@kinlochs sent
“You want my past? Fine. Which one do you want—the one that ruined me, or the one where I ruined everyone else?”
Everyone from Ferelden knows the tale: a circle mage turned Grey Warden who somehow managed to pull together the dregs of a dying order and stop the fifth blight. The feats aren’t just known, they’re revered, and even travelled across the sea to the free city of Kirkwall. Amongst the hostility of living as an immigrant in the free marches, the news had been a comfort, but something else struck Hawke about it all, something that had always sent a chill down her spine.
Once, when they were a little younger, Bethany had whispered something that made Valeria’s bones chill, something about the lives they might’ve led if the templars had taken them. Mother, father, Carver and possibly even each other… they’d just be names in a file somewhere, people not known, and not family in all the ways that actually matter. The Hawke sisters were blessed in many ways – blessed to know each other and with a father who taught them well. And they’d always feared the fate that might await them in any sort of Circle.
But it’s another thing entirely to see evidence of it. An Amell… the funny thing is, she’d always associated magic with the Hawke name, a branch limited to only her father. But an Amell?
Ferelden’s hero haunted her during those Kirkwall years. She wondered what his life might’ve been, what hers would’ve been with a little less fortune, where in the family tree he even sat. On one occasion, she’d even asked Anders about him, so curious as to whether they’d known each other.
But their paths had only crossed recently. Skyhold is a great deal of things, but it has a strange way of bringing people together.
She isn’t an advisor, or the leader of any army. In fact, it’s rare to see the supposed Champion of Kirkwall around the Inquisition’s base of operations at all. Word has spread, of course, particularly amongst the Free Marchers, but a small number of people can claim to have actually spoken to her in all this time.
The Warden, however… is another story. She is investigating their order, after all. Enough to warrant private conversations about what to do next, amongst other things. It’s hardly a family reunion, but the topic isn’t particularly relevant.
“You want my past? Fine. Which one do you want—the one that ruined me, or the one where I ruined everyone else?”
Is it wrong that she laughs? It’s not a cruel thing, nothing spiteful in it at all, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. Something in her recognises those words, like they ring true in a way she’s not eager to admit. It’s accompanied with a sad sort of smile crafted to conceal most of however she’s feeling.
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
At least, they are for her. But, just to prove how serious she is in her request to hear something – anything – of his past, she takes the seat opposite him, palms pressed down on the table as bracing herself for a game of wicked grace.
