A/N: I had good warrior Hawke, sarcastic rogue Hawke, now it's time for aggressive mage Hawke. I am hoping to make it fairly dark, so don't expect to be swept off your feet with romance too early. I will likely be unable to resist their romantic pull. Title of the story is based on Assemblage 23's song 'Spark'. Oh, and I own nothing, I only wish I did.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The dagger felt icy cold against the skin of her forearm, raising chill bumps on Hawke's skin. She closed her eyes, beads of sweat on her forehead. Was she sure she wanted to do this? Images flickered across her mind's eye, of her family, of the Blight, of the darkspawn. Again, the question came. It was a a mere whisper, gently spoken. Merrill's voice made her toes curl, made her feel tense all over.

"Yes. I am sure." It was spoken with conviction. Mere seconds later, the dagger cut into the skin of her forearm, opening her flesh, blood trickling forth down her arm over her wrist. Hawke gritted her teeth and focused. Oh Maker, the power. Hawke's eyes opened widely, gasping at the rush of magic that made her whole being sing.

Carver elbowed her hard, and pain flashed through Hawke's side where his elbow had connected with her ribs. In shock and pain her hand let go of the bunch of tin soldiers she had been playing with. "I'll take those. You shouldn't be playing with soldiers." He was younger than the eldest of the Hawke siblings, but he was already lots stronger than Hawke and his twin sister Bethany. At age six, he was able to win just about any fight he got into, and those were plenty. He was a force to be reckoned with amongst the children in their current home village. "Go play with Bethany, do girl things. Bake me a cake." He pointed at the pile of sand where Bethany was indeed creating sand cakes and castles. She was a lot milder of nature than her fierce tomboy of a sister and her bullying brother.

Hawke wouldn't have any of it. Blood was drumming in her ears, drowning out everything else. She hated being bullied around. It filled her with so much anger that it was almost dizzying. With a howl of outrage, she grabbed some of the sand and threw it in his face, right into his eyes. He dropped on his knees, crying out, which was Hawke's opportunity to grab the stolen toys and run for it. She didn't count on any help from Bethany, just running for it. Adrenaline was pushing her onwards.

Hawke ran until her sides ached with pain and every breath was painful in her chest. She finally found a bush to cower behind, clutching the tin soldiers to her chest as if they were made of finest gold. It was a hot summer day, and everything was dry, the sun high in the sky. Dry twigs were crushing underfoot. As the girl caught her breath, she heard running. Her brother was of course chasing her. He would never let anything go, especially not when it was Hawke who was the offender.

"I'll get you, don't think I won't find you," he yelled as he turned the corner, and then skidded to a stop. He always seemed to have a second sense, a knack for finding those who ran from him. It would suit him well in later years. His eyes skimmed over her, a frown on his face. Sometimes it was like looking at a mirror, when studying Carver. The Hawke siblings were all made of the same stock. "Ah, there you are!" He reached out to grab her by the hair, pushing himself behind the bush, unconcerned with the twigs and branches scratching at his skin.

Subconsciously, Hawke opened one sweaty palm, squinting. A tiny flame burst into life, and she hurled it at the dry wood of the bush. The bush burst into flame, crackling, and Carver howled in fright, and also pain as a branch touching his arm was aflame now. Bethany had joined them, and cried, trying to help him, yet scared of the magic. She's always scared of it. She doesn't feel its power. She doesn't hear its song. Hawke focused and a chill spread on his arm, dousing the fire. I am so much more powerful than he is and he hates it. I do not need to be afraid of anything.

That night, Hawke got the worst thrashing of her life from her father Malcolm, for having used her magic in the open, and against her brother.

Hawke learned to be aggressive from her dealings with Carver. From childhood on, Carver was different. In a household of three mages, he felt lessened by it. If sibling rivalry was a science, the two of them had perfected it. They competed for everything. For their father's love, to who was fastest running home from school, anything imaginable. The only one who was able to bring any measure of peace to them was their sister Bethany, for they both loved her gentle soul very much.

It shaped the woman Hawke was turning into, just like her being an apostate was shaping it. Her family never settled down anywhere, for fear of templars catching them. Three apostates in one household meant constant fear, constant re-adapting to new circumstances. Invariably facing strangers, on the run at the slightest hints that templars might be in town. Hawke never learned to have friends, they didn't stay long enough anywhere for that.

It wasn't until the Hawke children were almost adults that they sorted out a life for themselves in Lothering, their first home where the constant running stopped. Carver joined the militia at 15, and Hawke settled into her studies of magic, something that she embraced fearlessly, unlike her sister. They both were very adept, but Bethany's fear held her back. Hawke never wanted to hold back. It made her bristle with resentment. Anger management was a constant trial. Fire was her speciality, and sometimes she felt she was glowing bright as a bonfire, ready to burst into flames, ready to be consumed by it.

"Bethany, keep up!" They were fleeing from the darkspawn and Bethany was flagging behind, with their mother. Hawke drove them relentlessly. She was the eldest, her father had placed the family in her hands, and she was doing anything to protect them, the best way that she could. It just usually didn't involve any amounts of empathy or niceties. She could not be that weak.

Bethany always held back, always incredibly careful, but now was not the time for that. "Bethany, damn you, hit them like you mean it. Do it! Lothering is destroyed behind us. You want us to live?" She gritted her teeth. "Imagine it's a bunch of templars chasing us." She saw angry tears in Bethany's eyes. It was what Hawke wanted. Anger would fuel power, power would see them out of this.

When the ogre rushed towards them, Bethany's anger and Hawke's goading caused the younger of the sisters to draw the ogre to her with her fireballs. The way that Bethany's petite body was smashed against the rocks in the ogre's grip still haunted Hawke in her dreams years later.

There was no more peace between Carver and Hawke. Bethany's death shattered the fickle peace they had found in adulthood. He blamed her for his twin sister's death. She deflected all his anger with anger of her own. It was enough to blame herself in her own head, but it did not do that he would voice his accusations.

Once they built a new life in Kirkwall, they shared a home in Kirkwall, in Lowtown, (if you could call Gamlen's hovel a home) but they did not share a life. When Hawke had the funds to go to the Deep Roads, she left Carver behind without a second thought. It was him who felt the Hawkes needed the expedition, and it was her who made him stay behind with Leandra, unwilling to concede him any part in the shaping of their future.

When she returned from the Deep Roads, he was a templar recruit, one of those who hunted mages like Hawke. She was running again, like she had run from him as a child, and she would never be safe now. Not without Bethany.

How do you protect yourself in a city full of templars, when you are an apostate burning to use magic? Hawke believed in the offensive. If she was to live and survive, she had to be the best. Maybe it was just her competitive spirit. Maybe it was common sense. Or maybe it was that what the templars claimed was true. A mage was always at risk to be corrupted by power. What had Wesley, Aveline's templar husband said? The spawn are clear in their intent, but a mage is always an unknown. What did the templars fear the most? Blood magic. Would that be her best defense? It was something Hawke pondered a lot.

Hawke had read Anders' manifesto many times. She fought for mages, defended them, saved them. Never with a compassionate heart, but because it was the right thing to do. She and all of the others, they shouldn't have to run. They deserved freedom, and the choice to use their powers. Would it be enough though?

It was thus that she walked into the depths of Lowtown, to the alienage, to talk to the only blood mage Hawke knew. Merrill.

Hawke's relationship to Merrill was cool and detached. She did not form any close human connections. She associated and allied with people, but she always kept her distance. She had brought Merrill to Kirkwall from Sundermount, and seen to it she was doing well. She was a fellow mage, so she had to be treated right.

Merrill was naive and awkward about the world, and she often forgot everything around her for her studies, so Hawke made sure she had food, the necessities of life, and the peace to study. She did not offer her friendship though. Hawke didn't offer friendship to anyone. She established respect and boundaries. People worked with her because she got things done, not because she had their hearts. She even managed to work with Fenris, even though they were polar opposites. It was a certain sense of power to have someone as mage-hating as Fenris helping mages. Their alliance would not last forever.

Hawke's was a lonely life. It was the only kind of life that Hawke could allow.

When Hawke entered Merrill's house, she found the Dalish in her usual position, seated before the eluvian, the mirror she was trying to rebuild. Beside her on the floor was a dagger, dried blood stains on the blade. Hawke sat on a chair behind her and waited for Merrill's attention. She watched droplets of blood flowing from the elf's fingers to the air, misting, then turning into a gaseous form, dispersing upon the mirror. Hawke's hands closed and opened, and she sat there, feeling the pulse of power, a hint of the potent magic. It made her mouth dry. She desired that kind of power more than anything else. It was the only form of desire she knew.

Merrill rose gracefully and turned around to shyly smile at Hawke. "Welcome to my home. I...uh, would like to offer you hospitality." She walked into the other room and then returned with a mug of water that Hawke accepted with murmured thanks. This was awkwardness. Hawke shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably and clung to her staff. It was her focus. She was unsure how to handle Merrill, who always seemed so friendly, naive and cheerful, so very eager to please anyone she spoke to.

"I am a terrible host, am I not?" Merrill shuffled her bare feet nervously, kicking up dust on the floor. She didn't clean very often, her focus were clearly her studies. Hawke shook her head. Others would have offered a reassuring smile, trying to put the elf at ease, but that was not how Hawke functioned. Unsmiling, she looked at the Dalish, studying her closely. It made Merrill fidget. It made many people fidget when her eyes focused on them in cool observation.

Hawke finally spoke, indicating that Merrill should sit. Almost cowed, the elf did sit down, looking at Hawke from her guileless, green eyes. "I am of a mind to learn blood magic." Merrill gaped at her, her eyes round, enormous in her face now. She even blanched. Hawke clenched a fist, hating the feeling of being denied.

"That is...that is, wow. Really? Blood magic? You mean the kind of magic that will have templars kill you without any qualms? They won't even make you tranquil, I think. They'll just lop your head off." Merrill made a motion as if she held a sword, chopping someone's head off. Not that the delicate elf could possibly even hold a sword without impaling her own foot. Hawke's lips almost had a faint smile on them now, as she nodded. "Everyone condemns me for my own use of it, and here you are, telling me about wanting to learn it. How will you learn it?" Merrill eyed her suspiciously now.

Hawke spun her staff in place. It was not her habit to create elaborate phrasings, details, stories. Which was one of the reasons Varric and Hawke did not really get along all that well. He was always shocked by her bluntness and her disinterest in the imaginative. "You will teach me."

"Dirthamen! Me, teach you!" Merrill jumped up and paced around nervously, and looked like she would find a hole to scurry out of like a mouse. A green mouse. That's what she was. Hawke leaned her forehead against her staff, stifling a sigh. She had not expected this to be easy. "Are you ready to be despised by everyone you know? Leading a life completely on your own? Blood mages have no friends, and do not seek company. At least not those blood mages who do not seek to be caught. Not like these fellows from the Starkhaven circle." Merrill wandered around the table, never looking at Hawke, just talking. "It can be very useful, but it requires very strict control. It's not all fun and games." She stopped, leaning her hands on the back of a chair now, facing Hawke.

"Nothing in life is all fun and games." Hawke leaned forward, giving the elf a piercing look, like a bird of prey, like her namesake. "I am not interested in fun, nor games. I seek to protect myself, my family, and those at my side." She didn't call them friends or companions, because that would bring with it an expectation of feelings. She purged her feelings with fire. She was surprised however that Merrill did not flinch, fidget, or look away. The elf actually looked at her in a challenging way.

"I don't want to sound proud or arrogant, but I am very good at what I am doing. I never receive acknowledgement for it, but it is the truth. It is that which makes me feared amongst my people." Merrill actually crossed her arms, sounded almost cocky. Hawke preferred this to the green mouse elf. She actually has a spine, amazing. "I could say no, but then knowing you, you would probably travel to Sundermount and seek out Audacity yourself. I don't think you'd be strong enough to deal with this spirit."

She is so proud. She fully believes it. Hawke bristled at the insinuation that she wasn't strong enough, but then conceded with a nod. "I have no interest in dealing with demons. I actually am finding the perfect opportunity here to be able to study the art without having to make deals with demons. Unless you are already possessed, but I doubt that." Hawke gripped her staff tightly. She was very restless now. This conversation made her hair stand on end. It had an energy that she could not identify.

Merrill laughed, then shook her head, meek again. "No, I am not possessed. Or...maybe I am, but then I would be a fool to tell you." She rose on tiptoes and then roared, lifting her arms into the air. It actually made Hawke smile, for just a moment, before her face was an unemotional mask again. Others would have laughed loudly. Merrill blushed when she noticed Hawke's lack of response and stared at her feet. So awkward. But then, Carver always called me awkward and a fool.

"Very well then. In exchange I will make sure that you will have everything that you desire." Hawke made this offer solemnly and then squinted thoughtfully, lines on her forehead. "Anything you might require for your studies, food, amenities. Books maybe? I'll aid." She didn't usually spend so many words on things, but she felt the urge to narrow things down. For some reason it seemed important to clarify. Maybe it was because an extremely flushed Merrill had turned her back on Hawke after her generous offer. Was this matter already doomed to failure? Never. She would not let failure happen.

"Very generous, Hawke. Would you then maybe go to the bazaar with me later? I find myself out of funds and could use some food." Hawke relaxed at Merrill's words and nodded. "We can start our lessons tomorrow." The elf bit her bottom lip, her teeth nibbling on it repeatedly, gnawing in worry. "You must not tell anyone. Of course. But you know this, right? It's a risk."

Hawke rose, nodding to the elf. "You need not worry yourself about such a thing. I am always careful." She had been, ever since the day a bush burst into flames, burning Carver's skin. "Let's go."

How glorious not being careful had been.