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[ The feed eventually shutters to life and it's pointing at the ceiling. It's a mostly nondescript ceiling, please enjoy it for being pleasantly neutral. Because it's going to be ruined in less than ten seconds.

Carver's face pops into the view and he stares at the device like it's some unholy abomination that just tinkled on his favorite shirt. It's clear he's in a terrible sort of mood—but when is he not?—by the harsh line of his brows and the curl of his mouth. While he doesn't have his full plate armor on, he still wears the blue and silver of the Grey Wardens. ]

So, apparently this sodding thing is supposed to let me talk to other people. [ Here he is. Doing just that. ] I'm—

[ He stops, sighs through his nose then rubs the side of his head. Does he introduce himself? Maybe. Ugh. ]

My name is Carver Hawke and I have a request and don't really know where to start. I'm looking for books. [ The harsh lines of his expression soften to the slightest degree for a brief moment. ] Easy ones. Ones that kids can read. Don't know what is considered that here, so.

[ He lifts a shoulder in a shrug as if that will explain the rest of the request so he doesn't need to. Basically, he needs pointing in the right direction with titles and maybe even large print.

Off-screen there is a small scuffling noise and it's followed soon by a little yappy sort of bark. There's a fun, bright usage of several even more fun curses before Carver disappears for a second. The video shakes as he picks up the device to hold at arms length. In his other hand is this abomination of a dog. It wriggles in his hand and that only seems to irritate him further. ]

And what in the Maker's name is this bloody thing? It's like some horrible Orlesian dog some sod would wear on their hat. What good are these wardrobes if this is what I get instead of a mabari?

[ The puppy happily licks Carver's nose and he grunts in disgust before putting it down and returning to the device. It seems he wants to say something more, but he isn't sure how. Clearly annoyed—and mostly with himself—he frowns all over again then just shuts the feed off. ]

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[ He doesn't like this.

Not even a little bit. He doesn't like that this man seems to know about him. His sisters, the Deep Roads. If at all possible, Carver scowls even more with this new information. Though he's never been one for keeping secrets, the Wardens have taught him a little better about discretion. A little. ]

What? The Deep Roads happened ten years ago!

[ Okay, not so much, but. An attempt was made. Carver makes a noise, half-impatience, half-annoyance. This isn't how he imagined his life turning out. He's wishing even more he was in Weisshaupt. ]

Fine. I'll meet you somewhere.

[Well.

That answers that.]

Maybe for you. I'll... I'll explain in person. There's a tavern on the fifth floor, it's even cleaner than The Hanged Man.

[His tone switches, then, to something a little more subdued, placating. His expression remains expressly neutral, however, not wanting to give away the depths of what he's feeling right now.]

I'll answer whatever questions you have there.

All right. Fine.

[ Not that he has many questions beyond 'who' and 'what.' But, it may help in filling in some blanks, though he's not entirely hopeful.

He tosses the picture box aside without bothering to turn it off and a moment later the door closes. Since he's on the fourth floor, it doesn't take him long to go up a flight and find the tavern.

And there he finds a place to sit with his back to the wall and looking out at everything because he's certainly not going to trust anything here. ]

[It takes Garrett a little longer, his room being on the second floor and the fact he needs to take a moment to gather his thoughts. Proving who he is to someone like Dorian, or even Isabela would be rather easy but this is Carver, one of the only people who knows all his older sibling's secrets.

As he climbs the flights of stairs to the bar, he tries to remember stories, little things that happened years ago that only they'd know. Does it matter? Will the stories stay the same despite Marian existing instead of Garrett?

When he finds Carver's table, he doesn't sit down, a hand curling over the back of the chair. He opens his mouth to say something, but all he can do is stare at his brother for a moment.]

... You survived whatever it was Stroud put you through, then. [His face twists because obviously.]

[ It's strange to see him in person. Carver doesn't really know what to make of him, and that shows in the expression on his face that can't settle anywhere. What is he supposed to do right now?

He schools himself into something bored and deadpanned, waving a hand at the chair. ]

Obviously. It's great fun, the Blight.

[ Not. ]

So. Who are you, then? Really.

[He can't help the flinch that happens when Carver mentions the Blight. Hawke takes the seat, watching Carver curiously, studying his face. He's so much older, Garrett would be laughing right now if the situation wasn't what it is.]

Garrett Hawke.

[His fingers drum against the tabletop.]

I've spent the last few months wondering if you were dead because of me. If I'd fucked up by taking you into the Deep Roads with us instead of listening to mother and making you stay behind. I don't care if you don't believe me, Carver, I'm just... I'm just happy to know you're okay.

[ His lips thin as he watches, a hardness settling in his eyes that had never been there before. It seems unreal. How could this man be his brother? He had such a tyrant of a sister, this doesn't seem factual. Idly, he entertains the thought if only he'd had an older brother that maybe they could've gotten along better. Maybe he wouldn't have been as bad as Marian. Maybe...

Well, maybes don't matter now.

His stomach twists uncomfortably as he mentions his mother. Their mother? ]

Just fine. [ He's not fine. He's never been fine. He's certainly not fine now. ] You've missed a lot if you're ten years behind.

I guess that makes you the older brother now, doesn't it?

[He tries, tries to joke about it, but it falls flat. The tension in the air is too thick for any humour to survive.]

I know I don't exist in your... I'm not part of your family in the Thedas you remember, but you aren't the only one. The Inquisitor here, Brennan, remembers a Marian Hawke, too. Isabela and Cullen both remember me, and no Marian.

[He never thought he'd be glad for Cullen, but he is now.]

Tell me what I can do to get you to at least consider believing me.

[ If he hadn't spoken to the alleged Inquisitor, he might not believe that other... people existed. Carver never met the Inquisitor back home, just knew him as a qunari and never understood why Varric stayed after everything that happened in Kirkwall. There's a tick of recognition but he doesn't let it go far. ]

Cullen's here too? What sort of weird reunion is this place?

[ Carver scrubs his hands over his face then cards his fingers back through his hair. ]

There's not really much you can do. There's no way I can know if you're telling the truth or not. For all I know this is some fucked up dream in the Fade and you're some demon trying to kill me.

If I was a demon, wouldn't I look more like... what was her name, Peaches? Instead of trying to convince you of a family member that you didn't know existed?

[Hawke leans back in the chair, glancing over at the bar and signalling the blonde behind it for a couple of drinks. Even if Carver doesn't believe him, they can get drunk, right?]

But yes, Cullen is here. He remembers more than I do, something about being Commander of the Inquisition's forces?

[ Carver's face turns even more sour at that. How does he even know? None of this makes sense. Part of him wants to believe it. But, the other part of him sort of can't. Doesn't want to? He's not really sure which one. He grumbles a little noise and folds his arms on the table. ]

Yeah, last I heard he was.

[ One hand lifts and cards through his hair several times, causing it to stick up a little wildly in several directions. ]

I don't... know what to say. Life hasn't been great? But, apparently shit's different everywhere so what does it matter. What's happened to me has no bearing on you.

[Well, there goes his plan of casually dropping names and stories in pleasant enough (for them, at least,) conversation to convince Carver he's telling the truth. It's probably a good thing, while it might be well-intentioned, it's likely also really creepy. Garrett snorts, his lips twisting downwards.]

Whether or not it's the same as my own experiences, I'd still like to hear about the trouble my brother's gotten himself into over the years.

[The bartender arrives with their drinks just as he finishes. Garrett thanks her, before gently pushing Carver's drink towards him.]

Look - I'm not going to force you to talk about your life. I said I'd answer your questions and I'm sure you have some about Wonderland. I've been here for months now, at least let me help you.

[ Though he knows he shouldn't take it personally, he does. It's likely meant as a nice barb, a way to settle the tension thick in the air. But, Carver's never been one to easily take jokes at his own expense. So, in true Carver fashion, he prickles instantly and goes on the defensive. ]

It wasn't me getting into sodding trouble. I got shoved off to the Wardens, a fact of which I was meant to thank her for. This didn't extend my life. It just gave me a sodding death sentence. My sister was the one causing trouble and getting people killed.

[ He's not frothing at the mouth yet, but it might be coming soon. ]

The trouble I've been in has been her fault. Bethany dying, Merrill getting killed, Mother getting killed—her fault. Doing a half-arsed job on killing a magister-darkspawn who tried to take over Thedas—also her fault. Because of that, the Wardens were exiled.

You want to know my troubles? She was my trouble. My life has been nothing but trouble because of her. Only now when I was starting to piece it back together because finally she's gone, I wind up here. With you, claiming to be my brother. As far as I'm concerned, my only sibling is Bethany. So, there. Are you happy to know about my life now?

That isn't what I -- [Thankfully, he has the decency to shut up and let Carver say his piece. It hadn't been meant to cause offense, but he really should have known better since Carver. In some twisted way, it's nice to know that hasn't changed, even if he's the current target of his brother's rage.

That's a lot to take in and some of it confirms what he's already feared. That Carver blamed him for Bethany's death, just as their mother did, just as he does.

That Carver blames him for his fate, as he rightfully should.

He'd taken Carver on the expedition because he'd worked just as hard as he had to earn the money, he wasn't going to spit in Carver's face and not let him reap the rewards. It wasn't meant to end like this, but he wouldn't -- couldn't let Carver die down there, even if it meant his brother hating him forever. He could bear it because it meant they wouldn't lose someone else, because it meant even if he was forced into the Wardens, he'd be alive.

The fact he's talking about Marian doesn't matter to Garrett, because so far? There's too many similar events for him to act like things won't go this way for him. Which means --]

Mother? [His voice is tiny, he's not even sure Carver will hear him the way he's caught up in his own rage. He barely hears the rest of Carver's words, his heart pounding in his ears as he struggles to comprehend everything. For the longest moment, all he can do is sit there, eyes wide as he focuses on the table instead of looking at Carver, afraid of what he might see.] I'm -- I'm sorry, Carver. You should - [He reaches into his robes, pulling out a very familiar neckscarf. He'd received it during 'Christmas,' and hadn't been able to go anywhere without it since, the only reminder of a sister he lost, that he wasn't able to save.] You should have this, then.

[ Perhaps in another life (haha) things would've been different. Carver would have learned sooner to bank his anger and his hatred toward everything. But, instead it was something able to be fostered and grew into such a large inferno that sometimes even he couldn't handle the heat.

Maybe at one time he would have accepted Bethany's death wasn't anyone's fault, it was just a really shitty circumstance in a really shitty situation. Maybe at one time he would have accepted becoming a Warden with better grace and thanked his sister for it. Maybe at one time he would've shared the blame of their mother getting killed, that if only he'd been there he could've stopped it right alongside his sister.

But, that isn't his life. His life is the path of garbage laid out in front of him, forged by his lovely sister.

He hears him all right. And that only serves to ignite another flame in his ire. If he's telling the truth, he wouldn't know of their mother's fate yet. For all Carver knows, maybe in this guy's world, their mother lives. And wouldn't that just be something?

He's about to say something—about that, about the stupid apologies he doesn't want. The past is firmly behind him and he's been carrying the grief on his own for too long to allow anyone else near enough to help shoulder it. But everything, everything, grinds to a halt when he sees that scarf.

It's almost as if the whole world around them stops moving; Carver can't see anything other than that, can't hear anything over his own breathing and blood pumping too quick through his veins. His hands ball into tight fists that they shake with the effort. A lump forms in the back of his throat and he can feel the burn pricking behind his eyes. He swallows once, twice, then breathes the same through his nose.

Then his temper explodes, his breaking point reached and he knows he needs to get out of here. ]

Is this some sort of joke?! [ He stands up so fast the chair tips and hits the wall. ] What is wrong with you? Maker's fucking arse.

[ His hands rake through his hair and he stalks off, flinging every last filthy word he knows. He's near the door when he finally glances back over, red faced and angry, hurt. ]

I can't do this.

Carver -- [He cuts himself with a frustrated growl, knocking the untouched drinks on the table to the ground in his haste to catch up to his brother. The sound of shattering glass is ignored as he moves, scarf still tightly clutched in his hand. It was meant to be a heartfelt gesture, an acceptance of Carver's decision that he only has the one sibling but in true Garrett Hawke fashion, everything has gone to previously unheard of levels of shit.

He barely manages to grab Carver's arm, ignoring the startled looks of the few patrons as he grips tightly, unyielding. Though, they both know Carver could break his hand with ease if he wanted to, so it's a risk on his part.]

And you think I can? Do you think I would joke about something like Bethany? She was my sister, she was your twin, and every day since this damned mansion decided I needed to wake up to a reminder of what we lost, I've carried it with me. [Every day he's looked at it and thought of the family he lost and the family he left behind. Thought of the fact it's his fault Bethany is dead because he couldn't save her.] I wanted you to have it because you should have it, not me. I could have handled it better, but I'm not -- I'm not trying to be a monster, Carver.

[ The world narrows down to that point where they're connected and for several heart-stopping seconds, Carver sees nothing but red. Sure, he fights a lot, runs at the mouth even more, but he tends to not cause actual violence unless the situation warrants it. Right now? It's edging terribly close to that. Carver yanks his arm out of the grip, the look on his face darkening well beyond stormy and right into catastrophic disaster. ]

Get your hands off me!

[ Well beyond caring he's causing a scene, he doesn't dim his voice to something lower to carry between them. His feelings are a tangled damned mess right now and he can't control himself as good as he wants to. This isn't a conversation he wants. This isn't a conversation he was ready for. No matter how much he thinks things can't hurt him, that he's invincible if he doesn't show he cares, it's simply just not true. Carver cares too much and that's why he's angry.

He's so angry that he's lost everything he ever had. No one seems to understand that. He lost his father who he loved unconditionally, who taught him how to properly hold a sword when he turned out to be the only non-magically talented child. He lost his twin sister who had always been his best friend and confidant, who never judged him, who took his attitude in stride and had her secret ways of calming him down. He lost his mother who loved him unconditionally even when he didn't see it, who he didn't understand but wanted the best for her anyway because she deserved it. He lost his other sister, where even though they didn't get along, they were still family and there are times he remembers when she wasn't a demon in disguise. He lost his home—both of them—his friends, his life.

He lost himself and he doesn't even know who he is any longer beyond another faceless Warden. And no one seems to care. They shove his losses in his face again and again. Even this Maker forsaken place is reminding him of that and he's barely even been here. He's so angry and so tired of being angry and so tired of loss. Will he ever catch some sort of break? ]

You know nothing about what I've been through—what I've seen and what I've lost. And you think you can just offer me some weird trinket from some fucked up magic mansion and, what? I'd accept it and be happy about it? That I'd be pleased about this place knowing about Bethany and torturing people with it? I'd burn it and never look back. She deserves better than being used as a means for someone's sick amusement.

[No matter how much he tries, no matter how much he thinks 'maybe this time I'll get through to him,' no matter how much he wants to fix this, it just keeps getting worse and he can see it slipping further and further away from what he wants. But it's always been like this, hasn't it? Carver has always been the one person he can't win over with words, can't win over with practiced diplomacy because their shared - and not so shared - history has warped them both in completely different ways.

He has to fight not to flinch in the face of Carver's anger, instead taking a step backwards to let Carver breathe because he knows that face. At least, the version of that face Carver wears when he hasn't been shattered time and time again by the world taking everything away from him.]

I thought -- I don't know what I thought, Carver. Maybe I thought the fact that, just like everybody else, I've been blaming myself for Bethany's death since the moment it happened, the fact I've been carrying that with me and choosing to use this means of torment to ensure I never forget her would make you believe me. Call me selfish if you want, for thinking that, but you know what?

[The more he talks, the angrier he gets. Not at Carver, not really, but he can't take his anger out on himself just yet and Carver makes a convenient target. He normally doesn't possess a temper, but everything about this situation is wrong and he can't quite help himself.

It's true that Garrett has no idea the extent of what Carver has experienced, what he's lost. But despite Carver having a decade on him, he has his own set of losses and they might not be as numerous as his yet, but they still hurt, they still ache down to his very soul.]

You might have lost far more than I can imagine, but at least you exist. Time and time again since the moment I arrived in this damned place, I've had to deal with people doubting me, doubting the things I've done and the things I've lost. So I'm sorry for keeping some 'weird trinket' when it's the only thing I have that keeps me from losing my mind.

[With that final admission, all the anger drains out of him and he's left standing there, hands curled at his sides as he sucks in a shuddering breath.]

[ And just like that, Carver shuts down. The walls go up higher than before, bridges closed and rabid, furious great bears in the moat. This is something greater than what he's capable of dealing with right now. His temper reaches critical heights and he wants nothing more than to lash out. After this he needs... something to do. There better be something he can bloody well take this aggression out on. Otherwise, things are going to get messy. Quickly.

His hand balls into a fist and in his mind he can see it connecting with this man's face so easily. But, surprisingly, he's learned a modicum of control over the years. So, he doesn't do that. Instead he backs away, a sneer curling on his lips. ]

We're done here. Completely. [ He turns around, stalking out the door, his voice raw and raised. ] Don't come near me. Just leave me alone.

[ And with that, he slams out of the bar to go release that anger elsewhere. ]

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