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Carver's Song
"Amused, Dwarf?" Cassandra said, circling around the chair, waiting to strike.
Varric snickered, "Oh, I'd thought you'd be glad to hear about how yours truly took, down a High Dragon, its hatchlings and managed to find some nice pirate... booty."
"There's one thing I don't understand, though. During all our questioning, we've never found a story about the Champion's brother."
"Little Hawke? He was always in the background, looking for a way to fit in. But compared to dueling the Arishok, finding vast riches in the Deep Roads, starting a rebellion that would change Thedas, Little Hawke had a tough time sticking out."
"That doesn't explain how a Templar with the same name as the Champion could've slipped from our sight!"
"Stories aren't kind to younger siblings. They're always at home taking care of sick moms, exiled to the Deep Roads, getting killed, not exactly things that light the world on fire."
"Am I detecting a bit of jealousy, Varric? Because for a moment there, I could've sworn you were talking less about Carver Hawke and more about yourself."
"Compared to Little Hawke, my troubles with Bartrand was nug shit. I will say this about Little Hawke; he had what it took to face down his own demons, in the more literal sense, of course."
The Gallows, 7 years after the Champion's arrival….
"Did you hear about the Champion?"
Carver once heard from Knight-Captain Cullen that new recruits could be worse than a weaving circle. The young Hawke knew they were much, much worse. Having no way to swear off their various oaths, the only vice the Templars could indulge in was to spread ill gossip between one another in an attempt to keep sane. Carver once heard about how Uncle Gamlen had been caught cheating his tab at the Blooming Rose and couldn't afford the two elves and three nugs he had ordered. However, he would've gladly heard about how Gamlen was caught with his pants down, literally or figuratively than what was constantly on everyone's mouth.
"I heard she took down the Arishok with nothing but her fingertips!"
"She did it to save a pirate queen. I bet you there's something saucy going on there!"
He should have known. Carver should have known that even if he were to escape to the furthest depths of the Deep Roads, his sister's name would still be echoing in his ear. Champion. It was a title that was the final blow. Years spent under her sister's shadow had softened the blow a little. A little. But the title of champion dwarfed the entirety of his being as the little brother to her name. He has spent three years making a name for himself and Hawke would always refer to the Champion. Typical.
"Oi, Carver!" An overweight, bald Templar named Reuben said, turning to him. "Ain't your last name Hawke?"
"Coincidence, I assure you." The boy said with a heavy sigh while putting on his Templar Plate.
"Hawke ain't that popular a name; you sure you ain't-"
"Look at me, Reuben. Could someone like me even think about being related to the Champion?"
How was it possible? Carver asked. His frustrations and his meditations had come to a boil. He was now fully committed to the Order and fully committed to stopping whatever demon came rearing its ugly head (and secretly putting his older sister's face on it).
"Can't blame a fellow Templar for asking."
"Don't bet on it..." The boy said, adjusting his armor to ensure there wasn't a blemish that would send the Knight-Commander into one of her fits. Of course, by the way several of the recruits suddenly 'remembered' to stand up straight and not be distracted, he could guess who was already on her way.
"Speak of the Void..." Reuben whispered to him.
There, a war-wearied blonde woman came forward being followed by an elf in blue robes and another elf wearing tattoo ink. Carver leaned forward. Obviously, he had been accustomed to Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino, but he wasn't sure if he had or hadn't met the eleven woman. Judging by her tattoo ink, she was clearly Dalish.
"Knights! We have had reports of a demon in our midst." Meredith spoke.
"Wanna bet it's Orsino pulling a fast one on her?" Reuben snickered. Carver simply shot him a look.
"This abomination has a name." The Knight-Commander continued.
"Yeah, and it's spelled M-e-r-e-"
Carver gave a quick elbow to Reuben and continued to look forward.
"Feynriel."
Carver paused. He had remembered when he was working with... his sister; they had encountered a half-elf boy who was kidnapped. Naturally, 'she' freed the boy and 'she' told him to go to the Dalish. Of course, there were rumors that somehow Feynriel had escaped from the Dalish as well. Carver scoffed. Now probably was a good time to pick up gossiping as a bad habit.
"Marethari…" Carver whispered to himself, suddenly remembering the name.
"The apostate-" Meredith began.
"Child." Orsino interrupted.
"...apostate has become possessed by a demon. Even direr is the fact that this boy is a dreamer."
"For those of you who don't know…" Orsino began. "A dreamer is exceptionally adept at entering or changing the Fade at will. If he were to become possessed-"
"He IS possessed. As such, we must kill him swiftly as possible." Meredith said, her harsh tone becoming even colder.
"As First Enchanter, I volunteer for this ritual. If we don't act quickly enough, Feynriel will become possessed."
Meredith leaned toward Orsino. "I think not."
She then turned back and walked around.
"Because the last time one of Feynriel's kind tried to 'help', he managed to disappear."
Suddenly, Carver felt all eyes, Meredith's, Orsino's and his fellow templars all upon him. He then came to the inevitable conclusion that it was his sister who had managed to do this. The boy sighed and swore against his sister. Not even within the halls of the Templars could he escape the shadow of a mage.
"Wait, you speak as if the boy is outside our reach…" A templar said, speaking up.
"He is." Meredith replied. "The boy's body has disappeared. However, there are other methods of finding him."
Then, Marethari stepped forward.
"I have a ritual that will allow others to enter the world of dreams, your 'Fade'."
"Maker's breath!" The templars said to one another.
"This is a Circle problem. You think of us as nothing more than demons, right, Knight-Commander? Allow us to deal with this."
Meredith cried. "Your sympathy clouds your judgment. Using you would allow him to run wild and endanger others."
"And what do you propose, Knight-Commander? This 'is' the Fade we're talking about. Our options are limited."
"Please," The Dalish elf said. "Do not fight. My ritual will allow any shem- human to enter the Fade, magic or no magic. In truth, I think a templar would be best to… tranquil him."
"I… see. Then, I will assign my most devout for this task."
"If we can't bloody well find him in this world," A templar yelled. "How the 'ell are we's gonna find him in the Fade?"
"Demons will be drawn to his power. It will be a simple thing." Marethari said.
"Andraste watch over us…" Meredith said, signaling several Templars to her side. Carver looked around to see the other Templars avoiding him. He could tell that his sister would be making his life miserable yet again. He sighed and walked over to where Meredith was and listened to her usual barking.
"Mage-lover…" He swore he heard one of the others say.
"We allow the elf to cast her ritual. In exchange, we allow them a… reprieve to conduct their business."
"That's…" Carver began, unsure how he would end this sentence. "very unlike you, Knight-Commander…"
"We have a greater threat to the city. For now, we will abide with the elf's magic."
Meredith paced the room, almost nervous. Of course, any recruit mentioning the word would see Meredith's fierce demeanor overshadow such insecurities.
"All of you are more than qualified to undergo this rite. However, I would not ask this of you unless you are certain your hearts are pure."
"But, those who entered the Golden City corrupted Heaven!" A templar said. "We can't- I can't-"
"You may leave, Ser Temsley." Meredith said, without a second glance.
"If anyone else shares Temsley's doubts, leave now."
Carver saw the other Templars try to feign what the other recruit did but to no avail. He admitted to smirking a bit when Reuben tried his best to convince the others of how his mother was a devout sister who was eaten by an abomination. But alas, no one bought it.
"Are you coming with us, Knight-Commander?"
Meredith stood silent and bowed her head.
"I must remain here in case the unthinkable happens and the boy's possessed form attacks the city."
"But, you're the strongest out of any of us, Knight-Commander. If you of all people can't stop a demon from possessing your mind, who can?"
"If I'm the strongest willed person you know, you've already lost." She said, walking away.
The Harrowing Chamber...
"So far, so good…"
Carver had watched over the ritual and saw several of the Templars 'enter' the Fade (through means of several of them falling asleep.) It wasn't all that dissimilar to a Harrowing, in fact. Carver stood back and watched as to 'be vigilant for any sign of possession'. This usually meant he could sit back and possibly doze off, but in this case, he didn't. He wasn't going to be caught under a name or anybody else's shadow again.
As the minutes passed, Carver found himself increasingly bored by the minute. As the hour mark began to pass, he started practicing on a dummy he found with and invisible sword, making 'explosions' with his mouth.
"And Ser Carver cleaves the Abomination's head in two! Thus saving Kirkwall from the blood mages!"
Suddenly, Carver began to hear a noise and then a quick shake. Quickly, he ran over to the mats on which the Templars had been lying on and examined the bodies.
"Reuben. Reuben, wake up!" He said, shaking the other Templar but to no avail.
"Dammit, Man. Don't make me cut off your head."
"But why would you do such a thing…?"
Carver whipped around to find a Sloth Abomination, the massive webbed torso and face, crawl up from under him.
"Wouldn't you rather take a nice nap…?"
The Templar Hawke swung his sword unleashing a gash of blood and rushed over to the others. However, he soon found himself outnumbered by a horde of shades, corpses and other demons he'd been warned about. As he drank a stamina drought and exhaled, the Smite he cast sent a few of them back, but eventually he was overtaken by a horde of them, and was being attacked.
"Hmm… magical lineage. Yes. This will do" The abomination asked as Carver wailed for help.
No one came, as his world became pitch black.
Carver opened his eyes. He awoke to see the sheets and quickly threw them off. As he rose from the bed, he patted off the dirt off his bright yellow suit and headed in. He opened the door to find the smell of eggs cooking. He saw his mother, dressed in her usual humble outfit and humming along.
"There's my darling!" Leandra said, putting the eggs on a plate and then going up to hug him.
"I hope my big strong man is ready for his date!" Leandra said.
"Date? Me?" Carver said, instinctively picking up a fork and putting the yolk into his mouth.
"Of course! You must've been so nervous about your date with Macha that you overslept. Honestly, how else am I going to have any grandchildren?"
"Mother!" The boy said, as Leandra pinched his cheeks.
"Oh you know I'm only kidding!"
Suddenly, the door creaked to reveal a familiar voice.
"Don't stuff the boy, Leandra! He needs an empty stomach for his date."
Carver stood up. He recognized the statue like face, the permanent stubble, the broad defined shoulders atop a stern torso. The hair Carver took after, but his green eyes had always amused him.
"Father?" He said.
"Of course it's me. You speak as if I were dead!"
Suddenly, the boy went up and hugged the man, squeezing him tightly
"Easy, you'll crack a rib!" Malcolm Hawke chuckled.
"I thought you were dead! I dreamt that the Blight had come and you'd died and we went to Kirkwall and I became a Templar and-"
"I told you stuffing the boy would give him nightmares, Leandra!" The patriarch of the Hawke family said. The three of them laughed out loud. Carver then regaled stories about his dream: how they had fled to Kirkwall to escape the Darkspawn and Carver ended up being a Templar.
"Such an imagination!" Leandra said. "It's no wonder you're the talk of the town."
"What even drove you to be a Templar, boy? You know your old man's an apostate."
"It was…" Carver stared at the table. He stared at the table. Oddly enough, he began to notice something missing.
"Shouldn't there be more plates?"
"What? You know it's always just been us." Malcolm said.
"No. There's something missing. There should be more plates. And the dog should be barking. And I-I never eat the eggs because the first ones always go to-"
"Shit." Carver bit the side of his cheek as hard as he could and tossed the table aside. Suddenly, 'Malcolm' and 'Leandra' revealed their true forms as a Shade and Sloth demon respectively. Carver ran into his room and kicked open the chest he had in it. If he was right and the demons focused so much on replicating his room, then…
"Come to hide under the bed?" A demon said.
However, a cleave from the Templar's broadsword caused the demon to wail in pain as the boy hacked his way through the house. He mindlessly hacked and slashed and hacked at the demons, unsure if their crimson blood was real or another illusion until they had become limp and unmoving. After panting heavily, the demons dispersed into air and put his sword behind his back.
"I guess all that cynicism counts for something. How the bloody hell does this place work? This sword, is it real or did I take it with me? Why am I in my clothes before I joined the Templars? Shit. Nothing ever makes sense."
Carver thought it best not to question the rules of this world, unless he wanted the demons to come after him. After opening what appeared to the front door of his old house, he found himself in a world of dead trees, almost impassable slopes and other disturbed images. He wondered around the bizarre landscape to find a familiar voice.
"Now this is living…"
"Reuben!" Carver said, spiriting toward his direction.
He found the Templar lying on his back while 10 bosomed women hoisted him up. Above him was a golden statue of a large cheated woman who seemed to be lactating wine to her under breast and right into Reuben's mouth.
"Maker! I knew you were a pig, but this is ridiculous." Carver sighed, walking over to him.
"Carver, you made it! Want some wine?"
"Snap out of it, Reuben! This is a dream!"
"A dream? Nah, it couldn't be. 'Sides, who'd want to wake up from this?"
"Because it isn't real, you ass! What's the point in living in something that's about as real as an Orlesian noble?"
"You know what your problem is, Carver?"
The Templar sighed. "What?"
"You don't know when you've got a good thing. Yeahs, I know about you and the Champion. You got a family that loves you and a sister that's about as loaded as the queen of Antiva. Me, I've never had nothing. Always been poorer than a Chantry mouse. So what if it is a dream? A least it's a good dream."
Carver sighed and moved away. However, at that moment, he heard a voice scream.
"Help me!" The boy said. Carver rushed to the sound of the voice and saw Feynriel being knocked on his back by a Rage demon. As he was about to be consumed, Carver leapt in and cut the demon away.
"You okay?"
"Watch out!" Carver turned around to find the demon return and shoot a huge burst of flame to which Carver could only block with the broad side of his blade. As they retreated, the Templar whispered a few lines and unleashed another Smite on the demon, sending it away.
"Thank you." Feynriel said as Carver lifted him up.
"Wait, I know you. You're Hawke's brother."
"It's Carver!" He said almost defensively.
"Wait a tick…" Carver said, redrawing his sword. "How do I know you're not a demon?"
"I wet my pants." The boy said, ashamed.
"…Okay, maybe you aren't. Still, I've got to keep a close eye on you. How do we get out of here?"
"I'm… not sure. I did it once before, but… when I try to sleep, the demons appear again."
A silence filled the space between them.
"Are you going to make me Tranquil?" Feynriel asked.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No. I don't! Look, my father, and both my sisters were apostate mages, I get what you're afraid of. But I don't see how else we're getting out of this. Any suggestions?"
"I think so…" Feynriel replied. "There are always 3 demons after me. One looks like a beautiful woman, the other one looks like what you just saw."
"Desire and Rage. What about the other one?"
"It's… big. Has horns and tells me about my heritage."
"Pride. Shit!"
"What's wrong?"
"A desire and rage demon I could fend off. But, I've seen Pride Abominations take out a mess of Templars."
"But if you could slay them, then we should be fine right?"
"Fine?" Carver said. "And what about after that? You think you can hide the rest of your life?"
"I…I think so."
"You sure about that?"
Feynriel became silent.
"If I let you go, you have to get as far away from Kirkwall as possible. You got it?"
The half-elf nodded.
The two went forth to find said demons. The Fade was hard on Carver's eyes so he had to follow Feynriel across the strange landscape. He had to force himself not to get distracted by how misplaced the world was: beds randomly scattered, what appeared to be bookcases hanging above his head, the occasional backwards walking dog.
"This is it!" Feynriel gasped.
Suddenly, from out the floor, a rage demon arose. Carver pushed Feynriel behind him and drew his blade.
"Yes. Lots of rage in this one! Use it, feed on it!"
"Don't listen to him!" Carver said, only to find no one was behind him.
"Oh… I'm not talking about him." The lava material creature said. Suddenly, the lava glowed brightly as it nearly blinded Carver until it took a familiar shape: his.
Carver recognized the scene: Leandra's Funeral.
"Did you do everything you could, sister?"
"No…" Carver winced.
"Some champion you are. Can't even protect your own family. First, Bethany dies and now Mother. Face it, you let Mother die! How romantic! Seeing the parent's last words as she dies in your arms. I bet the Dwarf talked you into it."
"I didn't mean it…"
"You said it…"
"I was upset…"
"Good. Remember that fire. Use it. How dare she let mother die? How dare she hog her last days all to herself?"
"It was my fault, too…" Carver said, wincing. His will was shaking almost as hard as his sword which he barely kept straight. The Fade had affected his body. Already, he felt his months of training sapped from him. Could it be that his strength here was directly tied to his will?
"Give in."
"NO!" Carver screamed, cutting the demon away, only to have nothing there.
"Feynriel!" The Templar cried as he sprinted toward another direction entirely. He shook his head, trying to 'shake out' the demon's whispers in his ears. It was true that Carver, for months, blamed his sister for Leandra's death. However, even he knew he was venting at her. It was so easy for Carver to lay blame on others, especially his sister: his older, smarter, stronger sister. But he knew that he was the one that left, he was the one who joined the Templars instead of stay at home. He hated himself for that, but misplaced said hate onto his sister.
"Dammit! I'm no better than Gamlen."
"Help!" Feynriel screamed as Carver stepped in front of him.
"Don't run away again." He said, now facing a desire demon.
"Oh, Carver…" The demon, like it's counterpart, began to shape shift into another form. This time, it was that of his dead mother.
"I'm so proud of you! My only son. My only child. You're the only one that matters!"
"No, that's a lie!" Carver said, gripping his sword tightly.
"What about Bethany!"
"Why would I care about anyone else but you, my dear?" Leandra said in a soothing voice. Carver felt himself raise his sword above his head… but then hesitate when it came time to swing it down. Instead, he yanked Feynriel's arm and ran away from the demon, attempting to escape it.
"Wait, you're supposed to slay it!" The Elf said, but alas Carver simply kept on running. He ran until his breath was short and his legs were numb. He ran until he was about to throw up. Quite simply, he ran just like he did when he left Lothering. Exhausted, he slumped down and sighed.
"So much for that plan…" Feynriel whispered.
"Shut it!"
"What else are we going to do?"
"I… I don't know. Wait a tick. Why didn't you help me!"
"Me? You're the Templar here. You have that sword. How is it my fault?"
"I… know! Maker Dammit, I know!"
"Is it about your sister?"
Carver shot a death glare at the elf.
"Sorry! But, you should be lucky. It was just me and my mother for the longest time. You're lucky to have a sister that loves you."
"You don't know what it's like, competing everyday for someone's affection."
Feynriel sat down beside Carver and sighed. "As a half elf, we've always been treated as second class citizens. Humans get to look down upon us and it's rare that we ever get the respect we're entitled to. But, my mother told me that it really shouldn't be about winning or being the best. I thought she was putting me down, telling me to lower my expectations. But, I realized she meant that I have to be a winner in my own mind first. Because, that's really the only place that matters."
"Maker, you're dumb." Carver scoffed.
Then, he stood up and patted himself down.
"C'mon. If I'm going to get eaten by a demon, I might as well make it quick." He gave his hand to help the boy up.
"Did anyone ever tell you about your negative attitude?" Feynriel said.
"I work best that way."
Not a second had passed between the 2 of them before the rage demon appeared before Carver.
"Your rage! Feed it. Remember what she robbed from you!"
"She didn't kill mother; it's demons like you that did!" Carver raised his blade and gave two quick swipes at the lava beast before it dissipated into air. Then, it's lustful counterpart, desire, appeared and took the appearance of Leandra.
"Carver… don't you want my love?"
"Stuff it. I know you're not real."
"Oh, Carver. You know you're the one that matters. Why would I care about anyone else but you?"
He responded by shoving the large blade up the demon's stomach.
"If that's how you treat your other children, then you can keep your love."
The demon dissipated, much like its counterpart, as Carver and Feynriel chuckled at their newfound victory.
"One more to go!" The half-elf stated. However, when Carver saw the color leave the boy's face, he knew what was behind him.
Nearly as tall as the Circle tower, the horned demon growled as it approached them. Judging by pure guesswork, his sword barely matched its toe.
"Interesting…" The Demon of Pride growled. It then, miraculously, began to shrink and glowed brightly, blinding both Carver and Feynriel. Eventually, the brightness dulled and revealed to be a familiar figure. Holding a delicate, yet busty figure, the black hair that seemed to run in the family, that smirk below glowing green eyes and that stupid, prideful, smear of blood across the nose. It was none other than Kirkwall's Champion: Eba Hawke.
"Hello there, Little Hawke! What's the matter, jealous? You should be: I'm perfect in every way! I've got a big house, massive riches, a title worth bearing…
As she circled around him, more figures appeared from behind.
"Friends, and everyone wants to make love to me…"
"Your sense of Justice moves me, Hawke,"
"I hate all mages, but you're the exception, Hawke."
"I'd give up my clan for you, Hawke."
"You're the only one man enough to handle me, Hawke."
"And let's not forget, I have all this magic at my disposal!" The 'sister' then cast a fantastic array of spells: raining fireballs, a tornado of snow, lightning that seemed to dance all around her.
"But, that's not the real reason you're upset, is it? No, that's just the surface. A rather long, whiny surface, mind you, but that's just the surface. Tell me what's really on your mind, Little Brother. Tell me, what's been eating you up all these years…"
"Shut up." Carver said, trying to swing his blade, only for the demon to dodge it swiftly.
"C'mon, you wouldn't hurt your sister, would you? Ah ha! Sister…"
Carver winced. The demon knew.
"Was there someone who died? Someone who shouldn't have died?"
"Shut up!" The boy screamed, swinging his blade wildly and without discipline. The demon naturally ducked and weaved all of his attacks and snickered.
"Say it! Say what's been on your mind for 7 years! Say it!"
"Alright! I get it! I should have died! The Ogre should have killed me! Bethany should've lived…"
The three stood silent, as the imitation Hawke smiled in glee.
"I can bring her back."
Carver looked up.
"Think about it. The twins reunited. That way, no champion could stand up against the two of you. Your other half restored. You know you want to…"
"Don't listen to h-" Feynriel attempted to say, only to be frozen in a block of ice.
"Ignore the child. The adults are talking. Now, think about it. Bethany and Carver. The Twin Champions of Kirkwall. Accept, and it will be yours!"
"I don't want it! Go away!"
Carver's mighty blade fell from his hand as he covered his ears. He felt his teeth grit against each other as he closed his eyes. The demon's deal, brining Bethany back, was too much to bear. He found it all too tempting. "I'm not listening, I'm not listening. Maker, I'm not listening"
"Don't you hate that name? Hawke? How it always refers to the older sibling? When was the last time Kirkwall called out Carver?"
"Carver…" he whispered.
Suddenly, the boy remembered back at Gamlen's house back when his sister gave him something.
"Your namesake…" he remembered her whispering.
"Thank you, conscience of the order, Ser Maurevar Carver."
Suddenly, he felt the demon's whispers fading and his father's voice growing louder.
"A name that allowed him to look ahead, and a name that would always mean 'skill thoughtfully applied'."
"Ahead…" Carver whispered, picking up his sword.
"What?" The demon, disguised as his sister, said.
"I want a way to look ahead, not go back. I'm not going to go back to Lothering. I'm not going to ask for love from a dead mother. And I'm not going to bury up ashes laid to rest. I'm still here, I'm still alive, so I'll make a big enough name for both of us!"
He took a deep breath and yelled out the loudest Smite he could muster, staggering the beast. The demon grew massively, retook his original form and cried out in pain. As it attempted to attack, Carver leapt up and pierced the demon in its eye as it let out a river of blood, painting his face.
"To the Void, you pain in the ass!"
The demon wailed as it slowly faded away. Carver looked back to see Feynriel thawed out and awake.
"You did it!"
"Damn right I did."
The two chuckled in victory as it slowly died down.
"Well, I guess this is where you make your escape, right?"
"Umm…" The half-elf hesitated and sighed.
"I don't think… I can."
"What? I thought you said killing those 3 would solve it. What's going on? Take me back!"
The half-elf walked over to a ledge and sighed.
"I… thought I could control it. That's what I told you and your sister…"
A deep look of shameful wincing came upon Feynriel's face.
"But every time, the same demons appear. The keeper willing to accept me; my father, telling me how he's so proud of me, they're the same ones I thought I fought off."
"You said you were going to look forward, to stop looking back and move on. I don't think I can do that. The demons know me too well."
"So, you're just giving up?"
"No. Giving up would mean letting the demons have at me. I'm not doing that. Instead… I think you should make me Tranquil."
"To the Void with that! After I put my ass on the line, you're just going to quit?"
"No. This is my choice, my decision. This way, I can find a way forward."
"You'll lose all your emotions! How is that a way forward?" Carver argued.
"It's better than nothing. It's better than reliving old wants and old desires without fighting them off. At least Tranquil, I won't look back. I think… I think this is best."
Carver sighed. He then felt the ground around him shake. Were more demons coming along the way? Or was Feynriel's connection to the Fade destroying the reality around them. Either way, Carver couldn't afford to linger. Already, too many lives of his fellow Templars were on the line. Not to mention, there were probably a dozen Kirkwall bystanders, possibly getting hurt. With a heavy sigh, Carver drew out his blade and walked over to Feynriel.
"I'm sorry. If my sister were here, she'd probably find some fantastic way of convincing you not to quit. Too bad I'm not her."
"I'm glad you're not her." The Half-elf said, as Carver stuck the tip of his blade into his gut. Suddenly, the world had become enveloped in darkness, but not before Carver saw Feynriel's last smile…
The Gallows…
Carver saw the boy he had, now with an ugly, noticeable Chantry symbol on his forehead. He stared at him, Feynriel now watering potted plants with a sort of calm state. He sighed, noticing clunky sounds of armor reaching him.
"Ser Carver!" Meredith said, looking at him.
"Yes, Ma'am." He said, standing at attention.
"I understand it is you we have to thank for dealing with the… 'incident' at the Gallows."
"What can I say? I guess dumb luck runs in the blood."
"Yes… I am aware of your relation to our champion…" The Knight-Commander said, her voice suddenly becoming quieter. "But regardless, it you who brought the apostate to justice, not your sister."
"How's Reuben? The others?"
"See for yourself."
There, Carver witnessed the bald, overweight Reuben stand beside the others, smiling.
"You are to be commended for your deeds. I'll see to it." Meredith said
She left, as Carver sighed. He gave one last look at the half-elf, knowing he was stripped of all emotion. As he left, however, he heard one last thing.
"Ser Carver, thank you."
He gasped and whirled back. Only to see the boy continuing to water the plants.
Perhaps, Tranquility wasn't as permanent a solution as he thought…
"Am I supposed to believe that a half-elf not only asked to be Tranquil but thanked the Templar who did it to him? Bullshit!"
"Seeker, if you're going to question every detail of my stories, we're going to be here a while."
"It's surprising that the incident at the Gallows was never reported. Was it Meredith who downplayed Carver's role in all this?"
"Or did Little- Carver stop the incident fast enough that it didn't become a big issue? We'll never know. All I can say is the kid's got balls."
"Jealous?"
"Well… don't let it get around. Kid's got enough of a swollen head as it is."
(A/N: Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age 2, what am I going to do with you? You're easily the worst output by Bioware and yet, there's a charm to you that can't be denied. Then again, there's the fact you're stuck in Kirkwall for 7 years, you having really subpar graphics and a disjointed story that never really quite connects. I never hated the game as much as others, but I can understand the complaints. 'Hopefully', BW can get their act together in time for DA3 and knock it out of the park like they did for Dragon Age: Origins. I decided to write about Carver because even as the archetypal second child, he always manages to try and do something with his life. Bethany was always a bit too 'nice' for me and Carver legitimately acted like what he one would do in his position. To me, his Templar route showed more action on his part and his revelation about his namesake really surprised me.
Now let's hope 'his' face (as well as certain other companions) doesn't suddenly get messed up for DA3.
Until then,
Keep Writing! )