~~Rights to Bioware, where due.~~~ So I wrote this in two hours, and then switched tenses from present to past...so this isn't tops, but I wanted to see what I could do, and I like the premise. This will be updated, and this piece has only been edited twice, so this may not adequately represent my best work~~~

No one knew why the words left Carver's mouth. No one even remembered what they were arguing over when he said them, but Gamlen's house became more silent than a crypt. Hawke and Carver stood at opposing ends of the table, surrounded by the proverbial motley crew Hawke had assembled over the past few months. "Bethany is dead because of you. Why should I trust your judgment?" The words were beyond cruel, as soon as he spoke them Carver felt regret. Still he wouldn't relent. He wouldn't back down. It wasn't true, but it was. Andione was Hawke, not he, Little Hawke, as Varric called him, or mocked him. Bethany never got the chance to be even that. It was her job to stop Bethany, her job to leap in front of mother, her job to...to what? Die first. No...did he think that? Did he really hate her that much? Never. What did any of it matter when Andione, the picture perfect child with her calm demeanor and diplomatic words would just stand there staring. She'd do what she always did, be the polite one, just to spite him and make him look petty. Yes that's what-

"I...I am going to kill you." The words were a near shriek, as Andione leapt over the table sending mugs, quills, and maps flying every which way into the faces of their companions. Carver's mind did not process what was happening until she was upon him, sending him flying to the ground. For some reason all he could think was When did she learn to move so fast? The thud of his body against the floor processed before he felts the pain. There were stories of werewolves that father told them growing up, of how their eyes glowed before the kill. He had imagined it as a boy, using his wooden sword to slash at invisible enemies, and even as a teenager sometimes he'd still do it. Yet he never imagined the look, the glow of pure rage, that his sister had, as she slashed across his face. He reached for her arms as the scratches burned and stung. Chairs shuffled around and the sounds of their companions telling her to stop filled the former silence. Before he could get a good grip, her fist drove his head against the floor hard enough so that he saw stars. Again and again it happened, and each time she let out a scream.

His sister rarely argued, and when she did she's was more likely to turn and walk away than to let herself fall into rage. Once a boy in Lothering said he fooled around with her. Carver knew that wasn't true and beat the boy to a bloody pulp, even though she told him not to. Andione kept to herself to the point that even their father had urged her to mingle more. Carver would never tell her, but some of the worst times were watching her want someone. Carver would never let anyone have her. No man was good enough, but seeing her get close to someone only to pull away was just...sad.

One day when Carver was joking with his friends in town, for some reason he found himself watching his sister. He didn't know why, maybe it was the Maker's work, so that'd he see his sister as more than the prized daughter. It didn't quite work, but it never left his mind. She sat on a bench outside the inn, knitting with a girl who lived on the farm just outside town. The brown haired girl, Gwen, giggled, urging Andione to stop staring at a boy across the road. He was an farm boy, maybe a year or so older than Andione. (What was his name? Jared? Halwyn? Gareth? No, Aeron! ). Who knew what women saw in some men, but Carver had noticed a lot of girls in the village noticed Aeron. He was tall with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, and brown eyes. Every time they were in town Aeron managed to stumble into Andione. He'd offer to carry whatever Andione bought for home even if Carver was there. It drove Carver mad, but what was worse was watching Hawke's eyes watching him. For the past two weeks he had noticed her rejecting Aeron's help and avoiding him in town. In fact that may have been the closest they'd been to each other in weeks. They screamed that she wanted to walk over to Aeron and tell him exactly how she felt.

"Oh go say something," Gwen prodded

"Like what?" Hawke lowered her eyes, focusing on her needle work.

"Like "oh hello, how about a tumble?""

"Gwen." Her words trie to come out as a rebuke, but the smile on Hawke's face betrayed her.

Carver forced his thoughts away from the whole "tumble" comment entirely, as a shudder rolled down his spine.

"Oh you know you want to, Andi. You're a pretty girl, and he fancies you something fierce." Gwen giggled, but for a moment she sounded almost motherly. "If you don't someone will."

"Like who?"

"Well..." Gwen shifted uncomfortably. One of Carver's friends hit his shoulder, offering him a pint, but Carver shirked him away. He was interested. Maker why was he interested? "Me."

That bitch.

He's not that close, about eight feet or so away, but even at that distance he can she how Andione flinches before she frees, and how her shoulders slump. She should get up and march over to Aeron, right after slapping Gwen to the ground.

"Oh."

Gwen's fingers were shaking, and she began to knit like a mad woman.

"I'm sorry I...well...you can't expect him to wait forever...He's very nice and...so handsome and...if you don't claim him now someone else will move in. Not even me. He may not even like me, but someone. Andi, go talk to him."

He watched them, and he watched Gwen's head turn, and every inch of her was hopeful. Not for her though...she was leaning too close to Andione for that. Gwen wanted her to talk to Aeron, or she just wanted to know where she stood. Either way Carver's fingers curled into a fist.

"I...think you should talk to him. He will like you."

"R-really?"

"Yes." Andione grinned at her, and for a moment Carver almost believed her sincerity. "You're a good woman...could give him more than I could."

Gwen's shoulders slumped and her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Just go talk to him."

"O-ok" Gwen's voice was barely above a whisper, as she stood setting her needles and yarn aside. Andione looked up, as Gwen crossed the street. A few moments passed and Gwen seemed to strike up a genuine conversation with Aeron. He must have said something funny because he made her burst out laughing. Carver watched Andione's lips fixed in an empty smile, and her eyes were glossed over. Maybe she was reciting that...mantra, the one he heard her repeat when she thought no one was around. "My life is good. My life is fine. I am loved. Sadness passes and I am loved." She lowered her head, resigning herself to her knitting, like a dog resigning itself to being beaten. Carver folded his arms, as his insides twisted up in knots. She never complained, never let herself indulge in anything but her magic...and chocolates from Orlais on her birthday. She just sat there staring blankly at her hands, as if slightly disconnected from the rest of the world. Mages always were, but then again his father had mother...in an odd way Bethany had him. He always knew when she cried, and she always knew when he felt ignored. Then there was Hawke, a living legacy and the perfect child, who wouldn't let herself enjoy a boy's company. Some part of Carver wanted to take pleasure from it, but all he felt was sick.

Twas funny the things that popped in his mind, while his sister beat pain into every inch of his face. At some point Aveline and Fenris pulled Andione away from him by the arms. Carver sat up, stupefied, as blood trickled down nose. That wasn't Andione Hawke, the calm collected eldest child. Such cruel words had brought out something else in her. The room spun around him, and no one would do him the favor of staying still. Merrill was at his side, pressing her balled up scarf to his face. He touched his cheek and winced, letting out a small yelp. Andione had scratched the void out of him.

Son of a bitch.

Fenris and Aveline hauled Andione across the room as she struggled in their arms. Andione must have been training, because he swore she never fought that hard befor.

"Hawke calm yourself," Aveline said, gripping Andione's arm.

"Do not let him get the better of you. Carver's a child." Fenris spoke his name with venomous bitterness.

After a few moments Andione complied, but her eyes never left Carver's face. The anger encrusted in their depths sent a chill to his core, and the deep seeded pain along side it stirred shame in his chest. He had deepened the wound of their sister's death, and for what? Something he couldn't even recall? Maker, it trivialized Bethany's murder. He swallowed, as Anders stood above him, casting a minor healing spell through gritted teeth. Even the damn abomination had better tact than him.

"I'm fine...I'm good," Andione said, her brows were fixed in anger, but she straightened her back letting out a deep breath. "I'm alright. I'm done."

Fenris and Aveline exchanged skeptical glances before releasing her arms. As soon as they did Andione sped stepped towards him without blinking. She pointed her finger at him, and her lips parted to speak, but as quickly as it happened she turned and left. He could just make out the blood on her knuckles, and how she flinched in pain before clenching her fists. She brushed past Gamelen and Leandra at the door, without meeting their questioning glances.

"What was that about?" If it weren't for the sarcasm Carver would have mistaken Gamlen's words as caring. He walked in and sat at the desk, as if waiting to see a show performed for him by everyone else. Most of the room turned towards Carver, focusing glares of condemnation on Carver. The exceptions were Merrill who only looked at him as if he were a wounded puppy, Varric just shook his head, and Isabela rolled her eyes. Leandra came before him, standing where Andione had been, her eyes lined with concern mixed with utter confusion. Leandra looked to Aveline who gave a curt nod towards Carver. Lovely.

"Were you...fighting?"The words were breathless, as if Leandra believed herself to be in some fanciful dream or poppy induced trance. Carver couldn't blame her. It didn't seem real. He didn't think his older sister was capable of such...maddness. Then again he didn't think he could cause her that much pain either.

"I..." The pointed glances in the room forced Carver to focus on the ground. His father called him proud, his sister called it faux arrogance, but whatever it was kept him from running after her and apologizing. Is that how she felt watching Gwen walk over to Aeron? It was a silly, juvenile thought, the situations didn't compare exactly. Still everything in his head, and in his heart yelled for him to put things right. But he could never actually say the words...or admit them to her face. Not with those big sad eyes. So he drew in a breath taking in the lingering ocean of tension, before exhaling.

"I...messed up, badly...terribly. It's my fault."