Chapter Text
To understand why all this happened, you need to know more about Mother. I never blamed her, not really. She had been a great mom. Maybe a little high-strung, a little nervous, a little overprotective. But wouldn't you be in her case? She'd eloped with an apostate and spent her years running around Ferelden, trying to stay one step ahead of the templars, trying to keep her babies safe. It only got worse after my father died. But still, I don't blame her. She was just trying to raise us. To make sure we grew up to be good people.
When I was twelve and the twins were nearly six, she walked in on us playing some card game that we all thought would be funnier if we bet clothing. We were kids, it wasn't meant to be anything. And I'd grown up with them, shared baths with them, we even slept in the same bed together due to lack of space. Carver and Bethany? Nearly inseparable. And they looked up to me, their big brother. Which is why I was to blame that day.
So you see, it's my fault this all happened. I should have known better.
She hit me. Hard. I remember I bled all over my smallclothes and she made me clean them. Carver and Bethany didn't know what to say and I didn't know what to say in return. Mother told them I'd been bad, and they accepted it. Bethany offered sympathy, but Carver was determined to be the good son. So he turned on me. Not that I blame him. Mother encouraged him to go out, to make friends. She caught him with Peaches behind our shed and gave him candy, praising him for finding a girlfriend.
When she found Bethany kissing the farmer's boy though, I was punished. I should've kept Bethany safe. I should've beaten up the farmer's boy for touching my little sister. If Bethany got pregnant or turned into the templars, it would be on my head. So I kept my eye on her. She didn't blame me, at least, I don't think she did. Bethany… how I miss her. How she used to stroke my hair after one of mother's punishments, how she'd try to discreetly heal my wounds with magic after.
I'm sorry. I'm getting off track.
We were drafted into Cailan's army, my brother and I. He learned how to use a sword and I was a master of the twin blades. I was fast. I knew how to pick locks, how to pickpocket. The rogue's life seemed natural in a family like mine. Carver, blundering and over-muscled. Bethany, so sweet and unassuming, hiding her magic. And me. After my father died, I had to provide for the family, so I learned how to steal. Who knew those were army-transferrable traits.
I met Michel there. An Orlesian transfer from Jader. It was just close enough to the Ferelden border that no one really batted an eye. And Cailan approved the vanguard that Orlais sent. Michel had gorgeous light blue eyes and sandy brown hair. They didn't even make him shave it. And oh, his accent, how it sounded when he whispered my name. He was an archer, a fine Antivan bow gifted to him by his mother. My own mother had never given me a gift. Oh, she gave to Carver and Bethany sure. Carver was her baby boy and Bethany was someone she was trying to mold into a good little housewife. Me? What was I?
Michel was drawn to me as I to him. I'd always had toned muscles, but a slight frame. I was tall and somewhat gangly. A good build for a rogue, able to slip into the smaller spaces. Like the small alley between two of the barracks buildings. He was my first kiss, my first everything. Carver caught us. Out of anyone, oh, it had to be Carver. It couldn't have been the Knight-Captain with her sharp eagle eyes or my direct commander – a bit bumbling but so good-natured.
Michel died on the field, I remember. He was with Cailan, died with our king. Me? I was a deserter. And Carver too. The darkspawn were coming and we couldn't wait any longer. We had to save Mother and Bethany. Carver died, but not before telling her my secret. I'd had a choice later that day to save my brother or my sister. Would I change it, given the chance? It doesn't really matter, I suppose. No matter what I did, Mother never would have approved.
I was lucky that she never mentioned Michel except in passing, told me that I'd better get it out of my head that I was going to do anything but marry a woman and give her grandchildren. Under no circumstances would she ever approve of my being with another man. I would produce an heir for the Hawke-Amell line. She would make it happen. She was determined.
So we went to Kirkwall.
And that… that's where things really started to go wrong.