Coming Home

Title: Coming Home

Series: Dragon Age

Characters: F!Hawke, Carver Hawke, OC: Angus, OC: Ser Marin, OC: Mathis Hawke

Words: 2,476

Summary: Follows Forging Anew. After volunteering to aid Sebastian in retaking a floundering Starkhaven in the place of his sister, Carver returns to Kirkwall after five years.

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Carver was fairly sure that the person he was twelve years ago wouldn’t have looked fondly on the City of Chains as it loomed in the distance. It was as menacing from within the Free Marches as it had been from the Waking Sea yet it was…

After seven years it was home. More home than any place had ever been for a Hawke.

“Ser?” questioned one of the initiates who’d come with him from the Kirkwall years before (and the only one who’d survived). “Should we camp for the night?”

Part of Carver wanted to agree, to lay down camp after their long trip through the Vimmark Mountains and have a rest for themselves as well as the horses. Another refused outright and he found himself agreeing with that part.

He’d expected only to be gone a year at the most when he’d offered his service in place of his sister. When Sebastian had come running to ask for help with that letter in his hand from Starkhaven that said the city was falling apart, Treva had nearly gone herself. Even only a week – a week – since she’d both killed her lover and discovered she was carrying his child, she had been willing to ride off into more trouble.

The Knight-Captain – Commander, he corrected mentally, even though by now the point was moot as the Chantry had all but collapsed – had been the first to step in her way. He had said something about her not having to make him chase her that had made every eyebrow rise in the room. Then he had stepped closer and hissed something none of them heard (but Carver could take a guess at) that had her hands folding over her belly as she sank into a chair. Sebastian had asked if she was sick then and the Commander had sternly explained about the child, causing the Starkhaven Prince to go pale.

Carver had stepped up then, saying that if he wanted a Hawke with him he’d have one. Treva had started to open her mouth, blue eyes glittering with a firm no, you can’t, and then she had seemed to remember that he wasn’t a snotty eighteen year-old anymore. Sebastian had agreed then the Commander had dragged him aside to say he could take five of the Order with him who didn’t rely on lyrium and that had been that. Four years of fighting later they’d put Sebastian back on the Starkhaven throne and when things had finally settled after a year he told the Prince he was going home. Sebastian had tried to argue him into staying but Carver only wanted two things.

He wanted to be home.

And he wanted to see his family.

“We ride on,” he finally answered. “I’d rather sleep in familiar walls tonight rather than on the damn ground, Angus.” Carver grinned over his shoulder at the only other full templar who’d been able to come with him. “Don’t you agree, Marin?”

“A familiar roof would be fantastic,” agreed the other templar as he dragged a gauntleted hand over sweat-stained red hair. Marin then narrowed his eyes at the distance between them and the city before saying, “I think we would make it before dark if we pushed the horses.”

Carver’s horse snorted, shaking his reins, and he leaned forward to pat the big gelding’s shoulder. “You think so too, do you?” he asked with a grin. Then he looked at the men on either side of him and said, “Let’s go.”

They made it to the city gate as full dark was falling and Carver lifted one hand as a Guard called out, “Identify yourself!” from above them.

“Ser Carver Hawke,” he answered, adding his surname just in case his sister’s plans with the templars had fallen through. They hadn’t heard anything out of Kirkwall to suggest it had but the city had been unnaturally quiet for the past five years. Better to not take chances.

“The Champion’s brother!” exclaimed the Guard in an excited voice. “Maker preserve! Oric, bring a torch! Thom, Bargan, get this gate open!” Carver tilted his head back and saw the shadow above them that had to be the man, who shouted down, “Just give us a minute, messere, the damn gate sticks a bit.”

Marin leaned forward as they waited and said, “Sounds like they haven’t opened the gate much.”

Carver just nodded in response as he could guess why. Treva and the Commander had let him in on their plans to change the Gallows and even talking about it probably hadn’t enamored them with anyone. And given that his sister’s name still held respect, he could guess that they’d succeeded.

Just as well that the two initiates who’d died in Starkhaven had been firm supporters of Meredith’s methods.

As one wing of the gate opened, Carver nudged his horse forward. There were several Guards inside holding torches to light the dark area and he nodded to them before asking, “Is there still a stable here at the gates?” One Guardsman pointed him in the proper direction and he called out his thanks as he led his fellow templars away from the gate. A few moments later their horses were in the care of a pair of sleepy-eyed stable boys and he’d informed the man in charge of them that he could tell the Guard Captain that they were gift from the templars.

It wasn’t like he would have a use for a horse again. He didn’t intend on leaving Kirkwall a second time and the Guards were likelier to have a use for them.

On their walk to the Gallows, Marin suddenly grabbed his arm and hissed, “Carver! Isn’t that Francine?”

Carver turned his head and blinked at the sight of the familiar mage. He watched as she leaned down, hugging a young boy as an older couple looked on, and vaguely remembered that she was a native Marcher. Her family had lived in Kirkwall for generations and she’d been the first mage among them, dragged into the Circle as a child.

“She did it,” he breathed, ignoring Angus’ horrified expression and Marin’s suddenly furrowed eyebrows. “By Andraste, she did it.”

“Ser,” said Angus nervously, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, “shouldn’t we –“

Carver held up a hand, his eyes never straying from the mage and her family. The boy had to be a younger brother or a nephew as the templars would have known if Francine had had a child. “We’ve been gone for five years,” he reminded his brothers sternly. “Things have obviously changed in Kirkwall.” For the better, he added to himself as he’d always been uncomfortable with the treatment of mages. Half the reason he’d joined the Order was to try and help keep his sister out of the trouble she always seemed to find.

Not that that had helped.

Marin scowled for a moment then said, “We should make sure she goes back to the Gallows.”

“No,” growled Carver and grabbed the other man’s shoulder. “Five years, Marin. We need to see the Commander before we go doing something that might just damage the integrity of the city.” He could see that Marin didn’t like the idea but after a moment the man’s shoulders slumped and he nodded in agreement. They had both been there when Meredith had gone mad and before during the Qunari uprising and neither wanted to see the city fall into something like that again if it had finally found peace.

Crisis averted, they continued on their way and as they stepped into the Gallows courtyard, Carver blinked as he saw children – children – playing there under the watch of two templars and a mage. Marin and Angus came to a similar grinding halt behind him and the initiate gasped, “Children? Here?”

“Children,” came a strikingly familiar voice from behind them, “lighten the mood everywhere.” Carver spun and found Treva standing there, her dark hair longer and held back in a low tie like Mother had worn hers and her blue eyes dancing with warmth. He had a brief disgruntled moment where he noticed she was still wearing that damned black coat then he pushed it aside to move forward and drag her into a hug. She laughed and returned the embrace as she said, “I’ve missed you too, little brother.”

After a moment he pulled away and asked, “What have you been doing while we were gone?”

“Many things,” she answered. Glancing towards Marin and Angus, she said, “I’m sure Cullen will fill you in on everything that’s changed in the morning. Right now I should think all three of you would like to just get out of your armor and rest.”

“The Commander can’t speak to us now?” asked Marin.

Treva turned her gaze fully towards him and Carver blinked as he saw the same protective look on her face that always came up when she was defending him or one of her friends. Things really had changed if she was getting that protective over a templar. “His door is open if you wish to go to him now, Ser. At this hour he’ll still be in his office going over the last of today’s paperwork.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she added sharply, “I would suggest, however, that you take the rest of tonight for rest. There have been many changes in Kirkwall since you left and they are not all as simple as the presence of children in the Gallows.”

Carver thought of his possible niece or nephew then and said just as sharply, “Marin, Angus, I think we can wait until the morning.” Looking at the both of them, he continued. “Don’t make me turn that into an order. Go. Rest. We traveled hard to get here for this so let’s not waste it.”

Marin glared and Angus looked anxiously between the two of them but both templars finally left. Carver breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of range then flicked his eyes over to the children. Treva seemed to notice and leaned towards him, a smile twisting her lips.

“The blond boy,” she said softly, nodding towards a small boy who was chasing a brunette girl. “His name is Mathis.”

“Mathis,” he repeated. Then he frowned and said, “That’s not Fereldan. Or Marcher.”

Treva nodded slightly. “It’s Anders.” At his look of confusion, she continued, “Quite literally. You knew Anders was never his real name, right? He was called that in the Circle because he refused to tell anyone his name after the templars took him.”

Carver nodded slightly, his eyes following the boy as he tagged the girl’s elbow and laughed as she turned to chase him. “How exactly did they know he was from the Anderfels then?” he asked.

“Accent,” answered his sister with a shrug. Then she smiled sadly and said, “He wouldn’t even let me call him by his real name when we were alone. Said he’d been Anders for too long but that he appreciated the sentiment.”

They stood together in silence for a moment, just watching the children at their game, until he said softly, “You wanted to give him something of his father.” Carver moved closer and wrapped his arm around his sister, feeling her shoulders tense then relax even through his armor. “I understand. And Maker I’m sorry I haven’t been here. We –“

“Shh,” she interrupted swiftly. “I can wait and hear it all tomorrow when you talk to Cullen. No doubt he’ll ask for my help to explain everything.” Her arm wrapped around his waist and she leaned her head against his armor. “You’re back. That’s all that matters to me, little brother.”

He smiled at that then jerked his head back towards the children as a small voice called out, “Mama!” and he realized the boy was racing towards them. Treva stepped out from under his arm and swept him up, laughing as she spun before hugging him close.

“Have you been good while I’ve been gone?” she asked and Carver found himself seeing their mother in her right then, memories of when she had held them that same way clawing up from the depths of his brain.

“Yes!” exclaimed the boy as he wound tiny arms around her neck. Carver could see him now from this close and he didn’t know what he’d expected to see. A mini-Anders’? No, at five years old the boy wasn’t showing any particular facial features from either of his parents. All there was the moment was the blond hair – slightly darker, he noted, than his father’s – and the blue eyes that seemed to be a Hawke staple.

The boy noticed him then and it was a purely innocent notice. Not scared to be taken away from his mother’s arms. Not terrified to be told he was wrong because he was the child of two apostates. No, the boy was just curious at who this stranger was with his mother.

Maker , thought Carver as the implications hit him. She really did do it. Then again his sister had always delighted in turning the world upside down and then laughing in the face of everyone who had told her she couldn’t.

“Mathis,” he heard her say then and refocused in on them, “do you know who this is?” He watched as the boy’s forehead wrinkled in concentration and sucked in a breath. That look…that look was all his father. He remembered it from nights at the Hanged Man when Anders had been sitting off on his own scribbling something for that damned manifesto of his.

Mathis eyed him for a moment then shook his head. Treva smiled and brushed his hair behind an ear before leaning in to kiss his cheek, her eyes watching Carver. “That’s your uncle,” she said softly. “He just got back home from helping a friend of ours very far away in Starkhaven.”

The boy blinked then smiled broadly and Carver couldn’t help but smile back because that sweet expression was so Bethany that he couldn’t help it. Treva had never smiled at him like that; not that he could recall, anyway, as by that time she’d been aware of their circumstances and wasn’t that innocent. His twin though…Bethany had always been like that, even when they’d found out that magic was trouble.

“Welcome home, Uncle,” said Mathis with that same smile and Carver stepped in closer to them, lifting one hand to rest on his nephew’s back and the other for his sister’s hand. Treva gripped his gauntlet carefully and smiled at him, the honest expression telling him exactly how glad she was to have him back.

Smiling down at them both, Carver said warmly, “I’m glad to be here, Mathis.” Apostate sister, upside-down Kirkwall, and innocent would-be mage nephew; it was all home.