Chapter Text
“This is all your fault, you know,” Bethany said angrily, trying to shuffle her pack so that its weight rested more equally on her shoulders. They were both covered in a light layer of snow, the landscape blindingly white around them. Not even the overcast sky seemed to be dimming the excess whiteness of it all.
“What?! Did you not see the way he was looking at you? I’m just supposed to look away and not say something when a guy eye-fu—”
“Carver, honestly!” she interrupted her brother’s angry response. She did not need to hear his overprotective rant again. “If you’re going to behave like that every time a guy looks at me funny, we might as well just go back to Kirkwall right now.”
“He was an asshole!”
“He was also the only one around that had a carriage! If the choice is between a guy looking at me funny instead of trudging through this frozen… muck, I’ll take the carriage! You and Mar can brag about the ‘Hawke temperament’ all you want, but it’s a pain in the ass when I’m always the one having to deal with the consequences!”
“Whatever!” he huffed, adjusting his own pack as he trudged on. Upwards. Always upwards. How high did this stupid castle need to be?
“Why is it so cold?!”
“Well, it is called the Frostback—”
“Ugh, just shut up!” Just like Mar, he always had to have an answer for everything. Was it really necessary to always say something?
“You shut up!” he grumbled.
“Whatever!” He had such an incessant need to always have the last word!
They ploughed along for a bit, both of them huffing in the cold air as the climb took them ever higher. Bethany didn’t know it could be possible to be this sweaty and freezing at the same time. They’d grown up with snow, the part of Ferelden their parents used to favour got its fair share in winter, but these mountains were something else. Kirkwall’s climate had been suiting her really well. She’d forgotten what it felt like to deal with being this cold.
And then her knight of a brother had to go and behave like some typical… hero! She didn’t need saving! Living in the Circle for ten years had taught her all the survival skills she needed. Not to mention being a mage in a city that was still rebuilding because one of her friends, one of her kind, had destroyed half of it. In the five years since Kirkwall had fallen apart, Bethany had made herself a target of both vengeful templars and fanatical mages by choosing to stay in the Circle, choosing to trust the new Knight-Commander at the time and to help rebuild the city.
Her siblings and her friends had all urged her to leave, to go with Isabela for a while until things settled down, but what good was being a Hawke if it didn’t come with an inborn streak of stubbornness? So, she stayed and helped those who allowed her to help, and slowly but surely, the few of them with honest intentions had managed to create a new way of living among themselves. The ones with dubious intentions were summarily dismissed by the new Knight-Commander, whose patience for secrecy and cruelty was nonexistent at that point. Ironically, turning the Kirkwall Circle into the only Circle in Thedas that existed as its original creators may have intended it in the first place.
But it had taken time. Time and resilience in a city that was wary of them all, lashing out at times to make sense of its own wounds. She had fought templars, mages, and rampaging prejudice during her time in the circle—before and after the explosion—and she had had to do it all by herself. She did not need saving.
Of course, Carver doesn’t know that, a treacherous part of her brain offered. She sighed. After a decade of living apart, they had a lot to relearn about each other. Relearn and learn. She supposed she could be a little more patient.
Carver chose that moment to sidestep some imaginary obstacle in his path, bumping right into her and throwing her off balance so that she had to give a couple of sidesteps, swinging madly with her arms to regain her footing. Ugh, forget it! He was just so annoying!
“You wretch!” she said with feeling. He rewarded her indignation by ignoring it. She swore she had the two most annoying siblings in the world! It was just like Mar to go and get lost on some fool adventure, and because her sister didn’t have the common sense of a fruit fly, Bethany was now stuck struggling through a mountain of snow with an absolute oaf by her side!
The Maker really had a sense of humour, saddling her with these two. Why is this mountain so bloody cold?! Miserably adjusting her scarf over her lower face, she followed in Carver’s wake now, staying clear of the hazard that was him, and using his footsteps to make the going a little easier. Mostly, she was trying to avoid any more of the high snow from soaking into her woollen pants where her leather boots ended above her ankles. One thing was for certain: she was going to kill Mar when they found her!
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Carver quite liked the snow, even with all Bethy’s complaining. It wasn’t just that it reminded him of their childhood in Ferelden, or that the open, frozen mountains offered a nice reprieve from his last mission in the stifling, enclosed deep roads; it was that it was quiet.
Even with all Bethy’s complaining.
The song had been… incessant. It had been kind of beautiful at first, seducing in its simplicity, until the endlessness, the unrelenting repetition, had become too overwhelming to bear. The hunger of it, the constant yearning, had consumed everything else. And he had felt the same need his fellow wardens did, the desperate urge to follow the calling to the west.
But he’d promised his sister that he’d go to Kirkwall when their mission was done. They’d been near the city, and it had seemed a harmless enough promise at the time, but none of them had known how loud the calling would become. When they had first entered the deep roads, it had been vague and far away, something the wardens to the west could deal with. By the time they had finished, they all been near frantic to start on the long journey to join their brothers and sisters in arms, to go closer to where it came from, to find out what it meant.
Only his promise to his twin, a promise so idly made at the time, had compelled him to go to Kirkwall first. He had never broken a promise to her, at least not the ones he had any control over. And after everything she had been through, he couldn’t deny her a quick reunion. Who knew when he would be back in the Free Marches again?
But though he was happy to see her, see them, part of him had deeply regretted the detour, regretted not getting on the first available ship with his team. And then just like that, it had stopped. The song was gone. Rumour eventually reached them, tales of the Inquisition and demons and Warden-Commander Clarel… Tales too fantastic to believe!
With the Wardens in chaos and no clear leadership left in the South, he had been told to stay put until someone could sort out the mess, and he had. He went to his empty family home, where he had never lived, and waited. Surely no warden had ever been granted such luxury before. Unable to sit idle for too long, he had helped to rebuild where he could, the last of the repairs in the city that had been waiting five years for their turn. He helped Merrill in the Alienage, finally getting some time to spend with her, helped Isabela to ready her ship for her voyage to Rivain, accompanied Bethy around the city when people reluctantly needed a mage’s skills, and waited.
And then the letter had come. Not the letter from the Wardens, telling him where he should report, but the letter from Mar, once again deciding his future for him. Because instead of following orders and waiting for word from his seniors, he was now on a rescue mission to once again save his impulsive sister from her own recklessness.
“I’m going to kill Mar when we find her,” Bethy groused behind him, as if she could hear his thoughts. There had been a time in their lives when he had believed she could. The years apart sometimes felt like a monstrous cavern between them. And now she was angry at him because he wouldn’t let some fool leer at her. What kind of brother would that make him, just ignoring that?
He was saved from responding when a warrior suddenly appeared on the road in front of them. He was armed with a great broadsword and a very earnest smile. The combination took Carver aback a bit. His hands were itching to reach for his own sword, but he wasn’t that green to escalate a situation that could possibly be avoided. The man was dressed in a decent set of armour, proudly displaying the Inquisition’s symbol, and didn’t appear to be a bandit. Somehow, with bandits, it was easy to tell.
“Good day, folks!” he greeted them enthusiastically, as they came to a stop a couple of steps away from him. “No need to be alarmed, my name is Sutherland, and I am with the Inquisition,” he added unnecessarily, pride of the fact radiating off him in waves. “I assume you’re on your way to Skyhold? Not much else out here. I won’t get in your way! Just thought I should stop and tell you that darkspawn have been spotted in the area. We’ll take care of them, don’t you worry, but best stick to the main road just to be safe. If you see anything, don’t try and fight ‘em, quite vicious they are, just leave it to us professionals.”
Carver frowned. He hadn’t heard of darkspawn in this area before… What would they be doing here? He could hear Bethy sigh behind him, knowing that their journey through the snow was to be extended once again. You didn’t need to be able to read any warden’s mind to know what their first priority would be.
“Which way?” he asked Sutherland.
“To the east of here, but, like I said, the road from here should be—” Carver didn’t wait to hear more, but stoically started off in the direction Sutherland had indicated. He wasn’t able to sense them yet, but no doubt he would pick up their taint soon enough.
“Sir! Wait, no, you’re going the wrong way, don’t go that way! Stop! No… Voth! Do something!” the young warrior panicked behind them.
“Don’t worry,” he heard Bethy start to explain behind him. “He’s a—”
Carver had no intention to stop, even as a Dalish elf dressed in Inquisition robes stepped in front of him. The elf lifted his hands almost lazily, looking far too unconcerned for someone who didn’t have a weapon.
“Carver…” Bethy warned behind him. He kept going. This was no time for coddling the inept.
“Would you listen to me, just once! He’s weaving a spell!” she shouted angrily, just as sparks started to crawl over the elf’s hands. He still hasn’t said anything, but he didn’t need to, the message was clear.
Bethy passed him as she was addressing the mage now, a harshness to her voice he didn’t quite recognise. “You would flaunt your magic like that? Not knowing who we are, or what we’re capable of?”
“Uhm…” Sutherland floundered behind them, “Voth doesn’t really talk, but we do need to ask you to turn around now.”
Bethy either didn’t hear or didn’t care. She was advancing on the elf, a murderous look in her usually kind eyes. Most people assumed Bethy to be meek in nature, usually because either he or Mar was quicker to let the Hawke temperament show, always leaving her the role of mediator by default. But as her twin, Carver intimately knew better.
“You know where I’m from, apostate?” she almost spat at Voth, “Kirkwall. And if there’s one thing that Kirkwall teaches you, it’s how to defend yourself against foolish mages!”
Carver had no idea what she did, but the next instant, Voth was doubled over, arms clasped around his stomach, gasping for breath as an unhealthy pallor invaded his face.
“Voth!” Sutherland cried, alarmed, “What’s wrong?”
“She… she… smote me,” Voth gasped, a look of pure horror on his face.
“You can do that?” Carver asked her, amazed, remembering how she and Mar used to hate and fear the templars for doing exactly that.
Before she could answer, another voice joined the party, belonging to a person neither of them had heard. Turning carefully around, he saw an archer standing behind them, arrow pulled back and aimed right at Bethy. Next to her was a female dwarf, her knees bent slightly as if she was ready to run. How did he not hear them?! Damn rogues…
“Don’t make another move, Templar,” the archer said passionately. “Unless you want to test if your blade is faster than m—”
The bow flew out of her hands to tangle in the trees above her, the arrow dropping meekly at her feet.
“I don’t need a damn blade, since I’m not a damn templar!” Bethy rounded back to the mage, who had managed to stand up a bit more, his face still alarmingly white. “Never threaten me with magic again! And don’t show your cards so openly, do you even know how many rogue mages and templars are still about? Not to mention the Red Templars! Now,” she swung to Sutherland, “he is a Grey Warden, and far more likely than you to succeed in this mission. So, you don’t get in the way, and you stop being so dramatic,” she was facing Voth again. “It was only a little smite. Let’s go,” she told Carver, ignoring all of them and setting off east.
Smirking at the rest, he followed behind her. He’d give her a few steps to enjoy her indignation before steering her in the direction he could now sense the darkspawn.
Hawke temperament indeed…
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“She did what?” the Commander asked, staring at him as if he had just sprouted four extra eyes.
Sutherland swallowed. “She… uh… smote him, Commander,” he said, awkwardly shuffling his feet.
“And you said she’s a mage?” He didn’t blame the Commander for being confused by that part. He found it quite confusing himself! Poor Voth was still shaking a little, but at least he said he could feel his magic coming back. He had never heard the elf speak so much as he had today. It was uncanny.
But all of that paled in comparison to what the Warden had done. He wanted to tell the Commander about the Warden now. “Yes. But the Warden—”
“Did she give you a name? What does she look like?”
“She… what?” Sutherland asked, confused by the misplaced question.
The Commander sighed. And waited. Patiently. More patiently than he usually did. It was probably best not to test this new development too much.
“She has black hair, and brown eyes and…” he could feel himself starting to blush. You’re a professional, man, keep it together!
“And?”
“Begging your pardon, Ser, but she’s…” Maker, he’d probably get in trouble for this! He swallowed again. “She’s real pretty, Ser. And the Warden—”
“The Warden’s pretty?”
Okay, now he was just confusing him. He wanted to tell him about the fighting! The Commander was a military man, this should interest him, surely? “No, Ser, I mean yes, Ser, but the way he fought…” he quickly added, getting an almost enamoured look in his eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before, begging your pardon, Ser, but he just… he just… he cut through them like it was nothing! Like, almost all of them! Shayd got one with an arrow, and then I hacked its head off, but Voth still didn’t have his magic back, and by then it was all over! He was so fast!”
“And the woman?”
“Hmm?” Sutherland had heard about the Grey Wardens’ prowess in battle, of course. He couldn’t be at Adamant himself, since he and his team had been charged with keeping Skyhold clear from bandits while the main bulk of the forces was away, but everyone had said how tough it had been to fight the wardens, who each fought like they were a unit unto themselves. But to actually see it… He wondered if the Grey Wardens were recruiting at the moment.
“Was the mage fighting as well, soldier?”
“Oh! Yes, Ser, I think she got some of them, too. Say, Ser, do you think the Grey Wardens are recruiting at the moment?”
The Commander sighed as he started to scribble two notes, folding them in half before he gave them to him.
“Why don’t we just finish the Inquisition’s mission first, Sutherland? We’d be very sorry to lose you and your company, even for a noble cause such as the Wardens.”
Sutherland felt his chest swell with pride. The Commander didn’t want to lose them? Of course, they’d stay! The Inquisition always came first!
“Could you please deliver this for me on your way out? The first one is to Master Tethras, and the second to Ambassador Montilyet.”
“Of course, Commander!” Sutherland said, still elated by the compliment.
He found the dwarf at his usual spot and proudly handed over the note before he made towards the Ambassador’s office.
“Hang on there, Happy, is this a joke?” The dwarf’s shocked voice halted him in his tracks. He quite liked the writer. He always had fun stories to tell and an encouraging word for him and his company. He’s seen Varric Tethras happy, worried, dramatic, and even drunk, but he’s never before seen him taken by surprise.
“Uhm… No, sir? The Commander sent me straight to you, and I have another for the Ambassador as well…”
“But… what does he mean by: ‘The other Hawkes are coming?’”