She had learned not to ask for more when her sons were sitting around the table, drinking and cleaning blood off their blades.

Aveline chose that moment to stir. "Right. Hawke's safe and I need to go," she announced and picked up her own sword and shield which had been leaning in the corner.

"You are welcome to stay."

"Thank you", Leandra. "But I have to join the guard. Otherwise they will wonder where I have been for so long."

"Tell them the truth," Hawke suggested. "Your friend got busted by an organized gang of thugs and you visited him at home."

"Your definition of truth, or rather the omission thereof worries me, Hawke," she replied, but though her tone was serious, there was the faintest of smiles playing around Aveline's mouth. Though she heeded the law, she was no more above abusing its loopholes than he was. It was a good excuse and they both knew it.

"There's nothing for you to worry about," Hawke assured her. "I'll be good." After having downed one glass of cognac he even managed a lopsided grimace that wouldn't quite pass for a smile before adding, "For tonight."

Aveline did not deign the comment with a reply and only thanked Leandra for the tea and assured her she would come over tomorrow for dinner. When the redheaded woman took her leave, Leandra locked the door and wished her sons a good night before she retreated into her half of the room, pulling the curtain shut after her.

"Good night mother," Hawke and Carver replied in unison. They worked alongside each other, though Carver laid off the drink after finishing his. His brother cleaned and oiled his blades first, then brushed out his sheaths since had sheathed his daggers bloody after the fight at the Chantry. At the time there wasn't anything else he could have done with them though. When he was done he put the leather down and rested his forearms on the table.

"Did you get the maps?"

Hawke paused with his glass halfway to his lips. "I forgot." He tossed the liquor back and poured himself another. Was it his third, or-?

"You forgot?" Carver repeated, much louder than was warranted. As if he had not understood his brother the first time.

From the other end of the house they heard a thud that sounded suspiciously like a kick against the wall and which was followed by Gamlen's cursing, the man's voice rough from either sleep or drink. "Shut up, you blighters!"

"How could you forget?" Carver continued, ignoring their uncle and Hawke noted that the whiny note that had been absent for a whole half hour had crept back into his voice.

"I was rather busy running away" the rogue answered, his last words distorted by a wide yawn. He'd take care of his armour tomorrow, he decided and got up.

"Yeah. Right." Carver muttered under his breath and snorted without humour.

Hawke swatted at the back of his brother's head, aiming too low because he knew Carver would try to duck away. It connected with a satisfying smack.

Maybe Hawke shouldn't have mentioned how he had gotten away, but he had done it to shut his brother up and embarrassment was usually the quickest way to achieve just that. As long as the runaway Warden did not take off with the maps that were now rightfully theirs, it mattered little whether they got them today or a few days later. Still, it irked a bit how they had completely slipped his mind. Well, it looked like Hawke had an excuse to see the healer again. He knew the man was quite dangerous, as well as... an abomination. There was no doubt about it; his father had taught him how to avoid and recognize possession, though the former wasn't a concern of his any longer.

So the healer was Hawke's first up-close encounter with an abomination. It was quite fascinating, truth be told. Perhaps he should invite him over for tea someday. The blonde man didn't only have the maps they needed, but also valuable knowledge. Knowledge that might save lives; theirs not at least. And what he had done...

Noah had felt it. Had felt him blast a gateway to the Fade so wide, it actually might have been a good thing he was already lying down on the ground when the rush of emotions crashed into him like a charging Mabari.

Hawke swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and tickling. He needed to talk to the man. The rogue grabbed his journal and scribbled 'TALK TO HEALER' in bold letters that were all lopsided and made him realize how drunk he really was. After a pause he added 'ANDERS'. It looked more right this way for a reason he could not determine.

Carver was watching his brother's doings with interest and Hawke nudged his foot with his own and pointed at his armour. "Help me."

Undoing some of the buckles required rather more stretching than he was willing to do at the moment. Carver opened all the clasps that Hawke could not reach and when the chest piece came off, the rogue shivered at the stab of cold air. He contemplated cutting his shirt open, but his brother helped him pull that off as well, tossing the cloth carelessly into the corner.

His side was a mosaic of bruises of all colours, shapes and sizes. Thankfully his mother wasn't here to see it, or she wouldn't let him out of her sights again. Hawke ran his fingers over his ribs and winced, but though the slightest touch hurt like mad, nothing gave away under the pressure. Maul whined and nudged Hawke's hand with his nose. The mercenary patted his head, poured himself another shot of cognac and tossed it back. He was aware of its effects now, a light-headedness that made him sway on his feet and his eyes close of their own accord.

"Have we got any of the elfroot poultice left?" he yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and felt something in his jaw pop.

Carver answered with a curt nod and pushed off the table. "I'll get it."

Hawke rubbed a liberal amount of salve into his aching muscles and his brother helped him wrap linen bandages around his chest. He then changed into a threadbare shirt and his sleeping pants. They did have a fireplace but wood was expensive in Kirkwall and the nights were cold. Not the brittle damp frost of Ferelden, but a chill that mother said was born of the hopelessness and misery of this place and seeped into the very bones of those unfortunate enough to reside in the poor quarters.

Hawke gingerly lowered himself onto the mattress and a moment later the orange glow behind his eyelids turned to pitch black and the smell of smoke reached his nose. Carver had pinched out the candle and climbed up the ladder and into his bed, making the entire structure sway and creak. They had bunked together in the beginning before they could afford separate beds. By comparison things were much better already and if the expedition paid off...

Hawke let his thoughts drift as he stretched out on his right side and arranged himself in a comfortable position before his limbs grew too heavy to move. With the help of the alcohol and the medicine the pain had further faded to a distant soreness. He did not know exactly what damage the templar had done, but whatever else Anders was, he was a damned good healer to have put Hawke back together as quickly as he had done. Without his magic the rogue wouldn't have made it one step further from where he had called a stop.

There was a loud crack as a heavy weight landed on Hawke's bed. Wood groaned in protest, then Maul licked his left big toe before he curled over his master's feet with a huff.

"Noah?" Carver's voice floated down through the darkness and the sounds of a house settling down for the night. He sounded hesitant, reluctant almost.

"Hm?" Hawke hummed into his pillow. With his eyes closed the whole world around him was moving in a gentle rocking motion. He was half asleep already.

"Do you think he can help you?"

"I don't know, brother. I don't know." But he intended to find out.

AN: I have made a rough drawing of what I imagine Gamlen's house to look like. You can find it on the AO3 version of this story. The names are the same and there's also a link on my profile.