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Chapter 9 - The fist and the stone
Carver almost choked on his mouthful of rice and meatballs, spraying it unceremoniously in Bethany's face who sat across the table from him. "You did…. What?"
"Carver!" Bethany whined, plucking half-chewed hunks of food from her long black hair
"Food is for eating not for decorating your twin with" Hawke pointed out, laughing "I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like I fucked your best friend on your bed. I just kissed him. It's not a crime ser virgin Hawke"
That got a mighty glare and growl from the youngest.
"Hawke!" Leandra scolded "Watch your language at the dinner table and apologize to your brother"
His blood was boiling at the thought of the elf possibly having a flashback because of how forceful he'd seen Hawke be with her kisses and being insulted for saving himself for someone he cared deeply about. He balled his hands into fists but somehow kept his voice steady. "I won't accept your apology until I know Leto is okay"
"What? Of course he is!" Her tone was defensive and the Swordsman gut told him something had happened she wasn't telling them. "I'm no Antivan Crow planting a poison-laced kiss on my prey"
"Liar." He hissed, in one fluid movement slamming a fist down making the bowl jump off the table drawing his blade with the other training it on his oldest sister. His voice hard and threatening, "He's my best friend and I swear, if you ever hurt him Grace and I will not hesitate to cut off your fingers"
Leandra gaped at her only son holding The Grace-Maker crackling with purple sparks to her eldest child's throat. "Carver Hawke! What have I told you about weapons at the dinner table!?"
He rolled his eyes "You said no weapons at the breakfast table"
"It's the same table" The female Hawkes all chimed together matter-of-factly,
He huffed and stomped out of the room before he lost what little self-control he had when he was angry.
Bah! Women.
Leto was perched on the peak of the giant boulder near the river just outside Lothering he always came to when he needed to think.
What was he going to do about Hawke? He was still undecided how he felt about it. Of course he was happy that she saw something in him even if he had no clue as to what, he couldn't see what one would find appealing in him. He was just a plain elf trying to survive day-to-day without Imperial Hunters and Slavers on his doorstep.
But he had no idea what one was required to do in a relationship. It seemed all it involved was playing cards and drinking, which in turn led to Hawke being even more bolder in her attempts to touch and kiss him. He liked her kisses (until they got rough – all teeth and tongue) but depending on how much ale he'd consumed he'd sometimes let her have her way with him – to a point – but when his past crept up on him when he wasn't drunk enough he halted their actions, much to Hawkes dislike.
She was trying to be patient with him but a horny Hawke had little-to-no patience. She has two-and-a-half years of time with the elf to catch up on. She wanted to see if the rumours about Tevinter men in bed were true, so badly, Maker she dreamed of it all too often. But after a month Leto still refused to let her see him shirtless saying that his scars are disgusting and he wasn't comfortable showing her yet.
That was half the truth. He was only just starting to get used to kissing, having hands running roughly over his bare skin was something he wasn't ready for. As much as his body screamed at him in the heat of the moment that it wanted to try, his brain always kicked the idea in the face not wanting to be reminded of the past that was still so fresh in his mind.
How does one forget the past and move on? The past was following him around like a dark cloud that he couldn't shake nor binge drink away.
Carver had spent weeks avoiding him, only regarding him with a curt nod as a greeting, and he even skipped their sparring sessions (and he had never missed one, ever). It upset him. Sparring with his best mate was his favourite part of the week. It was his escape from his thoughts, it made the whole world fall away leaving only the sounds of rapid heartbeats, heavy breathing and the clash of metal.
He missed the company of his male companion. He silently craved for that comforting calloused hand on his shoulder to tell him without words he'd be okay, he was safe, and the past couldn't hurt him anymore. He didn't understand why the youngest Hawke would avoid him like this. What had he done? Had something happened to him at Ostagar? Would my hand on his shoulder have the same comforting effect or would it just be… awkward?
He took off his gauntlets scowling at the silvery flame-like pattern swirling over his palms and up his fingers. The memory of receiving them replaying itself.
A Templar was in the Hawkes' home. His blood ran cold. An urge like one that drives an animal to protect its kin filled him before he knew it, his legs had shifted gait from a walk to a sprint. His elven ears hearing every threat directed at his friend Carver as he grew closer to the small building that the Templar was trespassing in.
No. They will not harm the Hawkes. He had to save them from this man like they had saved him from the slavers months ago.
He remembered the long-swords' tip pressed to the base of his neck.
He remembered the pain of the staff cutting open flesh as it snapped it over his knee.
He remembered his hands feeling like acid was being poured over them as the liquid Lyrium from the staff's core soaked into the cuts in his skin like he was a human sponge.
He fell onto all fours after the mage hunter had seemed satisfied and left. His bloody and Lyrium filled hands stained the stone floor in the corner.
Carver's hand was on the elf's shoulder, his voice filled with concern as he asked, "Are you okay, Leto?"
What have I done? Hawke will probably never speak to me again. He shook his head feverishly; the pain roaring through his hands was almost unbearable. "No" he growled through his teeth. He flopped onto his sides holding up his glowing, burning hands to his friend. "What is this, Carver?! Arrgh. It hurts!"
The blue-eyed human boy softly touched the elf's hand, "Liquid Lyruim." The boy said in disbelief as watched the silvery-blue substance swirl across the elf's palms before him. "I've never heard of it doing this before. The lyruim used in staff making should… depending on how old it is, it will stain the floor a silver or blue or go away in a small puff of blue smoke when a staff is broken… not do this to the skin of anyone, mage or not"
The elf snatched his hand back, cradling it to his chest howling in pain.
At the time didn't notice he had been dragged across the room, or being pulled into that awkward half-hug nor did he hear the younger Hawke's voice trying to calm him with a chant of soothing nothings.
He regarded his hands while his throughs wondered back though the memory again, the markings reacting, glowing at different levels of brightness and hue with his emotions.
He made a puzzled expression, was his mind warping the memory in its attempt to fill in the blanks he'd struggled to fill for the last two-and-a-half years?
His memory had recalled correctly. He remembered the embarrassing moment of his weakness with a sudden clarity; sobbing like a child with a skinned knee in his best friends arms.
Leto had asked, no, he practically begged Carver not to tell his older sister what strange thing had just happened to him and help him cover up the hand-prints that had stained the stone floor.
His pain and the blow to his little bubble of pride seemed to matter less compared to what Hawke would be feeling when she found Malcolm Hawke's staff, the only thing she had to remember her father by smashed to pieces by his hands.
The elf had looked at the other boy with a puzzled expression when the raven-haired human presented him with a pair of worn, fingerless leather gloves. "A gift," the dark haired boy smiled, dropping them in the elf's lap. "Too keep your secret safe"
Wide green orbs blinked at him in the dim light of their hiding spot. He didn't have a chance to protest and tell the blue-eyes human he didn't want his charity, because one the gloves were already being slid over the sensitive flesh of his Lyrium stained skin.
He spat an elven curse at him, batting human digits away from him when they came back at him with the second glove. The elf growled, "I am not helpless, human"
Carver had chuckled when the remaining glove was snatched from him. "I never said you were, Leto. I'm just trying to help. That's what friends are for. We have each other's backs no matter what" he said softly, hugging the elf close and resting his chin in short white hair.
A wave of unknown emotions made his scars glow blindingly bright hue of blue at him. The other boy had comforted him, assured him he'd be okay while patting his head soothingly like you would to calm a upset Mabari hound and here he was hurling stones because someone shown him… kindness.
A crying slave was denied food and water for days or killed if they wept too loudly or for too long. He'd witnessed a young elven girl gutted because she was mourning for her mother.
He let out a disgusted grunt, the image of the girls' corpse still fresh in his mind all these years later. The thought of it, what his Magister did without a smirk on his face as he sunk the blade in. It made his blood boil. He slammed his fist down on the stone with all his might, his hand going straight through it like it was passing through water not solid stone.
When he went to pull his hand up to strike again he noticed something stopping it from moving. What in the Void…. His hand was inside the boulder, buried up to his wrist in stone. He blinked at where his hand should be. How is this possible?!
"Oh come on! Fasta vass! Give me my hand back you stupid fucking rock!" he growled in frustration, trying to yank his arm free awkwardly trying to use his whole body weight to heave it up like an extremely stubborn weed as well as keep his balance on the thin peak.
This can't be happening….I've survived torture, rape, slavers, bears, werewolf attacks, and monstrous spiders and now am I to die here alone because no one knows where I am and my hand is stuck in a damn rock?
"Venhedis!" he roared, giving a mighty tug. He was sent off-balance as the stone suddenly shifted and freed his hand, he fell over backwards into the wild rushing water below.
He was dragged downstream by the strong current hitting every tree root, log and rock along the way.
Every brief window he had to snatch in some air more water flooded up his nose and down his throat
The weight of his armour made him tire and sink faster than he would have liked.
Lack of oxygen soon dragged him slowly into darkness.
Great, now I can add drowning to my list of things that made this week suck.
Carver struggled to keep the wall up in front of his hurt and jealousy so he avoided the two of them when they were together as much as he could. He spent extra time in the barracks hoping that the distance from the problem would make it magically go away. He worked himself to the bone so he'd be too exhausted to anything but sleep when he spent time at home.
Hawke thought it was sweet her brother was filling in the role of the loyal protective mate with his threats and warnings of taking her fingers if the elf was ever hurt, she would never let him hear the end of it if she found out the truth behind his actions. His family would disown him, the freak of a son that would probably never carry on the family name.
He'd seen them at the tavern last night. A intoxicated Hawke pushing Leto flush up against the bar and the elf's expression he could read all too clearly (even from across the dimly lit bar) his forehead creased with pain, large green eyes silently pleading at him. The forcefulness of Hawkes wild kisses and her hands trying to snake under his light leather armour was too much. The Swordsman knew the elf was re-living a horrible flashback of Hadriana. It broke his heart. He wanted to rip his sister off him and beat her until all her teeth fell out but instead he found himself bolting for the exit and emptying out his stomach instead.
Carver had searched all over Lothering for Leto. He felt absolutely horrible about acting the way he had been towards his best friend. He needed to apologize to him. He needed to fix their friendship before it completely fell apart because of him and his petty problems. He promised he'd always have the elf's back, but he felt like he had turned his back on the elf that night.
He's known for a long time Hawke had strong feelings for Leto. Curse their shared room to the Void. He was forced to listen to his sisters gushing about boys, the elf's eyes, his scowl, his voice and imagining what he looked like under the armour that always covered him before they went to sleep. No wonder his mind was as twisted as it was...
He knew Hawke would find a way to 'win' the Tevinter elf but when Hawke had told them she had kissed his elf he felt like he had been thrown in front of a herd of rampaging Bronto. There were plenty of men in the village fawning over her why did she have to choose the elf? He wanted to scream his lungs out at Hawke for taking what was his.
But he couldn't do that. He had to keep his unrequited love for the Tevinter a secret from his family.
Only Alistair knew (and that was only because he had figured it out on his own) and he was thankful he had a good friend he could talk to about it or he would have been driven completely insane. The Grey Warden did not judge him for it, in fact he had been encouraging Carver for more than a year to make a move before it was too late.
"But I can't – his past... I want to, but I just can't." he shook his head "What if I did tell him or make a move and he is reminded of it all… I can't do that to him. He's been through enough"
Leto and those big eyes of his would make him cave-in eventually and there was a high chance their friendship would be destroyed and he would lose the elf as a friend forever after admitting his secre
He was sure that would hurt more than this look-but-you-can-not-have
"I do not think I could take being on the receiving end of his hate or lose him as a friend" he sighed "I wouldn't put it past him to slice me in half with Mercy if I ever told him anyway." He chuckled dryly.
"You are a soldier in the King's army and he is a warrior that is a magnet for trouble. As much as it sucks, death looms over us every time we go into battle." Alistair said humbly, placing a hand to the raven-haired boy's shoulder "Carver, trust me when I say you do not want to leave those three words unsaid"
"Having this conversation with him would be so awkward…"
"I know this has been really hard for you coming to terms with all this. But, if you feel this strongly for him you need to take this leap man. You never know when The Maker will take him to his side."
"Or when Hawke will swoop in.." he murmured, scrunching up his nose in distaste .
"Yes. Swooping is bad." The Grey Warden agreed, smirking slightly. "Unless it's one lanky broody elf swooping down on you"
"Alistair!" Carver whined, hiding his red face behind his hands.
Leto was his best friend, a brother and something the Forbidden Forest of his heart wanted (but could probably never call his own no matter how hard he wished and prayed to the Maker.) If Leto could not be his, he would dedicate his life to protecting him. He had self-appointed himself as the elf's protector and human-shield since Hawke had turned to creatures of The Fade all those months ago.
He'd probably never muster the courage to talk about it, given the elf's years of being brutally raped and tortured by the Magister and all his cronies. If he ever met this guy he would take pleasure in tearing him apart slowly limb from limb and driving Grace into that bastards black heart!
He reached the clearing near the river where he'd seen the elf sitting on the peak of that ginormous boulder. Rain, hail or sun it didn't matter Leto would sit there still as a statue staring off into the distance lost in his thoughts.
That's when he heard it.
The Arcanium curse and a loud splash.
Shit! Leto!
He bolted across the clearing in time to catch a glimpse of an arm and mop of white hair disappear over the top of the hill. He followed the shoreline for what seemed like forever not being able keep up with the speed of the current hurling the elf down steam as if he weighed no more than a leaf.
He wished he hadn't left the horse at the farm but he was thankful he had spent years running and working on his stamina or he would be crawling along the shore by now.
A fallen tree caught Leto long enough for the raven-haired human to close the distance. He dove into the raging water, towards the spluttering elf trying desperately to cling to the branch and keep his head above water.
Carvers fingertips just grazed the elf's arm before the strong current dislodged the tree from the rocks it was caught on. He cursed, being shoved under the water, the broken branches assaulting his face, arms and torso as he went through the submerged fork of the tree.
He fought his way to the surface and frantically searched for a sign of Leto.
The elf was heading straight for the second biggest waterfall in Thedas.
Oh Dragon Shit!