Chapter 4: Complications

"Why are you staring at me like that?" That voice.

For a long moment, Anders wondered if what he saw was real. "Karl, it's me. You—you're…"

But that man looked so real, so familiar. He knew that it was not to be. Anders found himself wading through the thick air of the Fade—only inching towards that which drew him.

"I'm dead." That unchanged furtive smile appeared, but Karl still remained a distance away. A distance which he could not bridge. Justice had cut him off from the Fade and its inhabitants quite definitely. The blue tinge to the environs told him that the spirit was nearby and alert of this intrusion—and this, whatever it was, would be stopped.

"No—I…" But maybe it was possible. Maybe Karl was still alive—in the Fade, and Anders could see him when he closed his eyes at night. Maybe… they could still be together. The light grew brighter, all around him until he could barely make out that figure he ached for, that man that he had let down. The man Anders had killed with his own hands.

"I know, Anders. Thank you."

Anders woke up from his dream with the man's name on his lips.

xOxOx

I had only just opened my clinic for the day when the loud calls from outside grew to distracting proportions—and the voice I recognized belonged to that singular man, the one who had told me that it wasn't my fault, that the templars were to blame for Karl's condition.

They were the ones who killed him, not you.

He had also accepted my particular—circumstances—with Justice quite easily, with very little complaint.

I know the feeling. Hawke had murmured, a wry smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Something about him had repulsed Justice from the start— but the man's mannerisms were noble, mesmerizing; even for one who should not be entertaining such thoughts—me.

xOxOx

Bethany

Our big brother was certainly sparing nothing in his haste, dashing past guardsmen and the rare templar alike, all in the bid to stop Carver and Mother, with me trailing helplessly in his wake. He came to a stop only at Darktown, wheezing and heaving like an ox, causing Mother no end of worry.

"Stop— I m-ean— it." He gasped, leaning against the wall, staring at Carver and Mother with a pained expression. Poor Garrett seemed to have a stitch in his side from running quite so fast.

As always, Carver was not amused. Sometimes, I wondered why he bore such intensely antagonistic feelings towards our big brother—he only meant the best for us all. "Why? Do we need your gracious sanction to go out on our own now, Hawke?"

"Carver—" came Mother's quick disapproval. Anything, to stop them from fighting. Their quarrels escalated extremely quickly.

Garrett straightened himself, giving Carver a nasty glare. "Are you even thinking straight—dear brother? You brought Mother to Darktown."

"I… " That stopped an angry tirade in time; for it was true, after all. Darktown was full of unsavory personalities. Carver's face darkened—and that petulant frown began to form again—a sign that he was going to brood most spectacularly.

But Garrett only sighed, "Let's go together. But Mother…" he began, as he straightened his back— before a large brown blur slammed full force into our big brother's legs, and he toppled over again, collapsing into a heap of barely-stirring clothes .

Rush had tracked us down, and had barreled with all his weight—into the eldest Hawke.

It was a few long moments before anyone spoke again—and the voice that broke the silence belonged to that of a stranger. "Is everything all right? Hawke?" This belonged to a man dressed in what appeared to be a feathery shortcoat and had several large buckles on a leather outfit—how odd that he appeared to know my fallen brother. This man was quite handsome.

xOxOx

I was winded, and frankly, my headache had finally caught up with me from that mad dash through Lowtown. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to open my eyes to the sight of Rush's tongue—his spittle lathering my face quite certainly. Ugh, doggy breath.

Just then, a familiar voice called, "Are you alright, Hawke?" I squinted up at the man—ah, it was Anders—the resident abomination.

"Just winded. Sometimes, it doesn't pay to get up in the mornings." I lay there, continuing my muttering from the dirt of Darktown.

"Or drink yourself silly just to impress a woman," he muttered.

"What?" I raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Anders. Bethany had grabbed ahold of Rush, allowing me to breathe in some non-musky air.

The man shrugged, shifting the feathery pauldrons on his shoulders. "It's legitimate health advice, that's all." Those were some very frivolous clothes—something sure to draw templar attention to his different status. Somebody should tell him that a change of wardrobe was necessary.

"Mother, you should go back to Gamlen's. Bethany will—" I struggled to my feet, my head still somewhat scrambled.

"Oh no, I'm not leaving you and Carver alone- not when you two are so quarrelsome this morning. Bethany will go along, to make sure that your arguments won't get physical." She appeared quite adamant about this, though Carver and I rarely came to blows. We were better than that. Usually.

"But you can't come with us, dangerous slavers live in there now", Carver muttered, gesturing melodramatically at the entrance. Well, there was some progress—he actually looked rather sheepish.

"If I may suggest… Missus Hawke can stay in the clinic— it's quite safe there," Anders spoke, his voice seemingly innocuous.

"I don't know..." said Carver. Leaving Mother with Anders did not really appeal to either of us. Justice might not approve of her constant bustle.

"That sounds much better than whatever my boys have in mind—and I shall have Rush for as my guard," she smiled approvingly, looking up admiringly at the former Grey Warden.

"And Anders. He'll be good company," I finished, giving the blonde mage a dirty look. It was his idea after all. And as I noted, he did have a way with charming older women. Chuckles came from my sister, who was finding all this entertaining. She did so love it when she wasn't the one in trouble with Mother.

"No, Garrett— your friend should follow, and I shall be quite alright without a babysitter. Those slavers sound quite- dangerous. That is, if it's not too much trouble?" Mother appeared to have decided this quite firmly, and a twinkle crept into her eye. She had noticed something, though whatever it was evaded my attention.

Anders nodded, suddenly quite eager. "No it's fine. Your son has done a lot for me; it's only fair I return the favour."

"Mother…" Came the resounding groan. It was one thing to treat us like children, but after everything that had happened? The Blight, our age and the circumstances of our escape to Kirkwall made it extremely embarrassing. But there was simply no forcing the issue.

"Let's just go," Carver muttered, shouldering the way forward.

"Rush," I called back, "take care of Mother." The replying growls and barks echoed after us—and I felt just a bit more secure, knowing that he sounded as every bit as vicious that father and I had trained him to be, only on command, of course. Templars knew not to enter when such a dangerous animal ran loose in the house; not many people knew that Rush was a softie who loved cats and had a sweet tooth for berries.

"So… this all once belonged to our family," Bethany whispered, awed, looking round the place's extensive basement.

"It's just a cellar. For wine, and cheese or… in this case, slaves— you know, whatever keeps well in a dark and sinister environment."

"Still, we must have been quite wealthy, back in the day." She continued, sidling up next to me.

"Not 'we'. The Amells. We're Hawkes." Carver muttered back, apparently still fuming under all that muscle, unwilling to claim kinship with the past. Anders followed without much comment, though I was not sure I feel comfortable with Justice right on my heels— he was a tetchy one.

Rounding a corner, we heard voices— Nevarran surely— and hid behind some of the large casks. Cackles erupted from the men, and we caught something about elves in their really thick accents.

"To make matters even better, the city guard would not give a shit for these knife-ears."

We watched them laugh, and though riled up by their words, we could not run headlong into battle without a clear indication of exactly how many slavers there were. "And they are pretty, even the males. Good for business."

"Elves are people too," Carver growled before he rushed into battle, catching everyone else (including us) offguard.

"Shit." I swore, following my dumbass of a brother while making sure that Bethany stayed behind the line of fire. But soon more armed men swarmed through the door—far more than I had expected. Anders began casting supportive spells, and Bethany followed his lead with her trademark force fields.

"You know, I think the point is that no one should be traded for money. Not elves, not humans, not dwarves," Bethany panted as she casted at the sudden increase in opponents.

Anders' voice was loud, above the fray; a faint mocking tone accompanied his words. "Elves are particularly susceptible. Didn't you hear? They are 'prettier' than us humans."

Bethany giggled unbecomingly in the midst of battle. "Oooh I know what they mean. Like Fenris?"

"What?" All of us blurted, shocked at such a revelation. Did our little sister like the broody elf?

"Er… I mea- I meant—Merrill."

"Yeah—Merrill." Now it was Carver's turn to seem bashful. How simply remarkable.

P.S.: Do let me know how it is :D I really want to know what you think!