"Ah, and here we are!" Varric crowed as he pulled out a chair, beckoning to the shy, petite figure trailing behind Clarissa Hawke. Bethany Hawke sat down nervously, flickering eyes betraying the fact that she was absolutely uncomfortable in the Hanged Man's musky, dim-lit lounge. Clarissa Hawke looked at her younger sister, through the faint smoke in the lounge, violet-blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
By her count, this was the second time Bethany had ever been in a tavern. To really introduce her into the city life of Kirkwall, or perhaps any city at all, she had to bring her here more often.
Taverns often serve the less… desirable persons in a city, namely guildsmen, soldiers, guardsmen and shady characters. Clarissa noticed that Bethany was nigh at ease with that fact. Anyhow, it was the perfect place to hunt for jobs, contracts, or simply unexpected coin, which Bethany understood, but disliked all the more. If one could bear getting their hands dirty, taverns are treasure troves of opportunities.
Out of the corner of her eye, Clarissa noticed that their entrance, although discreet, had drawn almost every pair of male eyes in the tavern, with a majority of them directed at her sister.
She couldn't blame them, really.
Clarissa silently marveled at Bethany, at her tanned, almond-shaped face, her shoulder-length jet-black hair the curled at the ends, her low-cut, contrasting white tunic and the balanced, curvaceous figure underneath, barely concealed by the garment, at her long, lithe legs clad in leggings and boots, at the newly purchased Orlesian silk scarf which Bethany tied loosely around her neck, then finally her soft, slightly worried brown eyes that told so much about her, yet seemed so guarded. Maker, she's stunning. She never understood why the men in Lothering always seemed to have their eyes on her instead of Bethany. Clarissa felt her gaze unwittingly linger on her younger sister, as it did countless times before.
Whistling was heard, which snapped Clarissa back to the present. Shaking herself, she tore her gaze from Bethany to Varric, smiling.
Bethany, however, noticed the comparatively subtle commotion she and her sister had caused, and whilst her sister seemed to enjoy it, she shared no interest in that regard. Constant physical exertion and practicing magic had kept her lean and fit which, to a point, would have accentuated her features. She had expected some form of attention from men, but had never considered herself any different from the farm girl next door. She had not expected so much eyes on her and certainly not in such an open manner. Magic, she could handle. Darkspawn, she could handle. Drunken men sizing her up, not so much. She winced and scowled as a heavyset man stumbled next to her. The man moved on, but not before flashing a husky smile laced with suggestiveness. Clarissa saw Bethany's face tighten in disgust and her right hand cast a faint blue light under the table.
"Come now, Bethany. It's not the first time men have watched you! It's something you deal with on a daily basis, isn't it?" Clarissa put a reassuring hand on Bethany's shoulder, mailed gauntlets clinking, and helped a chuckling Varric wave the waitress over with the other.
The last time Varric had invited the Hawkes to the Hanged Man, Bethany had respectfully declined. This time, Varric had said out loud, "And I hereby cordially request Milady Sunshine's company in the upcoming night's festivities at the Hanged Man's Tavern. There will be drink and music aplenty, and what better venue to discuss our business ventures together is there?" He even put in a mock bow to complete the act.
"There's a first time for everything, Beth," was Clarissa's subtle but insistent encouragement. She had later resorted to bribery to coax a promise out of Bethany, who was a sucker for all things silken.
After the little shopping trip in the Lowtown market, the duo had returned to Gamlen's house to outfit themselves for the night. As Bethany looked suspiciously at the garment her sister had chosen for her, Clarissa reassured her by showing her a dagger she kept concealed in her belt, batting her eyes in mock exasperation. "Anyone who so much as touches you is going to have a very bad night. Now you just go ahead and be your sexy self."
Casting a wayward glance at her sister, Bethany felt slightly reassured as her order of the least potent spirit in the tavern arrived.
"Nothing like a stiff drink to talk stiff business over. Well, except for you, of course, Sunshine." Varric said, "In time you'll learn to love it." He downed half a mug a draught.
Clarissa halved his effort.
Bethany, however, only took a small sip, but it was already enough make her cheeks flush. Maker's breath, it had quite the kick. "Anyways. There's some talk about a Fereldan Grey Warden that…"
Three hours later, Bethany stumbled out the front door of the tavern. After two mugs of the stale liquor Varric had recommended, she had begun to see double. Clarissa, however, had well been on her fifth round when Bethany had bid her pardon and stepped outside. It had been hard enough already to resist the mellowing effects of the liquor, but on top of that, she had to keep her head collected and listen to Varric's grand plan to recruit some Grey Warden in Kirkwall to join them.
Should've stuck to even lighter stuff, she made a mental note. Damn that bastard of a Varric and his so-called "special treatment"!
In her stupor, she hadn't noticed the man that trailed her out of the tavern.
She was surprised, utterly caught off guard when she was grabbed roughly from behind, being shoved into a back alley, away from the heat and light of the Hanged Man. Cold fear entered her mind as the vibrancy and apparent safety of the noise from the Hanged Man faded farther and farther away. Darkness enclosed her vision. It became hard to even open her eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as they felt stale, warm breaths on them.
"'Ello, sweet…" A male voice breathed down her neck, making her jump. "Not very safe, y'know, wandering off on yer lonesome…" It cooed. Bethany felt hands moving from the small of her back, slowly towards the front. Something sweet-smelling and cloying was held in front of her nose, and she unwittingly inhaled the scent. Abruptly, she felt her strength leave her, and her connection to the Mana in her veins was severed.
Vainly, she reached for the magic, for the power to defend herself. But the liquor has addled her mind, clouded her judgment. Her focus was dampened, and her grasp on her power slipped. Anger and fear battled within her, making her redouble her efforts to no avail.
She was powerless.
Defenseless.
Whoever it was, she was at his mercy.
"No…" She murmured softly, unable to raise her voice. Clarissa couldn't hear, Varric couldn't hear, nobody could.
Rough fingers closed on her brooch at the hem of her tunic.
"No…" Someone, anyone, please…
Abruptly, Bethany felt the rough fingers on her body being ripped away. She felt her faceless assailant being flung away from her by a formless, powerful force, as lithe as a cat's touch, as ferocious as a bear's grip. She heard the huff of breath as an impact on a nearby wall was heard.
Was it magic? Whatever it was, she certainly didn't, couldn't have done that.
She whimpered, not able to comprehend. Everything was happening so quickly. Too quickly. Leaning against an invisible wall, she felt tears fight its way out of her eyelids.
A liquid squelch reached Bethany's ears, along with a feeling of something splashing on the back of her clothes.
The clinking of chainmail filled the alley.
"What…?" Bethany breathed, confused all the more.
Hands gripped her again. This time slowly, softly. Somehow it felt… familiar, like a half-remembered dream.
Clarissa Hawke shifted the unstable weight of her sister on her shoulders, sheathing her dagger back to its place around her waist. She felt her sister stir. She looked around, seeing brown eyes mired in fear and confusion, her youthful, attractive face slipping between unconsciousness and a waking stupor, her lithe, petite form fragile and weak. In the dim light offered by the moon, Clarissa could see why the man had made the attempt.
At that moment, she felt a myriad mixture of emotions course through her: An overwhelming relief, a persisting worry, and something… different.
Bethany was beautiful, no doubt. Every time Clarissa had laid eyes on her, it always made her falter. Every time she felt Bethany's cool, small fingers come into contact, it always made her stiffen, if not only a little. They had shared much of their lives together, be it spending whole days together going round Lothering, attracting a host of young men at their heels, or lying under trees on warm summer nights, counting the stars and enjoying each others' company.
They were sisters. It made them close, yet ultimately it kept them apart.
For countless nights, when Bethany had propped herself against the tree and fall asleep, Clarissa would stay awake, watching her closed eyes flutter as she dreamed. On some of those nights, Clarissa had been invariably torn apart. A part of her bade restraint, to refuse relinquishing control over herself, to treat a younger sister as she should and not forsake her duty in protecting her.
They were sisters, was that not enough?
Yet, as a fragment of her heart pleaded reason, another shard yearned for release. By her count, at least fifteen young men had made subsequent attempts at wooing her, and though their endeavors were impressive, she had spurned them all. On some nights, she had set her eyes on Bethany, on the delicate, black curls that framed her shapely face, on the soft, brown eyes that often opened and met her own gaze, on the full, red lips that beckoned to her oh so sweetly, like a forbidden fruit aching for release.
Sisters, they were, and no one knew them as well as they did each other. But deep down, Clarissa had always yearned.
Yearned for more.
For nineteen years, she had wrestled with those two parts of her, torn apart every time Bethany looked at her, smiled at her, whispered in her ear, cried in her arms.
Rationalizations against impulses, reason against desire.
Over the hardships of the last year, the sisters had become closer, and it relieved and horrified Clarissa at the same time. She had tried her hardest at defending her family. Sometimes she won, sometimes she lost. But no matter the outcome, the fight was always clear to her.
This fight, however, she wasn't sure of. She wasn't sure what to do, not when friend and foe were one and the same.
"Clare? What…" Bethany asked weakly, trying to regain composure. Clarissa sighed inwardly and blinked to clear her mind. Mulling over possible mental breakdowns will have to wait, she thought. Her eyes refocused on Bethany, her younger sister. The baffled expression on her face made Clarissa laugh softly.
"Come on, sister, mother is probably going to gut me and make me do the chores for the next ten years, in that order." She said, draping Bethany's arm over her own shoulders. Bethany slumped against her older sister, oblivious to the jolt of electricity Clarissa felt course though her as Bethany's head fell on her left shoulder, bare skin on skin.
Not magic. Damn it. Frustrated, Clarissa snapped at herself.
You are disgusting, Clarissa Hawke. A voice said in the back of her head. She smiled at that. That was what Carver would've said. She almost wanted to hear his gruff, sarcastic voice chime in.
Shifting her weight, Clarissa Hawke began the long walk home with Bethany Hawke, her younger sister, on her back.