Chapter 6: Carver Steps In

"Then this will be a good way to see what interests our potential spy," interjected Zevran. "He's been a terrible spy so far. I will speak to my Warden on this. Bring him this evening." He peeked out the window and smiled as Carver made an appearance in the yard.

Carver felt like the little brother all over again. These past few weeks kept him shunted away from any danger, treated like less than a recruit, ignored even sometimes. Fenris had been the only one who really paid him any real attention by sparring with him sometimes. But Fenris, like many of the Vigil's Keep Wardens were often deep in preparations for this stupid mission through the cursed eluvian to Arlathan of all places. Carver thought it was both foolish and a waste of time. But nothing he said had any sway here.

So much for all his hard work to escape being the "Hawke-ling". So much for the effort in fighting and climbing the Templar training ranks to earn his official knighthood, without his sister's help. So much for being trusted with… anything! Even his charge had been snatched right out from under him and made a Warden under other people's guard.

Sparring with Fenris only reminded him of the times he and Fenris had been close… even intimate. How much he had wished he said something to the elf of his feelings to solidify some relationship. But he was too unsure. Fenris had been too involved with Hawke and then was gone with Anders.

When he got his knighthood, Carver took charge of Merrill. She may have been a blood mage, but not once had she actually dabbled in it under his watch. The fact that she was constantly adorable and seemingly innocent, had wormed its way under his skin. He had leapt for the chance to travel alone with her to Fereldan on this in hopes that maybe he could muster himself up to express an interest. But he was too slow. She met Christopher, the Warden Mage training under Anders. Then she became a Warden to be with him. And Carver had once again lost out in his delay.

He wondered over and over what the hell made him always wait so long till it was too late.

And now there was this guy from Tevinter, also new and also as out of place as Carver felt. He sympathized, but would never voice it. His very first act when he had met this new arrival was to stand shield over him when the Anderfels Wardens practically attacked for no reason beyond discrimination. Fir the Maker's sake. Fenris was from Tevinter and not the enemy. Why did these mountain people have to assume the worst? There had been something so lost and desperate in that other man's eyes when he looked in them under the shield. It was brief, and then it was gone.

Carver had then tagged along some to a variety of lessons out of sheer boredom and at Fenris' suggestion. The rest of his time he practiced in the training yard. He learned a great deal about the Wardens. And although he brooded about his predicament of being trapped here through the long hard winter, he did quietly appreciate the new understanding he gained. Admittedly, he learned more here than he had as a Templar, even if he did not go into battle.

The Templars trained you in fighting. They taught the laws and prayers of the Chantry almost as if they were to become Brothers of the Chantry. That always gnawed annoyingly in Carver's atheistic belly. He pretended to be devout. He learned talents unique to the Templars that were exceptionally useful! He could fight a mage where each hit drew away some of the mages mana. He was resistant to spells, though not to blood magic. He could cleanse an area of spells. He could strike a Holy Smite on a mage, draining all his mana and sometimes even knocking the mage flat with spirit damage. The devout Templars seemed to be far better at these than he, but he could still manage it.

The part of being a Templar that irked him most, other than the religious mumbo-jumbo, was the lyrium powder. All Templars were given it to help them build up a resistance to magic. But it led to addiction to the stuff, which the Chantry controlled, thus controlling the Templars. Oh, and prolonged use eventually led to madness as did overdosing. Once Carver had obtained knighthood, he had started weaning himself off it. Here in Weisshaupt, he had no access. Last week, he fell to withdrawal symptoms that Anders and Fenris had helped him through.

Now he was forlorn. Now he questioned his loyalties. Now he had no fucking idea what he was going to do with his life. Now… he was trapped in stupid snowy mountains treated like a little brother, even by Fenris.

He stomped out into the practice yard to see the new guy, Archer, using his bow like a staff and almost mad blind with fury whacking the crap out of practice dummy. Carver didn't even bother to put on his helmet. He understood that this was one of those Warden Joining adjustment moments, according to the instructions. Flight, Fight, or Fuck. Well, Archer had been sticking to the Flight part for a while. Now Carver saw clearly Flight was not going to satisfy this time. He raised a brow at the unskilled beating the dummy was taking. He picked up a wooden practice sword, because he didn't want to damage the very fine bow Archer was currently abusing in his anger.

Archer seemed oblivious in his almost tear-streaked fury and private humiliation. He never saw Carver's approach. The wooden practice sword intercepted his strike half-way to the dummy. With an anguished yell, he turned to the new "foe" and whacked randomly.

Carver kept to the defensive. Normally he would just attack, but he wasn't in the mood today. It really wasn't worth it. Archer didn't have any real skill worth the sparring. So he offered himself as a more engaging moving target to tire Archer out. Carver's only mistake in this was Warden stamina. He had not realized how hard it would actually be to accomplish tiring out a new Warden and soon wondered and worried if he erred and would be tired out in turn.

In the back of his mind, he also wondered what trigger this Fight response. Was there even a trigger? Or was this just the reaction of adapting to the magic and darkspawn blood in the Warden as they adjust to becoming a full Warden. He wondered how long the adjustment process took. Archer was going on 4 or 5 weeks now if you counted the two weeks travel to get to Weisshaupt.

As it turned out, Carver did not have enough stamina to keep up and was grateful when Fenris simply stepped in to take over. Carver staggered and fell more often and finally dragged himself to a bench to watch for a while till he caught his breath. Fenris interjected instructions to Archer, in their mother tongue. So Carver guessed, anyways. Because Archer would suddenly make a change in the way he held the bow or in the way he stood or in the way he hit shortly following one of Fenris' quick verbal statements.

Archer did not outlast Fenris.

Carver, once again felt left out.

Fenris knocked Archer to the ground and commanded the match over. Then turned to Carver and nodded. "Well done. You," and he turned back to Archer, "And you, are expected in the Vigil's meeting room after dinner. Get yourselves cleaned up."

Only then did Archer realize he wasn't even dressed to be in the snow as the cold dampness started to seep into his backside. He stood, uncertain whether to thank Carver or apologize to him. He did both as he passed the warrior.