Many thanks to those reading and reviewing. Special thanks to my ever-patient beta mille libri for bringing structure out of chaos. Any chaos still clinging is entirely the fault of the author.
The Wild Bunch
The dwarf was going to suffer a slow, painful death at Carver's hand; something commensurate with the sick, prickling stab in his head at every jounce from his horse. Like most young men, Carver had more than a few occasions to regret his consumption of an evening. But nothing that had been poured at Dane's Refuge or liberated from Barlin's still back in Lothering had ever made him feel like he had been ripped apart, the pieces beaten with sticks and reassembled in some ragged, haphazard fashion.
He stumbled upon Denel and Sigrun the previous evening, playing diamondback and sharing some leftover venison steaks, and joined them. Carver gamely sampled Denel's lichen ale, shuddering at the resinous taste. It became somewhat less objectionable as the evening wore on, and he drank more of the awful stuff than he intended; much more than was wise, certainly. Of the last hours of the evening he retained only the furiously embarrassing knowledge that the two had stripped him down to his smalls before tipping him into bed, and the feel of Sigrun's soft breasts pressed against him as he clumsily attempted to kiss her. She landed a quick peck on his nose, giggled and squirmed away.
He found their other female dwarf companion considerably less diverting. In looks and temperament, Maynee Brosca reminded him rather strongly of a dark-haired copy of Varric's brother Bartrand, minus a bit of facial hair and the homicidal tendencies. She had given Carver a raking look as they were saddling their horses early that morning, and he was left with the uneasy impression that she had him weighed, measured and mind-read to the last ounce, inch and unclean thought. Immediately forgetting his name, she proceeded to order him about in her harsh voice. "Boy, run to the kitchens and get another few loaves of bread." "Boy, go fetch Samuel. He said he'd have some flax oil made up for the horses." Unfortunately for his stabbing headache, it sounded as if she had just struck up another conversation with Myr, riding just ahead.
"The boy doesn't have any clothes at all..." she remarked in a condescending tone, as she consulted a list in her hand.
"Don't call me boy, and I'm not naked," Carver snapped. Bad enough to be treated as a child; infinitely worse to be treated so in front of your commanding officer.
"Shut up, boy, and don't interrupt your elders." The woman laughed coarsely. A moment later, Myr's father joined the two. Carver listened with half an ear as they discussed who would travel north with the Commander when she resumed her search for the Architect. He was overjoyed that the dwarven harridan was going and disappointed to hear that Cyrion was, as Carver had taken to the older man immediately and would have liked to have gotten to know him better. With his quiet competence and good nature, Cyrion reminded Carver of his own father.
Carver considered his own feelings about not returning to Kirkwall, and found them cautiously upbeat. What he had told Perren was the truth; it was Mother's home and was becoming Perren's, but Carver had no place there. Far more than just a wish to extricate himself from anyone's shadow, he had little interest in the social standing his mother sought to regain, and none in relying on anyone for his board or bread. The Wardens provided for their own, but it was earned, and then some.
Carver flinched at a muffled thump, followed by Myr's cry of surprise and pain. As Cyrion and Maynee shouted a warning, she slid bonelessly from her horse, an arrow lodged in her back. Carver grabbed for his sword as two elves rose from the scrabble at the side of the road. Several more stepped from cover behind a copse of scrubby pines, already drawing on the small group.
"Carver, Eren, on the archers; but we need one alive!" Aene called as he aimed and returned fire. "Cyrion, see to Myr. May, protect them."
Mouse growled furiously and leapt on one of the two near elves. No match for the dog's immense strength and weight, the elf shrieked as he pinned her to the ground, ripping into her face and neck. Carver spurred his horse directly at the other elf, riding him down. Before the man could recover and reach Myr, Maynee was there, wielding daggers with deadly concentration.
Cursing the uneven, rocky ground and swallowing against the resurgent nausea from his hangover, Carver threw himself from the saddle. Dodging arrows and fighting through the thick brush, he charged two of the archers. The first elf reacted far too slowly, and Carver's greatsword ripped through his light leather armor, opening his belly. The other had thrown down her bow in favor of a curved short sword, and she ran at him as he struggled to bring the large blade up in time to meet hers. Neither saw Aene draw and loose, and her sword dropped from numb fingers as the arrow took her full in the face.
The snap of a dry stick was all that saved Carver from a third assailant who rose from cover behind him. He ducked and twisted on pure reflex, and the axe aimed at his neck crunched instead into his mail hood and tore a ragged gash across his forehead. A wash of warm blood poured into Carver's eyes, nearly blinding him. He brought his greatsword around in a desperate swing, and the man cried out hoarsely as it bit deeply into his side. His screams cut off abruptly as an arrow buried itself in his neck.
Mopping at the blood flowing down his face, Carver saw that Eren was engaged with one remaining archer. He lurched towards the women, shaking his head to clear away blood and the strange ringing in his ears. As he closed with them, the elf suddenly collapsed under Eren's mailed fist. Carver made it two steps toward the wounded archer before falling to his knees and emptying his stomach onto her boots.
A strong tremor shook the earth, almost pitching Carver forward into the mess. With a cacophony of splintering wood and grinding rocks, a mass of tree roots burst from the ground next to Myr and Cyrion, sending Maynee tumbling. The gnarled roots retreated a moment later, and a thin elven woman in scraps of a robe and wild, knotted blond hair stood in its place, swirling clouds of crimson and moss green twisting around her. Cyrion rose, short sword in hand, only to be blown off his feet and sent flying by a gesture and a burst of energy from the woman.
"Velanna!" snarled Aene in shock and fury. Faster than Carver could track, Aene sent two arrows in succession at the stranger mage; she snorted and brushed them aside contemptuously.
Before either Carver or Eren could reach her, she had grasped the unconscious Myr by the arm and raised her other hand skyward. A blinding cloud of frost rolled out from her hand in all directions, freezing them in place.
"You're just seth'lin like this one, Mahariel. Don't you understand? When the Architect completes his work, the shems will be weak and..."
A throwing axe interrupted her rising voice, burying itself in her back. She was sent sprawling over Myr, screaming and twisting in agony.
"Bitch was starting to grate on my nerves." Maynee rose from the brush at the side of the road and approached the mage cautiously. "Never tried to use your whammy on dwarves before, sweet chee...shit! Cyrion, stay back!" She danced back from the spreading blood and circled the two elves cautiously.
When he could move again, Carver joined Aene and Eren where they were examining the woman. Her eyes were deep shadows against her pale skin; the pupils and irises only swirls of greyish-white. He finally realized consciously what his itching, jangling nerves had been trying to tell him. "Tainted? Is this what a ghoul looks like?"
"That is exactly what she is, but apart from her eyes, she doesn't show any physical signs," Eren replied. "Aene, Myr's stable for the moment. Velanna..." She shook her head.
"Where is the Architect, and what does he want with Myr, Velanna?"
"Oh, a very great deal, lethallin." The mage sneered, struggling for breath. "I wouldn't dream of ruining it for you...or her."
Aene grabbed a great hank of her hair, twisting it and bringing her face up to his. "Where is he?" he roared.
Velanna laughed weakly as her blood poured onto the dirt and soaked into Myr's leather armor. Her voice trailed off into a hitching rattle, and she eventually lay still.
"Damn," Eren swore and pushed the mage off Myr. "Aene, what is this arrow?"
"Fish arrow, barbed. Let me remove it."
"I'll see to that archer. Cyrion, could you help Carver?" Eren hurried to where the elf still lay unconscious.
"Heh. I forgot about my head in all the excitement. I...yes, I think I'll sit down for a bit." Carver looked down to find his chain mail splashed with crimson. "Wow, that's a lot of blood." He sat down heavily in the grass at the side of the road and slowly toppled backwards.
oOo
Carver tried to resist the voice commanding him to wake; he was very tired. The voice was strident and irritatingly persistent. "Momma, tell Bethy to stop pinching me."
"Ah hah hah! I could tan your bottom instead, boy. Now wake up and stay awake like Momma says."
Carver opened one blood-encrusted eye to find Maynee crouched over him, holding a poultice firmly to his forehead and pinching his arm through the chain mail. "Leave me alone, you awful woman. At least let me bleed in peace without you braying in my ear." He groaned and shut his eye again.
"Idiot boy! If you don't stay awake you'll be getting more peace than you can handle - the eternal kind." She pinched him again, bruisingly hard.
"Just try not to kill the patient before you have a chance to cure him, May." Eren knelt next to them and carefully started removing Carver's chain hood as Maynee washed the blood and dirt from his face. "We need to clean and stitch up the gash on your head, Carver; this is not going to be pleasant. Unfortunately, you're going to need to stay awake. With your head injury, we can't risk letting you sleep until we're sure there isn't worse damage."
"I can't think I'd stay asleep long when you start sewing up my head anyway." Carver chuckled, then winced in pain. "Oh, this will be fun. How is the Commander?"
"She still hasn't woken up, but Aene and Mendil think she'll be fine. The arrow was dosed with something the Dalish use when they need to sedate the halla," Eren answered as Maynee started to clean the wound. The horrid little dwarf had a sure, gentle touch, much to Carver's surprise.
"At least they got their blasted dosing right, or Myr would be kissing the stone about now."
"Mendil?" Carver asked.
"The wild elf chit," Maynee answered him as she strung a length of thread on a needle.
"The Dalish were being controlled by Velanna's blood magic. When she died, her hold on Mendil was released. Luckily she isn't badly wounded, physically at least. I hit her rather carefully." Eren took one of his hands. "Don't be afraid to squeeze my hand if it helps, Carver. You can't break it...I don't think."
"Are you sure that needle is clean?" he asked the dwarf nervously.
"Of course! I spit on it and wiped it off on my pants; good as new." Maynee grinned maliciously at him. "Now shut your yap and let me work. I'll stitch it in a little bow pattern; it'll be adorable."
Carver looked up at Eren beseechingly, but the woman only smiled and patted his arm. "Well, it can't be any worse than when I fell out of the hayloft and dislocated my shoulder," he said.
"You keep telling yourself that, boy." Maynee laughed again and went to work.
oOo
With Eren and Aene's assistance, Carver managed to stumble to the small campsite they had set up off the road. A blond female elf with leafy, vining facial tattoos partially covered by a poultice was sitting near the fire, her face blank and staring. Myr was finally awake, wrapped in blankets and leaning against her father, who was bruised and scraped but mostly uninjured. Maynee had set up a branch tripod over the fire and was stirring something that should have smelled appetizing, but made his stomach feel like it wanted to curl in on itself instead. They left him on the log next to Myr and went about setting up the tents while Mouse roamed on watch.
"I'm sorry you were wounded, Carver," Myr said softly. "How are you feeling?'
"I'm fine, Commander. Head hurts a little."
Myr chuckled weakly and turned to look him over. "You've looked better, honestly. But if you can joke about it, I won't worry too much."
The tents were up in short order and they gathered to eat, Carver waving off his portion, as did their guest. Maynee growled a bit but didn't press the issue.
"Did you want to talk yet tonight, Mendil, or would you prefer to try to sleep?" Aene asked the Dalish woman when he had finished his meal.
"I think that sleep will be long in coming tonight, brother. I keep seeing their..." She closed her eyes and was silent for several moments, then seemed to compose herself again. "Our clan has always been small, but we were decimated by the darkspawn when they fled Denerim for Amaranthine. When we finally saw the last of them we barely numbered sixty, less than half our number prior to the Blight. Our aravels were burned, the halla all dead. As you know, we were burned out of the grove we camped in by the humans, after which Velanna, Seranni and four of the hunters left the clan to seek revenge." She paused to accept a mug of tea from Eren, nodding her thanks.
"Take your time, sister," Aene murmured.
"After almost two years of struggling to rebuild our aravels and find more halla, we had little to show. We knew that we needed to go south to the Brecilian Forest, at least for a time. The halla congregate there and we would be away from the humans while we rebuilt. There are usually one or two clans in the Forest to trade with for tools and supplies. Our new Keeper, Liesn, took the children ahead with most of the scouts, while a dozen of us stayed behind to wait for word from Sarae's clan regarding a new First."
"When did Velanna come?" Aene prompted her when she had fallen silent for several minutes.
"Yesterday...I think? She appeared in the middle of camp, paralyzed most of us and killed the others. No, not just killed. She...ripped their lives from them, tore them apart in a storm of blood. She said that she needed our help – our help, after murdering our kin in front of us - and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. I hunted, I lay in wait, all at her command. I remember it all, every minute." She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes. "You know the rest."
"Ir abelas, Mendil," Myr said quietly. "I can't help thinking that if I had handled Velanna differently, this tragedy might have been avoided."
"Ma serannas, Warden-Commander. I heard good things of you and your Wardens from Marren after he and his scouts met your party. No one could never have predicted that Velanna would join that...creature and perform these monstrous acts upon her own people."
Aene rose. "I will see to your hunters, sister. Velanna I will need to burn, in order to protect any travelers along the road."
"I would like to help if that is allowed, my lady?" Cyrion stood and bowed slightly to the Dalish woman, who also rose.
"Our rites are for Clan, but if I guess correctly, you are that."
Aene smiled fondly at the older elf. "That he is. Let us see our brothers and sisters to the Creators."
oOo
Mendil parted ways with Myr's small group before they broke camp for Denerim. Citing a need for solitude, she declined an offer from Aene to accompany her in the search for Sarae's clan.
"Remember my letter if you have any difficulties with the Amaranthine soldiers or farmers, Mendil. The same for those in South Reach, when you go to rejoin your clan. Bann Sighard is a friend of the Wardens and a decent man," Myr reminded her.
"I wish you would reconsider my offer, sister, but it is your choice." Aene embraced her briefly and stepped back.
"Ma serannas brother, Warden-Commander, all. There will always be a welcome for you among our clan." The young woman bowed deeply and walked off into the early morning fog.
It took them another day and a half to reach the city, taking more and longer breaks to apply new poultices to Carver's wound and to stretch their bruised and sore muscles. The baths at the compound would be welcome indeed.
"Maker's bloody...and I thought Kirkwall smelled bad." Carver's face twisted with disgust, and he flinched in pain. "Remind me not to move my face, please."
Myr stifled a laugh and signaled for them to dismount and lead the horses. "I don't know that it's worse. Different, certainly. Denerim smells of fish and dog; Kirkwall stinks of fish and...well, fish. The climate to the north is rainier as well, so the sludge periodically washes out to sea."
"Halt! I need your names and the purpose of your visit to Denerim." Myr was brought up short by a gate guard barring her way.
"Is this a new policy, guardsman? Denerim is my home, and I have never been questioned at the gate before."
"I should have mentioned it, Myraene. It was in place before I came north to Amaranthine." Cyrion nodded at the guard. "Cyrion Tabris, and this is my home, as it is my daughter's."
The guard made a notation in his book and laughed. "Your last name's the same as the Hero of Ferelden! Ain't that a kick."
"Yes, Myraene Tabris, my daughter," Cyrion repeated in a confused voice, nodding at Myr.
"This is getting old." Carver leaned wearily on his horse.
"Welcome to my life," Myr sighed.
"Wot, the Hero? This girlie is just a little bit of a thing," the guard chuckled and winked at Myr.
"Did you just call the Commander of the Grey a 'girlie', Henkins?" A tall, red-haired man in burnished plate mail strode up to the gates.
"Guard-Captain! I...that is...she..."
"Did Ser Tabris not tell you his daughter's name?"
"Yes, but..."
"Are you hard of hearing, guardsman? Was he in some way unclear?"
"No ser!"
"I see. Report to the kitchens, Henkins. You're on KP until I find myself better disposed towards you. I don't see that happening for at least two weeks."
"Yes ser, sorry ser." Dejected, the guard handed his book to one of his sniggering fellows and slumped off.
The Captain waved the small group to a grassy stretch off the main thoroughfare and spoke with one of his guards briefly. He turned back to them with a smile. "Myr, it's been much too long."
"Daniel, it's wonderful to see you." Myr took his outstretched hands and kissed him on the cheek. "Oops, I suppose the Captain shouldn't be seen accepting kisses while he's on duty."
"Duty be damned, pardon my Orlesian. The day that I turn down a kiss from a lovely Warden is the day they can put me to the Flames. Edwards will fetch the grooms for your horses and notify the housekeeper at the compound of your return to the city."
"Thank you, Daniel. You remember Father, of course, and I believe you've met Maynee, Eren and Aene?" Myr nodded to the others in turn.
"Of course. Welcome back, Wardens, sers. It is always an honor."
"Carver, this is Guard-Captain Kylon. Daniel, this is Carver Hawke, our newest recruit."
"Well met, Warden." The Captain shook Carver's hand firmly.
"What is this change at the gates? Have there been attacks?" Aene asked.
"There have been...developments. I imagine that you are here to see the Queen, at least in part? I'd best leave it to Her Majesty to explain, then." Kylon leaned in close to Myr as the grooms approached. "Don't go anywhere alone, Myr, any of you. If you need me at any time, send one of my guards." He bowed and walked off towards Fort Drakon.
Myr sighed. "Bugger."
"I've taught you better than that, my daughter." Cyrion tried to frown.
"I am covered in shame to have disappointed you, Respected Father. Perhaps I will allow you to win a game of Chess after supper in atonement."
"Allow? You've never won a game against me in your life."
"I like achievable atonements," she smiled. "Let's get going. I swear I can smell Cook's braised mutton from here."
