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Can't Let You Go	By : Ellynndaria Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 7632 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: We do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. We do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
A/N: This chapter can be very triggery for some people. It is very violent and in more than one way. It is background and actually can be skipped at the cut line, but it could answer some questions about history for those willing to read it.
Thanks for reading!

               The last few weeks had been a trial, but Douglas was not one to give up easily. After another lunch with a stressed out lover, he finally decided the blonde needed a break. It had taken a large amount of persuasion to get the blonde to agree to go away with him for a little while, but Douglas was good at that, it was his job. It hadn’t helped Anders thought he was hiding their relationship, the blonde unable to spend the weekends at the estate like he had before, and there was some truth in the thought. To keep the peace, Douglas had not told anyone he lived with he was back with the doctor, but they would have to find out eventually. Once he had arrived back at the estate, he headed straight for his own bedroom, pulling out a large suitcase he used for long trips and set to packing immediately.
               Fellon had been in his room, until he heard Douglas come up the stairs and begin rummaging around in his room. Curiosity piqued, Fellon wandered down the hall, pushing open Douglas' door. After assessing the scene, "Let me guess; you just can't take it anymore, and you are leaving the country."
               "Would that honestly surprise you?" Douglas didn't even look up, just continued to mentally check off his packing list.
               "Not particularly," Fellon murmured. He watched Douglas for a few moments, before asking, "...Just what are you doing, Douglas?"
               "See, now, I thought it was obvious."
                "Why don't you spell it out for me?"
                "I'm packing."
                "No shit, Sherlock," Fellon scoffed. "Why are you packing?"
                Douglas was silent while he debated on telling Fellon the truth. "I'm going away with Anders for a while."
                Fellon blinked once. "Is this the same Anders that saves butchers and rapists?"
                Douglas' jaw set rigidly as his teeth ground against one another for a couple of seconds before a very forced, "That would be the one," departed his lips.
                Fellon was silent for a moment before murmuring a very emphatic, "Fuck." He came into the room the rest of the way, closing the door firmly behind him before approaching his brother. "What the hell put this idea into your head?"
                "I love him, and he needs me. I know; a concept difficult for you to understand."
                Fellon swallowed hard, eyes narrowing faintly. "Yeah, what the hell would I know about anything like that?" He scoffed faintly, leaning against Douglas' bedside table. "What I do know is you are running off with some hack doctor you barely know, and for what? You're being led around by your dick, baby brother, and it is going to get you into trouble."
                Douglas snapped, looking up at Fellon, "So, fucking let it! I'm not allowed to make a mistake every now and again? Who fucking died and left you in charge of my life anyway?" Douglas blinked in surprise at himself before looking down at his suitcase again.
                Fellon sneered, fists clenching and scar twitching furiously. "Please, as if Mommy's perfect little angel ever could make a mistake." He shoved away from the table, causing its contents to rattle and shift. "Fuck this." He stalked for the door, not looking back at Douglas as he flung the barrier open. "Let Bela know you're leaving, or she'll be pissed."
                Douglas slumped slightly, sifting the contents of the suitcase around without reason before muttering a muted, "Fuck." Sighing heavily, he moved to the table and pushed the items back into place before returning to preparing for his trip.

---Cut--- Read A/N.

                The slamming of Fellon's bedroom door reverberated throughout the house. He stood just inside his room, leaning against the heavy wood and muttering a string of invectives. He knew the only way to keep Douglas from going where he wanted to go was to stick him in a bag and bury him, and at the moment, Fellon was tempted to do just that.
               He gave another curse and pushed away from the door, absently rubbing away an ache at the base of his skull as he stalked to his bed, flopping across it. He tried closing his eyes and resting, but the moment he did, all his saw was the bastard that got to live longer than he should have, because of that fucking bleeding heart, Anders.

The partially open front door had Fellon pulling his favorite knife from its sheath along his forearm. He had his gun, but the old neighborhood with its packed in residences and single-thickness walls was no place to be firing it off. Fellon couldn't help but feel a deep sense of foreboding as he silently eased through the front door and into his childhood home.
Up unto this point, he had carefully avoided as much contact with his so-called family as possible, only seeing his mother in passing at his father's funeral. It was Bethany that had reached out, and over time had convinced him to try to talk to their mother, try to establish at least a cordial relationship. He had toyed with the idea to appease his sister, not really intending to do any about it, but when his mother called in a slight panic from the old house, he couldn’t bring himself to dismiss it. She had called about pictures being out of place, and Fellon had rolled his eyes, cursing of all the details he would have had to pick up in Douglas’ busy schedule it would have to be one like this. Douglas was obsessive compulsive as she was, and Fellon had thought only to put her mind at some ease by showing up.
At the moment, though, the house was far too quiet. There were no signs of her save an overturned chair in the kitchen. Fellon frowned and silently righted the piece of furniture, liking the situation less and less. As he stood in the vacant kitchen, a sound registered; the rhythmic creaking of bedsprings, and the faint thumping of a headboard against the wall.
For a brief moment, Fellon fought being physically ill. Disgusted, Fellon headed for the door, determined to walk away and forget the woman existed, when another sound caught his ear; a whimper. He was too familiar with noises like that to associate such a defeated noise with one made by the willing. On high alert once more, Fellon stealthily made his way down the hall, following the noises to the master bedroom. The door was wide open, and Fellon peaked in and freezing at the sight before him.
His mother was bent forward over the foot of her bed, arms behind her back and held in place with a plastic zip tie. Her dress was pushed up over her hips, underwear shoved down around her knees while a man stood at her back, grunting in pleasure. The assailant had a gun muzzle shoved into the back of her head, shoving her face into the bedspread and muffling her cries.
Leandra managed to turn her head a bit, letting her breath and exposing signs of more physical abuse. She gave a pained cry as her rapist gave a particularly hard jerk of his hips. “…. Please…no more.…”
“One more word, bitch, and I’ll cut out your tongue…”
Fellon had been stalking forward, knife raised to take the fucker out right at the spinal cord when the man spoke. He knew that voice. It had haunted his nightmares for years. The knife Fellon held aloft shook in his hand and fell to the carpeted floor with a muted thud. The sound was enough however to draw attention.
Quentin Gervais’ head snapped around, pinning Fellon with a surprised expression that quickly became a brutal leer. “Well, if it isn’t Cadet Hawke.”
Leandra’s head shifted on the bedspread, blackened eyes widening as much as they could. “F-Fellon? Oh, God, my baby—“
Leandra’s sob was cutoff abruptly by the retort of Quentin’s gun, and blood sprayed across the bedspread while Leandra fell limp, one foot giving a few last twitches. Fellon, completely in shock, barely flinched at the gunshot, eyes glazed as Quentin gave a few more lazy thrusts into Leandra’s now slack body before pulling away and tucking himself back into his pants. No longer supported, Leandra slid bonelessly from the bed, flopping into a bloody heap on the floor. The movement somehow snapped Fellon from his daze, and he staggered back from his mother’s rapist and killer. “I-Instructor Gervais….”
“That’s right, cadet. Good memory,” Quentin leered, advancing forward as Fellon retreated until the younger man was backed up against the door frame. Fellon might have been grown now, but the instant he had heard Quentin’s voice he was instantly catapulted back to the horror that had been so-called military school. Instructor Quentin Gervais had been his personal bogeyman; Fellon had been the man’s personal punching bag all through school, the one he used to “set an example for the rest of the class.” After Fellon had had a few years to grow and develop, Quentin had taken things to the next, more personal, level. Fellon had never thought he would be grateful to the fellow students that had abused him throughout school; but he couldn’t even imagine the pain he would have experienced if he had been a virgin the first time Quentin bent him over his desk…
“Look at you, cadet,” Quentin murmured. He pressed close to Fellon, and the younger man began to shiver. “All wide-eyed and panting like a bitch in heat. Did it turn you on, boy? Seeing your mama taking it up the ass? She was a real champ, that one. Bet you got your endurance from her. Definitely got her voice. Oh, she’s a screamer, that one. Just like her little boy.”
Quentin was too damned close. Fellon couldn’t breathe, and when he tried all he could smell was the scent of sex, blood, and the long-forgotten scent of his mother’s favorite perfume. It was too much. With a ragged scream, Fellon snapped his hands up, wrapping his fingers around Quentin’s throat and taking him to the floor, eyes wild. “You… fucking… bastard!” He tightened his fingers around the man’s throat. “Fucking DIE!”
A glint of silver caught Fellon’s eye. He threw himself to the side just in time to avoid a slash from his own knife; Quentin had managed to find it where Fellon had dropped it. Quentin scrambled to his feet, sprinting out the bedroom. Fellon was after him in an instant, jumping to tackle the bastard before he could reach the front door.
Fellon fell on Quentin like a rabid animal, pummeling him until both Quentin’s face and his own fists resembled raw meat. Quentin was no longer fighting back when Fellon’s rage began to abate, and Fellon only felt marginal appeasement that he had beaten the man to death.
Fellon leaned back from Quentin’s bloodied body, panting violently. The man on the floor was hardly recognizable as Quentin Gervais, and Fellon sneered at him in disgust, giving the man a last sound punch to his mangled face before staggering to his feet. Resolutely, Fellon turned his back on the beaten man and struggled back toward his mother’s room.
He knew his mother was dead, but something made him go back. She was still in a rumpled heap at the foot of the bed. Her blood had smeared over the bedspread as she had fallen to the floor and was even now contributing to a growing stain on the cream carpet she had insisted upon for her room. Being the mother of three, Leandra Hawke had known better than to have light colors in any of the common areas of the house, but her bedroom had been decorated as she’d liked.
Now Mama’s pretty lily-printed bedspread and cream carpet were ruined. In a daze, Fellon cast his eyes over the floor. Quentin had dropped the knife when he’d attempted to run. Fellon retrieved it from the floor and knelt beside his mother’s body, carefully cutting the zip ties binding her arms. “Mama?” Fellon’s voice was soft, shaking slightly as he tried to come to terms with the fact that his mother would never talk to him again, and it was his fault. “I’m so sorry, Mama…”
He used to think he’d give anything for one kind word from her after the incident with Douglas. Now, Fellon just wanted her to open her eyes, even if it was just to curse him for not getting there on time. His vision blurred as Fellon gently gathered his mother into his arms, lifting her up from the floor and carefully situating her on the bed. He was just arranging her arms when Fellon heard a scuffling noise. He blinked, and gave a curse, running for the living room.
As he feared, Quentin was not in a bloody heap on the floor where Fellon had left him. Blood smears on the floor and front door indicated the bastard had managed to work himself to him feet and flee the scene. Fuck. For a brief moment, Fellon considered going after Quentin, but ultimately turned back to go to his parents’ old bedroom. His mother needed him more right now…
- 13
- 14
- 15
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Can't Let You Go