When the Carta had been dealt with, and she and Hawke had spent what felt like an hour crying in each others arms over hearing their father's voice again, they returned heavy-hearted to Kirkwall. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't paused at the sight of them, heinously ugly things that they were, and briefly considered whether she might talk her sister into running. Hawke would undoubtedly agree, assuming it was what Bethany really wanted.

If there was one thing Bethany never doubted about her sister, it was that Hawke would-and actually had, once-give the shirt off her back should either of her siblings have need. There was nothing Hawke wouldn't do for her...and it wouldn't be right to even suggest something she wasn't sure she wanted to do. After all, the templars had a phylactery for her now. They could, would, find her, no matter how far she ran.

At the gates, Sebastian volunteered to walk her "home." Hawke, as always, had other crises to attend-ones Bethany had no sanction to become involved with.

For a while she and Sebastian walked in awkward silence. Bethany wished she were better at speaking with handsome men, a talent that had always seemed to come so naturally to Hawke. She'd just opened her mouth to comment on the weather when Sebastian said "I probably shouldn't, this isn't really my place, but..."

"Go on?" Please, for Andraste's sake, don't ask about my sister...

He turned those gorgeous eyes on her and Bethany's stomach dropped a little at the confused wariness she read upon his face. "You really didn't know your father was a blood mage?"

Bethany stopped in the middle of the street like she'd been slapped. She snapped back into motion just in time to narrowly avoid being squashed by a cart of oranges. Moving off to the side, she found herself glowering at the man she'd only just been so enamoured with. "He wasn't," she snapped, "The Wardens forced his hand, that's all. Just that once. You heard him."

"I..." Sebastian began, with the faintest of winces. Not wanting to hear it, Bethany turned to march down the docks for the Gallows boat. The templars were waiting there, and barely gave Sebastian the time to nod to her with a polite "Lady Hawke" before she was escorted aboard.

She was still angry by the time she reached the mage's quarters in the Gallows. If there was one thing to be said for the Gallows, though, it was that they were given wonderful amenities...provided they kept in line: baths, feather beds, clean clothing, and all the food they could eat. The best cure for a temper she'd found was a long, hot soak with a good book and a tray of strawberries. Besides, she was filthy after an excursion like that. Surely no one would object to her ridding herself of the dust and grime of the Deep Roads, even if it took the rest of the afternoon.

Though she found the book she'd been reading in her cell-a manuscript for Varric's newest title, "The Pirate's Booty," ostensibly an action-adventure about a mysterious Tevinter treasure lost in the caves of the Wounded Coast and thus far proving far more concerned with treasure in the pirate's cave-Bethany actually intended to look over the papers they'd discovered in the Warden's Prison. It was a risk bringing those here, of course, but one she'd managed to convince Hawke to let her take. Bethany had access to the Gallow's resources, after all, and the book smarts to put her mind to research that her sister lacked. While still doubtful she'd find any further information it didn't hurt to try. This whole episode was strange, even by their standards, and had left them all more than a little uneasy considering the sort of things that seemed to go consistently wrong in Kirkwall.

Somewhere deep beneath her feet there could still be more demons their father had helped imprison, churning up an eternal pit of negative energy. With so many cave-ins decimating the ruins they would never be certain they'd managed to kill off everything. Just thinking about it made her shiver anew.

After she'd scrubbed herself raw and drawn a fresh bath, Bethany laid back in the piles of sweet-smelling bubbles and let the hot water soak itself into her tense, travel-knotted muscles. She wished Carver was there to give her a backrub, like he'd used to-clothed, obviously. As much as they teased and fought with one another, he'd been her brother and her twin. She'd grown used to missing him at odd moments, over things she'd never put much thought into until they no longer were. If their family was still together, she wouldn't have the luxury of a hot soak and fresh fruit whenever she wanted them, but she would have siblings to torment her over her bookish nature and rub the soreness from her shoulders. Bethany would trade all the luxuries of the Circle for one more night in their little traveling wagon.

Setting the ancient, molding papers aside, Bethany sniffled and slipped down until her head was underwater.

Did she know her father was a blood mage?

For all her indignation, Bethany had to admit there wasn't much about her father which she could be certain. Malcolm Hawke had died when his youngest children were eight, with only a handful of years of training passed to his mage-gifted daughter. The other mages in the Circle praised Bethany for her control, for how well she'd been taught. She didn't dare mention to them how much of it was gained through her own trial and error, reading the journals her father had left behind. Her father had left a solid foundation for her to work on, nothing more. And even that seemed to be more than most of the non-Circle-raised mages could claim.

According to the Circle's teachings, most mage-gift surfaced from ages six to thirteen; rarely later, or, rarer still, earlier. Bethany's gift had come to light on her fourth name day, when, in a fit of excitement, she'd crispy-fried the ham their parents had gotten special for the occasion. They'd packed up and left town the same week after she'd done the same to the neighbors' chickens.

But four was exceedingly young; too young for her to clearly remember now, no matter how hard she tried. Her father's nickname for her had been his "little prodigy," and in her more-egotistical moments Bethany could understand why. There simply never was a time when she didn't know magic, didn't feel it coursing through her veins, didn't have it at her beck and call. There had been a time when she couldn't control it as easily, of course, and all the guilt and shame that came with the consequences.

This was all equally true for Carver, save the being-a-mage part. He was her twin, and thusly just as incapable of remembering a time before Bethany's magic. Hawke, on the other hand...

Six years the twins' elder, Hawke-who had just been "Lizbet" at the time-was nine-years-old when they'd packed their house in the middle of the day and raced out of town before the templars could be called. Nine when their father revealed to his children for the first time that he himself was a mage-a fact their parents had agreed to hide even at home in an attempt to provide a normal life.

From there their home was a traveling merchant's wagon. They sold balms and potions and miscellaneous supplies, never staying in any one place too long...all so Bethany could be taught control without anyone taking notice of her accidents. Most of Bethany's memories of that wagon were good ones. Their family was tight knit and they got on well enough. But every family had bad days, and in so confined of quarters there was no way to hide them.

The crack of skin on skin seemed to resound through the tiny meadow, audible even from inside the wagon. Bethany and Carver peeked over window sill of the wagon's tiny interior, where they'd been confined the instant Lizbet had returned to camp. Outside, they could see Lizbet glaring at their mother, whose hand was slowly falling back to her side. Lizbet's cheek was red from the impact, her eyes bright with furious tears.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again," Leandra hissed, her eyes narrow slits of rage. Some part of Bethany was aware she should have been more hurt and upset by her sister, but all she could do was stare in disbelief. Neither of their parents had ever so much as raised a hand to them. That Lizbet had pushed their mother to such an extreme seemed unfathomable, no matter that they'd seen it with their own eyes.

"Mages. Are. Monsters," Lizbet replied, pronouncing each word carefully. Her fists trembled at her side, and she winced as Leandra's hand came up again. Malcolm caught his wife by the wrist.

"Leandra!"

Their mother jerked backward, wrist pulled from her husband's grasp, and clapped both hands to her mouth. Leandra's eyes widened and she paled like a ghost. But Malcolm had turned his attention to Lizbet, who still stood ramrod straight and still. "You don't mean that," he said firmly. "I know things haven't been-"

When he tried to touch Lizbet's shoulder, she tugged sharply away like he'd bitten her. "You know?!" Lizbet's voice broke. "What do you know? She could have killed those people!"

"She didn't," Malcolm replied, somehow managing to keep his patience. "Everyone is safe."

"This time. What about next time, Dad? Or the next? He was my friend, now he won't even look at me..." She sniffed, loudly, and her voice took on a sarcastic edge, "Not that it matters, right? We won't ever come back through here, will we? Another gigantic 'X' on the map, thanks to Bethany's 'little accidents'."

Malcolm pursed his lips, his brows furrowed. Bethany knew that look. He was angry, but he didn't want to give in to it. Strong emotions were bad for a mage, he always told her, you had to be ever vigilant against your own heart. "I'm sorry about your friend, Lizbet, I really am, but do you think locking your sister up is the solution?"

"No!" Lizbet sobbed, then sniffed and said more quietly, "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"And your father?" Leandra pressed. "It's not just your sister you're talking about."

Lizbet shook her head furiously. From their vantage point, the twins couldn't see her face, but they could see the tremble in her shoulders. Carver reached for Bethany's hand, squeezing it.

"I just want to be normal," Lizbet whimpered.

So do I, Bethany thought, miserably. She and Carver had just turned eight; already they were well aware that would never be the case or any of them. It could never be the case when your life was wound up in magic, even if you weren't a mage yourself.

Both adults stared at Lizbet, neither seeming sure what to say. Finally, Lizbet ran for the cover of the trees. Malcolm started after her, but this time Leandra caught his arm. "Let her go," the woman whispered hoarsely, "She'll calm down."

Malcolm nodded. Then he looked up, and met Bethany's eyes. She hadn't even noticed she'd been crying.

Two months later, their father died and everything changed. Eventually, Bethany had forgotten the entire incident right up until the day she'd been caught by the templars. Hawke had stormed in, saw what was going on, and nearly drew her blade on the Knight-Captain himself. Bethany had stopped her, though she'd wanted not to. Despite the display, a part of her had wondered if it hadn't been Hawke herself that had tipped the templars off...no. No matter how angry or bitter Hawke might have become, Bethany couldn't believe that that was right.

But the more used she became to the Circle, the easier life within its walls became, the greater grew Bethany's remorse over the past. Hawke hadn't put it in the kindest manner, but maybe she'd had a point.

Bethany rose from the water and wiped her hair from her eyes. Someone pounded at the door.

"Miss Bethany?" Instantly, she recognized the voice of one of her eldest pupils, Sorell.

Refraining from a sigh, Bethany eyed the towel laid on a nearby rung. She didn't want to get out. "Yes?"

"The First Enchanter is waiting for you in his office."

She really ought to have expected that. Bethany pushed her wet, tangled hair back again. "Tell him I'll be right there," she called. Sorell chirped a quick "yes miss," and her footsteps retreated down the hall.

Moving gingerly as the travel soreness hadn't been quite worked out, Bethany got herself out of the bath, dried, and changed into some clean robes before heading toward Orsino's office. Her hair was only towel dried and combed, and she felt more than a little disheveled, but it would have to do.

Orsino was seated, making notations on some essays strewn across his desk. The feather tip of his quill was between his lips, which he instantly let go the moment he noticed her. "Ah, Bethany," he said, and gestured for her to come in.

She shut the door behind herself and took the other chair when he indicated it was all right. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"I trust your trip went well..."

Bethany's fingers convulsively closed around the manuscript in her hands. Not wanting to leave them in the shared bathing complex, she'd stuffed the Deep Roads papers into the book and carried it with her. "Well enough," she said, as her brain raced with indecision. "We got the problem under control."

He nodded and put his pen aside. "That is good to know. The last thing we need is another break in..."

For a moment, Orsino seemed to grow distant. He stared over her shoulder like he was seeing a thousand miles away. Then he looked at her again and offered a weary smile that never quite reached his eyes. "We were worried about you, gone so long. Did you find out why they were after you?"

One finger rubbed gently along the parchment cover of The Pirate's Booty. "We did," she confirmed after a moment. "It was..."

"Not something you're comfortable discussing," Orsino supplied after a moment. He leaned his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands before him, the first knuckles of each index finger grazing his pointed chin. The First Enchanter had always seemed a good man to Bethany. He was a brilliant magician, smart, funny, and he cared a great deal about the Circle's members. Rather than being some whipped or cowardly mage who would grovel at the Knight-Commander's feet, Orsino was more of a warrior. He often stood toe-to-toe with Meredith, giving her a run for her money on the nasty meter whenever he felt she had, or was about to, step over the line. Though Bethany had never seen him turn that same fire on any of his mages, she figured there could always be a first time.

When Bethany didn't say anything, he nodded sagely. "You're afraid of what I-" He paused, looking at her. "No, what Meredith might think."

Smart. Right. Bethany allowed herself an apologetic smile. "Yes, First Enchanter."

"Between the two of us, then," he promised, and she knew that he'd mean it. Still...

Maybe being honest now is best, Bethany thought to herself, rather than waiting to see if it bites me in the bum. Besides, this information could be dangerous to everyone in Kirkwall. She was done being selfish.

Slowly, she put the manuscript on the desk. Orsino's brow arched at the title, but he didn't say anything. Bethany flipped through to where she'd stuck the pages in, then handed them over. Carefully, she explained the entire trip: the Carta, their crazed desires, following the tunnels into the Deep Roads, their demons' prisons, even the part about Corpheyus trapped beneath the city. Though she hesitated again over bringing her father into it, Bethany found herself telling him anyway. Her hands knotted into fists, clutching at the fabric of her skirt as she pressed them against her knees.

Orsino was silent a long while as he studied the papers. Finally, just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, he looked up. "You're right to be worried about Meredith's reaction," he said very quietly, as though he dreaded the walls themselves might be spies, "I wouldn't go spreading this around..."

"No, First Enchanter," she agreed. Then she pursed her lips. "I was wondering, though-"

His brows raised again, waiting. "Go on."

"Well. It seems like maybe this might have a lot to do with some of the, ah, tensions in the cities. Maybe that's a little far fetched, but the sheer amount of negative energy gathered down there couldn't have been good. I was rather hoping I might look into it a little more, maybe see if there's not something we could do. Like a-a cleansing."

Truth told, the idea hadn't even been fully formed until the moment she'd said it, but now that it was out there it sounded right. Bethany fixed Orsino with a hopeful smile as he watched her.

"Very well," Orsino said after a moment. "I'll let Jericho know that you'll no longer be in his service."

"...Sir?"

Orsino handed the papers over to her. "I think you might be right, but I'll be interested to see what you figure out." When she took the papers, Orsino held aloft one finger, "But I would rather you not mention this to any of the others. This project should be on a need-to-know basis. Understood?"

Bethany nodded, suddenly feeling her heart lift as it hadn't since she'd first seen her father's magical apparition. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Clearly dismissed, Bethany rose to her feet and, rather than head to her cell, practically floated all the way to the Gallows library.

A/N: Just to be clear, I have altered the canonical back-story for the Hawke family a little, to further individualize my Hawke.