Who: The Hawke Family - mother included What: Hawke's wish of Leandra spending a holiday with them has come true, dun dun dun When: December 15th Where: Their old home Rating/Warnings: Feels, some language and innuendo Status: Complete!
A phone call had brought them here, one that had him encourage Bela’s law-breaking driving to speed them along - how the bloody hell else was he supposed to react to Carver calling him, urgent and frantic and demanding his presence at the house they’d all once shared and yet, didn’t even fucking elaborate as to what happened? Something was wrong with Bethy was his first thought, but her voice in the background assured him she hadn’t been crushed to death by some tainted beast like his actual dreams had painted.
Gamlen, perhaps? One line of coke too many? He’d been doing better lately, Hawke could have sworn it, but then again his uncle had a sterling reputation of constantly disappointing his nephews and niece with his bad judgment and victim. Though he also imagined any call regarding to his poor decisions would be dealt with more exasperation and less…
Well, no point in obsessing over the what-if scenarios, when they had finally pulled into the driveway.
Snowfall covered everything around them, making the roads slick and sloshy but he was thankful for Isabela’s recklessly smart driving. “If this is a prank I hope you support the idea of me grounding my adult siblings,” groused the mage, his forehead creased in worry as he fished for his spare keys to open the door. “Bethany, Carver, we’re here!”
Instead of a twin greeting them the moment they stepped in, it was the smell of breakfast that hit their noses. The sound of something sizzling over the stove. Activity in the kitchen? Surprising, considering their staple college diet. There was a pause, brow quirked, and he looked to his wife suspiciously.
“It’s a prank. Time to practice your mom voice.”
A long journey had been undertaken, to establish herself in Orange County with things like a permanent place to live, a car, a job (and a husband! Well, he was a bit of a surprise, admittedly) but Isabela was pleased to have gotten here. A year ago however, when she tried to run after dreaming of the infamous shipwreck in Kirkwall - when it was revealed that she’d gone and fucked up again while trying to be a decent person, responsible for the Qunari presence in that shithole of a city - she’d sold her convertible on a whim. Now, she had it back - not the same car, but close enough, beautiful and cherry red. With the top up during these blasted winter winds because Maker’s nutsack, Orange County. She’d gladly driven her and Hawke to the house where his brother and sister currently lived, a vast improvement from the rat-infested flat with paper-thin walls occupied by Gamlen, who always reeked of whores and cabbage for some reason.
Was it really a prank though? She wasn’t so certain, as she followed Hawke inside, reaching for the dagger she’d stashed beneath her leather coat. This was the one from her days as an Admiral, during the Inquisition, very piratical. Underneath she’d tossed on whatever she could get to, nothing the urgency in Hawke’s tone - jeans that fit her like a glove and she had to literally jump into, a soft sweater that still managed to cling to infamous curves. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin with a ‘mom’ voice, love,” she chuckled. Alright, no need for the dagger, she wouldn’t stab Carver today. The adorable little prat. “Oy, you two!”
That was her calling into the kitchen, where decadent smells beckoned. Come to think of it, her and Garrett didn’t even have time for breakfast considering how they’d rushed over here. “If you wanted to lavish us with food, next time don’t give us a heart attack first.”
“None of us intend to give you a heart attack personally, I assure you, dear,” came a voice that didn’t belong to anyone they’d expect - it wasn’t Carver, it wasn’t Bethany, but both were certainly in the kitchen, quiet and absolutely wide-eyed. Neither of them were standing in by the stove, plating the morning protein and preparing to toast some whole-grain bread. “Carver, set the table? It’s been too long since we’ve all sat down and had breakfast together, and I don’t think I’ve ever made Isabela breakfast before.”
Leandra’s voice sounded the same, that smile everything Hawke still remembered - and even midst the preparation of making her family dinner she moved with grace, dressed in clothes he’d last seen her body in, but there was the absence of gore and tares. There was not a detail he didn’t remember, except -
Around her neck was a line shades darker than her normal skin tone. A scar from when she was decapitated. Murdered by a madman, the final piece in his twisted human puzzle.
“Who the hell are…” Hawke couldn’t finish his sentence, muscles heavy and frozen in time as his brain screeched to tell him this wasn’t possible - this couldn’t be his mother, wasn’t his mother, she was buried in a wooden casket six feet below with her head barely attached to the rest of her body. All the blood had to have been gone from his face, matching the ashen looks of the twins.
Carver gulped. “I didn’t think it was something I should have explained over the phone, brother.”
Oh. Alright then? Well, if there was one thing Carver was right about, it was that ‘by the way, our dead mum is back for some reason and here in the flesh’ wasn’t something that needed to be discussed while on the phone. Isabela certainly agreed with that.
What in the name of the Maker’s sagging arse was going on?
“Can you even explain it at all?” Bela wanted to know, going to Hawke’s side and standing near him protectively, her hand closing around his and ready to bolt at the first notice he gave. “I’d say, no, you’ve never made me breakfast before, Leandra. But are you...?”
No. It couldn’t be. Could it? She knew firsthand that most anything was possible here, she’d learned it over the course of her year and some change in Orange County. But there wasn’t a guidebook for this sort of thing, or a notice, or a warning.
It’d be utter cruelty if this wasn’t real, and the mechanics of this bloody place had been cruel enough to him with the way events had unfolded - his mother’s demise an inevitable curse in both lives he lived, but in Thedas she never returned, not even as a spirit. Trevelyan wouldn’t do some kind of necromantical trick without his consent, so this was…
“It was that meteor shower,” Hawke realized, his words barely above an audible whisper. It happened last year too for the both of them, it didn’t last, and the son that had never truly stopped mourning wished for his mother’s return for the holidays and there she was. Manifested back into the living, but with evidence of what had happened. “That stupid wish, I didn’t think it’d work for something so - impossible??”
His hand had tightened over Isabela’s, knuckles white.
The twins had been there when she arrived, embraces and words of love given to her two youngest children even if confusion overcame them - they’d been skeptical but also couldn’t stop themselves from being reunited with their mother. It was the first son’s turn now, and Leandra knew the circumstances were beyond, ah, conventional, but it allowed here to be here with her children. It was time she didn’t want to waste.
Hands wiped with a kitchen towel, she stepped closer to the married couple with glistening eyes, teary yet happy. “If it were up to me I would be here every time one of you needed me,” she told them. “But this is the one time you called for me and I was able to come and look at you, Garrett, and your wife, and I wish I was there for the both of you when it happened but I couldn’t be more proud of you. And of who you’ve made my daughter-in-law.”
Isabela’s other hand rested on Garrett’s arm at the elbow, sliding down to be something else for him to grab onto - both hands holding his, though that hand (since she actually had her fingers free, and feeling in them) was used to comfortingly stroke the belly of his wrist. That wish, she knew what he meant - last year, she’d idly thought how much bloody fun it would be to have a gigantic beach house best fit for a party of the ages so low and behold, her tiny cottage had morphed into something the Hollywood elite would envy. She remembered Hawke wishing for Bethy and Carver’s tuition to be paid off and it had been, at least for a little while.
So Leandra was going to be here a few days as well? How bizarre, but if Garrett wanted this time with her - he’d asked for it, after all - then Bela thought he should have that.
“It was actually quite beautiful, out there in Vegas,” she smiled a bit. “We’ve got pictures though! And we had a big party at The Hanged Man when we got back. You’ll love the place, I’m sure Garrett can’t wait to show it to you.” Leandra really would be proud - her son had accomplished so much, and he’d always put family first while doing it.
He also married well and was smart enough to say yes when Isabela clumsily proposed in bed, but that was a given.
Isabela’s participation in the conversation, that’s what really snapped him out of his trance - he blinked hazel eyes like he finally gained clarity, and in the background Carver proceeded to set the table, and Bethany began transporting those plates with the skill of a multi-tasking bartender. It had almost felt like there’d been a pause in a movie and he was mentally hitting the ‘resume’ button, and everything continued like it normally would. At least, like it normally would if his mother hadn’t been had her head cut off. Maker’s twat n’ balls and everything around that southern region.
Hell, Hawke knew he’d need a stiff drink after this but there was that moment where he, of course, needed to fling his brawny arms around the matriarch of the family for that long overdue hug. Never did he think something like this would come true but he wasn’t about to lose himself in those gritty details, not when he knew the time Leandra had here was limited.
“Please remember that I can breathe now, Garrett,” the mother reminded her eldest, no match for that physical strength but she had poured all the love she had for him in that embrace. “Let me look at you! You look just like your father, and - Vegas??” Leandra laughed, and instantly the room brightened. From Hawke she went to Isabela, because of course she had to give her own welcome to the pirate queen into the family. That chance had once been robbed from here but no more - her eyes were brimming with tears, joyful ones, and she also took Bela’s face into her hands for that maternal squish of cheeks. “You’ll both have to walk me through the entire experience, all of it.”
Bethany’s hands went to her hips. “Ohhhh, like how Isabela beat him to the proposal?”
“I would have asked eventually,” Hawke countered defensively, his own eyes bleary but he thought it best to dive back into that infamous family banter. “You’re just still mad you didn’t get to be some adult version of the flower girl.”
“It’s my birthright!”
Oh, Maker, when was the last time Isabela had her cheeks squished? Perhaps never, come to think of it. Her own mum wasn’t really the maternal type, but being swept up in a warm and cosy hug was so very Leandra - this dirty rogue would take the opportunity as well, the opportunity for just a little bit of experiencing parental affections. After all, when would she get such a thing again?
And really, she’d lucked out when it came to marrying into a rather fantastic family. Except for Gamlen. He was just so...smelly. Must be the perpetual stink of rotting cheese wheel; he wore it like a cologne.
“We’ll recap it for you,” she promised, once she’d pulled back from being hugged to the Hawke matriarch’s bosom. Aww. “In that version, Bethy can be flower girl in spirit. Though I suppose when we renew our vows, we’ll need a flower girl then too.” But alright, let’s see - breakfast? That was actually going to be a thing?
Breakfast with the deceased mum, fair enough. “Can we help with anything?” Bela wanted to know, taking a glance around. “It smells so lovely in here.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Leandra replied, wiping right beneath her eyes for any stray tear. “Take a seat, love, the both of you. Humor me by letting me do this again, would you?” There was nothing else she wanted to do but to take the role of mother again - she wanted to listen to all their stories, watch them bicker across the table, and later she’d see her brother. Flawed as he may be he was still family. Hopefully sober.
Hawke gave Bela’s bum a loving pat to steer her towards the table, silverware set courtesy of Carver, and while he was internally a jumbled goddamn mess, he’d be a well-fed jumbled goddamn mess until he had a minute to decompress alone with his wife. “I suppose this place has come through for us in a way,” he grinned. “It’s usually very unapologetic when it fucks us over.”
Bethany took her seat, and Leandra later joined them with glasses and a carton of orange juice. “I’m happy to have been able to make you all some sort of breakfast with how bare the pantry and refrigerator are,” she tsked but made a point to give the twins a look. “I do look forward to seeing this… Hanged Man of yours? Please tell me that is not some kind of crude reference.”
Carver pulled some bacon onto his plate with a snort. “That would be the Hung Man, I think.”
“Well, we’ve got some rather naughty names for our cocktails, but there’s a good story behind each and every one,” Isabela promised, giving Hawke’s leg a squeeze under the table - the supportive kind, not the ‘we ought to fuck soon’ kind (though that was always a thought with the two of them, wasn’t it). He was certainly welcome to decompress when they had a moment alone - Andraste and her tits knew that Isabela would need a few or more of those moments, too. This was a lot.
But breakfast was good, in more ways than one, and she had to admit she was rather ravenous. Pancakes and bacon seemed to be a good place to start, so she speared a couple of flapjacks and added them to her plate, along with a strip or two of bacon before Carver could eat it all. “We’ll show you our flat too, Garrett and I live above the bar and it’s so cosy.”
Very medieval, but with modern amenities. You’d think Bela would wish for a ship (she liked big boats and she could not lie) but over time she’d come to realise it just wasn’t as important as other things. Besides, her hubby was a terrible sailor.
Well, alright, he might be a terrible sailor but he was traumatized from that whole venture across the waters to Kirkwall, alright? Blasted ship stunk, there were only so many places to take a dump and the only time they were able to properly bathe was during rainfall.
Hawke would at least be pretty to look at for his wife’s sailing ventures. Bela couldn’t conquer the seas without arm candy.
“The house is paid off, by the way, Bethany and Carver can focus on university when they’re not too occupied with those bloody frat beer pong parties,” Garrett retorted, giving his brother a look while Carver responded with a roll of his eyes. “What? It’s true. I’ve seen the pictures.”
Leandra didn’t have the heart to scold - overall they looked well, healthy, happy. All she could ask for and everything a mother could want. Before sitting down she took the coffee pot into her hand and made her rounds, of course, she knew Hawke preferred caffeine in the morning and Isabela seemed like the sort, too. “That sounds like the two of you,” she chuckled. “At what point during my visit do I get to press for grandchildren?”
Hawke almost choked on his coffee. Bethany and Carver laughed and laughed, probably for decades.
Coffee was most appreciated, the bolder the better. Isabela only added a little cream and sugar to her cup before taking a sip. But now she wished it was spiked because fuck it all, grandchildren?
She should have known. Leandra gave off grandmum vibes from miles away, bless the woman’s heart.
“I’m unsure about hanging an ‘occupied’ sign on my uterus,” and to her credit, Bela’s tone was playful and not horrified. For now. “At least not yet. Though Garrett would make a wonderful dad, wouldn’t he?” She wasn’t so certain about her own mothering skills - look what she had to go by as an example - but she at least knew that Hawke would absolutely adore his children. Or child. One child? Yes? Perhaps two. Any more than that, and her hips would protest. “We’d make Carver change some nappies too, you can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to do it.”
“I’ll happily oblige,” Bethany interjected with a broad smile, also eternally amused at the sputtering her eldest brother had to do before he found his coherence again. “Carver’s rotten with kids, his face alone makes them cry.”
Leandra snorted, making sure to put a halt between the the comments fired between the twins because they were discussing the concept of grandchildren. Oh, how she wished she could be there to welcome them into the world and spoil them heinously, but the discussion of the possibility was something she would not take for granted. “He’s got quite the experience helping with children, yes - he often wiped Bethany and Carver’s bum and helped them with their constipation.”
Oh, balls. “Mother, weren’t you the one who once told us things like constipation weren’t welcome during feasting hours?” Hawke’s brow raised, and he finally took a proper sip of his coffee. Without the interruption. But quietly, he was pleased Bela hadn’t broken out in hives at the thought of offspring sometime in the future.
“Hush,” she chuckled. “I don’t doubt you would make a terrific mother yourself, Isabela. You’ve done a great job at handling my son.”
“Oh, yes, she changes his diapers and burps him plenty, I’m sure,” remarked Carver.
“The second, mostly,” Isabela grinned, patting her strapping ball-and-chain on his back - of course she was teasing. Hawke had no problems expelling gas on his own, like any man with sometimes questionable eating habits would. “I never really thought of myself as maternal though. Didn’t have much of a mum so I ought to take pointers from someone who actually knows what they’re doing, like yourself.”
Leandra was a great mum, and she’d be just as amazing as a grandmother - and even if Bela wasn’t really the type to wish and hope (much) about things, she still hoped that wherever Leandra was, and would be after this period of contentment reached its expiration date, she’d be able to watch over her family somehow.
But alright, don’t jinx the pirate yet or anything. All this talk of popping out kidlets, oy. “So what else is on the holiday plan agenda?” she asked, after swallowing the mouthful of pancakes she’d stuffed into her mouth. “Everything’s quite nice now, since the ecosystem-shattering snow is a constant presence.”
Ah, yes, Isabela’s mother wasn’t even someone he’d give the privilege of being called a twat - he’d come up with something worthy for the woman that birthed her, though, give it time. But regardless of the poor role model she had managed babysitting Amelia fairy well. That was an impressive start, even if she looked like she’d been snorting a hefty dose of baby powder by the end of it.
Bela’s question, though, so eloquently transitioning from making their own crotchlings to to the matter at hand, was appropriate. Leandra’s nose wrinkled a bit. “Well, I would like nothing more than to spend time with all of you,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be anything loud, or festive, but I want to be here.”
Hawke understood - his desires were the same, and he didn’t doubt Bethany or Carver were on the same boat.
“I wouldn’t mind a drink somewhere, eventually,” Leandra continued, taking her spot at the head of the table with a warm mug of coffee clasped in her delicate hands. “And to do some groceries - the fridge here is bloody bare and the pantry is filled with those sodium noodles. I will make sure Carver at least knows how to make spaghetti.”
Hah. The mage’s arm went around Bela’s chair and his grin was wide. “There is no holiday miracle to fix that, mum, so ambitious. But as for a drink we’ve got you covered. Family time at the Hanged Man, then?”
Isabela wasn’t what she’d call an Iron Chef or anything, but she wasn’t terrible. There were some tasty dishes native to India that she could whip up when she was in a ‘mood.’ She was bloody better than Carver, she knew that much - so she also knew that teaching him to make spaghetti would indeed be a noble feat. He just got so frustrated, the poor boyo! Such a serious bugger all the time.
“Of course, plenty of family time at The Hanged Man,” she nodded, giving Hawke’s knee a reassuring pat. “And I’m sure a bit of time away from sodium noodles will do these two a world of good.”
Bless them, the twins. But Bela did love them like they were her own brother and sister - her own family, how odd. Just goes to show you could end up in places you never dreamed of.