Looking at his uncle is hard. Looking at his mother is even harder. But looking at the dog stings the most.
He's sure that even Mother has forgotten it by now, but Dog was supposed to be his, their father's way of telling Carver that yes, he is part of this family, even though he's so often been left behind.
It didn't work out that way. The moment Dog laid eyes on his older brother, they both fell in love, and his father told him how sorry he was, but that didn't change anything, did it?
And now Dog is finally his. Maybe. Only he doesn't want him. Not if it means… Garrett really has to ruin everything.
Mother is sick with grief. He can hear her crying herself to sleep every night while he's busy staring at the empty top bunk of their… ofCarver'sbed. No-one's been up there since the worst day. They'll probably never wash his sheets again. It's always quiet in their… his room now, and it's hard to sleep without Garrett's constant snoring.
He tries everything to make Mother feel better. He makes tea, and helps with the laundry, and sometimes, when the bags under Leandra's eyes are particularly prominent, he asks her if she doesn't want to go to the market for a bit, because surely she could need a new dress, or a pair of shoes? It doesn't matter that they don't have any money, because he will find something to support himself and his family, or what's left of it.
None of those things work.
The mage has been showing up at their door a few times over the last two weeks. Mostly he just sits with Mother and lets her talk, always nodding at the right times, and his face is so sympathetic that it makes Carver feel sick. Sometimes, he also pulls a little flask out of his coat, filled with some kind of potion, to help her sleep, he says.
Carver hates him for it. Not only because Anders, who's practically a stranger, can help while he can't, but he also never asks Carver if he's alright, always fussing over Leandra and wanting to know about her day, and Carver lives here too, for Maker's sake. It's not only a son that's missing, but a brother too, and why doesn't anyone care?!
They all say he's dead. First Bartrand, who came trudging up from the god-forsaken tunnels with deadness in his eyes and pockets that rang with coin, smelling of sickness. It was him who had told them about the cave in; and suddenly, all the money and status in the world became meaningless.
And then, over the next few days, he watched as the people around him put their hope to rest, one by one.
But he can't believe it. Never. Garrett is not the kind of person who dies. Not like this.
Because this doesn't make any sense. He's a mage, and a good one at that. He's brave and strong, and people like that don't just die, and Maker, it's Bethany all over again.
Stupid Garrett with his stupid arrogance and his stupid plans and ambitions. Carver can't even be angry at him for not letting him join now. Then he'd be dead too. Or no, not dead. Missing. Missing. Missing, because Garrett doesn't die.
He can't be angry, and that makes him furious, and he kicks the underside of Garrett's bunk while he's trying to sleep. Mother doesn't have a potion today, and she's crying again, and he kind of wants to cry too, but it doesn't work and the thought is stupid anyway because Garrett isn't dead.
Not even a bit. Can you be partly dead? No, you can't, and he really is an idiot, isn't he?
"Idiot." He has to say it out loud, because it's been so long since he heard that word, because the person who usually calls him that is gone… missing… whatever, and he can't do this. The walls are too close and he's choking and he needs to get out, out, away from his brother's crate and his old staff in the corner, settled over with dust, and he slams the door when he leaves the house.
He can see stars tonight, which is rare in Kirkwall, but hadn't been in Ferelden. And there are laughing drunks in a back alley, not so rare in Kirkwall, but they are in Ferelden.
All thoughts of Garrett end with thoughts of Ferelden, of home. Only that it isn't home, not anymore. This here is, this awful excuse for a city, a gaping maw full of criminals and pain and suffering and Garrett's absence.
It's home, because Mother wants it to be, and Garrett too, and maybe, maybe, he wants that too, only that it's too empty.
The stars really are bright tonight, and it's silly, it really is, but he suddenly thinks of the Chant. He lets lines run through his mind until he loses the thread and can't find it again, but it doesn't matter, he has his own thought too, and so he repeats that instead, over and over and over again until someone, somewhere, hears him, maybe.
Please, Maker, bring him home.