Carver picked himself up off of the ground. His lips pulled tightly and his face caught almost in that signature scowl that was commonly seen crossing his features. Brushing himself off, he stooped and picked up his greatsword.

"You cheated," he gruffed. He cast a sharp look at his new Commander, who simply crossed her arms and raised her tattooed brow at him.

"Do you think darkspawn always fight fair, Hawke?" She sheathed her first sword, then took a few moments to wipe the blade of her second sword - King Maric's sword, the one she'd shown him a few years ago - before sheathing it as well. "When you are fighting for survival, Hawke, you use every weapon at your disposal. Grey Wardens look for their opportunity, and seize it when the moment appears."

She always called him "Hawke". Not "Hawke's baby brother" or "Hawke Junior". Never "Carver". Hawke. He was Hawke as far as she was concerned, and he'd be lying if he said that it didn't make him feel good. About a lot of things. Despite her crisp tone, it made him appreciate her a little more.

The Holy Smite she'd hit him with knocked the wind out of him. He'd thought that he'd bested her in morning sparring. She'd been backed against the low wall and he had advantage, not just by size, either. He'd actually been winning. She was remarkable at fighting, she would have had to be. It still amazed him that she could use two swords the way that she did, making it look nearly effortless for the size of her. He'd blocked her in with the flat of his larger blade cleanly stopping both of hers, thinking she'd yield. Instead, her eyes lifted nearly imperceptibly and the next thing he knew he was careening backward several feet, arse over noggin.

"Yeah, well." He lifted his shoulders and let them fall with a dry chuckle. "I guess you have that down pretty well, Commander."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, ah." He rubbed a hand down over the back of his collar-length hair which was sticking to his neck from the morning rain and exertion. "Just that, well you seem to have a few tricks up your sleeve that I hadn't expected. That's all."

The look she gave him made him wish he could sink into the ground. He had a way of pissing her off without ever meaning to. They'd gotten on well enough once, and while he had agreed that they shouldn't make a big deal about it, he didn't understand the chill in her demeanor towards him. It sometimes seemed as if they spoke different languages. Wiping his own blade clean, he sheathed it.

"Ah," she nearly breathed the word with a single nod. "Well. Like I said. Every weapon at your disposal." She hopped lightly up the steps leading to the massive front door past the portcullis. "I'm impressed." The way she said it made it sound like she was anything but that. "You fight well. Better than I'd remembered."

He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. He didn't need to be praised. He knew what he was good at, and fighting had always been it.

"Right. Thanks." He chose to take it as one. "Ah, Commander?"

She stopped, turning on her heel to look at him. "Hawke? Did you need something further? I'm dreadfully without coffee this morning." Her mouth pulled to one side of her face, almost impatiently.

"No, I ... never-"

"Join me for breakfast, Hawke." She jerked her head in the direction of the mess hall. Commander almost never ate with the rest of them. Usually she and Lieutenant Howe ate upstairs in one of their offices.

His brow pulled together slightly and looked at her. "Now?"

She lifted both brows with wide eyes, shrugging slightly. "Unless you have better things to do. Now is breakfast."

She didn't even wait for his answer and turned on her boot. He followed her to mess, stood a respectful distance from her in line as she loaded up a plate. One of the younger cooks had a mug of coffee waiting for her before she ever made it to the end. Nodding at the boy, she still didn't wait as she strolled towards a table near the back of the room. She didn't sit, and instead waited for him, eyes following him expectantly.

Carver set his tray on the table without another word and sat heavily on the seat.

"What's on your mind, Hawke?" She didn't look at him while she pulled apart her food. She spent a lot of time not looking at him, actually. He wondered if she knew that he noticed, but he did. He had thought that what happened back in the Vimmarks was going to make things weird, but it never came up. Somehow, that made it more awkward.

He sat for a few minutes, chewing thoughtfully before he answered. "I thought you were from Highever." He was never one to mince words.

"That's right." Kahrin stopped pretending she was eating her salted pork.

"Did you ... go to the Chantry?"

"What do you mean?" She fisted a hand and leaned her chin on it, sipping her coffee. Still not looking at him.

"When did you become a templar?"

"Oh."

That was all she said for a while. She crumbled a biscuit around her plate and made a show of lifting a forkful of egg towards her mouth.

"Right." Whenever they weren't sparring, that wast the extent of their conversation. One or two word exchanges. The occasional compliment. The Berserker dwarf said that she was often like that. He was also usually pretty drunk, so Carver didn't yet know if he ever told the truth. He and the Commanders seemed to be close, though.

Carver shoveled the rest of his food down and pushed his chair back from the table to stand.

"I'm not really a templar," she finally said, more to her mug than to him.

He hesitated for a few moments in that awkward place between standing and sitting, then finally plopped back down. "Then how-"

"During the Blight. I learned from one."

"Really? I never heard about that. Was it one of the templars who-"

"No." Commander was a bit colder now.

"Right." He drummed his fingers on the table for a bit. "Is it difficult to learn? I mean, do you have to be really smart or something?"

Her mouth drew together and she looked at him finally, her jaw set. "No," she said again, sharply. "Though the one I learned from was. Brilliant actually. Just didn't realize it."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he just went for what he wanted. "Could you teach me?" The irony in that request wasn't lost on him. They's spent half their life running from templars, now he wanted to fight like one, because it seemed useful.

Her face was nearly blank as she looked at him, and she stared almost through him for so long that he shifted uncomfortably.

"No." She stood and pushed away her plate of uneaten food. She opened her mouth as if she might say more, but instead she left. She didn't even pause as she nodded her head in greeting to Oghren on the way through.

The dwarf strode through the hall, made some obscene remark to the young cook, and piled his plate high. It took him two seconds to pick Carver out of the others. He plopped down uninvited, stinking like a still, making Carver wonder if he ever washed his beard.

"So, what'dya do to twist the Commander's smalls this morning, nug-humper?"

"What?" He honestly had no idea what he was talking about.

"I haven't seen her that worked up since ... Ah ha! You asked her about the King. Nug-humper, let me tell you something. Never, ever, bring that up. Take it from ol' Oghren. That's a road you don't wanna go down, especially if you're trying to burn the midnight oil."

Was he even speaking common any more? "What?"

"Awww, now, don't play stupid with me, junior." Carver bristled at the epithet. "The Pride of Orzammar knows a thing or two about gettin' the ol' Warden greyed in the Deep Roads, if ya catch my drift." He guffawed loudly.

"Uh, yeah. I just so we're clear, I always catch your drift," he said dryly, wondering why he didn't walk away from the table.

The dwarf pointed a fork at him. "Something happened back there, when Commander hopped on down to that prison. Something's got her good and agitated, and it started when you showed up here."

Carver watched him pick something out of his beard and eat it. He had a bit of an iron stomach, had even eaten a slug on a dare from Saoirse, but that even made him squirm a bit.

"Not that it's any of your business, but you're wrong."

"If ya say so," Oghren shrugged as if it was no big deal, and really, it wasn't. "Haven't seen her this worked up in a while. Just thought you should know."

Carver looked at him in near confusion for a few moments. "Right. Well, good day, then." He turned on his heel to leave.

"You should join me in the cellar for a drink sometime, nug-humper. Might work that stick out of yer arse. Clear a few things up for ya."

"Yeah. I'll keep that in mind." The Wardens of Ferelden were just as odd as he'd imagined. Some of them even worse. The dwarf's words stayed in his head, though, as he returned to his quarters to clean up for the day