"Hey, you fucking arse!"
Carver barely lifted his head from the armour he was polishing, but he felt his ears flush hot and red. Marian's voice was loud enough as it was, but half-shouted across the Gallows courtyard, it made the templar initiates shoot them both curious glances.
She was wearing a dress; an old, shabby thing patched a dozen times with their Mother's careful, tiny stitches. No staff, but she'd have to be a sodding fool to carry one in this place.
"Hello, sister," he said with effort. "Did Mother send you?"
He gestured for her to sit. She didn't, of course.
"Our mother," Marian said icily, "is at home weeping. She hasn't stopped for two days!"
"Would you keep it down?" He growled. "You want to bring the Knight-Captain out here?"
"How could you do this?" She hissed. Her hair was coming out of its tie, her bodice askew. "How could you choose the templars after - and knowing about me - "
"It's always about you, isn't it." There was no heat in Carver's voice, only weariness. He picked absently at a scab on his thumb and waved a hand at the other templar initiates going about their duties - some polishing armour, some practicing with sword and shield. "What if this is what I want for myself? It's always been about you and - " he stopped abruptly. It had been a year, and he still couldn't say her name.
"Is that what this is about?" Marian said incredulously. "Because of me - and Bethany. You're punishing me now, for what? Existing?"
"I said keep it down." Carver put aside his gleaming tassets and wiped his hands on his trousers. "Look - that's not why I joined the templars. Aveline already told me she won't let me in the city guard - "
"Oh, balls. Don't even try to blame Aveline for this - "
"Marian, shut up for one second and listen. Look - " he dropped his voice again, keeping his gaze on hers. "I'm not going to turn you in. You have my word."
She still looked tired and angry, same as she had not two days ago when he'd finally moved his things out. He hadn't bothered to ask her how the Deep Roads expedition had turned out, if their family were nobles again. He still wasn't sure how much he cared - or maybe he was afraid of caring too much.
"Your word, do I?" Marian said icily. Then just as quick her shoulders slumped, as if her anger drained away. "Why do I bother? It's not like anything will ever change."
"Sister - " Carver started, but she was already walking away.
"You'll wear out my floor, Hawke," Varric said as she passed by him for the fifth time. "Look, don't worry about Junior. He'll come around."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Marian sprawled into the nearest chair and pulled her abandoned pint towards her.
"You know he wouldn't do anything," Aveline said from the doorway. She'd never been a great liar, and the forced lack of concern in her voice didn't help.
"Why couldn't you have just let him join the city guard?" Marian snapped at her, and immediately felt bad for it.
"Hawke - "
Marian rubbed her forehead, sighing. "Sorry."
The old fear was back, making her skin crawl with uneasiness. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like.
"He gave me his word," she said eventually, like that settled it, and drained her drink. "But maybe I should build a moat around my house, just in case."