literature

One may see how this world goes with no eyes.

Deviation Actions

AmateurOzmologist's avatar
Published:
478 Views

Literature Text

  Hawke walked through the seedy streets of Lowtown, making her way back to her home. The dusk painted the parchment-coloured walls rich reds and golds, and by the time they reached her mansion, the noble stones would be swathed in blue-black night.
Isabela walked at Hawke's right, her long fingers nestling Hawke's elbow, as was her custom. Hawke looked to her lover with a half-grin. Her body was made for sin, from her face, tanned red and bathed in redder light, her arms strong with a life spent pulling herself back to her feet, her legs well-formed and powerful from her favourite pursuits.
Her eyes, too, caught the light, and Hawke's deep blue eyes were drawn to the other woman's gold. There was more to those eyes than what appeared in them readily. More than their beauty, their twinkling mischief, and even the way they misted when her smile was too happy.
Yet they weren't the eyes Hawke really wanted. Hawke had memorized a face that would never look at her with the adoration Isabela quietly lavished on her. No, the eyes Hawke wanted to watch her body the way Isabela did sparkled greener than emeralds, danced at jokes her mouth never twitched at, and sloped sadly even when she smiled. Hawke knew she was being a damned fool.
Even while she had been holding Isabela's hand, coaxing her to love, she'd been pining for Aveline. Always pining for the great big redhead with the sweet, sad eyes.
As they neared the mansion, they heard a groan of agony from a nearby alleyway. Hawke rushed over to the young man who'd uttered it, finding him drenched in blood. Isabela ran further into the alley, seeking the culprit.
Hawke's all too experienced eyes swept over his body, noting his face and body were covered in lacerations crisscrossing every which way.
"What happened here?" She asked him; "Who did this to you?"
"They-" He sputtered, coughing up a chunk of blood. "Antivan Crows. They- they said-" He coughed again. "They said, 'tit for tat.'"
As the young man rattled out his last breath, Hawke stared at the body in confusion. Tit for tat? What could they have meant by that? How could they hope to pay her back for Nuncio's death by killing some random lad?
"Hawke!" Isabela called from farther down the alley. "It's Aveline."
Hawke heard the pain in Isabela's voice. When she stood her legs felt like just so much gelatin. She took a wobbling step toward the dim corner. She saw Isabela take a corner of her canvas tunic and daub at the blood soaked face of their friend, her beautiful face looking like a charnel mess.
As Hawke made a numb, slow progression towards the corner she never wanted to reach, she saw Isabela shudder and snap back like she'd been struck. If she had seen fewer horrors, witnessed less death, the shock would have knocked her flat on her back. When she spoke, it was in a monotonous tenor of unspeakable revulsion.
"They've taken her eyes, Hawke."
Hawke felt as though something dropped out from under her, both within and without. She felt at once as though the ground was gone and she was hurled through the ether, and as though her stomach had lurched and she was going to retch.
"Oh," she said stupidly, her mind unable to produce useful words or thoughts as she watched Isabela dab ineffectively at the sea of blood. "Are you sure you should do that? Blood won't come out of white canvas easily."
"Trust me," said Isabela. "I've gotten worse fluids out of it."
Hawke, snapping back to some sort of reality, shot Isabela a look. Isabela's gaze was straight ahead, though, and no smile turned her frowning lips. If the vulgar joke Hawke had suspected had been made, it was unconscious.
Hawke crouched low, looking to Aveline's bloodied face. To her great, bitter relief, she saw a heaving rise and shuddering fall in the guard's chest. A spark of life still possessed her body.
"Go, Isabela," Hawke murmured. "Go fetch Anders. I'll get Aveline to my home."
Isabela placed a gentle hand on Hawke's shoulder.
"Hawke," she whispered quietly, her tone comforting.
Hawke looked up into Isabela's eyes and took her wrist tenderly, appreciative of Isabela's concern.
"Go," Hawke ordered softly, relinquishing the other woman's wrist.

Within the hour, Anders and Isabela returned to Hawke's mansion. Anders took the stairs two at a time, Isabela took them three. Anders eased the door to Hawke's bedroom open. Hawke sat by her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She gazed numbly at the wall, even as Isabela came to her and soothingly told her Anders had come.
"Maker," Anders said with disgust, examining the captain of the guard. "This is ghastly."
Anders carefully examined the sockets, using magic to cauterize the still leaking veins.
"This deed…  Her eyes," Anders took a deep breath, steeling himself to what he had to report.
"This was done with thumbs," he said with a shiver.
Hawke looked away, covering her mouth with her wrist, barely holding back the tears and vomit in her throat.
"I can't restore her sight- no one could. I think I can save her life."
Hawke nodded dumbly.
"Come on, Hawke," said Isabela, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. "You should get out of here."

As the hours crept on, Hawke paced by her hearth and Isabela sat in a corner, feeling ineffective and unhelpful. Every so often, they heard a strangled cry of pain from upstairs. When that happened, Isabela and Hawke locked eyes, knowing how terribly much it meant when Aveline of all people wailed in that way. The toughest amongst them all, the one who'd suffered in silence more than any woman or man Hawke had ever known, now bellowed like a lamed horse.
When Anders finally emerged, his face and hands were drenched in blood. A string of muttered curses tumbled forth.
"Well?" Hawke asked brusquely, looking up at him on the landing.
Anders placed his bloody hands on the bannister and looked down at Hawke. He paused for a moment, thinking.
"She… should live."
Hawke bit her lip at the unsatisfying answer, and watched Aveline's blood drip from Anders' fingertips all the way down the wall to the floor.

Hawke climbed up the stairs slowly bearing the bolt of gauze. She wasn't sure she understood Anders' instructions, but he had gone back to Darktown, and Isabela had gone to fetch Donnic. She eased the door open slowly with one palm. Aveline lay in Hawke's bed, looking for all the world like she simply slept soundly, except for the slightly stained white cloth wrapped around her eyes.
Hawke pulled a chair up to Aveline's bedside. She reached out a hand to unwrap Aveline's bandage, but found she could not. Her hand hovering over the other woman's face, she gave in to bitter tears for the first time in the long evening which had stretched into blackest night.
"Hawke?" A feeble voice breathed out.
Hawke caught her tears with a whimpering sob. She smiled sadly, glad beyond words that her friend could speak to her.
"Yes, Aveline." Hawke sniffed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm here."
Aveline raised an exploratory hand to her face, feeling at the bandages.
"What happened?"
"You-" Hawke's voice caught in her throat. "You had a concussion."
A half truth. Aveline's mouth set in a firm line. She was having none of it.
"Why can't I see, Hawke?"
Hawke's throat worked furiously as she tried to find words.
"Spit it out, Hawke."
"You've been… blinded, Aveline."
Aveline muttered a soft curse.
"I'd feared as much."
Without another word, Hawke gently wiped from Aveline's speckled cheek a smidge of dried blood which Anders had missed.
"I-" Aveline cleared her throat. "I'll need some warning when you're going to touch me."
"Of course," Hawke whispered. "This is my hand."
Hawke carefully lifted Aveline's head into her lap. She could feel the muscles in Aveline's back straining to help Hawke, to not be helpless, but she was still too weak. Hawke gently stroked Aveline's hair.
"What am I going to do, Hawke?" Aveline asked in profound desperation.
"I'll take care of you, Aveline." Hawke recovered herself as she slowly unwound the old bandage from Aveline's eyes. "Donnic will take care of you."
"I don't want that. No one's had to take care of me since I learned to walk."
"Then you'll learn to walk again."
As Aveline smiled at that, Hawke finished unwinding the bandage. The whole area underneath was swollen and inflamed, the eyelids eerily resting concave with no eyeball to support them. Hawke spread on some of the thick salve that kept the area numb with a gentle warning of "This is my hand."
She pried the lifeless lids open, dabbing more of the liniment within the already purulent interior.
Just at that moment, Isabela and Donnic reached the small room.
"She's already awake? Maker, how is that possible?" So saying, Isabela turned to the dumbstruck man she had come in with.
Donnic made no comment on seeing his wife in such a state, although she called out to him.
"She asked for you, Donnic," Hawke said.
Aveline face clouded over with confusion as Donnic turned and left.

He did come back, though, and brought Aveline home.  She learned shockingly quickly her way around the home. She fought to learn simple tasks without the benefit of sight, and even though her heart broke every morning when she awoke from colourful dreams and nightmares to the pitch dark of reality, she took to her new life with optimism and zeal, feeling that fighting on was her duty.
Hawke promised to come change her bandage every week, and come she did. One week, not long after the bloody incident, Hawke came to find Aveline digging furiously through her kitchen things, tossing crashing earthenware and utensils to the ground.
"I can't stand it, Hawke," she said, knowing without turning who had entered her abode. "This isn't life."
She found the dull breadknife she'd been searching for, and with nigh preternatural proficiency, cut a slice of black bread off the loaf.
Discouraged at finding the other so disheartened, Hawke picked some broken clay from the ground.
"Why are you fiddling with these things, Aveline? What's Donnic good for if not making sure you don't lose a couple fingers trying to cut the bread?"
Aveline scoffed. The resentful sound surprised Hawke.
"Donnic refuses. Donnic refuses my bed. Donnic is repulsed."
The response dismayed Hawke. Her throat clenched around comforting words she could never say about the man standing between her and the love she wanted more than anything, even now.
Aveline cocked back her hand and slammed it into the wall, tiny bits of wood crumbling around the impact.
"I wish I could cry," she whispered furiously.
Hawke hushed her softly. She took Aveline's bleeding hand in hers.
"This is my hand," she whispered; "and these are my lips."
She kissed Aveline gently, just like she had always wanted. She'd never dreamt it could, be, but Aveline reciprocated hesitantly.
Aveline softly ran her fingers over Hawke's face, lightly tracing the curve of her eyes, and smiled.
Dragon Age II fic

Warning for slight gore
© 2012 - 2024 AmateurOzmologist
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In