THE OTHER BROTHER
Order of the Grey
Part III
9:31 Dragon
A dreadful darkness closes in, forcing Carver's head under a bog of endless night. He feels like a stone's weight dropped into the sea, his limbs swaddled in funeral shrouds, unable to struggle against the plunge. Yet, the deeper he's pulled into the abyss, the more his resistance is worn away. Worldly pain dulls. Worldly concerns fade.
There was a battle raging around him, that is all he can recall. The clang of steel. The stench of burned flesh. Yet it could all be happening on the other end of Thedas to Carver. He is disconnected from the sounds and smells, the gritty texture of stone beneath him and sharp edge of rocks wedged into his side. He lets his mind scud through the dark waters, leaving his troubles behind with the waking world.
The hoarse scream of a hurlock skewered on the end of Garrett's staff slumps over with a rasp. Garrett yanks his staff back in a spray of black blood, darkening the front of his stained robes. Wearing a grimace, Garrett sweeps his staff from side to side to keep back the darkspawn shuffling just out of reach, their mouths open in a perverse chorus.
Anders pushes his mind out against the infernal song crashing in his ears but it pushes back like a deafening wall. He knows well that darkspawn needn't be intelligent to win over them. They need only be numerous. That is their greatest strength. Once upon a time in Ferelden Anders had seen only a fraction of such strength converge upon Vigil's Keep and the fortress was decimated. Just as then, each darkspawn they cut down is eagerly replaced with another, stepping on the bodies of the fallen just for the chance to spill Grey Warden blood. The others are fodder; when Anders looks into a darkspawn's feral eyes he knows what they see is their most ancient enemy. And it doesn't fail to send cold slivers through Anders' gut.
"Incoming!" Varric shouts from his perch on top of a large headless statue. He raises Bianca to his shoulder and pulls the trigger. A hail of arrows whistle as they rain down.
Garrett's staff flares in a brief pulse of light. He sweeps his arm and a magic barrier materializes around him and Carver laying at his feet. Arrows bounce harmlessly off Garrett's shield. They don't bounce off the darkspawn.
The thick smell of blood is singed with the essence of mana. The two elements burn inside Garrett's nostrils, primal and heady. He enjoys it as much as the sight of a dozen darkspawn dropping like empty sacks, their black blood gushing. A hurlock with an arrow lodged in its windpipe stumbles toward Garrett, the sword in its shriveled hand slashing the air. Garrett braces his shield to fend off the attack, but the hurlock seizes up and spills to the ground. An arrow sticks out from the back of its bald head. Garrett looks over at Varric and sees the dwarf giving him a cheerful wave of his hand.
"They're routed, Hawke! This is our chance!"
Garrett spins around and drops to a knee, grabbing Carver by his shoulders. "Carver! Can you hear me?"
Carver makes no indication that he does. His head is tucked to the side with his wet hair plastered to his ears and neck, caked with dirt. In the purplish glow of the arcane shield, Carver's skin looks milky white, as if drained of blood. Dark veins visibly branch out from under his sunken eyes. Garrett gently pulls an eyelid back with his thumb and sees Carver's eyes are blank and clouded grey. They stare up at him, seeing nothing. "Carver!" He squeezes Carver's arms harder, shaking him until Carver's entire body spasms from the force. "Wake up! Damn you, Carver!"
A sharp crack and sizzle sends a startled jolt through Garrett, who wheels his eyes around to the darkspawn striking their swords and axes against his shield. The barrier flickers, weakening. Garrett turns back to Carver and picks his head up from the ground, cradling it with his hand. "I know how much you enjoy taking orders, but I need you now! Carver!" Sparks shower the ground around them as the barrier buckles.
Turbulent waves rock Carver from his deep trance. He wants to bat away the disturbance, but he can't move. He can't feel his body. Darkness tugs at him, and he would gladly let it enfold him again, if only someone would stop calling him away. The voice rocks him again, harder this time. It's anguish sends shivers through him, and slowly Carver realizes the voice is his brother's. Carver struggles to piece his thoughts together. Darkspawn blood. Red lyrium. A duel waiting for him behind the Hanged Man.
Carver drags a deep breath in, his lungs swelling until his chest constricts with pain. With a soundless scream he soars through the darkness. Ghostly faces flash by him. Bethany. Father. I'm sorry to make you wait, but I'm not ready to join you yet.
Carver chokes on the acrid stench in the air as he shudders back into consciousness. He coughs, a gurgle in his throat.
"You're alive." Garrett's misty eyes are locked on his face.
"Barely." Carver whispers.
The soft edges of Garrett's eyes and mouth drop away, replaced with steel. "Come on." Garrett pushes his hands under Carver's arms and pulls him up. Carver's nerves flare to life, pulsing pain through every rock digging into him and every gash and scrape that has torn his skin. He fights not to faint, certain he will not be waking up again if he does. He hears strained whimpers as Garrett drags him onto his feet, not realizes they are his own.
"Look out! Hawke!"
The barrier shatters. Carver can't see what crashes into them but both he and Garrett stagger from the push and fall to the ground. Carver is pinned beneath Garrett's weight. A warm liquid splashes onto his cheek and he realizes it is blood, dripping from a gash on Garrett's head. Darkspawn are upon them a moment later, dragging Garrett's slumped body into their midst.
"No!" Carver howls like a wounded animal, kicking feebly at the clawed hands swiping at his boots and legs.
"Do not touch him!" A deep voice booms.
A wall of heat blasts through the tunnel, hungrily pursued by raging fires. The darkspawn try to scramble away from the light, abandoning their prey. Carver forces his hands to his ears to drown out the wrenching screams of the darkspawn caught in the blaze.
Carver struggles onto his side, wildly looking around for danger. Thick smoke snakes across the scorched ceiling, trailing a haze through the air. The fumes of charred flesh is unbearable to breathe. It is eerily quiet but for the soft pops of embers dying among the kindle of bones.
There are hasty footsteps. Carver forces his head up and sees Anders jumping over corpses. The mage rushes to Garrett's side. "Hawke!" He turns Garrett over, gingerly applying his touch to the cuts and bruises lacerating Garrett's exposed skin. A bluish light seeps from Anders' fingers into Garrett, who groans in response.
Anders holds Garrett close, stroking his hair. "Hawke." He whispers over him.
Carver looks away, embarrassed.
"Your friend has a great sense of timing." Varric comments, very happy about still being alive. The dwarf picks ahead, leaving it to Anders and Garrett to support Carver and his quivering legs. Back to the grindstone.
The lot of them are covered in blood and beleaguered nearly beyond repair, but even Carver has to agree that he is grateful for being pulled back from the Void. He had one foot in – well, still does – but he isn't keen on dying. Hawkes fight all odds, no matter what. Carver almost let himself forget that.
Anders doesn't respond to the praise, a soft heat suffusing his cheeks. "Something's ahead." He says, his eyes nervously skimming over their surroundings.
"Another attack so soon?" Varric wonders, "I'd call the darkspawn idiots but that's giving them too much credit."
Anders looks meaningfully at Garrett.
"No, it's not..." Garrett says softly.
They shamble around a corner and step straight into the path of the Grey Wardens. Garrett sucks in a breath when he sees the first one of them, pulling his sword free from the chest of a darkspawn corpse. He wears extravagant plate armor; wide pauldrons and chest plate, gauntlets, vambraces, greaves, and sabatons, polished to a shine. The signifying blue and white of the Grey Warden mantle is woven into his scale surcoat worn underneath.
Carver's impression is painted with smudges of color. The man turns to face them, his expression unreadable as they approach. When they come near enough, Carver can only see that the Warden's skin is a burnt sienna, with black hair and eyes and mustache.
When the Warden speaks, his voice is thicken with an Orlesian accent. "Anders." He says, almost accusatory. His voice has a warrior's grit to it Carver immediately likes.
Anders slips away from Carver and Garrett, setting his staff aside as he comes to stand before the Warden. "Stroud." Anders greets him with forced cheer. "Fancy meeting you here."
Garrett glances at the other men standing warily by. Not Wardens, he realizes, but Coterie. He can tell by their uniforms and funny helmets. Calling that odd would be putting it lightly. Why would the Coterie be working with the Grey Wardens?
"I could say the same," Stroud crosses his arms. "I thought you were through fighting darkspawn."
Anders offers a feeble shrug. "I'm not here to fight darkspawn. I came looking for you." He admits it with a hint of guilt, averting his eyes. He looks at Garrett.
Carver must concentrate on his feet and will them to move. He hobbles clumsily as Garrett pulls him forward. Stroud looks at them for the first time. Carver hangs his head to hide the corruption as much as his shame.
Varric remains standing behind them, pretending to be invisible, his eyes studying his boots.
"You mean... the boy as a recruit." Stroud's hands fall to his sides, his surprise evident in his pauses. He shakes his head. "Of course you do."
"I'm sorry," Stroud addresses Garrett and Carver, "I know this comes as no comfort to you, but we do not recruit Grey Wardens out of pity. It is no kindness." The smoky quality of his voice coarsens the words, making them seem unkinder than intended. Carver feels Garrett tense up in response, his fingers digging into Carver as if seeking his own support.
"You think it's kinder to let Carver die from the blight?" Garrett's voice is strained as he forces himself to speak evenly.
"Sometimes is it. Yes." Stroud inclines his head in apology, extracting no pleasure in denying the request, but the Order's integrity cannot be permitted to waver.
Anders intervenes, gesturing to Carver. "Stroud, trust me when I say this one is worth your time. With the Blight over, you Wardens don't have recruits lining up."
Carver would like to wring Anders' scrawny neck over a pitch like that. His pride is already a wreck as it is.
"This is no simple thing, Anders." Stroud looks back at Carver's figure, slumping from Garrett's shoulder. "This may be as much a death sentence as the sickness, and you know it."
"He'll die anyway," Anders persists, the words tinged with desperation. "Take him and try... I'm asking you."
Stroud looks steadfast on Anders, considering his final, earnest plea. He sees something staring back at him behind the mage's eyes and it decides for him. "If the boy comes he comes now," Stroud faces the Hawke brothers, his tone curt and even rougher than before, "and you may not see him again. Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It is a calling."
The tendons in Carver's neck tighten as he strains to lift his face and meet Garrett's eyes. "Are you sure about this?" The words smudge and blur together.
"It's your only chance." Garrett responds.
My only choice, you means.
Stroud commands the Coterie men with a single gesture. "We must move quickly if we are to make the surface in time." The men answer with respected nods and walk quickly away.
"Then... I guess this is it." Carver's fogged eyes waver. His thoughts are white noise and he can't bring himself to feel sadness or anger or bitterness. His heart is empty and uninspired. "Take care of Mother."
Garrett's silence isn't lost on him but it's better this way. Big sobby goodbyes just isn't in them. The brothers part in mutual silence when Carver is pulled away with Stroud. Even though it is exactly as Garrett wished it, he can't make himself watch their departure. He lower his eyes and prays to the Maker he's made the right choice.
Goodbye. Brother.
