( ARRY. ) 

oh, she wasn’t expecting that. she wasn’t expecting that reaction at all. had she really stepped to far this time?  made him that ANGRY? she thought he was just a bit STRESSED, in DESPERATE need of a way to relax. but now she knows it wasn’t just stress, there’s something more in it all. is it worry? is he truly that worried for her?

she guesses she puts too much credit in herself; in the both of them really. she hadn’t ever considered there being a problem in the harrowing. they’re smart enough, they’re capable enough. what was there to worry for?

be more empathetic, she reminds herself. he has every right to be this worried! they’re the only family they have at this moment. of course he would be this PARANOID. she has to apologize.

❝ garlan, wait. ❞ she says rushing after him, grabbing his arm when she got near. ❝ i’m sorry for not taking you seriously. i want to listen to what you have to say. ❞ she gives his a quick hug at that, trying to emphasize her next words. ❝ i love you & i appreciate the amount of effort you put into this. ❞

He’s amenable to talking -- more so than he initially thought. The mage turns, scrolls falling from his arms, his mouth pulled tightly into a frown. ❝ This is serious! This is truly a matter of life and death for all of us. Being smart or -- or brave, that won’t save you in the Fade. If you falter, even for a moment, you die. ❞ Garlan leans down to pick the scroll up that he dropped, allowing himself to be hugged before wiggling himself out from her grip. Reluctantly coming back to the table and dropping all of his materials. ❝ The Templars don’t care about us. They have a job to do: to keep us from becoming abominations and lingering in the Fade for too long, well... they’ll kill you too. ❞

also garrett: named his first son after garlan 

“ i need you, i’ve said it.” -hawke / @magicalled​​

❝ No you don’t, Garrett. ❞ He went to such lengths to avoid Garrett in Skyhold --- it would only be a matter of when the elder Hawke found out. Garlan counted: about a week and a couple of days. Dread followed him around while confined to the castle, looking around every corner, down every hall, all to avoid an awkward reunion. 

( BROTHER. )

“If I didn’t join the Wardens, I would have been dead.” The statement held no ice or malice, it was simply a matter of fact. “I didn’t run off and join them, it wasn’t some attempt at starting a new life on my own. It wasn’t a choice. It was accept the help of the Grey Wardens or die right there, down in the Deep Roads.”

Carver remembered the stories, vague as they were, from childhood. He thought it was some grand purpose some individuals had. Some noble cause or other. But it wasn’t. Most of his brothers and sisters in the Wardens, all but a very few, joined because they had no other choice. Yes, a few joined because they were offered, and it was a just and noble cause, to defend Thedas. But most didn’t; they joined because they’d already been Blighted, like Carver, or they were waiting the hangman’s noose.

“I went to the Deep Roads to try and make life safer for you, and Garrett, and for Mother. I didn’t get to come back. But you left willingly. You left Mother alone, with only Gamlen to take care of her. Gamlen!” Carver focused on what surely was the bigger offense, leaving Mother behind.

He couldn’t focus on what actually hurt, his mother’s tearful letter telling him that Garlan had gone, and she didn’t know if she would see him again. That his own letter to Garlan, written only a day after he’d survived his Joining, would remain sealed and waiting for him, if he ever returned. That they’d sacrificed so much, only for it all to have gone to shit.

He couldn’t focus on that, because if he allowed tears now, they wouldn’t stop, and damned if he was going to let Garlan win with them.

Garlan’s head tilts, jaw tight, teeth clenched behind closed lips. He isn’t sure what to make of that -- choosing death in the Deep Roads, or pledging ones forfeited life to a cause. He frowns. In Tevinter, Garlan scarcely gave his family a thought: he didn’t think about Garrett or their mother, or Carver. Selfish of him? Possibly so. The only thing that mattered was finding life after the slow death of being drowned by his family. Another reason for Carver to hate him.

❝ Yet you found purpose, didn’t you? Regardless of how it happened, you have a life. What more could there be for you here? I fail to see it. ❞ His eyes narrow -- Carver, the Grey Warden -- a member of a fraternity that only its members truly knew about. A purpose. The very thing he always wanted -- to step out from the cold void of Garrett’s shadow. ❝ I found purpose, too, Carver. In Tevinter, where instead of having my magic stifled and smothered, I learned how to use this power that I’ve always had. And now I can finally use it, the way I want to. ❞

There was strength to be had in reclaiming oneself, as Garlan realised, uncomfortably held in a stone cubby, in a cove that met the ocean. He became strong -- replacing the whole of him that had no place within the world he had built for himself. The mage blinks, relaxing the grinding of his teeth, yet his hands still flex at his sides, the numbness settling in his fingers. ❝ Mother is an adult -- we are her children. She should be protecting us! ❞ He rages, sharply inhaling through his nose, but he dare not take another step towards his younger brother. ❝ She is just as culpable for the death of this family! Clinging to a way of life that Malcolm forced us to live, because he -- they -- were selfish!  I refuse to run; no more. ❞

Pain lays on him thickly -- there isn’t a part of him that the mage is acutely conscious of that doesn’t ache. His fault, perhaps. Templars were quick to recognise him as a mage, and while he made an earnest effort to escape... that only went about as well as a mage facing down a pack of templars could go. He opened his arms with a knife, and corrupting a few of them from within was easy enough until... all the magic drained from him, instantly.

So there Garlan stood, profusely bleeding, magicless and with angry templars bearing down on him with swords. He didn’t remember much of what happened after that. Vaguely, he recalls sliding his way across the ground, being run through with a sword...? Yes, definitely, his side was killing him. He groans to himself, somewhat aware that he’s looking at a ceiling, and instinct forces him to sit up despite his body telling him otherwise.

❝ Templar! ❞ He chokes out, directing his immediate attention to the man that he can see, ❝ Wh -- where are we? ❞

❝ You know I just… I wanted you to have it. ❞ He leans over the table once more, trembling fingers barely brushing against the metal charm – flat and thin, with a basic design carved into its face – to push it closer towards its recipient. ❝ …That’s all. ❞