Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.I'm just playing in their dragon and darkspawn-filled sandbox.
A/N: This one-shot is a kind of 'spin-off' from my main fic Thing For You/Wait For You, kinda a back story to how Ser Pounce-a-lot falls into the story later on.
A/N 2.0: The ending was inspired by something that happened in my life. /3
A wounded soldier dragged himself to the lookout point near the edge of the camp; he rasped out that the troops had been ambushed by darkspawn as loud as he could, before collapsing at the feet of the guard on duty.
After being informed of what happened, Captain Carver gathered a small band of formidable fighters and an archer. He led them to the Korcari Wilds to look for survivors of the band of troops that had been sent to try and find the Grey Warden treaties.
After an hour of traveling into the wilds they came across a small clearing at the base of a hill littered with the bodies of soldiers and darkspawn. The archer pulled her shirt up over her nose when the wind blew the rotten stench of the darkspawn in their direction. Carver shook his head at the scene, and pulled his great sword from its scabbard. He ordered his troops to split into two groups and to begin the search for survivors.
Carver split from his soldiers to check the bodies at the edge of the clearing. There was a vast range of creatures that dwelled in the Wilds, nearly all of them predatory and some already likely to have picked up the scent of the recently dead. He could work faster if he didn't have to listen to another soldier's chatter, and he would also be able to sound the alert if there was anything coming from the forest.
The afternoon sun reflected off the helm of a senior Grey Warden, catching Carver's gaze. Carver began to approach, then took a small step back, seeing the decapitated head that was still inside the helm staring up at him with lifeless eyes. Nearby the rest of the Grey Warden's body lay littered with arrows, the remains of several hurloks and two alpha hurlocks surrounding him. He had done well to take down so many single-handedly before one of the beasts landed the killing blow. Carver bowed his head in respect to the dead Warden.
Meow.
Scanning the ground with his keen blue eyes, Carver saw there was a tiny furry creature nuzzling into the dead man's face as if it were trying to wake him. The poor thing had been injured in the battle, perhaps by a mage's fireball, and its face and flank were badly burnt on the left side. The sight of the forlorn creature tugged at Carver's steel heart
He bit his lip wondering what he should do with it. Could it be saved? Should he take it back to the camp at Ostagar and see if the healers could do anything? Or leave it here to mourn its master…? No. He couldn't just leave it out here to be eaten by wolves or become a snack for darkspawn.
He crouched down and stretched a finger out it, but the kitten just stared up at him with its huge green eyes. "It's okay," Carver told the animal softly, using one finger to gingerly stroke its back, taking extreme care not to touch the raw wounds. "I'm not going to hurt you."
To his surprise the creature started purring. "I'm going to take you some place safe. Would you like that?" The little feline tilted its head to the side and meowed at Carver, taking a shaky step over the dead Warden's broken chest piece to get closer to him.
Carver looked over his shoulder at the troops loading the two survivors onto stretchers.
The archer had bandaged them up and was now scribbling down the names of the fallen on a scrap of parchment with a stick of charcoal.
"I think we're done all we can here captain," the archer called.
Carver tore off a piece of the blue and silver material from the Warden's body and wrapped the kitten in it, carefully lifting the little creature into his arms as he rose to his feet.
One of the soldiers looked at the bundle in Carver's arms suspiciously when the captain re-joined them, but did not voice his curiosity. The soldier was too busy struggling with a wounded soldier on a stretcher, and besides it was not his place to question his captain.
It was nightfall by the time they reached the camp, and close to midnight by the time Carver reached his tent. The captain shared his tent with two young Grey Wardens, a warrior named Alistair and a mage called Anders. Carver had just returned from searching the kitchen in the dark for food for himself and, more importantly, the kitten.
He paused at the entrance of the tent, biting his lip. What would the young Wardens say when they discovered he brought a kitten back with him? He, who had the temper of a bronto and who could make the younger recruits wet themselves with a single glance with those ice-blue orbs.
Carver knew that Anders, being the nosy bastard that he is, would know something was amiss in the young captain's mood and pester him until he knew what it was. But Carver hoped he wouldn't have to deal with that until morning.
The kitten made a rumbling angry sound at him when he lowered it onto the pillow. Carver winced slightly; that was easily loud enough to wake the one of the others. He glanced over his shoulders to see if it had. To his relief, no one had stirred.
He sighed and took off his heavy armour as quietly as possible and piled it neatly at his feet. He had just laid down when he heard the mage's voice. "Is that you Carver?" Anders asked, sitting up on his bedroll and squinting at the soldier on the other side of the snoring Warden in between them. Anders spoke again, "Did you hear something just before? It sounded like… a cat"
"No," Carver said curtly, hoping that his lie sounded convincing. He rolling onto his side so his back was to the questioner. "Why would there be a cat here?"
Meowww.
He silently cursed the singed kitten.
"Seriously?" Anders deadpanned. He moved the blanket aside and got up to investigate when the kitten made another noise. "You don't hear that?" Guided by the moonlight seeping into the tent, Anders padded carefully around Alistair in the cramped tent.
Carver nearly jumped out of his skin when a ball of light appeared beside his head, courtesy of the young mage. Out of reflex he sent an elbow into… some part of the mage. Carver's voice, smothered in exhaustion, failed to show the venom he wished to conjure as he spoke "Did I not make myself clear enough when I told you to stay on your side of the tent?"
"You did," Anders confirmed flatly "and my poor lungs are going to be feeling that for a week," he complained as he rubbed his chest with one hand. In the other he re-created the ball of light as he continued to talk. "But I can hear noises and I thought maybe you were being mauled to deat- Awww! Wittle kitty," he gushed, his voice spiking several octaves as he grinned stupidly at the small feline.
Damn it.
He didn't even get to keep a secret pet for more than a few hours without the feathered git finding it.
"Shh!" Carver hissed, putting a finger to his lips. "Keep your voice down Sparkles!" he scolded.
Anders made a move to reach over and pat the kitten when he found his wrist caught by Carver. "No," the warrior said, in a tone that sounded eerily like his father.
Ander's gaze went from the kitten that was tucked into a blood-stained cloth, to the warning grip those large calloused hands had on his thin wrist, to Carver's face. What is with that… kicked-puppy look he's giving me?
"H-he…" the young captain stammered, battling with his words. The mage was a healer, and as much as Carved hated admitting it Anders was the best healer he knew. If there was anyone who could help it was him, but the captain's pride stopped him from asking for help straight out. The pause felt like it had gone on too long. Carver sighed in an almost overdramatic way, his voice quiet "he's badly hurt, Anders."
Anders furrowed his brow. For a moment wondering if this man was an imposter because the real Carver didn't touch him. The real Carver's words did not waver and the real Carver never addressed him by his first name. It had always been Mage, Healer, Magey or the most recent one added to the pile, which was by far Anders' personal favourite – Sparkles, after a trick he started doing with purple lightning when they were drinking.
Feeling uneasy under the hazel eyes silently questioning him, the captain took a shot at the un-asked question. "And no, I did not hurt him. I am not a monster." He locked eyes with the mage. "I love animals. I couldn't just leave him there," Carver admitted in the softest tone the mage had ever heard him use.
A quiet hung over them briefly. Carver let his eyes drift from the wounded kitten and back to the mage. "Well, can you….?" He didn't finish the question, and the mage didn't appear to be listening anyway.
Anders blinked slowly as his mind struggled in a strange form of shock at the sound of his name leaving the younger man's lips. "You called me Anders," he said dumbly, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. He was inwardly jumping for joy like a teenager who's crush had spoken to them for the first time.
A bored tone clung to Carver's voice, "It is your name, is it not?"
"Well... yeah. But you never-"
"Look, can you help him or not?" Carver snapped in a low hiss, clenching his jaw.
"And here I thought we were bonding," Anders said with fake hurt – that really wasn't all that fake. The mage had been trying for close to two years to win the blue-eyed warrior's friendship, as there was no way in the Void he would ever return his feelings in the way Anders wished. The man came across as the straightest plank of wood in the shed.
Anders shook the thought from his head. "I can take a look at his injuries for you if you wish." The mage swallowed nervously, he could tell Carver was already attached to this little feline, so if he messed this up the progress he had made in bridging the gap between them being rivals and potential friends could be ruined.
"I don't know much about animal healing," he admitted "but I will try my best." He offered a smile to the warrior as his hazel eyes flickered to the hand at his wrist. He didn't really want him to let go but he needed both hands to examine the injured feline. "Well, if you would be so kind as to… uh, let go of me?"
Carver hadn't realized he was still restraining the mage and promptly let go, stumbling awkwardly over an apology.
Anders stepped over the Carvers's out-stretched legs and sat cross-legged on the bedroll in front of the kitten. As he started pulling away the blue material, the kitten made an angry noise at him and swatted his hand with his little razor sharp claws.
"Careful, Sparkles," Carver warned, copying the feline's move and swatting the mage's hands away. "He's only a baby, you have to be… gentle." The word sounded strange rolling off his tongue. "Like this," Carver propped himself up on his elbow and slowly peeled away the blue rag with his free hand. Knowing where the wounds were made it a lot easier to avoid distressing the kitten. "See?"
"Show-off," Anders huffed light-heartedly. He moved the ball of light over the kitten and his hazel eyes ran over the extent of its injuries "Well, they don't appear to be as bad as I thought they would be. I am pretty sure I can heal him. If this works he will be left with scars but at least he will live." Hazel eyes met blue. "Do you wish me to continue?"
Carver nodded and watched intently as the healing green glow danced over the small animal. The cat purred and arched its back as the mage worked. Carver felt relieved when the cat let out a soft meow, took a wobbly step forward and pressed the uninjured side of its face against his palm and nuzzled affectionately. It reminded Carver of his twin, Bethany, and he couldn't stop the sigh or the smile that followed the thought of seeing his 'other half' again a few days after the battle.
"Are you smiling, captain?" Anders asked, not hiding the amazement in his voice. He felt like he was witnessing something rare and special to see the man that always wore a scowl smiling so fondly.
He actually looks rather handsome wearing that expression… not that he isn't already, but by the Maker… woman (and men) all over Thedas could-
Carver quickly cleared the expression from his face. "No."
"You should smile more often – it looks good on you," Anders said, thankful for the low light that hid the slight colour on his cheeks.
Carver debated for a few moments whether or not to give in to the urge to hug the mage. He didn't trust his voice to express his gratitude. He'd seen other people hug each other as a silent way of saying 'thank you' but he had never been the one to initiate the hug. He sat up hesitantly before wrapping his arms around Anders' and resting his chin over the mage's bare shoulder.
Anders flinched slightly at the unexpected skin-on-skin contact before putting his own arms around the warrior's shoulders, understanding what the warrior was trying to say. "I'm just happy I could help," he said genuinely, returning the hug. "Ser Pounce-a-lot is lucky you found him."
Carver chuckled and pulled back, the surprise clear on his face as he echoed "Ser Pounce-a-lot?"
"He's got to have a name doesn't he?" The kitten rose to its feet and rubbed its side against Anders' stomach, a light purr rumbling in his throat. "I think he likes it."
"For once, I agree with you, Magey" he said with a chuckle and shook his head.
"Goodnight Ser Pounce-a-lot," the mage said, scratching under the kitten's chin. He turned to the warrior and said "Goodnight Carver"
Carver's 'goodnight' was distorted when he yawned. The mage waited a moment to see if he'd hear his name again and when it didn't come he suppressed a disappointed sigh and began to stand, when a hand caught his wrist, again.
"Goodnight," Carver said, more clearly this time, and clasped the mage's hand in thanks, "Anders."
Neither of them would admit to anyone that this was how their friendship had begun. Anders would always say that Carver had saved his hide at the battle at Ostagar, which wasn't exactly a lie. If it hadn't been for Carver's quick thinking, neither of them would have gotten out alive.
- Many years later -
Anders stood with his head bowed in front of a wooden cross painted in Carver's favourite colours, the Grey Wardens' silver and blue.
The portrait an artist had painted of him, Carver and Ser Pounce-a-lot hung to the left, dust in a thick layer on its frame, but the glass over the paint kept in sparkling condition so he could see the smiling faces looking back him.
He placed a bouquet of flowers at the base of the cross and a plate of milk to the right.
He missed both of them so much.
It had been five years since the war between Mages and Templars had broke out in Kirkwall.
Five years since Carver had died, falling in that battle against the possessed Knight-Commander Meredith.
Five years since Anders had blown up the Chantry in his grief for losing his best friend, brother in arms and the man he loved (even if the feelings were never returned).
To everyone's surprise Carver had sided with the Mages and even more surprising the elf that hated magic with every fibre of his being has also chosen to fight with them.
Carver had put his life on the line to protect his older sister and his mate, the Lyrium encrusted elven warrior Fenris.
The last memory flashed before his mind's eye as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday.
The dark-haired warrior's face as he looked down at the Knight-Commander Meredith's red lyrium sword that had been impaled right through his armour and out the other side.
Hawke's scream of horror as she watched her baby brother drop to his knees beside her, while Fenris exploded with rage, his lyrium brands glowing bright as the two of them charged at the Knight-Commander.
Hawke threw everything she had at Meredith, her magic being used as both a weapon and distraction so Fenris could hack his way through her armour.
Anders, a very skilled healer, was at a loss as there was nothing he could do to save Carver. The red lyrium of the blade had crystallised the younger man's insides preventing any normal magic from closing over the gaping wound. "It's okay," Carver said softly. As if knowing the Mage would hold himself responsible for his death Carver whispered "It's not your fault, Anders."
"But I can't heal you!" the Mage cried, raising his hands in frustration.
"It's okay" Carver repeated. "Promise me you will look after them," he rasped, nodding his head lethargically in the direction of his sister and the elf.
Hazel eyes held blue for the last time, "I promise."
A tiny smile appeared on Carver's face before he collapsed.
In the meantime, Hawke had knocked the Knight-Commander onto her back with a mighty stonefist, her weapon falling from her grasp and sliding across the Gallows out of reach.
Fenris moved swiftly jumping onto the woman that killed his mate, drove his hand through her chest with a sickening crunch, tore out her heart and crushed it, letting the blood drip over his fallen foe.
After the clash, Fenris returned to Carver's body. The normally stoic elf's face distorted with deep sorrow as he fought against the overwhelming emotion of losing the only friend he ever had.
Fenris gravely spoke in his native Tevinter tongue: "you fought bravely, rest peacefully my friend."
A week later Anders found a cold and lifeless Ser Pounce-a-lot in the Hawke estate crypt next to Carver's tombstone.
Hawke had guessed the cat had passed away from a broken heart, even though it was a healthy 10 years young, it just couldn't deal with living without Carver.
Hawke walked up beside him and put her hand to Anders' opposite shoulder and pulled the mage into a hug.
"He's still in your thoughts, isn't he?" she said softly, looking down at the mage.
Anders sighed and lent his head against Hawke's shoulder. "Always."