A/N: Hello everyone, I've taken a bit of hiatus from writing but I'm back with a brand new story following a friend's prompt. To give a little background, she really wanted to explore the dynamics between Hawke/Carver whilst making it a romance. Whilst this story WILL NOT be an incest story, it does nevertheless cover some greyer areas of this general area. If I make anyone feel uncomfortable, I apologize in advance.

At the same time though, I hope readers will really stick through this story with me. I have to admit that this story was by far, one of the most challenging pieces that I have ever written and to get any kind of feedback to improve my writing would be much appreciated.

As for the title of this story. Arcanum is latin for 'secret' but it is also a word that has a great significance in the Dragon Age setting. More on that, however, I will not say. I simply hope the reader allows the secret of the story to reveal itself in time.

As always, please R&R and as always, you have my love!

Ann

Arcanum

Chapter 1 – Secret Feelings

Carver

She was our sister, the eldest of the three of us. She certainly harboured that one year and two weeks over us constantly. Yet, sometimes when I looked at her, I could never remember her as my sister. Family? Sure, but more of a girl I grew up with. Sister? Not really. Right from the beginning, as far back as I can remember, I could never even think of her as a sibling. It was as though I almost don't remember her being there my entire life. Maker, she didn't even share any physical traits with anyone in the family!

We've all got blue eyes. She's got brown eyes. Big, soulful, brown eyes – deep chocolate brown – the kind of eyes that sunk into a man's bones and mind. A boy of twelve doesn't notice such things though. One of the earliest memories I have of her was when Bethany told her, "I love your eyes. I've just got blue eyes. You've got big chocolate coloured eyes. The boys were talking about how pretty they were", and I countered with, "I'm a boy and I think her eyes are the same colour and size as big shit."

Mother had not been pleased with my language and had sent me to my room without dinner. When I begged Bethany to steal away some dinner for me, she had fervently shaken her head and said in a miffed tone, "It's punishment for being rude. Our sister is pretty and you made her feel ugly. You deserved it."

Very late that night, my sister had snuck out of the bedroom she shared with Bethany and into mine, gentle hands pushing against the creaking door one minute inch at a time. With a finger pressed against her lips, she closed the door with equal cautiousness, fearful of waking our parents before handing over a small clothed bundle, her other hand glowing with a magical blue orb to give us light. I opened it to reveal the leftover contents of dinner. I smiled at her in desperate relief. 'She really isn't so bad', I thought at the time whilst munching on sweet bread.

When I had finished with the food, I uncharacteristically kissed her cheek. She bade me goodnight, wiped the corners of my mouth with the cloth and slowly began to open the door, creeping upon her tiptoes. It was then I asked her, "Why?"

She turned around to look at me, the orb reflected in her eyes making them a strange blue-black. I repeated, "Why? Why did you bring me dinner? Aren't you upset with me?"

"No," was her one word answer.

"Why not?" I asked her, truly curious.

"Because it doesn't matter. It is your opinion and you should be allowed that. Mother punished you for saying a rude word." Her voice was whispered, hushed to quiet.

I didn't believe her and argued, "Bethany said it was 'cause I made you feel ugly."

She shook her head, "You didn't."

It didn't make any sense. I told her she had eyes the colour of shit, for the Maker's sake! I nearly yelled, "Why not? Aren't you afraid all the boys will think you're ugly and not like you?"

There was something in her eyes that night, something hauntingly sweet like she was remembering a distant memory. It was wistful but I thought it was just the way the orb reflected in her eyes when she said, "Because I only need one person in the whole of Thedas to think I'm beautiful. Just one. It doesn't matter if everyone else thinks my eyes are the colour of shit. It doesn't matter if everyone thinks I'm ugly. I only need one person to think I'm beautiful. For now, it is Bethany. One day, it'll be a man. And I'll only ever need one."

She was only one year older than me but at thirteen, there was a surprising amount of wisdom in her lanky, little body. I recognized it as her way of holding that one year of maturity over me and I became petty about it. She was wiser than me and she made it sound like she would never need me. Even at twelve, that bothered me more than I could say.

Soon after that, she began to sprout. Her body lengthened like an irritating weed over me, she began to develop womanly curves, she even grew out her hair and the last few resemblances she shared with Bethany dissipated entirely. It became abundantly clear that her -also chocolate brown - hair was not just messy as I had assumed, it was wavy – curly tresses of hair that brought much delight to both Mother and Bethany in helping her braid it each morning. I often heard Bethany sigh out in exasperation, "No one in our family has curly hair. You're the only one." I hated how she got all the attention so I tugged her braid as often as I could.

The last of her puppy fat left her cheeks and she no longer had Bethany's or Mother's heart-shaped face or as Father affectionately called it, 'a sweetheart's face'. Her face lengthened into a more oval shape, something Father named, 'a perfect teardrop face' and she grew into those big eyes of hers, giving her a softer feminine look.

When we first arrived in Lothering, she was fifteen and the eyes of every boy were upon her when she walked to town. At fourteen, I very nearly saw red. I didn't understand my feelings at the time and almost everyday, I found some ungodly reason to pick fights with her, insult her, argue with her and threaten to tell the Templars that she was an apostate mage.

Sometimes she argued back, sometimes she fought back, sometimes she told her Mabari to snap at my heels and sometimes she even shot a jolt of lightening my way though she always kept it light. But she never actually held a grudge and by the next day, all was forgiven and she was unfailingly nice. I hated her for that goody-two-shoes act. I thought she was a pushover, a rug on the floor for anyone to walk over. She was the suck-up, the butt-kisser, the shoe-shiner that everyone loved. The boys stared at her, all parents adored her, even babies held their arms out to be held. It made me sick.

And Father – he treasured her for her mage talents, even more so than Bethany for she was fast in her learning, poured over tomes diligently, powerful for a young girl and could put me down on my ass at a moment's notice. I wanted to strangle her sometimes. I wanted to prove to Father that I was just as capable. Just as strong. But she was always stronger. I resented her.

That was until I turned sixteen. She was a beautiful girl at seventeen, slender and lithe, tall and willowy. Well, for a girl at least. I was fast surpassing her in height. It was around that time that I really began to notice how attractive she was becoming. It was a bright spring morning when her humming outside my window woke me from my much needed sleep. Instantly angry, I trudged to the window to shout at her. She had plucked a blooming pink rose from Mother's garden and weaved it behind her ear. Surly and brash, I yelled at her, "Hey Hales!"

She turned to me, a flirtatiously sweet smile playing across her lips. It bowled me over. My jaw dropped and the sleepiness that had overwhelmed my mind instantly cleared. Sunlight streamed about her, highlighting all the occasional strands of copper and gold in her hair, making it seem lighter than the ordinary dark brown. Her voice teased me, the lilting tones almost making me shiver in delight, "Yes, Carver?"

I wanted to scream at her, had originally intended to do so but instead, my voice was hoarse when I asked her, "Could you… um… keep it down a bit?"

She was obviously in a good mood for she stepped to the window and stood on the tips of her toes to brush a good morning kiss against my lips. It was nothing that should have caused my gut and fists to clench, it was nothing that should have made me want to reach out of the window and kiss her even more deeply for she gave Bethany, Mother and Father kisses like those every morning. Even I got kisses like those on my birthday or other special occasions. But something had changed within me. It meant so much more. Not just family. But more. I hated the confusion, the conflict. I tried to call her 'sister' even more to remind myself of our bond, thought I couldn't feel it. I ended up sneering the word to her. I felt sick knowing that she was my own sister and she made me hard.

It was also around that time that I realized how hated she was. By the girls. It made hating her easier. Just to spite her and the feelings I had for her, I started seeing Peaches. Honestly, there was nothing between her ears and she whinged about my sister far too much but she was a warm body, tender and supple and my sister cringed every time she saw us kissing. Just for that, I kissed Peaches in front of her at almost any opportunity and maybe it was because of that, the gap between us seemed to grow ever so much more. She shook her head with a patronising attitude I despised, looking at me like I was an idiot of a boy and so, I spent even more time with Peaches because her almost pretentious moans of pleasure stroked my ego.

The three of us became known as the 'Hawke Heartbreakers' at the Lothering markets. The girls flocked around me at the local festivals and the men buzzed like flies around my sisters. I know that Bethany never actually had anyone for she rejected every man's advances. As for Hales, I could never actually be sure. If she did have a partner, she never mentioned his name, he never came over for dinner, she never came home at some ungodly hour in the morning and they, if such a 'they' existed at all, were extremely discreet. It made her finding me and Peaches rolling in the hay late one night all the more unacceptable. Her voice was icy and she strode into the barn like she owned the place. Her eyes watched us with an indifference that was almost humiliating. She tilted her head and watched Peaches in a calculating way before gesturing to her skirts which had been bunched up almost to her waist, "And thus, you thought to be a lady of society? What I see before me is nothing better than any girl at the brothel." Peaches took her cue to run out of the barn whilst Hales' Mabari, Widge, growled menacingly.

Angry, I shoved my sister roughly, shouting at her, "What the hell was that for? Can't you just leave me alone?"

She leaned against the oak walls of the barn and said in a scathing tone, "It was our parents or me. If she got any louder, and by the way, she's far too loud, it would have been our parents."

It didn't matter that she was trying to keep me out of trouble. What mattered was that she was insulting my manhood, telling me I couldn't pleasure a woman properly. I hissed poisonously, "Don't impose your frustrations upon me. Just because you're jealous of her doesn't mean-"

Hales laughed, her amusement tainted with something almost vile, "Jealous? Of her? Why? Because she got thrown in a bale of hay and had a boy squirm on top of her?"

It stung and in that moment, I was very tempted to throw her into the hay and show her what a boy could do to her. Instead I argued, "The way you talk, you'd sooner emasculate someone than make them feel like a man!"

She smiled with patronising unconcern, "Is that what she does? Does she make you feel like a man?"

I nodded resolutely, "Yes."

Hales' eyes filled with disappointment and she turned to walk back to the house, her last words echoing constantly in my mind, "If you need a woman beneath you to make you feel like a man, then you are no man at all."

That was truly the low point of our relationship. She rarely spoke to me, addressing me with an almost formal tone only when completely necessary. Even so, the gap was bridging if only due to the respect I was beginning to feel for her again. She didn't realize though for it was mostly one-sided. I began to understand that she was truly matured in some things but where she attained that maturity, I didn't know. Though at first I thought she was still too polite, I realized eventually that her strength came from knowing when to accept defeat and when to push her point.

She took a stand against Mother when she realized she no longer wanted to go to the Chantry every week. It was over breakfast when she told everyone, "Have fun at the Chantry. I won't be going."

Mother was astounded, "No! That is not negotiable, young lady."

I had expected her to cave but she shook her head, "I believe in doing good things. I believe that there is a Maker to judge us for our good deeds when we pass. I could even believe in the magisters corrupting the Golden City but I don't believe I'm going to sit idly by listening to a bunch of gossipers talk to one another about how mages are second rate and 'Why waste resources for them at all? Let's just cull them when they are born!'", she said in an animated fashion, fingers up in the air to symbolize quotation marks.

Mother was going to argue but Father waved her off, "Very well. If this is your wish, you are certainly old enough to decide for yourself. Even so, I want you to help out at the Chantry when they need volunteers."

Hales had happily compromised. Bethany tried to argue, "If she doesn't have to go, I don't want to go either." Honestly, I just about loathed the Chantry but something within me caused me to interrupt and though I can never actually believe I said something so ridiculous, I told Bethany, "We're younger than she is. We don't understand the world the way she does. We can decide when we're seventeen."

The argument had abated and Hales stared at me with something akin to shock in her eyes and a hopeful smile across her lips. Just knowing I had her approval sent a strangely warm feeling right through my chest. When Bethany and I left with our parents to town, a warm glow swimming through my blood, Hales promised to have lunch on the table when we returned. Though listening to some preacher prattle on for the better part of the morning almost had me regretting what I had said, the satisfaction and reward came when I could smell Hales baking almost a mile away from home.

She had made my favourites – salted ham sandwiches with fresh, still warm bread; small slices of cheese lay on crunchy crackers, served on the dining table. I could smell the gingery tang of cinnamon in the air and I strode to the kitchens to investigate. There she was, sprinkling frosting all over the apple and cherry pie that was cooling on the rack. She really had made all of my favourites. I felt good, loved and despite not really wanting anyone to know that because men didn't do the whole emotions thing, I leaned against the kitchen counter and dipped my finger into the frosting bowl to lick off the sugary substance. She chuckled almost wistfully.

I asked with friendliness, "Need any help?"

She moved her head up to look at me for by that point, I was already taller than she. There was a strange softness in her eyes as she shook her head and then looked away. I turned her chin back to face me as I murmured in question, "What?"

"Nothing," she whispered back, close enough for me to smell the tang of ginger on her breath. Then her eyes locked with mine for a second and her voice was husky, "For a while there, I thought I lost you completely. You were so distant from me."

As she finished off the pie and began slicing it with precision, I told her with a half-chuckle, "I just enjoy fighting with you but you couldn't lose me. You're my –" I couldn't bring myself to say 'sister'. It had been a while, I realized, since I felt for her in that way again. I had found her very irritating for quite the span of time and suddenly, her presence made my body tighten up, made my blood beat strangely in my head. Even her scent was making my knees lock funny. With a soft groan, I wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed the smudge of frosting that was on her cheek. She giggled but she didn't seem to understand my true predicament.

I tried to speak again, "You're family," and because I could hear the scrapes of chairs against the floor waking me up from the half domestic atmosphere of the kitchen, I joked with her, "Not to mention, your cooking is just too good."

Hales chuckled, leaning against my arm as she murmured, "Don't let Mother hear you say that or she'll have me cooking every single day."

I know I shouldn't have but I buried my face behind her ear for a moment to question silkily, "What will you give me to buy my silence?"

I could feel her heart pounding, reverberating through her back and into my chest. I watched her finish slicing up the pie into six equal pieces, her hands shaking from the intimacy of my actions and I knew – I knew that whatever conflicting emotion I felt for her, she could feel it too. I was not alone. It didn't stop her from turning in my arms and brushing a kiss against my mouth. It was simple, just a brush of lips, an almost casual brush of butterfly's wings but her eyes gave her away. They had darkened past chocolate, mysterious and sweet and I held her for a second longer than was necessary, kissed her once more than was appropriate.

Something about that moment was forever branded in my mind – the domestic atmosphere, the casual touches that were akin to lovers rather than siblings and most of all, her eyes.

Bethany was right. They really were beautiful.

A/N: I will hopefully update soon! Please R&R!

Love, Ann