Chapter Three

Lothering

Carver had begun to grow uneasy. "Do you smell that? It smells … almost burnt." It smells evil, he wanted to say, but didn't want to look foolish in front of his new companions.

"It's probably stew. Fereldens make the best stew, you know." Alistair sounded sincere and dreamy, but Carver suspected the man was joking again. "All grey and edible. We can eat as soon as we get to Lothering."

It hadn't taken them long; soon they would start to see outlying huts of people who lived near the village. It wasn't food on Carver's mind, however. There was something wrong. The pain in his arm increased from the dull throb he'd had all day, to an intense stabbing pain, as though it were still fresh.

Morrigan had walked out ahead a bit, while Victory bounced in circles about her, trying to entice her into play.

Carver looked instead to Niamh. "Do you smell it?"

The elf stopped, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. She breathed deep. "You're right, I do smell it. Maybe … a campfire? Roasting meat?" Her tone uncertain, she slowly shook her head. "Not quite those, but close, I …." Her long ears twitched, and she suddenly stiffened. "Do you hear it?" she asked.

"Hear what?" Carver replied, but she had already started running, sprinting beyond Morrigan and drawing her bow without slowing. He and Alistair looked at each other, then broke, chasing after her.

"Where are you all—"

They ignored Morrigan as they followed Niamh, still gaining speed as she crested the last hill overlooking Lothering. She gave them one stricken look, then disappeared, down the hill into the village.

"What do you think she's—?"

"No, time, Alistair." He heard it now; the elves must have ears like forest harts. But now he heard it, the sound was unmistakable. Screaming, shouting, and metal against metal. The darkspawn had beaten them here.

Did Miranda get here in time to get them out? Or is my entire family down in the village somewhere? Will I arrive just in time to see them slaughtered, too?

Behind him, Victory gave an anxious bark, and finally left Morrigan alone, instead tearing off after Niamh. She bayed as she passed Carver, a low sound that—he hoped—presaged death for the monstrous creatures that must even now be destroying his family's home.

Carver paused briefly at the top of the hill, unable to credit his eyes. There weren't as many as at Ostagar, but this was worse. The bodies he saw littered around weren't soldiers, but helpless farmers and townspeople. People he knew. People who would have been his friends, had he ever made any.

Alistair panted as he drew even to Carver. "So, what's got into you two? Oh, no," he said, seeing what lay ahead.

Spurred into motion, Carver sprinted headlong into the fray. He had to find them. He had to know for sure whether they were safe, or ….

Or gone already. Safe or gone, those are the only two possibilities. A hurlock sprung into his path, and Carver drew, swinging the sword around in a hard arc without changing course. He cut through them like they were spirits, unsubstantial, knowing only that he must reach the farm and assure their safety. Niamh had commandeered herself a roof already; she sat atop the tavern, putting arrow after arrow into the darkspawn.

"Niamh, with me," Carver shouted. He had stopped too long; a noise behind him alerted him to the hurlock there, but he was turning too slowly, he wouldn't get his sword up in time.

A brown blur hit, snarling and frothing, and Victory ripped the hurlock's throat out.

"With me, with me," Carver cried. He ran, Victory drawing a few paces ahead, and Niamh at his side. They would be gone already. There would be a message, saying they'd left for Kirkwall days ago. How long had he been unconscious after the battle? A few days, surely. Plenty of time for Miranda to have gotten home, and taken Mother and Bethany away. He thought to ask how long he'd been out, but running in full armor was proving difficult enough already.

Another group of darkspawn approached, four of them, and Carver lunged toward the one in the middle. Victory wheeled, coming back, and landed hard on another. The other two fell in short order to Niamh's arrows. The farmhouse lay just on the other side of that wall.

But Carver's legs trembled; he was so winded already. "Go. Farmhouse. Family," he said, gasping between words. Niamh glanced where he pointed, then nodded.

"Victory, come!" she shouted.

Carver forced himself to start moving again, but already elf and hound pulled far ahead. He pushed himself to keep a punishingly cruel pace, but it wasn't going to be fast enough. He scrambled up the wall, saw their house, still standing … but barely. The roof had crumbled in, and soot smeared the walls. Someone had tried to burn them out.

He dropped from the wall, landing at a gallop, praying they would have gone this way. Away from the village, not into it; Miranda knew that much, didn't she?

A blue flash lighted ahead; magic. Bethany. They were here, still.

Damn you, Miranda. He found reserves of energy he'd thought were depleted. Ahead, Niamh had been forced to pause, as a group of a dozen darkspawn lay around her, another dozen on their feet. She backed away, no tremor betraying any fear as she nocked, drew, released, dropping another; then nocked, drew, released again. Victory did her part; almost half the darkspawn already down were missing large chunks from throat or chest.

"Down!" Carver shouted when he reached them. He swung his sword around with all his strength. It bit into the last half-dozen remaining enemies, then he ran ahead; Niamh and Victory could finish them. He hoped he was still heading toward the blue flash he had seen. He hoped nothing had gotten her yet. Before he'd joined the army, they'd never spent a day apart. Mother claimed they embraced in the cradle, and wailed without stop if she ever tried to separate them.

Well, Mother was always full of stupid stories. He leaned forward, trying to propel himself up yet another hill, but at the the top—I see them!

"Bethany," he shouted, exulted. She turned, surprise on her features. Behind her, a form moved in the smoke.

No. No, not now.

It stepped closer, Bethany turning back too slow to avoid its grasping hand, and the ogre raised her off the ground. For a moment, he was certain somehow that it was the same one who killed Cailan.

Carver sank to his knees, even as Victory bolted past him; she had several meters to go, she wouldn't make it.

An arrow sailed over his head, striking true at the ogre's eye. It yowled, dropping Bethany. A moment later, both Victory and Miranda flung themselves onto the creature. Beside him, Niamh stood stock-still, face blank while she put arrow after arrow into the thing; it was a wonder she never hit the humans.

Somehow, Carver found his feet, stumbling towards them. When he reached Bethany, he tripped just as she fell into his arms, and they ending up weaving, barely still standing.

"Carver, you made it," Mother said. Tears ran down her face, and Carver drew her into the hug.

"I'm here, Mother. I'm here."

The ogre gave a final howling shriek and fell, Miranda and Victory jumping clear at the last second. Miranda smirked, eyeing the show of family affection from outside, with something that looked like contempt. "Well, you're a little late. We had to start the party without you."

Drawing away from Mother and Bethany, Carver rounded on her. "Why aren't you gone yet? You were supposed to keep them safe."

The smile never left Miranda's face, and she didn't didn't flinch back. "I'd say I'm a swordsman short of being able to defend the family properly, wouldn't you?"

Niamh was suddenly beside him, a hand on his arm. "I'm glad they are safe, at any rate," she prompted him.

"What about Lena?" Carver asked. Their cousin should be here this time of year, shouldn't she? "Is Lena with you?"

Bethany shook her head. "Carver, she … she hasn't visited in over a year. I'm beginning to worry they've done something horrible to her at the tower."

Carver hugged her tight. "Don't worry, Bethany, I'll make sure she's all right. Now, go. Please." He needed them all to be safe; they had to be out of Ferelden and away from the Blight. "Your path looks clear now, I think."

"Oh, I think we'll manage," Miranda said. "With or without you, apparently."

"Without?" Bethany took his hand. "Aren't you coming, brother?"

He looked from his twin Bethany, to his mother, both pleading with their eyes, to his sister Miranda, looking at him as though he were scum for trying to stay with the army like he was supposed to. "I can't, Bethany. I have a duty here."

"But Carver—" Leandra wailed.

"Victory." Carver squatted, placing his hand on the mabari's head. "This is my family. Bethany, Leandra, Miranda." He pointed to each in turn, hoping the dog would get it. "You are going with them. You keep them safe. Understand me?"

Victory whined, but when he nudged her, she moved to stand beside Bethany.

"In that order, I suppose," Miranda said. "First Bethany, then Mother, then me, if there's time."

Carver snorted. "You, I'm not worried about. Keep them safe, sister."

"I will." She held out her arm, and Carver clasped her wrist, surprised that she'd deign to treat him as an equal. "Vivat Hawke, I suppose. But if you're staying, Carv, I expect you to finish off the whole Blight and be back with us by Feastday. No dawdling, mind me."

"They have to go soon, or they'll miss the opportunity," Niamh said, eyes distant while her ears twitched, listening to sounds none of the humans could hear. "More coming, and the path will soon be closed."

"Go," Carver urged again. "Vivat Hawke." Vivat some of the Hawkes, anyway. Bethany and Leandra and Miranda, and possibly Lena, if he could manage it.

Leandra tried to argue again, but Miranda grabbed one arm, marching her away. Bethany took the other, both supporting her and trying to slow Miranda; not that Bethany ever could sway Miranda from the path she'd decided to take. Miranda always did have the idea that every problem could be solved by brute force and determination.

"There are more darkspawn in the village," Niamh said, turning back the way they'd come.

"All right," Carver said, turning away from his family. He'd forgotten to tell them he would catch up in Kirkwall when he could.

They'll know once I get there. And, they'll know I was a Grey Warden and really did stop the damn Blight.

Jogging back to the main battle, unable to find the speed he had before, Carver mostly saw bodies. A few townspeople that he kept from examining too closely, but many more were darkspawn. Most had arrows projecting from an eye or neck. Niamh's quite the archer. The closer he got to the village center, the more darkspawn were still alive. He had no trouble dispatching the few he ran into; they were just as fatigued by now as he was. He made his way through, killing whatever darkspawn he could, hoping he'd find that neither Morrigan nor Alistair had gotten themselves killed while he was engaged.

He found some of his people at the tavern. Niamh had reclaimed her roof, and another archer sat beside her. Between them, they had a clear shot of nearly every path in Lothering. Swordplay ringing from the west gave him a location on Alistair, but he sounded like he was doing all right. He didn't see Morrigan yet.

The darkspawn forces died down to a trickle, and soon they were only mopping up, putting not-quite-dead downed creatures out of their misery. The squalling clamor slowly quieted, now the majority of them were dead.

"Niamh, do you hear them?"

She looked up from a corpse; she was testing the draw on a darkspawn's bow. Standing, she listened, then nodded to him. "Alistair and a giant come this way. Morrigan is east, just outside the village. She's burning the creatures that tried to retreat."

Giant? What giant? "Excellent." Now that the battle was more or less over, Carver could feel himself again. Pain in his legs, his arms exhausted from swinging the heavy greatsword, his lungs burning from trying to bring in enough of the smoke-laden air. His left arm in particular pained him, aching as if the darkspawn bite was in sympathy with their slain enemies. He sat down hard, unable to keep his feet a moment longer.

"So many bodies. Did we save anyone?" he wondered.

Niamh shrugged. "We got here when we got here. A few had already fled. We saved your family. We do what we can." She offered him her waterskin, then sat next to him. She leaned against him, a silent show of support.

He leaned back. At least the family had gotten away. There were no darkspawn in Kirkwall. At least they would be safe.

"Well," Alistair called when he saw them. "That was quite the introduction. Have you met Sten? He was terrifying. He wants to come with us." He gestured toward the "giant" Niamh had mentioned, in truth a hornless qunari … though giant wasn't too far off.

"Leliana as well." Niamh nodded toward the second archer, a red-headed woman in blood-spattered chantry robes, who as yet had said nothing. "Is that all right, Carver?"

"You're asking me?" He couldn't make sense of it. What qualified him?

"Warden meeting." Niamh shrugged, smiling. "We could take a vote?"

"I vote bring them. More fighters always better," Alistair said.

"I agree. And we already lost the dog." Niamh took her skin back, taking a long pull from it.

Alistair's face fell. "We lost Victoria Anne Barkspawn? Oh, no."

"No, no. She was sent to help some … uh, refugees," Niamh explained, shooting a glance at Carver.

"Oh, well. I guess that's all right." Alistair still sounded disappointed. "So we're two for the idea of bringing in new recruits. Carver?"

Carver looked from Alistair to Niamh. He still had no idea why they wanted his opinion. Hadn't they already decided? But, warden meeting, Niamh had said. There were the three wardens left in all of Ferelden, apparently, and he was one of them. "It couldn't hurt," he agreed.

Niamh cheered, throwing her arms around the woman—Leliana, she'd said.

Fast friends. "Well, are you hugging your friend, Alistair?" Carver asked.

"I'm … not sure he's the hugging type." Alistair threw the qunari a nervous glance.

"I am not," Sten confirmed in a low growl.

"And if anyone tries to hug me, they'll burn as the darkspawn did." Morrigan appeared around the edge of the tavern, covered in ash and soot, with a slightly crazed grin on her face.

"That's our resident witch," Alistair murmured to Sten.

Morrigan glanced around at their small group, not nearly as small now, and sighed in disgust. "I told you to keep the dog and lose the idiot, and what do you do?"

Not again. "All right, enough. Let's move. We'll want to make camp soon, and I don't want to do it in any part of Lothering. Gather whatever you can use and we'll be leaving in ten minutes. We can camp a little ways outside the village, and figure out where we're going to go next."

Alistair offered him a hand, and he accepted it, hauling himself upward once more. He'd been a Grey Warden for a day, and he was already exhausted.

Who knows? Perhaps a few more people will give Alistair and Morrigan someone to talk to so they don't have to fight.

"Did you bathe in darkspawn blood? Are you aware that it is not a cologne?" Morrigan snapped.

"I'm sorry, next time I'll try eau de charred flesh." Alistair leaned toward her, sniffing loudly at her. "I'm sure it's all the rage in the witches' swamps of Orlais."

Or perhaps not.

Unease slithered into his stomach and Carver looked out over the hills, suddenly certain that while his family may have gotten away, they had their own battle coming. Would they be safe? Should he have gone with them, after all?

"Are you all right?" Niamh asked, a hand on his shoulder.

His heart sped at the contact, at the way her face smiled up at him from her diminutive height. "Yes, I'll … I'll be fine," he said.

Niamh smoothed her hair back from her face, then turned back to Leliana. "Come on, I saw some archers this way. Something tells me we'll need a lot of arrows."

A lot of arrows. Oh, that was a certainty. Had the darkspawn been full force at Ostagar, or would they be rebuilding armies even as the Fereldens were? Were they even now somewhere below his feet, giving arms and armor to an endless line of monsters from every child's nightmares?

"Well, come on, Carver. You said we have to get moving. Let's goooo," Alistair called.