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"Wh-what in Andraste's name did you do, Anders?" a man's voice huffed behind the people in front of me. "The Fade, I...I could feel it in the room, hear the whispers..."
As everyone turned around, my jaw dropped when I spotted the brand of sun on the man's forehead. The battle and meeting people who claimed to be my family had been shocking enough and the tranquil mage only added to my confusion. His eyes weren't empty like I had thought and instead of the normal calmness, the man screamed of tension, fidgeting and glancing around.
"Yes, what was that?" the dwarf said and threw his arms in the air. "What is everything exactly? I hate unfinished stories, someone better start clearing things up."
I saw Anders' eyes shifting from me at the tranquil over and over again, like he couldn't decide who to encounter first. It was also clear that he was avoiding looking at me directly, his gaze wandering somewhere in my hair or on the wall behind me. I realized that there was still blood on my lips from the impact of his attack and it must have made Anders uneasy.
Before he could say anything, I stood up and walked towards the tranquil. The man who had known my name was about to stop me, but I gave him a serious leer and gestured at the panicked mage, hoping to solve one problem at a time even if I wasn't fully aware of the situation. If he was my brother, he would agree.
Surprisingly, he let go of my wrist and nodded. "You are right. We can talk later." He paused for a moment and looked at the healer. "What happens now?"
"Nothing," Anders spat through his clenched teeth, not making eye-contact. "We were too late, there's nothing we can do."
"You're wrong, Anders!" the tranquil shouted. "You can still help me, before it all vanishes again!"
"I know what you're asking and I can't do that, Karl," Anders said in a low voice.
"You don't understand. I am already dead. The music, emotions, tears, gone. I'm just a husk and I'd rather die than lose these sensations again!"
Watching the mage awoke the kind of anger and fear I had never felt in my life. I had refused to give up my name and identity as a Saarebas and would certainly choose death over tranquility. I noticed that Anders' fist was shaking, but his face wasn't colorless. He was aware of what needed to be done while his body fought against his mind.
I had suffered from the same conflict, except the roles of the body and mind had been reversed which was probably why I could see the storm inside him.
"You have to, Anders," the warrior beside me stated. "I wouldn't wish this fate upon anyone."
Hearing the man's words caused my brow to lift. He had called myself his sister and just the fact that he shared my thoughts made me reconsider that maybe the person who resembled me had been telling the truth.
Anders stared at the floor in silence and took a couple of deep breaths. He even glanced at me, like he was seeking acceptance. My expression couldn't have been more amenable and I hoped Anders understood that it was his responsibility. Otherwise the tranquil would have done it by himself or asked someone else, but his eyes were locked at the healer.
It was the same look I had received from a tortured Saarebas of our tribe two years ago. The serene stare of a man who knew whom to lean on in search for a merciful end that wouldn't result in more indignity and disgrace.
"It's fading fast, please kill me now!" Karl pressed the sides of his head.
Anders unsheathed a dagger that was hidden inside his jacket and took few steps forward. "I'm sorry, Karl," he placed his hand on the tranquil's shoulder. "Goodbye."
With one swift stab, Anders struck the dagger in the mage's stomach, hitting the organs in order to give him a quick death. A fragile gasp escaped Karl's mouth and he collapsed in his knees, squeezing the bloodstained robes around the wound before his lifeless body fell on the cold floor.
#
"You seriously think that no-one's going to miss those dead templars?" Carver said to his brother once we had exited the Chantry.
"The order will just blame the mage that they will find among them, don't worry Junior," the dwarf sneered.
"Right, because a tranquil killing ten templars is such a common believable thing."
"Carver, Varric, shut up," the man walking next to me snapped. "We have more important matters at hand."
I kept eying at Anders, feeling concerned that he had been so quiet and absent. Every time our gazes happened to meet, he immediately looked away. I knew he regretted not having been able to control whatever inside him had attacked me, but the state of affairs was hardly ideal for sharing life stories.
He was on my right side and on my left were the men who supposedly were my brothers. I remembered a mantra I had spoken aloud to myself for as long as I had been able to form words after my capture. Every day I had knelt in a corner of the Saarebas' sleeping quarters, begging the Maker to let me see my family again. My mother, my father, my brothers. I forgot their names and had no idea how they would look like as adults, which made me be wary. The qunari had imprisoned me for so long that I had given up hope and for the last months while having been collared, I had tried to erase the memory of my family in order to remove the intolerable ache in my heart.
I was being torn in half, trying to figure out who should I confront first. Anders had been my reason for leaving the underground but he didn't seem to be in a talkative mood, not that I blamed him. Nevertheless, my mind wouldn't be at ease until I apologized for my behavior all those months ago, until I verified that I had returned to my family, to my home.
While I was taking a glimpse of the brothers, Anders halted abruptly and I almost bumped into him.
"Thank you for your help, Hawke," he said. "I need to get back to the clinic, but as soon as you're able, you can come and take the Deep Roads maps."
Hawke, I winced.
"Yeah, after three pints and at least ten hours of sleep," the warrior snorted.
"Sounds like an excellent plan," the healer grinned and turned around to leave.
I wasn't going to let Anders run like I had and after he had taken his first step away from the rest of us, I grabbed his sleeve and forced him to look into my eyes. The sight wasn't pleasant with the obvious pain of losing a friend written all over his face, but it didn't discourage me.
His gaze began to soften after a while and I felt his arm relax under my grip. I took his hand and began to write on his palm, slowly so that he had enough time to comprehend my message.
I'll visit later, promise.
I wasn't expecting as warm smile as Anders gave me. "Looking forward to it," he replied and waited for me to let go, not attempting to remove my hand.
As I watched his receding back, I couldn't fully understand neither him or myself. Telling Anders that I didn't despise him had become a weighty task for me, like I wouldn't be at peace until I was absolutely assured that he wouldn't be afraid of talking to me. When he had made the offending joke, I sensed laughter that I wanted to let out, but instead allowed my fury to take over, like a qunari who had been called a hornhead by humans.
Anders was hurting and he wasn't good at cloaking it behind a sweet face. Regardless, I was happy that nervous or not, he was going to be there when we would get a chance to start fresh from the beginning. His smile was assurance enough for me to believe that he wasn't going to disappear.
"You know him?" Carver asked me when I joined them.
I nodded, but only slightly.
"So your name is Reneka, if I recall correctly?" the dwarf looked at me curiously. "And because Hawke here called you his sister, I assume you share the same family name."
Reneka Hawke, I repeated in my mind. Isabela had been the first in ages to call me that, but to have a family member to say it aloud would be a whole different experience.
Carver was definitely younger, with an energetic aura surrounding him and despite his boyish looks, his gaze was very firm. I had witnessed his swordsmanship and was so impressed of his skill that I wouldn't mind fighting right next to his huge blade. The way Carver had handled it made me trust that the sword would never be a threat to me, as long as it was in his hands.
My eyes moved at the second brother and he cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Reneka. I'm still quite speechless of finally having you back with us." He offered me his hand. "I am your brother Roghart, though you may call be Rogue or Hawke like everyone else does."
Wondering about how the nickname of rogue didn't seem to suit Roghart at all, I accepted his gesture and instead of shaking his hand, I enclosed it inside my palms. The more he spoke the more I was convinced of the blood bond between us. His voice was strong and lively, coloring words with sharp but friendly tone.
"No need to be shy, girl," Varric chuckled. "Bianca does the biting, not us."
The dwarf was pointing at the crossbow on his back as he spoke and I figured that Bianca was the name of his weapon. His humorous attitude made me realize that somehow I already preferred to be joked about my silence rather than mocked and it put a smirk on my lips. I had been insulted only by the ones who knew me as a Saarebas and had no reason to lose my temper like before. Humans, elves or dwarves may say nasty things about my weakness in the future, but only the qunari could truly hurt me. Seeing the difference kindled a gentle flame in me and I felt like congratulating myself.
To answer the puzzled looks given at me, I inhaled calmly and opened my mouth, just enough for them to see what was missing inside. Each of the men had a varying reaction, from pity to horror, and Varric squinted like he sensed how painful it must have been to have one's tongue cut out.
"Reneka, that's-" Roghart started, but I interrupted by waving my hand. I had dealt with the matter horribly with Anders and would be much more satisfied to receive understanding, not compassion. It was already clear that the people in front of me were not about to humiliate me.
"Maker, how do we tell mother?" Carver rubbed his forehead.
Roghart glanced at his brother and then looked at me. "Are you ready to meet mother again?"
The question sounded silly to me who had survived just to stay alive, to have a chance to embrace all my loved ones and have them call me by my real name.
Like with Anders, I took my brother's hand and wrote 'Yes' on the leather glove.
#
As we walked through Lowtown, I spotted the inn where Isabela had gone to gather information. The hanging figure at its front made me recall the inn's name and the dwarf who had accompanied us confirmed my memory by saying that Roghart could find him again at the Hanged Man before heading to the noisy building. No matter the hour, it seemed the Hanged Man was always full of clamor.
I still eyed at the dark alleys and moving shadows, prepared for any thieves that had driven me away from the pirate captain. Carver told me to relax so I must have looked quite jumpy. Slowly I began to realize that it wasn't only because of the imaginary murderers that I felt heavy and doubtful. Roghart kept me informed of how many steps away we were from their current home and the closer we got, the more chills ran through my spine. Obviously I wasn't as ready as I had thought and a plan to weasel my way out of meeting my parents crossed my mind. I quickly rejected the idea and curled my fingers, focusing on breathing normally.
"This is it," Roghart said and stopped next to stairs made of stone. "Up there, behind that door, is our mother."
My gaze scanned the wooden door with rusty metal enforcements. Lowtown, as the name suggested, was the place for everyone else who wasn't of a noble caste or a rich merchant. It was still better than the underground of Darktown, although for me anything won against the dirty wet shacks were the qunari had kept their mages.
"Reneka," Roghart captured my eyes with a questioning look, "would you prefer if we went first and told mother? I'm sure she's still awake, waiting for us like she usually does."
My older brother reminded me of the Saarebas' I dared to call my comrades. They had been the only ones who acknowledged my feelings and knew the injustice of being forced. When I had escaped, I had been worried that the people of the outside world wouldn't welcome me as one of them. I had witnessed the glares of hatred humans had shot at our tribe and even I had been a target.
Not a single stranger since breaking free had shoved me aside. Isabela, Jethann and Anders had all shown me nothing but kindness and when I looked at my brothers, the bright and strong light in their eyes, I couldn't bring myself to believe that my own parents would refuse me.
I nodded and climbed the stairs, gesturing Roghart to lead the rest of the way. He sought approval from Carver who shrugged, having nothing against the plan.
The door creaked when it was opened and I noticed that it was slightly too big, its bottom scratching the ground and the handle needed a firm yank. I smelled an odor of bad cheese coming from inside and heard an excited bark. Before anyone could warn me, a brown mabari dashed to the door and greeted my brothers, wagging its tiny tail. After thoroughly licking Roghart's face, the mabari turned to me and carefully sniffed every inch of my body, panting happily and wasn't growling at me like I was some intruder. The breed was known for its intelligence and they were aware of their enemies and allies. I didn't know what was it that made the mabari trust me, but it had instantly accepted me.
"What's all this racket?" an irritated voice grunted from one of the rooms and I saw a gray-haired man approaching us. "Can't a man sleep peacefully in his own home?"
"That's the downside of working late, uncle," Carver sneered. "And we have to take every day and night job to have the money to move out of your house. Isn't that what you told us to do?"
"Yes, but waking me up in the middle of the night isn't part of the deal."
"Please, stop arguing," a woman came from the other room. The color of her hair was the same as the annoyed man's, but despite her age, she looked young.
While Roghart had been like an exact clone of myself, the woman and I shared some similar features. The shape of our eyes, the tint of our skin and the curve of our upper lip was the same. Even her fingers seemed as nimble as mine.
She leered at my brothers, scolding them without words until our gazes met. Roghart's shock of seeing me was nothing compared to the expression I saw on the woman's face. Her cheeks went pale and tears welled in the corners of her eyes after only seconds of watching me. She touched her dried trembling lips and breathed so silently that I could barely detect it.
I knew she had to be my mother and from her reaction, I could presume that she recognized me, after at least ten years since my kidnapping. My greatest desire of not having been forgotten had been granted. Even though I had stayed alive for this moment, my body was still, having no clue of how to proceed. My arms wished to embrace the woman and my brothers, but they were pressed against my chest, the right hand squeezing the left one.
"Sweet Andraste," the woman muttered while crying. "You are her, aren't you? Not a dream, an illusion. Please tell me that you are real."
Her voice struck me like a knife, pulling me back to the reality and finally giving my body the instructions. I felt a tear rolling down my reddened cheek and my mouth opened to speak the words I had saved for all the past years. All the suffering I had endured had been for this situation. I groaned and was alarmed of my inability to talk, but it didn't stop me from trying again.
My mother closed the gap between up and she cried more with every step taken towards me. "I know I'm right," she said. "I would never forget my Reneka. Her father's nose and dark hair, the determination in those glimmering orbs." She reached to brush the hair that covered my ear. "It feels real. It has to be. You must be my Reneka."
Roghart gave me a little push on my back and it was all I had lacked to throw my arms around mother and hold her close. She hugged me so tightly that I felt her nails through my shirt and heard the racing heart in her chest. My name came from her lips all over again and I couldn't describe the sensation of being drowned in overwhelming joy and relief. Only now could I admit that I had returned home. Now I knew that the two warriors standing beside me were my blood brothers and as I fingered the gray hair of my mother, I remembered the names I had used to call my parents and siblings.
Roghart. Carver. Leandra. Malcolm. My mouth moved as I wordlessly pronounced them.
"Mom," I uttered as clearly as I ever could without a tongue.
Despite that I had sounded like a badger with a terrible flu, my short message made the woman in my embrace laugh and her tears kept falling on my shoulder.
"Welcome back, Reneka my dear," she sobbed and landed several kisses on my face. "Welcome home, my sweet girl."