He didn't like it, not one bit. His sister might fancy traipsing blindly into the alienage late at night after Anso's property, but it stank of a trap to him. Carver would never say so out loud, but he was glad Marian had the sense to have him come along, and the dwarf. If Aveline wasn't on patrol, they would have her along instead of the mage who was ogling his sister like a starving man sighting a fresh loaf of bread, and he'd much rather the other Fereldan warrior be along with them.
Marian had flirted with him some when they first met Anders. Carver didn't understand the appeal. In his opinion, the Grey Warden mage looked like an anemic rat in a tatty feathered cloak who wouldn't shut up about how awful being a mage was. Anders was neglecting the rest of their party in favor of Marian's safety, to boot.
His jaw creaked as he clenched it when Marian opened the chest in the house, and it was empty. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and not because she was holding a ball of lightning just on the edge of the Veil. They weren't going to get paid for this job, blast it, and it definitely had to be a trap.
As they stepped out into the alienage square, a man in nondescript armor and an idiotic looking haircut snarled at Marian, "I don't know who you are, friend, but you've made a serious mistake coming here."
Carver groaned internally when Marian just crossed her arms and jutted out a hip. She was probably doing that infuriating 'Really?' eyebrow raise of hers. The one with the smirk that said, 'Oh, how adorable, you think you intimidate me. That's so cute!' It had started more than a few of their fistfights as children, and a fair share of bar brawls back in Lothering.
The man sneered, "Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing, now!"
Lifting his shield and stepping forward in front of his sister, Carver mentally prepared for a flood of soldiers to come rushing into the square. Instead, one lone figure stumbled out of the shadows. His Tevinter armor- bloody Vints!- was splashed liberally with blood, and it was running freely from a wound somewhere on his body.
"Cap-tain…" He dropped to the ground. Carver had seen that kind of flop often enough to know the man was dead before he even hit the ground.
"Your men are dead. And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you still can." A tanned elf with a shock of snowy white hair and remarkable armor that Carver was instantly jealous of followed the dead man from the alleyway. His appearance certainly didn't match his voice.
"Sweet Maker have mercy."
Carver shot a glare over his shoulder. Marian had a stunned look on her face. Great, another one to get her knickers in a twist. He turned back with a grimace, just in time to watch the elf turn into a pillar of crackling blue energy and plunge his hand into the slaver's bloody chest. There was a pop-crack-squelch, and the slaver joined his man on the ground.
Bloody blighted Void, he'd just crushed the man's heart like an overripe fruit.
"I am not a slave!" The elf snarled, and then spat on the corpse. "I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the Hunters, I never imagined they'd be so… numerous."
"A distraction? You were responsible for this?"
Oh, bloody Void, she's using the breathy voice. Behind him, Carver could hear Anders growling under his breath like a mabari whose favorite toy had been spotted by another dog. He edged himself a little closer to the blonde mage as Marian spoke with the elf, Fenris. When the mage took a step forward like he wanted to grab her and pull her away from Elfy, Carver thrust his arm across his chest and shook his head. Anders opened his mouth to object, then backed down when Carver hefted his sword. If he wanted to start trouble, the pommel of a sword to the back of the head should be enough to knock sense into anyone, even a bloody abomination. The fact that Carver had at least four inches of height and a fair bit of muscle on him helped, too.
The runaway slave needed help confronting his master in a mansion in Hightown. Carver felt wicked grin of glee cross his face at the thought of confronting another slaving Vint. Malcolm Hawke had been raised in the Gallows, and many of his instructors and friends had been elves. He'd raised his children to treat them as well as any other person. After hearing about what the Traitor Loghain had done in Denerim, having the chance to rid the world of another Vint slave master was an opportunity too good to pass up.
Unless you were Anders, apparently.
"Are you sure about this, Hawke? He doesn't seem… quite all there," he asked as they clambered up the steps to Hightown.
"As sure as I am of anything, Anders," she shot back. "Besides, we're talking a man's freedom from slavery. I'd think you'd be a bit more sympathetic."
Anders huffed. Varric let out a snorting laugh, and Carver allowed himself a smug grin as he helped Marian pick herself up after she tripped on the edge of one of the steps and went sprawling. She appeared to have missed that Anders was more concerned about competition for her attention than anything else. His sister had no idea how many eyes she attracted on a regular basis thanks to their mother's constant harping on her appearance. Even back in Lothering, Carver had thrashed more of the town's farm hands than he could remember for making lewd comments about her that he'd overheard.
The mansion was a mess of demons and shades, and lacking in magisters. After going to the trouble of helping him clear out the manse, Fenris had the gall to get pissy with Marian for being a mage. She had been careful, as she always was, using her halberd and only used a single Mind Blast when they had been close to being overrun. She took it about as seriously as she took everything, which meant not at all, so he had to step in.
"If you have a problem with my sister, you have a problem with me."
The elf and Marian were of a height, maybe five inches shorter than him, and even though Fenris could swing his broadsword like it was a twig, Carver's wide-shouldered bulk made him back down a bit. Things settled, and Maker's miracle, the elf actually gave them some coin. He would have given them all of his coin, but Marian insisted on giving half back. As their group headed back to Lowtown sans elf, who said he was going to search the mansion for anything of use, Varric nudged him in the ribs.
"How long before Broody and Blondie start trying to stake their claim on your sister, Junior? I lay a round at the Hanged Man on a month."
Carver glanced ahead at Marian, who was very pointedly gripping her halberd and keeping it swinging between her and Anders so he couldn't try to put his arm around her or hold her hand as he'd done a few times over the previous week. He grunted to the dwarf, "Same, but I say it doesn't even take a week. If one of them tries to mark their territory, I'm hacking their bits off, though. The two of them will be like a pair of bloody mabari over a bone, I swear."
Varric roared with laughter as Marian and Anders looked back over their shoulders in confusion.
Author's Note: I saw the description of Anders as an anemic rat in a Dragon Age confession once years ago, and it so perfectly encapsulated why I'm not attracted to him that I've never been able to forget it.