Carver wasn't sleeping very much on the trip to Kirkwall. Crammed conditions in the hold weren't exactly comfortable, and the storms weren't helping matters. But it seemed whenever Carver was in a position remotely comfortable enough to sleep, some baby would start wailing or something.
Shut that bloody thing up! Nearly came out of his mouth a number of times, but it seemed whenever he turned towards the sound, he'd see the tear-strained face of the baby's mother, gently holding the baby in her arms, and his throat would tighten up and he couldn't say anything.
A crying mother, Gwaren had been packed with them. Widows and...whatever the word was for mothers who lost their children. The Blight didn't take everything, but it sure left its wounds everywhere. The slaughter at Ostagar seemed almost tame compared to what Carver had seen of Ferelden in the family's flight. King Calian's army fell to betrayal, but the burned and pillaged farmsteads and piles of corpses had no Teyrn Loghain to blame for their destruction.
The baby stopped wailing, and no others seemed to be starting on their cries anytime soon. So Carver leaned his back against one of the support posts in the hold, and let his head droop down. Perhaps had been too long since he'd slept, for it came quickly.
There's a clearing as they press on towards the Korcari Wilds. It's not a good idea to go there, but Aveline, that officer in the army, said north was cut off. The horde came from the wilds, more would come out from the Deep Roads for sure. But Marian insisted: If the choice was south or die, they went south. The ground rumbles and the templar Wesley loses his balance. Bethany, Carver's twin sister braces herself with her quarterstaff. And a loud snarl and roar draws the attention of everyone as a huge, horned monster, an ogre, stomped into the clearing, beating it's chest and howling like a primal beast. Carver had only seen them when the army charged, never got close enough to fight one. They were bigger up close: Marian could stand on Carver's shoulders and it would only reach chin level.
"Maker, what do they feed those things?" Marian had quipped before pulling out her quarterstaff. Using her magic, she wreathed her hands in flame and threw blasts at the monster's face. Going for the eyes. But the ogre blocks with it's forearm, and the fire does nothing. It sweeps up Marian with its free hand, and then constricts its fingers before it slams Marian into the ground. Marian screams, another slam. Spray of blood from the monsters hand, then it tosses her away. She bounces once before coming to rest. She doesn't get back up.
"Marian!" Mother had screamed and ran to her.
"Not on my watch!" Aveline flanked the beast, and Carver moved to the other side. Bethany throws a fireball at range, catching the ogre in the face. It stumbled, Carver drove his blade deep into the ogre's shin, it falls to it's knees. Aveline and Carver both go for the neck, it's big enough to handle two blades. Blood flows like the little river in Lothering by the Chantry. It thuds to the ground. Carver stabs in the face again to be sure.
"These creatures are said to regenerate." Aveline lectures. Stern and stoic, with a slight, perpetual scowl on her face. She turns to Bethany and asks her to set the corpse ablaze. Couldn't be too careful with ogres, Carver heard about their regeneration too.
"Marian, Marian! Marian, dear, the battle's over, we're fine, wake up!" From off to the side, Mother and Wesley are beside Marian. She's being cradled in Mother's arms, but she doesn't move herself. Carver hurries over with Bethany in hot pursuit.
"I'm sorry, madame." Wesley grimaces, but tries not to show his pain as he speaks to Mother. "I'm afraid your daughter is gone." Mother's response is defiant, at first. Marian would not be taken. But as Marian still does not move, open her eyes or give the slightest form of protest, defiance gave way to something else. Sadness. A cry. A cry Carver heard only once before, three years ago, when Father went to the Maker's side.
"If we stay here weeping, the darkspawn will take the rest of us too." Carver tries to tell his mother. Mother says nothing, she opens her mouth and nothing comes out. She puts Marian down, after an eternity of stillness.
With a shiver, Carver startled himself awake. What little sleep he managed to get on his blasted ship was spent with that nightmare. He took deep breaths, he couldn't sit around shivering like a little girl: Marian was gone along with Father and no sissy weeping would bring any of them back. Someone had to take charge, he was the man of the house now.
It was night-time now, but enough moonlight came in from the grating for Carver to make out the figure of Bethany, also leaned against the same pillar, sleeping, but, from the looks of it, her sleeping was about as restful as his was.
Carver shifted a little to give his sister more room, but not too much. If she woke up, he wanted to make sure she knew he was still right there. Twins they were, most of Carver's life had revolved around Bethany. As long as he could remember, Marian had been the mage, off with their Father learning the discipline of their craft, getting most of father's attention. And since magic had to be kept secret, the family couldn't have many friends. Carver and Bethany played together all the time, and he felt when she did: He even made a little jig to dance to make her smile every time he accidentally broke one of her toys or she fell and skinned her knee. No matter how many times she did it,
And then, when he turned six, he and Bethany were playing Grey Warden and she somehow lit the toy wooden sword on fire. And that was it, Bethany was a mage too, and Carver had to play by himself.
He didn't hate anyone for it, as much as Marian might have thought so: Carver knew you didn't choose magic. And Father, stretched for time as he was, still taught him how to fight, how to properly wield a sword. He was no expert, but between that and the tips Carver learned from passing mercenaries, he cobbled together his own style that served him well. He survived Ostagar, after all. Father and Mother both also made sure to tell him they didn't think any less of him for not having magic. He didn't believe it as a boy, but now he supposed it was true. Not that that was the point, but, just as Marian liked to say that Carver could never truly understand the world of magic, they could never truly understand what it was to be the outsider in a family of magic. Mother may have chosen to stand by Father for love, but he was a child, dragged from home to home, always to be mediocre so too much attention couldn't be drawn. It defined him as much as it defined Marian or Bethany, but he never received any of the perks. It was just a sick game he didn't even know the rules too.
And now, there was freedom. They were going to Kirkwall, and while Carver wasn't really interested in the Amell name, a home with a fortune was at least a stable place for Mother to be, and for Bethany to hide, while Carver made his own fortune. And all it took was the destruction of what now must be half of Ferelden. And Marian.
Carver looked at the moon through the grating, the first night the moon was shining, all the other nights it had been stormy. It stared back at him like it would any other clear night, with an unblinking eye. It almost felt like one more of Marian's jokes, she was gone and he was freer than he could have ever been, and it wasn't anything it was cracked up to be. And, like a normal childhood, there was no way to get it back.