Hawke lied on the thin, dirty blanket that Gamlen gave the brothers to use for beds, the coarse fabric making his skin itch. Shoulder length black hair obscured his face as he rolled onto his stomach, cursing not only the shitty bed, if he could even call it that, but a certain brother who was a complete and utter little bitch. Carver always had to play the "oh-woe-is-me" younger son card and after at least seven years of listening to him whining, he just hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut when Carver opened his.

"She's not interested in what I think." Carver said, and Hawke wanted to roll his eyes at the bitterness in the tone of his voice. "She wants to provide for us, and you're making sure it happens. And when we're done, I don't know. I guess we'll sit around thinking about how great we used to be?"

Here we go again, the mage thought as Carver turned around to face him, blue eyes shining like cut and polished sapphires with slight anger and loathing, though Hawke was unsure of whom those emotions were aimed at. He'd guess him, being the bad big brother and all.

"Mother didn't even want that life back until we got dumped here. And you only care because we're under templar scrutiny."

"You hating everything I do is really losing its charm." Hawke drawled, shifting his body into a slightly relaxed pose, subconsciously of course, so he looked like he wasn't taking his little brother seriously, which Hawke knew would just burn Carver's ass.

"Sure, make light. Why take anything seriously? You're the eldest, you lead by default." Carver spat.

"I don't see you taking the reins."

"When should I do that? When I'm following you around, or when I'm caring for Mother while you tame mighty Kirkwall?" Carver continued, and Hawke knew he touched a nerve, despite Carver's best efforts to stay calm as possible, to be at his brother's level, only to stoop so low that Hawke felt something in him snap. "Besides, we both know what happens when someone leaves dear brother's protection. I'm sure Bethany would appreciate that you're keeping good humor."

Hawke walked forward, trying his best to keep his own temper in check as he stood in front of Carver, their chests almost touching as he stared his little brother down, who looked away not even a moment after meeting his gaze. "Poor you." He started, his tone hard and laced with poisonous sarcasm. "Too busy hiding in my shadow to escape from it."

Carver's head suddenly snapped forward and he met his gaze angrily. "I am not a joke!"

He wanted to laugh, he really did. After all, Carver gave him so much to laugh about. "No, you're a lazy brat with a chip on your shoulder!" Hawke told him almost yelling, and watched as his little brother's face contorted with defeat, unable or unwilling to argue back until Hawke tried to walk away.

Carver had said something about finding his own way and Hawke almost did laugh then. How did Carver expect to do anything when he was acting the way he was, like his life was so horrible, even after meeting Fenris and Anders, when the problems he had were completely self-inflicted. No one was holding him back from doing whatever it was that Carver thought he wanted to do, or tell him he had to live under his big brother and act like his skill with a blade was nothing compared to magic.

Speaking of swords, I'm surprised he hasn't slit my throat while I sleep. Hawke thought as he rolled over onto his side, trying as hard as he could to ignore the way the blanket scratched his pale skin. He knew Carver would never do such a thing, really. No matter how angst ridden his little brother was, Carver would do anything for him, something that surprised him from time to time even though Hawke wished it didn't. Carver had even defended him when Fenris realized he was a mage.

In a way, Carver really had grown up. By no means was he the adult he thought himself to be, but the eighteen year old warrior wasn't the little boy he used to defend from little punks, before he picked up a sword. Carver was almost as tall as him now, a mere inch or two shorter, if that, and his weight was in pure muscle and probably had more power behind him than his precious older brother.

And if nothing else, Carver had quite the ass that just begged to be smacked now and then, whether in jolly good fun or otherwise.

Hawke rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he was just imagining the specks of dust that was floating down and decided that wondering about the disease in his uncle's house was much more productive then where his mind has previously been.

The Maker really does have a sense of humor. Hawke thought bemused, not nearly as upset as he should have been about the whole being attracted to his younger brother thing.

When he heard the door open, Hawke rolled over onto his side again, cursing the fabric beneath him for being so uncomfortable, acting like he was still angry, or whatever he was supposed to feel after arguing with Carver, even if he did snap back, knowing that it would just eat Carver up from the inside.

"Brother? I know you're awake."

"And just how to you know that?"

"Besides the fact that you answered back?" There was a sort of hesitation in the air that made Hawke stop his thoughts about his damn smart mouth and how it ruined his angry sleeping person act. "We need to talk."

Carver's tone made Hawke roll back over, curious, and found Carver to be sitting on his own shit bed, which he still didn't believe to be a true bed, staring at him with almost the same expression he left with. Odd, considering that Carver had gone to The Blooming Rose and if anything, Carver's cheeks should be flushed from all the alcohol Hawke assumed he would drink and have an afterglow from sleeping with one of the beautiful women, or one of the pretty men, but instead he looked as serious as he did frustrated.

"Is something wrong?" Hawke asked after the silence stretched between them too long, sitting up to give Carver his full attention. He really didn't like being stared at for that long either, not when he was aware of it, anyway.

"I couldn't..."

Hawke raised an eyebrow at Carver and couldn't help but grin oh so slightly at all the possibilities that came to mind. "Couldn't… what? Find your favorite girl?"

Carver gave him a dirty look before he looked down, admiring the grime between the wooden boards of the floor. "I couldn't do anything with those women because I couldn't stop thinking about someone else."

And someone's avoiding a complete and comprehendible answer. Hawke thought and crossed his legs, staring at the side of Carver's face since his eyes were still downcast. But he supposed he could let Carver play his little game as long as he got to continue teasing him. "Thinking about that lass in Hightown? The one who doesn't work at The Blooming Rose?"

"I was thinking about you!"

Hawke would have been lying if he said he wasn't surprised. It really was like Carver to confess his attraction to his older brother with rage at the most unromantic and unsuspecting time ever. He felt like an ass, especially since he could only stare at his little brother and watch as his supposed anger became nothing but embarrassment and a bit of fear.

He thought back to all the times that he did smack Carver's ass, or the times they slept together in the tent while going on those little quests, facing dragons and all those fun things, how Carver's face would go red and how it might not have been from anger or how stiff he'd be with his back to Hawke. And now, with Carver in front of him, looking like the little boy he used to be, afraid of his big brother's rejection. All those little things, now that he actually thought about them, gave Hawke the impression that Carver had had his little crush on him for as long as he had ached to do more than tease his little brother.

"It still amazes me how naïve you are." Hawke said, leaning forward, towards Carver, and kissed him when the young knight's head snapped up, finally looking at him and made the most unmanly squeak from surprise. But Hawke just deepened the kiss, running his tongue along the roof of Carver's mouth, causing his little brother to grip the front of his shirt with a shiver.