In My Sister's Shadow

Authors Note:I've been meaning to upload this onto the site for months now. :/ It's just under a year old and it's been cluttering up my computer. It was a response to a prompt on the DA Kinkmeme on LJ, I'll post it under. I won't be putting up ANs at the top of each chapter like usual because I've already written it all, so apologies for the spamming that's going to happen to any of my follower's emails. :/

Prompt: "We all know how much Carver loves being in Hawkes shadow, but what if it was the other way around? What if Hawke had been in Bethanys shadow ever since their fathers 'favourite little girl' changed from Hawke to Bethany (who was a mage like him, even better). Bethany is sweet, kind, perhaps a bit more confident (with men?) than Hawke, and Hawke has always, always been told that Bethany is the prettier of the two. Add Leandra focusing on telling Hawke not to attract attention because we don't want to put Bethany in danger (nevermind what danger Hawke puts herself in trying to keep her family safe and well), and Hawke might have some self-esteem problems. So when they meet Anders it only seems natural for Hawke to conclude that as mages the two would get along (her feelings might be influenced by attraction to him, which makes her jump to assuming he'd like Bethany more than her). And feeling as inferior to Bethany as she does, Hawke likely concludes that her own feelings about him don't have a chance.

I was thinking a rivalry between these two wouldn't be openly aggressive like Carvers, but more a quiet, unsaid thing that builds in the background. I could easily see something hurtful being said at home by Leandra, Bethany or Gamlen and Hawke fleeing/storming off for a bit to have some time alone where she doesn't need to constantly listen to her family as she does at home, or be a seemingly confident leader when her companions are around. Things were much easier when Carver was still around, because he wasn't the mage their father wanted, and Hawke wasn't the pretty, graceful girl that Leandra wanted.

Would be great if Bethany could stay true to her character, perhaps not realizing how Hawke feels."

Prologue

"Do you feel them, sweetheart?"

"I feel them, Papa…Are – Are the babies upset, or scared?"

Chuckling down at his daughter Malcom affectionately carded his fingers through her blonde hair, reminiscent of Leandra's noble locks, the woman who was baring the young girl's gentle pokes and prods with surprising serenity. The child, or children as the mage had later found out when administering one of his monthly check up on his wife, had been more active recently and Leandra was more short tempered than usual from the lack of sleep; it had however been a constant source of entertainment and awe.

"Of course not, Marea. They're just looking forward to seeing you; their big sister. You're going to have to be a big girl and help your mother look after them. I'm not always going to be around to keep them safe, so you've got to promise me you'll be the responsible one."

The small girl beamed up at him, ignorant to the heavy duty that had just been placed on her shoulders at such a young age. Those words would be ones that would haunt her, dog her steps, and follow her even when she hoped to shuck the responsibility. Holding out her hand she stuck her smallest finger out for her father to take, their own silent way of making promises.

As Malcom released her hand Marea turned back to the large swell of her mother's belly and placed both palms down on the thin fabric stretched thin over the bulge, delighting in the little wiggles she felt there, grinning from ear to ear in childlike curiosity. "I'll take care of you, baby brothers or sisters. Promise."

Marea had been four when her life changed forever.

Mama had been shouting and screaming for hours now, and Papa hadn't looked pleased when he'd dashed from the room a while ago to refill the bucket with fresh water. That had been about an hour previous and the sounds of pain didn't seem to be letting up; clutching the book of Chantry tales her father usually read to hear on an evening to her chest Marea curled up a little tighter on the rug by the fireplace. Without Malcom's vigilant care the roaring flames had dimmed to dull embers in the grate.

"Marea?"

Looking up from the well memorized print the blonde girl quietly got to her feet and padded over to the door, trying to peer inside between her father's legs; he obstructed her view, but couldn't stop her from hearing the animalistic grunts and occasional cries Leandra was making. Crouching down he gently pressed the bucket into her hands, helping to steady her as she staggered under the weight, "Sweetheart I need you to fill this with clean water and get back here as quickly as you can. Can you do that for me?"

Nodding stiffly the small girl heaved the bucket up to her chest and tottered into the garden, her mother's screams following her out of the door. She tipped over her feet, sloshing the dirty water onto her dress, staining the fabric a dark red. Shaking Marea bought her hands up to her face, her stomach lurching nauseatingly when she realised it was blood; it was more than Mama's moon bleed and she didn't get that anymore...Leandra had had to comfort her for hours when the hysterical girl had found the bloody sheets for the first time and demanded to know if she was hurt.

Was Mama...dying?

Pouring the soiled water away she paused at the well, biting her lip nervously before standing on her tip toes to hook the bucket onto the rope, awkwardly turning the wheel until she heard the wood hit the water. For a moment the blonde didn't think she would be strong enough to draw the bucket back up, but when she heard the startled cry from her father for her to hurry she pulled on the wheel with all her might.

She tripped a further two times on the way back into the house, spilling water onto the floorboards as she went. Malcom was waiting at the door for her and snatched the bucket from her hands without so much as a smile before shutting the door again, grim faced and grimy with gore.

Where Marea had been worried, now she was terrified. Mama had to be dying for Papa to look so upset...And what of her two new siblings? Were they going to die as well?

Being the daughter of an on the run apostate hadn't exactly been conducive to faith; of course she knew of the Maker, the nice ladies in the last village they'd lived in had told her the most exciting story about the Prophetess Andraste as she battled against the tyranny of the magisters. Because of that story she'd swore that one day she'd be as brave as the great Bride of the Maker and would wield her blade against the tyranny of...something bad...

But the point was she had never once in her life been encouraged to pray.

Now, however, she thought she should try it. Surely the Maker wouldn't take away Mama and her new brothers or sisters if she asked really nicely? And so, slick with the gore from the bucket, Marea knelt on the rug in front of the dying fire and bowed her head, begging that he would let her mother and siblings stay here with her and her father where they belonged.

" – And I promise never to hide toads in Mama's smalls again..."

Well...perhaps that was a lie...

But even the Maker had to have a sense of humour didn't he?

"They look funny."

"Don't be silly, Marea they look beautiful," Leandra snapped testily as her eldest daughter peered over her coverlet at the two bundles nestled in her arms. Malcom helpfully lifted the small blonde so she could look at the two babies properly. It was hard to see what they looked like when their faces were all scrunched up, but she was taken aback by the shock of dark hair they both shared and she gently plucked at her own blonde locks before looking at her father.

They had the same hair colour as Papa. She couldn't help the small spike of jealousy.

"What are their names?" she asked finally, looking between the boy and the girl curiously, chewing her lip gently as she did when she was nervous.

"Carver and Bethany...And do stop biting your lip like that, Marea. I won't help you mop it up when you pierce the skin again."

The girl was used to Leandra's barbs and thorny comments, it had just been something she'd come to expect from the woman during the final months of her pregnancy when her temper was frayed. Perhaps now, though, she'd go back to playing with her hair and sitting with her in her lap while Papa told her wild tales of the far city of Kirkwall in the North.

"We'll go there someday, you and I," he would breathe softly at the end and lean over to press a kiss to her drowsy head as she dozed against Mama's chest. "And I'll show you the wonders of Thedas one by one."

"Carver," she repeated softly, pressing one finger against the soft nose of the small boy, giggling childishly as he squirmed away from the contact before doing the same to the other small bundle, "And Bethany..."

She would look after her siblings, and they would be the best of friends. She could confide in her little sister, have fist fights with her brother and she and Bethany could both sneak into Mama and Papa's room to try on her dresses and play with the powders she kept on her dressing table.

They would be inseparable and do everything together. It would be perfect.

But nothing turned out how she had hoped.

Bethany had magic.

It was a fact that Marea and Carver had known since the small brunette had set her sister's skirts on fire when she'd refused to hand over the ball she'd been playing with. Of course Bethany had been given said ball and Marea had been severely scolded by their mother for antagonizing their sister; from that day forth whenever Bethany had demanded something from the blonde she had done anything in her power to make sure she got it.

As it was she had very little in common with her sister, the girl had her father's good looks, a trait shared by Carver, and Mama's stunning brown eyes, grace and poise; whereas Marea had curly, unruly blonde hair that could rarely be tamed that hung wildly to her lower back, her father's intense green eyes, pale skin that burnt when she spent too much time out in the sun and the manners of an ill-trained Mabari. She was a proverbial weed next to the blossoming flower of her sister.

Marea had been pushed aside; the brunette had taken over the time with father so he could 'train' her how to hide and control her powers; though somewhat spitefully Marea thought she was bad at the lessons on purpose so she could keep Papa all to herself. And Bethany had even taken her spot on Mama's lap as the woman gently ran a comb through her hair. The only thing she could do was harbour her camaraderie with Carver over always being second best to their sister. It had simply became the norm.

Over the years the girls grew even farther apart, each holding quiet fondness for each other and equal parts resentment; Marea resented Bethany's place as the golden child and Bethany resenting Marea as the older sister who strived to beat her at everything non-magic related. But where Mama braided Bethany's hair with beads and flowers she would pull Marea's into a rough plait claiming that she'd only had ruined it by the end of the day; where Bethany wore long, eye catching dresses, Marea would wear soft hunting leathers.

"Oh Bethany, darling, your hair's getting so long. I just can't bring myself to cut it...I remember some old Orlesian fashions that girls used to love when I was your age, it was all about intricate braids with flowers and feathers...Perhaps I could convince your father to get some ribbon for you. I know it's expensive but a beautiful girl like you should have little things like that."

Marea didn't get braids.

Marea didn't get flowers or feathers.

Marea didn't get ribbons or lace or little pearl buttons.

Marea didn't get the pretty little things Mama spoke of...

Because Marea wasn't beautiful enough to wear them.

Bethany however got it all.

Bethany was the one to get to use Mama's powder from the dressing table first.

Bethany was the one who got taken out to the May Day festival by a boy first.

Bethany was the one to get kissed first.

Bethany got to see Papa before her when he was dying.

But Marea was the one who had the burden of looking after the family when he finally passed the veil.

What about Bethany then? She had been perfect in every other way; why hadn't she been perfect to look after them all now he was gone?

Why was she the one who had to get her hands dirty? Why was she the one who had to be strong all the time? Why was she the one who had to keep hidden and not draw attention to the family lest the Templar's find out about Bethany's powers when Bethany was free to flaunt and dance and laugh? Why was she the one who had to pull her siblings out of trouble and take their beatings for them?

Why did Bethany get to live the life of a normal, happy, beautiful young woman when she had to live the life of a rogue, sneaking about making sure her sister didn't get caught and feeling tense and petrified whenever she passed the Templars as if the secret might suddenly burst from her lips like vomit.

It wasn't her secret. She hadn't done anything wrong and yet she had to live the life of a fugitive while her sister stole her life of freedom. She was sick of it.

And in the darkest moments where she was alone and feeling particularly bitter, she would imagine a life where Bethany had been sent to the Circle; where she was the one who had braids, and beads and ribbons and all the fine things while mother poured over her and told her how beautiful she was.

But it was only a sick, twisted fantasy and soon she would have to wake up to the harsh reality: Barely seventeen and she had a household to help feed.

Her training and swordplay with Carver had been placed on hold as she juggled farming work and helped fix roofs, doors and fences and helped tend gardens and look after children when their parents were busy. It was then she lost her brother's friendship as well to jealousy when he realised he wouldn't be taking Papa's place as the man of the house. Well he was welcome to it, and she could just leave and start a new life somewhere else where she didn't always come second.

And three years later she hadn't been able to take it anymore. She had signed up to the King's Army to help defend the country against the Blight.

"You can't go!" Leandra snapped irritably as she watched her eldest prepare dinner; with Carver standing by the doorway, stony-faced and dour and Bethany sitting next to her, looking out of the window absently. "You can't both go. What if something happens to both of you? Who'll look after Bethany and keep her safe from the Templars?"

Marea was sorely tempted to say that if Bethany couldn't protect herself and hide herself from the Templars on her own by now then she almost deserved to be caught; but that would only start another quarrel, as the last time she'd made the faintest joke about the Templars Bethany had looked like she was about to burst into tears, and her mother looked ready to strangle her. "Mother, we'll both be fine; the pay isn't wonderful but a week's wages is better than what I earn in a month here, and Carver wants to come. Besides, Bethany's a big girl, I'm sure she can stay out of the Templar's way whilst we're gone."

Even then it had been about Bethany. It was almost like her mother didn't care about what happened to her eldest daughter; just so long as Bethany was safe, so long as someone was there to make sure that Bethany didn't need to lift a finger.

The next morning she and Carver had left.

She didn't turn to take one last look at home as she strode towards Ostagar.

And the girl Marea with skinned knees and tears in her eyes was tossed away, and Hawke was born.