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Bethany stared, bewildered, after the startled elven girl fleeing outside into the biting cold. The girl had forgotten to close the door behind her in her haste, allowing the frigid breeze to blow into the room, ruffling the bundle of elfroot leaves that had spilled from the box she’d dropped on the rug and dusting the stone floor with snow. Something crackled like static electricity in the palm of Bethany’s left hand, and she cast her eyes down to the sickly green glow that showed through the spaces between her fingers and frowned.
The sound of someone stomping the snow from their boots and gracelessly plodding into the room reached Bethany’s ears, but her mind was elsewhere.
“Sunshine, you have no idea how glad I am to see you’re awake,” a familiar voice said. The air in the room shifted and settled as the door was pulled shut against the wind.
Bethany could not bring herself to look up. Instead she stared at the mark on her hand, flexing her fingers and grimacing at the odd pulling sensation that now radiated constantly from her palm. The events that brought her here flashed through her mind.
The Conclave. She had been there in Kirkwall when it all started, and she had come to the Conclave to see it through. It felt like it was her duty to make up for all that had happened – no matter how much her brother Garrett tried to insist otherwise. She wanted to help, for the sake of all the mages she’d known in the Kirkwall Circle; for the younger ones like Ella who had looked to her for guidance and understanding, for First Enchanter Orsino who had snapped under Meredith’s pressure, for the older man who reminded her so much of father. But, then…
There was a gap that her mind simply couldn’t fill, like a book with pages torn out from the middle. And then suddenly a Nevarran woman was shouting at her, and Sister Leliana from Lothering’s Chantry and Knight-Captain Cullen and Varric were all there, and they wanted her to close a hole in the sky, a hole that was spitting out demons, and…
“So it wasn’t a dream after all,” she said, defeated.
“The more I hear about dreams, the happier I am that dwarves don’t have them,” Varric said. Bethany could see him from the corner of her eye, moving to crouch down and gather up the spilled elfroot. He placed it carefully on the table near the bed.
When she finally looked up, Varric was watching her with concern etched all over his face. “Are you alright, Sunshine?”
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. There was no point in lying to him.
Varric smiled sympathetically. He looked tired. “I know the Seeker said to come to the Chantry ‘at once’, but I don’t think the world will fall apart if you need a few minutes to yourself first.”
Bethany shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll go,” she replied, standing from the bed and stretching her stiff arms.
Varric gave a nod, and began to lead the way out the door. “You know,” he said, a mixture of thoughtfulness and mischief in his voice, “this is the second time a Hawke has been involved with the explosion of an Andrastian holy building.”
-
It was like everything had been turned inside out. Sister Leliana was Spymaster and Left Hand of the Divine now – colder, harsher, more distant, a wall built up around her heart. She didn’t delight in telling stories and singing songs the way she used to, the way she did when she was a Lay Sister back in Lothering. Bethany doubted she even told stories at all anymore. And Cullen – Cullen was not so frightening now. He still carried himself like a Templar Knight-Captain, but he was quieter, remorse and regret brimming in his every word and action. He had apologized to her with great sincerity, shifting awkwardly where he stood in the snow near the training grounds, for what he’d done in Kirkwall, the unkind things he had said. Even Varric had changed – exhausted by his part in it all, a quiet worry and guilt colouring his actions where before there had been nothing but brash confidence and humour.
Bethany dropped into one of the hard wooden benches along the walls of Haven’s chantry, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the cold stone. Mother Giselle’s gentle voice floated on the air from across the hall, but her words sounded jumbled and odd to Bethany’s ears.
Perhaps this was how it felt to be Garrett – to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly finding everyone depending on you to be more than you’d ever intended to be. Garrett could always handle it though, always knew just what to do even if he seemed to take nothing seriously. Even Carver would have been better equipped for this; though he had been fumbling and misguided at times, you could always depend on him to act when something needed done.
Bethany sighed despite herself. She missed Carver terribly. Absently, she began picking at a loose thread in the leather armor the blacksmith had fashioned for her, feeling just as uncomfortable in it as she felt in her own skin.
“Lady Hawke, if I may have a moment of your time?”
Bethany opened her eyes to see Ambassador Montilyet standing before her, writing board propped on her hip and pen poised gracefully in her hand. She couldn’t help but to feel nervous around the Ambassador despite her kindness, sophisticated and worldly as she was. It was just as Bethany had felt around Sister Leliana all those years ago when she’d first met her in Lothering, or Isabela when they’d met in Kirkwall: like a naive little apostate girl who had spent her whole life hiding in the outskirts of trampled backwater villages suddenly in the presence of a queen.
“Please, call me Bethany,” she managed to choke out. “Everyone calls my brother Hawke.”
“Of course, Lady Bethany,” Ambassador Montilyet replied with a little curtsey that sent an inexplicable blush rising to Bethany’s face. “May I…?”
Bethany nodded hastily and scooted over to allow her room to sit down. The Ambassador took a seat beside her on the bench, carefully arranging the writing board and pen in her lap before she spoke again.
“Forgive me, for it is not my place to comment,” she began, looking hesitant, “but you seem troubled, and I was thinking that perhaps I can help.”
“I’m fine,” Bethany replied automatically, but her facade of nonchalance was thin, her voice faltering. She took a breath, and the words came tumbling out before she could stop them. “It’s just… Everyone is counting on me for so much, and I don’t know if I can live up to it. What if I fail them all?” She exhaled heavily. “My brothers would have been better at this.”
The Ambassador nodded thoughtfully, twirling her pen between her fingers. “If it helps, perhaps you could look to your brothers as a model for when you feel uncertain,” she suggested. “But from my perspective, you are doing a wonderful job thus far. You make the decisions that need to be made without wavering from what you believe is right.”
Bethany looked up at the Ambassador’s face, and she gave Bethany a sincere and reassuring smile.
“You must also remember that you do not have to do it all alone,” she added.
Not alone.
Even the people she knew in this place felt like strangers, but perhaps the Ambassador was right. Bethany released a breath, feeling just the slightest bit of her uncertainty dissolve. “Thank you, Ambassador Montilyet,” she said.
“Please,” the Ambassador said as she stood, “Call me Josephine.” She gave another small, graceful curtsey, smiled at Bethany, and took her leave.
The heaviness in Bethany’s chest suddenly felt a bit lighter, and something warm and fluttering rushed in to take its place.
-
The odd boy pointed towards the ridge that stood over the army of Red Templars, his solemn face partially obscured by the wide brim of his hat. When Bethany saw the monster reach the peak, she felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her stomach, the ground from beneath her feet.
“Is that—” Varric began, and faltered. He blinked, stunned. “Shit.”
“This ‘Elder One’ is an old friend of yours, I take it?” Dorian asked, but what little humour he had managed to force into his voice did nothing to hide his worry.
There was no mistaking it. It was him – Corypheus, the darkspawn Magister that the Wardens had forced her father to seal away with his own blood, the one who had sent the Carta after her family.
They had killed him. It was impossible to believe, but instead of confusion something fierce boiled up into Bethany’s blood. She didn’t know how he could possibly be alive now, but there was no time to ask questions.
“You could say that,” she said to Dorian, gripping her staff hard in her hands with renewed determination.
-
“You’re saying that you’ve fought this Corypheus before?” Cullen asked incredulously.
“Yes, and I’m saying that he was dead,” Bethany said exasperatedly, feeling very much like she was back in the Gallows, arguing details with a suspicious templar.
“It is clear that we are dealing with a powerful force that we do not yet understand,” Josephine interjected, trying to keep the situation from escalating, “And that we must learn more before we can plan our next move.”
“I know someone who may be able to help.”
Bethany and her advisors turned to see Varric carefully making his way across the floor over the piles of rubble.
“I sent a message to an old friend,” Varric continued, “And I think he'll be able to give us more information.” He locked eyes with Bethany, raising both eyebrows. “You will definitely want to meet him.”
Something flipped over in the pit of Bethany’s stomach. It couldn't be...
“By all means, Varric, lead the way.”
“Of course,” Varric said. He let out a long breath and turned to amble back through the debris, holding his arms stiffly at his sides, casting nervous glances in every direction and looking anything but casual.
“Is this ‘old friend’ who I think it is, Varric?” Bethany whispered as they ascended the long stone staircase to the battlements.
Varric looked quickly to his left and right before hissing out under his breath, “It’s your brother.” He broke into a loud fake cough as an Inquisition scout emerged from a nearby door.
It had been a while since Bethany had last seen Garrett. He stood with his arms crossed against the cold mountain air, looking tired and worn the way the others did, the mischievous luster that had always been in his eyes dimmed with the weight of it all. Bethany couldn't help but wonder if she looked tired too.
“Bethany,” Garrett said simply, as if it had only been since yesterday.
“Is that any way to greet your dear sister who has missed you dreadfully?” Bethany replied with feigned offense, taken aback at how much she sounded like her mother when the words left her mouth.
Garrett scoffed, but his expression softened as he gathered her into a quick but crushing hug. “I hear you have a fancy new title now,” he said as he pulled back, squeezing her shoulders once before crossing his arms again. “How are the fame, notoriety, and demon-spitting holes in the sky treating you?”
“I’m holding up,” Bethany replied. She leaned on the battlements beside her brother, looking out over the bustling courtyard below, beyond the walls to the mountains stretching out into the distance. “I’m surprised Fenris isn’t here with you,” she remarked, absently adjusting her sleeve as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.
Garrett winced.
Bethany turned to face him with narrowed eyes. He coughed and pretended not to notice her stare.
“Garrett,” she said as if scolding a child.
Garrett sighed heavily. “Yes, fine, I didn’t tell him where I was going,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “He can’t follow me into danger if he doesn’t know where I am. Is it really so bad of me to want to keep at least one of my loved ones safe for once?”
Hasn’t really worked for you before, Bethany almost said – but she thought of Carver, of their mother, and bit her tongue so hard it ached. It wasn’t Garrett’s fault any more than it was her own.
Garrett knew exactly what she was thinking, if the strained look that flashed across his face when he met her gaze was any indication. But he quickly replaced it with a sort of blank nonchalance, and by way of explanation said simply, “You’ve met Fenris.”
Bethany exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “I have, which is how I know that he is going to kill you.”
-
Selfish girl, the Nightmare’s voice boomed, echoing inside her mind just as it echoed off of the slimy black rock of the Fade, Always putting your family in danger to save yourself. Your father, Carver, your mother – they all died to protect you, and still you bring your elder brother into danger. He’s going to die too, and it will be all your fault.
Bethany bit her lip hard and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.
“Oh, come on,” Garrett’s voice projected out from somewhere near her right side, “You’ve got to give me more credit than that. I have really nice armour.”
Shouting back a joke at fear itself. It was so like Garrett. It would have been funny had Bethany not been struggling inside her mind, pushing back against the palpable terror that wound its way through her body, waiting for her to give it an opening to take root. They were getting closer to the demon, and it was getting harder to fight back.
But she would not yield.
Even as a fragment of the Nightmare descended upon them, its Fearlings swarming them from every direction. She grit her teeth and stood her ground, fighting alongside the others with the kind of efficiency that can only come from trust and practice. She sent out waves of force magic that slammed the spiders into the rocks and sent them flying in masses of spindly, skeletal legs, crushing their bodies with sickening wet crunches – until only the Nightmare itself remained, impossibly massive and looming over the open rift. Their one way out.
Bethany drew a few ineffective breaths, the mix of panic and exhaustion constricting in her chest. There was only so much strength in her magic, not nearly enough to move something so big. There had to be a way…
Garrett frowned, planting his feet in a fighting stance. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
Every drop of blood froze solid in Bethany’s veins. She spun around, blinded to everything around her, barely registering the argument Garrett was now having with the Grey Warden about which one of them should stay to distract the demon. Her heart seized, fighting against itself to keep beating. She wanted to scream, to tell Garrett to stop being so foolish, but no words would come out.
The Warden met her eyes, looking oddly calm. He nodded to her, and Bethany understood. Garrett didn’t seem to notice as he pressed on with his argument through gritted teeth.
That silent acknowledgment was all Bethany needed. She clutched her staff, taking a deep breath and summoning a strong yet controlled blast of force magic that sent her brother flying suddenly forward with an undignified yelp, limbs flailing, struggling hopelessly for purchase against the slippery ground. But his effort was in vain, as he was thrown through the rift and safely out of the Fade.
Bethany cast her gaze back to the Warden, hesitating, feeling as if something invisible was pulling her towards the rift just as it held her captive where she stood. “I’m so sorry,” she said, voice coming out as a choked whisper.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he replied as he readied his sword. “My duty is in here. They need you, out there.”
“Thank you,” Bethany called back to the Warden as he rushed at the Nightmare. Swallowing against the constricting feeling in her throat, she clenched her fists, fingernails digging bluntly into her palms, and finally convinced her feet to move. She ran as fast as should could to the rift, glancing back over her shoulder just in time to see the Warden sink his blade into one of the Nightmare’s sickening clusters of eyes before her vision was filled with green light and she was sent stumbling back into the courtyard. She gathered all her strength to pull the rift shut behind her.
-
“Lady Bethany,” Josephine said as she stepped onto the balcony of the Winter Palace, watching Bethany with her eyebrows drawn in concern. “It has been quite the eventful evening. How are you faring?”
Bethany leaned heavily against her elbows where she rested on the railing, wringing her hands with a sudden nervous energy that fluttered in her stomach. “I’m relieved, I suppose,” she said. “Stopping the assassination means Corypheus will have to rethink at least one part of his plan.”
“It will also send a message to his forces that the Inquisition is a powerful foe, which could be demoralizing.” Josephine turned to face her, regal in her dress uniform, like she was plucked right from a storybook illustration. She leaned one hip against the railing in a way that looked so spontaneously elegant that it sent Bethany’s heartbeat skipping out of time, a shiver through her skin.
Bethany sighed. “I don’t want to think about politics anymore tonight,” she said. She pushed back from the railing, arms swinging as she let go, shifting from her heels until she was centered on her feet. Suddenly she felt very audacious, and spoke before she had time to think. “Would you like to dance with me, Josephine?”
As quickly as it had swelled up inside of her, the boldness evaporated away. Her words seemed to hang in the air like smoke, making it hard to breathe, with no way to grasp them and take them back. Her face grew impossibly hot, and she wanted nothing more than for the earth to rise up and swallow her whole.
But Josephine met her gaze with a shy smile spreading over her face, a blush tinting her cheeks. “I’ve been hoping you would ask,” she said, taking a careful step closer.
Warmth and just a bit of relief washed over Bethany in waves as she took Josephine’s hand, placed her other hand carefully at Josephine’s waist, and nervously began to lead the dance.
-
The noise and bustle of the Herald’s Rest was oddly comforting as Bethany sat at a table in the corner and took small sips of her ale. She read over the short letter that rested before her on the tabletop again, smiling down at the uncertain, almost child-like handwriting with equal parts amusement and disbelief.
“May I join you?”
Bethany looked up to see Cassandra standing before her, clutching her own mug of ale. “Of course,” Bethany replied, biting her lip to will away the knowing smirk that threatened to show itself.
“I caught Cassandra trying to read this,” Leliana had said when she gave Bethany the letter, “Perhaps because of her interest in Tale of the Champion? I believe she finds the story romantic.”
Bethany fought against the laughter threatening to bubble into her chest at the way Cassandra sat down stiffly across from her and took a drink, trying all the while to look at the letter without seeming like she was looking at it. A lot of people knew some fairly intimate details of her brother’s life because of Varric’s book, but to think that Seeker Pentaghast, of all people, was so invested in his love life...
Bethany shook her head and tried not to think about it. “It’s a letter from Fenris,” she offered, doing her best to sound casual as she gestured vaguely at the parchment before her.
Cassandra’s face lit up, if only for a second before she covered it with an expression of nonchalance. “What did he say, if I may ask?” she said, failing to keep the eagerness from her voice.
“Not very much, besides thanking me for not letting Garrett get himself killed,” Bethany replied, and shook her head again. “He makes it sound like I killed an army of high dragons or something. I wonder what in Andraste’s name Varric told him.”
“Varric is a liar. He could have told him anything,” Cassandra spat, wrinkling her nose. She took another drink before looking up at Bethany again. “But I believe Fenris has every reason to be impressed even without Varric’s… embellishments. You do the impossible every day, and you do it for the good of everyone. Many are in awe of you, myself included.”
Bethany hastily took a drink to avoid having to say anything, still always so unsure of how to react to such praise after spending so much of her life trying to stand out as little as possible. Cassandra seemed to understand, and a short silence fell between them.
“You’ve heard of my brother Carver, haven’t you?” Bethany said after a moment.
Cassandra nodded. “Only a little,” she said, tone careful and sympathetic without sounding like pity. Bethany appreciated it. “You must miss him. I imagine he would have been proud of you.”
Bethany let out a sound halfway between a breath and a laugh. “I do miss him, terribly so, even after all this time.” She cast her eyes down and smiled fondly, slowly rotating her mug between her hands. “But I imagine he might have just been annoyed that I was taking all the glory.”
-
“Your magic is weak!” Corypheus taunted from above as he sent spells raining down upon them. He was beginning to falter – Bethany could feel it in the way his spellpower was dwindling rapidly as the fight dragged on, the way he was beginning to get sloppy.
Corypheus focused his energy into a single spell and sent it flying erratically towards Sera, who dodged it easily and countered by blowing a raspberry and sending back a hail of arrows.
“You tried to defeat me once before, but here I am! What makes you think you can defeat me now, foolish girl?” Corypheus shouted.
“Oh, I do wish you would just be quiet!” Bethany shot back with disdain before unleashing an intense rush of force magic that slammed Corypheus heavily into the craggy rocks that remained of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, leaving him choking on his own breath.
-
Daybreak was already upon them when Bethany finally returned to her quarters from the celebration, though she felt anything but tired. The sun climbed slowly over the sharp peaks of the Frostback Mountains, its light glittering on the gossamer remains of the Breach that scarred the sky. The crisp air chilled her skin and made her feel more alive than she had in some time.
“We’ve made it,” Bethany breathed.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight,” Josephine marveled softly from where she stood at her side, gazing out at the new day with a kind of wonder.
Bethany turned to face her, her breath catching at the way the morning light illuminated Josephine’s skin, casting her face in a soft glow. Josephine met her gaze with affection and relief in her eyes.
And somehow, Bethany did not feel nervous. Not this time.
She leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to Josephine’s lips. And as the sun climbed into the sky over a world she had no small part in saving, she finally allowed herself to relax into Josephine's warmth, and the warmth of the sunshine.