fadewalk | Hawke - Open to All

Waking up in unfamiliar territory was a new experience for Hawke, and the first thing he noticed about it was the fact that he wasn't brought back to consciousness by the tongue of an over-enthused dog. As if that should be a priority, he thought ruefully, even as he rolled to the side and ducked behind a pile of stacked stone bricks so he could get a look at the area without being seen. It was jarring to be suddenly relocated, almost like a dream; he'd only just seated himself down in that delightfully cushy chair by the fire in his mansion for a nap, waiting for Isabella to stop by with details for a job she'd mentioned at the Hanged Man the night before. Fully equipped, thank the Maker, which meant he had everything he might need for an escape on hand.

Actually, that was the strangest part about all of this. Why would anyone abduct him only to leave him armed and unguarded in some decrepit old castle? These are either the worst captors in history, or I've been dumped here to kill a dragon for someone.

To be fair, with his reputation (and luck), that was entirely possible.

A series of footsteps at his back makes him twist, dagger half-drawn, but he halts when he comes face to face with a tired and bewildered traveler climbing the hill towards the castle. Footprints in the snow, Hawke noticed, indicate that he'd gone wandering and had come right back. And when he gazed beyond the stranger, he realized why: outside was a vast, dark, nightmarish abyss. Eerily familiar and yet completely alien at the same time.

Frowning, he slid his dagger back into its scabbard and cautiously stood, stepping out into the courtyard. It seemed that this was no simple abduction.

Time to explore- and ask as many questions as he can come up with.

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Ever since he, Shepard and James had found their way into the castle, Carver had been poking around. Well, he'd call it patrolling, or maybe scouting, but really? Mostly just poking. He hadn't managed to stumble across anyone else in the whole blasted place. It looked like he really was well and stranded.

And then he spotted someone stepping out of the shadows, just out of the corner of his eye. Carver swallowed a curse and reached for his sword, one hand closing over the grip before he recognized the figure.

He let out a breath. "Oh," he said. "Of course."

Hawke hadn't really given the man who'd found him a second glance, at first. He'd looked familiar, certainly, but in that painful, achy, reminds-me-of-Carver way that he felt on occasion. Passing by abrasive young men in Kirkwall who happened to have dark hair in the same style, or catching himself saying something his brother used to say, or even when he thought of Bethany, because it was hard to think of one without the other. Thinking about Carver meant thinking about the second mistake he'd made that had cost him his family, and it meant remembering that he was the last living Hawke in the world as far as he knew. It hurt too much.

But then he heard the voice, and that merited a second look. Years later and he'd still recognize his brother's voice anywhere. It made no sense, though. Carver was dead. He'd seen it with his own eyes. So how in the Maker's name was he standing face to face with a doppleganger wearing a Warden uniform?

"Of course," he said. Like he'd been expecting me. With a deep breath he shifted into a more guarded stance, reaching back for easy access to his staff if he needed it. "You're a foolish demon to be wearing the face of the dead."

"Oh come off it," Carver said, waving away his brother's caution with an annoyed noise he didn't really feel. He let go of his sword-hilt and came stomping over, scowling--and very, very glad to see Hawke despite his protestations. It had been a long time. "This is all your doing, right? It always is."

He reached for him.

In a flash of movement his staff was loose and stretched in front of Hawke, pointedly between his own body and the demon wearing Carver's face. The imitation was uncanny, and it was a struggle to not let the words sting. Most demons say whatever they have to in order to trick their targets- pretty lies and simple bargains, the promise of granted wishes, power, whatever was most likely to work. This one actually seemed to be going for accuracy. Phrasing, attitude, all of it. Demons really were the worst.

"Not a step closer," he warned, conjured sparks lancing over the polished surface of his staff to give additional weight to his words. "I'll not be tricked. Tell me where I am, and perhaps I'll let you leave here alive."

The aggrieved noise Carver made had been perfected over a lifetime. "Are we really going to-- Fine. Fine, have it your way." He lifted both hands, expression sour. "We're in the Fade, probably. Maybe. I don't know, aren't you supposed to be the 'powerful' mage?"

Probably. Maybe. It wasn't exactly reassuring. Was that uncertainty feigned or real? Hawke honestly couldn't tell. He hesitated, his stance no less guarded, but he let the magic fade away for the moment.

"It doesn't... feel like the true Fade. Not really." There was something off about it, an uncomfortable... realness that didn't exist in his dreams. It looked real enough, but it wasn't what he was used to. "But if I had the power to conjure myself up a castle and summon the dead, I'd likely have gone mad from it years ago. That's how it works, isn't it?"

"Well, you never did have a very good imagination, Brother," Carver said.

The words make him hiss angrily, teeth clenched, and his staff is up again. He only possessed so much patience for a cruel joke, and he's reached his limit for this one. Only Carver and Bethy called him that, and only they will ever be allowed.

"Enough. Carver is dead. Lose his form at once or die where you stand."

Carver sputtered and took a step back. "Are you serious?" he demanded. He didn't even reach for his sword. As much as he gave his brother hell, he loved him far, far too fiercely to even defend himself against him. "I'm not a bloody demon! Do you want me to prove it? I can bloody prove it. What kind of facts do you need? Do you want me to talk about Peaches, because I will talk about Peaches if that's what it takes to get it through your Maker-taken thick skull that--"

He threw up his arms. "I am not dead! I wrote you! Multiple times! I told you about Nate and the Keep and all the rest. I even said I was sorry, you giant ponce! I thought we were past this, but no, here you are, being a bloody drama queen! AS USUAL!"

The last was shouted loud enough to echo through the courtyard.

Wait.

Wait. What?

Hawke's eyes widened, and he was so stunned that he took a step backwards, silent as the information sunk in. Not dead. Impossible. He'd held his brother's body, he'd been the one to take his life before the Blight did, at Carver's own request. He would never forget that, for as long as he lived- the blood on his hands, his brother's last breath, the sound of their mother sobbing in his arms when she heard the news that another child was gone forever.

But... it's just like him. No demon could possibly be this good, could it? No demon could know just what to say to make him blush like a little boy or rile up like a cat with a squashed tail. The thought of striking the other man down, he knew, was totally out of the question now. Demon or not, it was too close to the real thing for him to ever do that. Never again.

Too late he realized his hand was shaking, and after a moment of struggling indecision, he finally let the staff drop to his side, swallowing hard. "I'm not lying to you, Carver, and I'm not joking. Not this time." Not about this. "I watched you die, in the Deep Roads. It was my-- ...the Blight. You were poisoned. We had no way to save you. How is this possible?"

Carver gaped right back for a solid minute before growling and rubbing at his face. "I hate the Fade," he muttered. "It's so bloody confusing. All right--we were in the Deep Roads together, yes. I got the blight. But Anders said he knew where Wardens might be. Wardens who, it turned out, could usher me through the Joining. The Joining cured the blight...sort of...and I had to hoe of with them. I'm a Warden now; I survived. But you're saying that you remember me dying that day?"

A Warden. Carver, a Warden. The thought was so surreal, even seeing it right in front of him - the emblem on his armor and everything, something he'd noticed but not questioned before, when he'd thought it was a demon.

"Anders... didn't come with us. He said he hated the Deep Roads, I didn't want to force it on him." He felt shaken on his feet, and he locked his knees to keep from dropping. It was like the ground itself had been yanked up from under him. "We... could've saved you?"

Sweet Andraste, but he was a fool. How could he have been so reckless, to not take a healer with them? Hell, even to take Carver, after their mother had begged him not to? He'd trusted himself to protect his brother, needed Carver with him to watch his back - for all their fighting, Carver had been doing it his whole life, and there was no one more qualified. How much heartbreak could they all have been spared if he'd made a different choice that day?

"All right, come on," Carver said, immediately going to his brother's side. He slid one of Hawke's arms over his shoulder and took his weight. His voice sounded gruff, but his expression was warm. Gentle. "You great girl's blouse, let's get you sitting down, okay?"

The insult wasn't lost on Hawke, but he paid it no mind. With Carver in such close proximity, the reality of their situation truly hit home- that it was Carver, that he had somehow survived in some grand reality much better than his own. And he was older now, gentler, hardened by the life he must have led but evidently less angry about, well, everything. Being a Warden must truly have done him some good.

He should sit, as Carver suggested. But with his brother so close now, and alive, all Hawke can think to do is wrap his arms around the other man, hugging him as tightly as he can get away with. He'll be a great girl's blouse if that was what Carver wanted to believe. But to hell with it, he had to hug his goddamn brother then and there, before the dream or whatever this was ended.

Hawke - Open to All

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