driftfleet | how to drag a bird in five easy steps.

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how to drag a bird in five easy steps.

Who: Marian Hawke & Thedas' Greatest Hits.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Three Twins medbay, later Caprine.
When: Backdated to late 9/8, some hours after Totally Fun Dragon Outing.

[ In truth she doesn't want to wake, she wants to sleep for weeks or months. Avoid the deep ache in her bones, the bile rising in her throat, the disgust that twists her insides into knots. That way she doesn't have to look at them then, doesn't have to look at him, and watch them recoil from her like some sort of thing - some sort of monster. But she does wake slowly, muscles protesting at even the slightest movement, jolts of agony dancing across her every nerve. Curling in on herself she clutches the sheets around her, hoping to shut the world out for at least a moment longer.

Good job Marian, you blew it. Just had to go and screw everything up, didn't you? Couldn't be happy with being bloody happy!

An ugly pit coils in her belly making her pull her sheets around herself some more, eyes clamping closed tighter. The smell of blood sharp in her nose, the taste of cooper lingering on her tongue. Reminds that cling to her like a wet blanket, that refuse to let her forget her own idiocy. If she hadn't rushed in like she had, if she hadn't stumbled and allowed herself to get caught. It'd be nice if they could all pretend nothing happened. Everyone going back to how things were when no one knew about Marian Hawke's dirty little secret or how much of a giant hypocrite she is. The woman that who damns blood magic and the very people who practice it a bloody blood mage herself. Maker's balls it is so painfully ironic.

It'd be nice really, but there is no going back now, no way to run. All there is to do now is watch her approval ratings plumett into the red. No way she's getting that special Wicked Grace scene now. ]

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[For all that Kirkwall had to throw at him, Adalwolfe's rarely surprised anymore by what people actually do, the lengths they go to in order to protect themselves. Saddened, frustrated, even angry, but not surprised.

And then along comes Marian.

Him but not him, cut from what he thought was the exact same cloth in that they'd been in the very same situations with the same factors and the only difference was gender. Not so, it seems.

Adalwolfe tries to rationalize the differences on his way to the Caprine, arm in a sling at healer's orders and walking with a pronounced limp before he settles into the shuttle's chair, thinking not for the first time that Anders is holding out on him with healing anything not life threatening on purpose. Vindictive, that one. But he's had much worse and despite protests of him leaving the clinic so soon, he has to do this now.

Is it because she's female? He knows it was different, how Malcolm talked to Bethany about her magic, about the Circle and what went on there. He'd always made no secret of Templar abuses from his time - nothing like what Anders went through in later years, but still terrible - but sometimes he speak to Bethany alone and minutes later she was attached to his side, refusing to say a thing of what she'd been told but hiding from it. It's a bigger danger for women, Templars 'taking advantage' of their power over their mage charges, and it makes the temperature drop several degrees in anger for Adalwolfe to even think about it.

If it's that he could understand, and from there a slippery slope. Or it could have been someone else, later in Kirkwall, that had taught her. Surely she's not stupid enough to have trucked with demons? He's not. He has to give her that benefit of the doubt, at least.

But it all still rankles at him, makes his docking rough and bumpy for how lost he is in thought. Their father had made a point of raising them to be examples of free mages. He has lessons emblazoned on his brain, driven home with the sense that no matter how hard, this was important, the only thing more important was family but this was still a way to keep it. Stay hidden, but let your magic serve what's best in you, not that which is most base.

He sighs when the rattling of the ship finally ceases, airlock secure, and eases himself up onto unsteady legs. He supposes the only answers he'll find will be from Marian, and there's no way he's going to let her wriggle out of a serious conversation this time. She's avoided it for too long already.

I suppose now I know why, he thinks, knocking on the door to her quarters. He knocks the way their mother would when angry. Polite but sharp, and usually followed by opening the door promptly despite hearing either no response or a 'go away!' from her children. Manners, then get what you're after anyway. That was Leandra.]

Marian, we need to talk.

[Riona had been worried about Marian. Well, worried about all of them, of course. No one came out exactly unscathed, herself included. Her own arm is in a temporary sling as she enters the med bay aboard the Twins.

But she's especially concerned about Marian, given what happened. Clearly someone needs to give her heavy armor if she's going to go charging at dragons like that.

When she pokes her head around the corner, her brow creases. With Marian curled up in the sheets like she is, her concern only grows.]

Is this a bad time?

[ She flinches almost uncontrollably at the sound of the Warden's voice, fingers curling tighter around the sheets. Idly she wonders if she stayed still and silent maybe Riona would leave, let her be alone to kick herself in the teeth some more. Instead she turns her head if only a little, a single cracked eye glance towards the other woman. ]

Not at all, this is a perfect time.

[ Her voice is more sharp than she intended, more vicious, and she frowns regretting having spoken at all. ]

[That tone isn't lost on her. Riona frowns, wondering what she did to earn that ire.]

I can leave. I only came by to check up on you. You took a nasty beating.

[With her good hand, she digs into her pocket and pulls out some elfroot.]

Brought you some elfroot, the last I have from home. It's not much, but it should help ease the pain.

[Leliana could not account for several minutes, only aware of the dull roar in her ears and the feeling of her skin and her clothes melding together in places from burns. Her armor protected her for the most part but it didn't make the burns very easy to treat. In her head she could still hear Riona's voice calling to her, asking if she was injured. Everything after that was a blur of adrenaline and arrows that flew from her hands like birds of prey.

When she awoke, it was to a pounding feeling in her head and urgency in her heart. She'd seen something before that - Hawke using blood magic. The Hawke she had met had not been a blood mage so that certainly answered a few questions of whether or not they were the same person. They looked exactly the same in every way but this Hawke had done the forbidden. While she didn't approve of it, she knew that Hawke was not a person who harmed others - or at least she believed it. Perhaps she had been blind the entire time...?

The first step to answering that was to force her aching limbs out of her sick bed. She was wearing plain clothes, different than what she normally wore and probably provided by the attending doctors. It didn't conceal the wince that crossed her face as she approached Hawke's bedside and clutched her ribs. Beneath her clothes were bandages over various injuries, the worst of which being a cracked rib from being swiped at by the beast. When Leliana sees that Hawke is awake, she stares at her in silence for a moment before sitting on the closest side of the bed she could reach.]

I hope your injuries are better than mine

[She laughs a bit, wincing again when it aggravates her ribs. ]

Edited 2016-09-11 21:55 (UTC)

[Once Hawke had been discharged and allowed to return, Daenerys was still a bit uneasy. She had heard the news from the woman herself but it still didn't make her feel better. She could hear others' contempt and concern about her having Drogon aboard the ship and it was everything she could do not to address this other dragon personally and trying to convince the masses that dragons were not a problem. The entire thing had put a rock in her stomach.]

Hawke, may I come in?

[She knocks on the door to Hawke's quarters, carrying a plate of food for her as the reason for her intrusion upon the other woman's privacy.]

I've brought some food from the kitchen - cut fruits and things from the garden and some of the dinosaur meat has been cooked.

[Someone else had prepared the meal in her stead as Dany was still not proficient in the appliances but Hawke would surely appreciate the gesture all the same.]

[Fenris didn't want to be here. He'd even walked out, more than once, just left to wander a planet or work a shift in the Space Bar. But he'd always come back for a small while. To watch her sleep. His mind swirled around, his stomach felt like lead. He'd known her for a long time, between here and Exsilium. He'd trusted her. And she was a fucking blood mage.

Just like HE was.

He hated himself for making the connection, but it was there. Dark and horrible and too real. A fucking blood mage. The representation of everything he hated back in Tevinter. It turned out he hadn't really known her at all.

When she shifted, he was leaning on a wall, arms folded, staring at the opposite wall. ]

You're awake.

[ Sorry, she thinks but the words don't quite reach her tongue, catching in her throat. It is not that she is angry with Riona, she isn't angry with any of them, they weren't the ones who crossed the line. They came to help, to do what people like them had always done. ]

No need. [ Forcing her grip to relax she shifts, limbs slow to move until she achieves some sort of sitting position. Awkward though as comfortable as she can manage. ] Better keep it for yourself, never know when that dragon will come crashing back down.

If that happens, then perhaps you should hold onto it.

[She crosses the room and takes a seat on the edge of Hawke's bed. The elfroot is placed next to her.]

Especially if you decide to keep charging at dragons by yourself like that.

[STERN LOOK. She learned it from Wynne and Beverly.]

[ It's too bloody familiar the way he enters, the way he talks. For a moment she could swear it was Leandra that stood in her quarters, arms crossed and brow furrowed into a disapproving frown. For a moment she could swear she hear her mother's voice ( I knew you would come. ) and smelt her favorite perfume ( the room smells of blood and rot ). Like salt to a festering wound, serving only to cause the ugly knot in her stomach to grow.

Her fingers hover in the air and tremble, halted in their task. He finds her packing, or at the very least sorting the particulars of her pack. Elfroot and lyrium potions at the top, her journal and another book considerably more aged right below, a few random herbs, a spare knife, bandages and a suture kit, a metal flask, a strip of red cloth - all the things she keeps close by. She had been counting the number of potions she had left, making sure there was enough bandages, that she had enough supplies. But that task is near forgotten, her mind latching instead on images she sees now only in her dreams.

( mother's skin is so cold, so pale. she's smiling. she's dying, she's dying and there is nothing - I love you. You've always made me so proud. no, no, please don't leave me here alone, please. i failed, i failed again. )

Breathe, breathe. She grabs the closest thing she can reach, the old weathered grimoire, anchors herself to it to the room. Leandra's image shifts, becomes taller more like Malcolm with broad shoulders she used to hang off of as a child. She hates how much he reminds her of them both; hates how much he acts like them, sounds like them, looks like them.

Marian does not look up at him, she looks to her things, to the grimoire in her hands. ]

Do we? As you can see I'm a bit busy.

We do. You're not going anywhere, at least not yet, so you might as well put that down and get comfortable.

[He stays standing, between her and the door, not trusting her not to bolt even if he's not entirely sure he would stop her if she did. He's being too strong about this, he knows. Too familiar, like she owes him something when logically she doesn't. But he wants to know- no, needs to know why.]

So. Blood magic.

[He spits the words, tried of the games, tried of reaching out and having her come close to reaching back and then turning away at the last second presumably because of this. He's just plain tired of all the hidden meanings and covered insecurities, the secrets. It's worse than the Orlesian Game and to have someone of his own blood do it? He's too angry to care that they're not actually related as such.]

How did you learn it? Father?

[ Oh, that is a look. The sort of look Aveline would give her after she's gone and done something stupid, right before giving her a thinly veiled lecture on self preservation. ]

And risk being locked in a tiny room and Leliana throwing away the key? No, no, I have had my fill.

[ That is a lie but lets not focus on that. ]

Uh-huh. We'll see about that when the next dragon comes around.

[The Look intensifies.]

Pull that stunt again and you're going to wish Leliana had you locked up in a tiny room. That was really damn reckless, Hawke. At least have some better armor on if you're going to do that.

[She lets out a sigh.]

Oh dear, I'm starting to sound like Wynne. All right, lecture is over. How are you doing? Did Anders patch you up?

No.

[ She snaps, vicious, anger flaring like an angry wound. Their father most of all knew better than that, he knew what happens to mages who practice blood magic. For all his flaws he did well to ensure his children knew better. ]

You know as well as I Father would not teach us something that would put us in even more danger.

[ A glance at the door then Adalwolfe, and she exhales, resigns to remaining and sits down besides her things. The potions roll towards her, soft sounds of glass clinking together feels louder than it should be, sharper against her ears. There's no running from this, no wiggling her way out, as much as she wants to so desperately. ]

I taught myself.

Well. That's a relief.

[He says it under his breath but still audible, shifting his weight to one leg and running his good hand back through his hair with a bit more force than necessary. He drops his hand immediately after.]

No demons?

[ Malcolm knew better. He had despaired for his eldest the night he found out, held her close was she sobbed uncontrollably, hands stained with her own blood. He never condemned her for it, never yelled at her, he only smiled sadly as she apologized again and again and stroked her hair. It will be alright, little bird. It was their secret.

Still clutching the grimoire she dares herself to look at him, skin paler than usual, dark bags underneath her eyes. Never really did look that great during after using the blighted magic, always took a lot out of her. More than a lot. ]

No demons. [ She's insulted that the thought entered his head though she cannot fully blame him, people always assume demons are involved. ] I might have been stupid enough to learn it in the fist place, but I know better than to make deals with demons.

Edited (finding typos after the fact IS GREAT) 2016-09-12 01:48 (UTC)

[ For what little it is worth Hawke manages to laugh, a short sound that seems closer to a snort. But she laughs. ]

Well I'm not bleeding and all my bones feel like they aren't broken, so I'd say yeah he patched me up.

[ Even so she still looks utterly horrible. Her skin paler than usual and already bags have formed underneath her eyes, a lack of sleep partially at fault for the latter. ]

[You do look like shit, Hawke, and that's next on Riona's "Things to Fret Over" list.]

But you're not resting. And you do look a little pale... did you lose too much blood? Allen - he's one of the medics on my ship - might be able to help with that.

Good.

[He takes her at her word because she's never outright lied, and because he's certain he could tell if she did.]

Then... why? Why learn it?

[The anger bleeds out of him and there's just confusion left, his eyes searching her face for answers over that stupid gash over his nose he refuses to let Anders heal away. All he can hear is Malcolm's voice in his head.

Magic serves what's best within me, not that which is most base.

You have to be an example of what a free mage can be.

Protect your siblings. Protect this family.

When I'm gone...

You must protect them, like I protect all of you.

By being a hypocrite? By hiding things from his eldest while still dictating exactly what he has to be and do with his life? The old anger rears up from when he was smaller, ill fit to his own body and his own newly fledged magic. He'd fought so much against anything, against everything he could rail against, he would. His father, his mother, his magic, the Chantry, whatever he set his eyes on during any given day would get the brunt of his ire.

He exhales and there's frost on his breath. He notices and swallows, trying to calm down. Breathe in, then out, slow. Calm.

His voice is low when he speaks again, a rumble in his chest. It sounds thick to his own ears, too heavy.]

It was to protect them, wasn't it. The twins.

Carver.

[ Family, their brother, the twins. Even when Malcolm still lived she did all she could to protect them. She got into fights with other kids for them, coming home with cut and bruises more often than not. There was nothing she wouldn't do for them, for their family. ]

He... I was scared he was going to die. Bethany was too young, she didn't have to power to heal him and Father─ [ Her voice catches in her throat. ] I didn't know what else to do. I had to make sure he was going to be okay.

[ Morbid curiosity had her keep the book she found but it was Carver that pushed her into it, the desperate need to keep her brother safe. To see him alive, healthy, and being the little snot he always was. The very same thing made her send him away, far far away, in hopes that false Calling wouldn't entrap him as well.

My beautiful daughter, my little bird. Take care of them for me, won't you?

She tried, she really tried. But she wasn't good enough, wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough. For all she tried to do she couldn't live up to the role her father gave her. She couldn't keep them safe. ]

[There was a storm raging inside him. Anger, betrayal, contempt. She was Hawke, but she was wrong. No, confused. Misguided, there had to be a reason. No, she was everything that people saw in apostates, she was everything people feared in mages!

No. She was Hawke.

And he was a healer before he was anything else.

His voice is quiet, tense, and carefully even like he's picking every word to make sure they're right. To make sure they're his and not the hurt Spirit raging in him. Against him.]

How are you feeling?

[Before she can answer, he sends mana her way, another small burst of healing magic to stitch her slowly together. Slow to get it right, to not run out of mana in the middle and leave her in too much pain.]

And don't bother lying to me, I'm trying to help. [A little too terse, too clipped. He chewed on the inside of his lip. Calm down.]

Was it the fever or the time we were attacked while we were moving again that one summer on the coast?

[He gives up being a barrier, instead moving to sit beside her on the bed. Not right next to her, not touching because that's not a boundary he's sure she wants him to cross just yet. If he's honest with himself, he's not sure he wants to cross it just yet either, but he does want to clarify. Somehow, knowing it's for Carver makes it easier. Understandable. Forgivable.

Wolfe remembers. He remembers Carver, delirious at thirteen, his skin so hot it could burn. Mother had done nothing but run back and forth to the well, Bethany drawn and guilty that her own magic could do so little for her brother in the few months she'd had it. And Adalwolfe with all his years ahead of them still lacking in so much as a single iota of creation magic. He'd never learned, didn't take to it, and then he'd regretted it so harshly he'd nearly turned to what his father had always forbidden. The demons in his dreams, they could so easily teach him, and then Carver would be safe. It didn't matter what happened to him... Only he hadn't done it. Carver's fever broke and they all thanked the Maker.

The bandits were later. He doesn't remember when, exactly. Not too long before Lothering. Father had gone ahead a month or more earlier to scout out a house and they'd been on their way to meet him when the highwaymen took them by surprise. Carver had fought off the bandits at the side of his siblings, Wolfe and Bethany flinging spells and Carver with his massive two-hander, cutting swaths through the men that were stupid enough to run them off the road. Cart overturned, they'd used it for cover and fought the threat off handily, no survivors to tell the tale of the apostates. Only Carver had gotten a blade under the ribs, in his guard, and stubborn as he was refused to even tell any of them about it until a half-mile further he collapsed.

That damned book was in his pack. He can't remember where he'd gotten it, but he'd kept it hidden in his things. A secret weapon, only to be used in the most dire of circumstances, because as his father intoned so often he could die tomorrow, and then Adalwolfe would have to keep them safe. He hadn't had to use it, but he'd taken it out for the first time in years that day, with Carver ashen on the back of the cart, breathing shallow and so uncharacteristically quiet...

Both times were his fault, he'd always thought to himself. But for the grace of the Maker was Carver even still alive, somehow charmed. It's why he hadn't allowed his little brother on the Deep Roads mission, why he even knew the little bit of creation magic he could pick up. He knows exactly where Marian is coming from.

Or thinks he does.]

[ To her credit she does not bother to pretend to sleep, cracking an eye open instead when she feels the bed dip with her weight. What she does do, however, is curl a little more in on herself, fingers tight around the sheets. ]

I'm not bleeding.

[ A terrible way to gauge things, she realizes too late, cringing as the words leave her mouth. Accurate but terrible. Despite how much it hurts to move she is relatively well, free of broken bones or life threatening teeth marks. The worst she seems to suffer is a loss of blood, leaving her pale and weak. ]

[ The thing about Marian Hawke is that she buries things, pushed it all away and puts on a mask; a laugh, a smile, a inappropriate joke. She deflects until the subject is derailed, concern is forgotten. No one needs to know about her problems when there is so many other subjects to broach, like the weather or whatever it is that Dany has on that plate of food.

Maker's balls, she is hungry.

Her mask goes up quickly as she lets the other woman in, lips already curved upwards in a prepared smile. Nevermind that she has seemingly packed what few belongings she possesses and places them on top of her bed. None of that really matters now that food has been brought. ]

You've brought me food! Of course you can.

[ Not him, anyone but him.

She inhales sharp at the sound of his voice, eyes cracking open to catch the familiar lines of his markings. She didn't think he'd be here, considering his feelings about blood magic, but Hawke is different, isn't she? They've been through too much, known each other for too long.

The pain feels like flames across her limbs but she pushes herself up, leaning her back against the wall, and pulls her knees along with the sheets up to herself. She doesn't look at him, can't bring herself to do it. Scared of seeing disgust in his eyes, looking at her like he would one of the number of blood mages they cut down in Kirkwall. So she stares instead at her own feet, arms wrapped around her knees. ]

Unfortunately.

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how to drag a bird in five easy steps.

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Aboard the Caprine /o/

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