This isn't excellent or anything, just a snippet of what might happen if Carver and Loghain met. Thanks to righteous-maximus for betaing it!
The light was weakly filtering through the high windows when his waiting was finally rewarded. He'd been pacing here for half an hour, wondering how hard it would be to get to the intricately designed Orlesian stained glass windows and smash them to pieces.
"We apologize for the wait," said the sour faced Orlesian Warden who finally greeted him. "The Warden I've been waiting to introduce to you traveled here from quite a ways. He's…tired."
Tired? Loghain was tired. Loghain was still standing here on time despite his bandaged arm and injured leg. Loghain was more than tired.
Loghain brought to mind the exhilarating idea of smashing Orlesian windows to calm himself, and grunted in acknowledgement. The Orlesian Warden returned a minute later with another Warden in tow, a tall, muscular dark-haired man with a face as sour as Loghain's own.
He was handsome enough, if you went for the kind of man who'd forgotten how to be gentle. Again, Loghain supposed he was the same (although he was likely too old now to be anything resembling handsome). That frown looked permanent, and Loghain wondered what had gone on in that man's life to make him so angry.
"Loghain Mac Tir," said the man. The way he said it was enough to tell Loghain that he was probably the reason for the frown. His accent was Ferelden. That also said much.
"Warden," he corrected. He didn't bother to reach his hand out. The surly man would not want to shake it.
"I was at Ostagar," said the Warden with eyes like flint.
Of course he was. Loghain let a breath out through his teeth.
"This is Carver Hawke," said the Orlesian Warden.
"Related to the famous one, before you ask," said Hawke. "I'm his brother."
"I know who you are," said Loghain. He kept up with current events. It was an old habit- and besides, he was a Warden. It was his duty.
"He's your new partner," said the Orlesian Warden. He knew the man's name, he just liked to pretend that he didn't. "Warden-Commander Clarel thought it would be best if you had someone with you when you went recruiting."
"My new-" began Loghain indignantly. He was cut off by Carver snorting.
"So my new job is to guard an old man?" he said, eyes on Loghain's injuries. "It's not like he's doing anything important."
"Warden Loghain is an important asset," said the Orlesian Warden. "He deserves to be treated as such. You will accompany him while recruiting."
Loghain's jaw was set so hard his teeth were grinding when the Warden was finished speaking. He might as well be an object to these people, a political pawn to be traded across a board of chess. The Orlesian Warden decided he had more important business to attend to, leaving Loghain with Carver Hawke.
"We head out tomorrow morning," said Loghain. "I have a spare map of the area I can lend you. The terrain and creatures are hostile in parts, but it should be fine if we're careful."
He turned to leave as well, a list of things he'd need to prepare for the next day coming together in his head.
"Did you hear me?" said Carver. "I was at Ostagar."
"I heard you," said Loghain. "So were a lot of people."
"You killed the King," said Carver. "I was going to challenge you to a duel over it, but look at you."
Loghain's frown deepened and he shifted his weight into his injured leg, ignoring the pain in favor of reducing his limp. "Did you know King Cailan, then?" he said. "Did you fight alongside him personally? Know his friends? His family? Were you, by any chance, best friends with his father? Did you watch the boy grow up?"
Carver's own mouth tugged downwards. "I get the point."
"As for the allusion to my injuries," said Loghain, his face set in stone but his tone calm. "I am fit for combat, or I will be tomorrow. If you're really itching for a duel come and find me."
Carver laughed, a short bark tearing from his throat. "Really? You call that fit?"
"Fit enough," said Loghain. "What do you want, a dance?"
"Not from you," said Carver, looking him over. "There are younger men in the inn. There are younger men everywhere. I couldn't throw a rock without hitting a younger man than you."
"Maker," said Loghain, who was at a loss for what else to say. "You're insufferable."
"That's what they tell me," said Carver Hawke with a hint of a smile.
"So what, did you want to duel me tomorrow?" said Loghain. "Is that the plan?"
Carver smacked his bandaged arm with the flat of his calloused hand. "How'd that happen anyway? A mabari get loose from the kennel?"
"I was ambushed by a group of bandits," said Loghain.
Carver narrowed his eyes. "How big of a group?" he said.
"Enough to slow me down," said Loghain. "And that's saying something. Hate me for Ostagar, for my crimes, for whatever, but don't look me in the eye and claim I can't fight." His chest ached and his legs were sore and his fingers were swollen- his injuries would take too long to heal- but Maker be damned if he was slipping just yet.
He was leaving this idiotic conversation behind him. He needed to rest, pull up some maps, anything but the age-old arguing about his morality and right to be alive.
"I'm not going to challenge you to a duel," said the other Warden. "How about a drink?"
Loghain paused. "A drink?"
"Yeah," said Carver Hawke, brother to the more infamous and clearly less interesting Champion of Kirkwall. "A drink. Blow off steam, this and that."
"Ah," said Loghain. "Sure."
"Come on then," said Carver, holding the door open for Loghain with the same hand he'd used to smack his arm.
"Now?"
"Yeah," said Carver. "Now."