Pretty
Elizabeth Hawke Gen Fic/Character Study
Summary: A teenage Elizabeth tries to teach Bethany a spell, when she notices someone nearby watching. Read A/N for trigger warnings A/N: TW - while not explicit, this fic does with heavy themes, mainly that Hawke, as a teenager, has sex with an adult. Again, not explicit, but it is a heavy topic so be cautious. Also I am bad with tags on AO3, so if anyone would want a tag to be added, just say. ao3 link in the title Word Count: 1,517
Her mother had tried to explain to her what sex was, once, when Elizabeth was old enough to start questioning. She gave the vaguest answers she could, with a promise that they’d talk again once she was old enough. She remembered her mother always only called it ‘love making’ - an intimate thing, done by two people who deeply care for one another.
Right now, as Elizabeth’s back was pressed harshly against a tree, with a man her father’s age entering her, she doubted her mother’s words.
This could not be ‘love making’.
She didn’t know his name, nor he had asked for hers. She had seen him before in passing, as she walked through the village, but nothing about him had been particularly remarkable enough for her to actually pay attention to him.
Except for that day.
She and her sister were outside. Bethany’s magic had just manifested, and with their father sick, Elizabeth had decided to teach her the basics. Their new home was small, but being fairly far away from any neighbours, it gave them enough privacy to practice outside.
She was trying to guide her sister into conjuring a small orb of light - something harmless, helpful, that would not attract much attention in the middle of the day. She chuckled a bit at her sister’s frustrated stomps on the ground whenever she failed to keep it going.
“You do it so easily” Bethany sighed “Why is it not working?”
“You’re thinking about it too hard.” She crouched to her sister’s eye level. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath.” Bethany gave her a look but did as told. “Just…think about the word, ‘light’. Think about what comes to mind when you hear it. You don’t have to tell me, just think about it.” She said quickly, as she saw her open her mouth to speak. “Create the image in your head of it, and focus on it.”
Bethany’s little brows scrunched together in concentration. “What do you think about it when you do it?”
“The moon, mostly. Sometimes, its mother.” She gave her an honest answer. “Do you see it in your head?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Hold on to that image.” She grabbed her sister’s hand, turning her palm up, already feeling the magic underneath thrumming, begging to come out. “Now, imagine you’re…in a dark forest, at night.
“Eliza…”
“It will be alright, trust me.” She reassured her sister.“You’re alone, in the dark. What do you need?”
“Mom and dad. You. Carver.”
“You want to reach us, but you can’t see the way. What do you need?”
A beat passed until she answered “Light.”
A faint spark flickered from her hand. Elizabeth smiled.
“Now, remember the image…you need it to go back home. Focus on that feeling and let the rest wash over.”
Bethany took a deep breath, her brows unscrunching, and as she slowly exhaled, a bright light covered her hand, shifting slightly as she focused more and more.
“Open your eyes.”
There were many things about that day Elizabeth would never forget, most important of all was her sister’s expression at seeing her own accomplishment. Her wide eyes, her growing smile, and the hug that followed. If Eliza could stop time, she would have lived in that moment forever.
But as she held on to her sister, she noticed something moving in the trees ahead, and the feeling that they were not alone hit her stomach.
“Eliza?” Bethany looked at her with worry.
She shook her head, and gave her a smile. “I think it’s time for you to go inside and ask mother for a bath.” She pushed her sister towards the house. “Go along. You’re stinking.”
Bethany, now suddenly looking much like Carver, stuck her tongue out as she walked inside. Before she closed the door, however, she said “Are you not coming in?”
“I’m going to check one of the bear traps father laid outside” She lied. “I’ll be back before the sunset.” She waved for her sister to get inside. Once Bethany was out of sight, Elizabeth rushed to the bushes.
.
The man’s hands were rough and calloused and they made her want to vomit as he touched her face, her neck, collarbone and below.
It had been their agreement in exchange for his silence. The price demanded for him to not speak to the Templars about a family of apostates nearby.
She tried to keep her shivering to a minimum, as her chest was exposed to the cold by him. He said something she did not hear, as the only thought in her head was of fire.
She could grab his wrist, and lit his entire self in flames, until only the ashes remained. There were no rings on his fingers, and his loneliness was apparent. No one would come looking for him.
And yet, as she felt her pants drop down, she remembered the first man she killed. A Templar who had come knocking, when the twins were still babies, and the fire that followed.
She remembered a gauntlet hand around her wrist, dragging her away and she remembered the smell of burning flesh and the burning pain in her fingertips. She remembered her mother’s tears, and the kisses she pressed to her scorched hands. But most importantly, she remembered her father’s quiet disapproval as he arrived back home, seeing the burned Templar outside.
Fire was too big, too bright and too loud. One dead templar would be replaced by ten more once morning came, and the family was soon back on the road.
They had just arrived in Lothering the week prior. She thought of Bethany’s fear when her magic first manifested and she thought of her smile. She thought of her father’s face. She only closed her eyes and bit her lip and let this man, who she would never have to see again, take what he needed.
His face was a blur in her memory, but she remembered everything else. The pain between her legs, his horrid smell in their proximity, his grubby hands in her everywhere, the grunted whispers in her ears - such a pretty, little thing…I haven’t touched one in so long.
Her mother had called it love making.
By the time he was done, he scarcely gave her a look, tying his belt around his pants and spitting on the ground. He gave her a pat on the head - your secret is safe with me - and their paths never again crossed.
She needed to bathe. She needed to scream. Instead, on wobbly knees, and an aching back, she picked up her clothes, and tried to keep her beating heart inside her chest as she dressed.
She threw water on her face from a nearby stream, briefly looking at her reflection.
A pretty smile had gotten her two loaves of bread for cheaper. A travelling merchant had given her a pair of earrings for free for her pretty eyes and the money earned for said earrings bought her siblings each a new pair of boots for the winter. A pretty face had earned her lingering eyes that wandered too low for comfort.
Pretty face, pretty smile, pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty girl.
A pretty little thing.
She smashed her hand into the water, warping her reflection, before walking back home.
.
A quick lie ceased her mother’s questioning, and she spoke little during supper. She put a pleasant expression on her face, and smiled - tightly, her muscles already knowing how to stay put even if the feeling wasn’t real - as she heard her father ask about her and Bethany’s lesson.
She tried to focus on the moment, on her sister’s giggles and her brother’s usual complaining, but the thought, the need, to tear her entire skin off, to be made anew and leave this carcass behind muffled any sound.
Claiming tiredness, she retired earlier to her and the twins’ shared room. She laid down on the bed, picking up a cloth doll. Mother had made it for her, the doll being her closest companion and confidant for many years, until it had been passed to Bethany, on a night where nightmares plagued her.
You’re fourteen and too old to be holding onto toys, a familiar voice in her head said. A woman, as her parents had said she was now.
But at that moment, she did not wish to be grown. She held the doll close to her chest, as she curled on her side. She buried the tears that had threatened to spill deep inside the core of her being where nobody could see. This day would die with her. So long as there was a roof over her family’s head, there was no need for anyone to know.
She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, hoping that the next morning, the house would still be here and no templars would come knocking. She prayed for the Maker, asking that this man would keep his word. They were all very tired from running.
Please, blessed Andraste. Let this not have been in vain.
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