A/N: Thank you everyone for commenting, I read it all! I'm touched if you write even nonsense, knowing you skipped sleep just to read my humble fic. I appreciate everyone's support!

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Queen Anora contemplated the ancient treaties from her throne. The warden's party stood before her.

"The blight troubles us all," Anora stated. "I agree that our nobility should obediently march across Ferelden for the archdemon. There are houses, however, who behave as if this isn't their greatest priority." Anora handed the treaties back to Elissa. "Yours included."

Alistair accepted the treaties while Elissa bristled. "Arl Rendon was the first to step out of line with his desertion and treachery."

"Warden," Anora coolly addressed, "your past actions reflect a common sense for what our nation should focus on. Perhaps you should convince your brother to cease accosting my soldiers over Arl Rendon."

"Your Majesty," Elissa grit her teeth, "isn't that your j––"

"What she means," Alistair cut in, "is that you are the queen, the one who rules in the king's absence. Ferelden's nobility will move when you command it."

Anora folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, and if they don't move, they will have committed treason. I have blessed the nobility with my patience, but even sovereigns wear out over time."

Carver tensed. Sovereigns were the Ferelden form of currency. Anora was comparing her good will to gold that she was growing tired of spending. She was also admitting that monarchs were only human, and the stress of conflict was starting to affect her.

"I plan to call a Landsmeet," Anora continued, gesturing to the throne room's doors. "I suggest you speak to Teyrn Fergus and the other lords. When they arrive in Denerim, I expect them to respect these treaties as I do. You are dismissed."

"Your Majesty." Carver stepped forward. "Pardon my interruption. I am Carver of Lothering, knight of Maric's Shield."

Anora quirked a brow at him as if sharing a joke. "I know who you are, soldier. Speak."

Carver coughed. Anora had definitely been in contact with Oriana. "We can all agree that the nobles should be united while we battle a war. You wouldn't have granted us an audience otherwise. I humbly speak as a soldier who fought in the clash at Ostagar and has since journeyed with Warden Elissa and Alistair to unite all peoples and search for the archdemon."

Anora flicked her hand, permitting him to proceed.

Carver straightened. "The wardens, Arl Urien, and I personally experienced the archdemon's power in Ostagar. That is why Arl Urien left the Line for Denerim; he recognises that certain matters must be settled among our nobility before we can best eradicate darkspawn and their god from our lands. The Couslands have meanwhile suffered before even setting foot into a battlefield. They don't know if they can trust anyone, even old friends, anymore. A Landsmeet indeed grants Ferelden's nobility the opportunity to settle matters; however, it wouldn't be complete without an arl of Amaranthine."

Anora shifted in her throne. "Oh, this is bound to be interesting. Continue."

"Nathaniel Howe is on his way here," Carver revealed, "Arl Rendon's eldest and – despite Arl Rendon's best efforts – the rightful heir to Amaranthine. His younger sister, Delilah Howe, should already be in Denerim."

Behind Anora's throne, her guards murmured amongst themselves. "Word is that Arl Rendon's two eldest take after Arlessa Eliane."

The saintly Eliane Howe had been much loved before her passing many years ago. The lady was largely responsible for why other lords had tolerated her husband in court.

Anora tilted her head, the guards shushing. Technically, they were only supposed to stand guard, not gossip. "Lady Delilah ran away from Amaranthine years ago. Arl Rendon had declared a hefty price for her return."

To keep up appearances.

Carver neutrally hummed. "The royal legion will find her in Denerim's market district. She is married to a shopkeeper named Albert, and should be four months pregnant with his child now. Your Majesty, I suggest that the tensions in our nobility be settled through a solution as old as time: a union between the Couslands and Kendells, and the Couslands and Howes."

Anora barked out a laugh.

That…was a good thing, right?

The intimidating queen sighed, smirking. "You speak of Lord Oren Cousland and Lady Amethyne Kendells. Teyrn Fergus and Teyrna Oriana must then soon have a child to unite with Lady Delilah's unborn child."

"Maker," Elissa blurted, "that might actually work."

"If Nathaniel Howe is accepted as the new arl of Amaranthine," Carver allowed, "and agrees to commit his sister's child to the union. Although, the Howes and Kendells aren't in any position to refuse compensation to the Couslands."

Anora laced her fingers. "Arl Leonas will attend the Landsmeet as the arl of the South Reach. If Arlessa Eliane's brother and Arl Rendon's greatest critic can get behind Lord Nathaniel, then I believe the other lords will follow suit. Hm…your advice has been heard, Ser Carver. Dismissed."

The warden's party turned to leave the throne room. Carver internally sweated.

Nathaniel had better impress Arl Leonas.

It didn't matter that Arl Rendon had married Leonas's sister for her money — and bluntly said so to Leonas. It didn't matter that Leonas had loathed Rendon for misleading and using his sister so much that Leonas had severed all contact with his sister and her husband. The Couslands were enraged and paranoid, and nothing short of arranged marriage was going to appease them. In such delicate circumstances, the genders of Lady Oriana's and the Couslands' future children were irrelevant before the necessity to unite their houses.

Outside the palace grounds, Elissa collapsed into a bench. "How am I supposed to convince my brother to postpone his pursuit of vengeance against Arl Rendon – with or without the promise of arranged marriage? Father, mother, please forgive your daughter; I'm going to end up visiting Fergus in jail by the end of the year."

"We don't know that will happen," Alistair reasoned. "Maybe Carver is right, as he always is, and this will all work out."

Carver frowned. "I'm not always right."

Morrigan tittered. "'Tis the self-doubt speaking."

Leliana giggled in agreement.

"Bullied." Carver morosely joined Elissa on the bench. "I'm being bullied."

"While you two contemplate life," Oghren commented, "I'm gonna hit a tavern and try human ale."

Alistair perked up. "I'll follow you." At everyone's surprise, he explained, "My sister on my mother's side apparently lives in the area. I want to introduce myself to her, maybe connect…though I admit I'm nervous. Actually, Oghren, would you––"

The berserker waved his hands in front of him. "Oh no, I'm not involving myself in any more family nonsense."

Elissa rose from the bench. "I won't accomplish anything by sitting around. I would happily meet your sister with you."

Alistair scratched the back of his head shyly. "Thank you. I guess after this, I'd end up meeting your family, too."

The words slowly registered.

Alistair pivoted and marched off with red ears. "Actually, forget what I said."

Elissa chased after him with pink cheeks. "Wait, Alistair!"

The rest of the party watched the wardens disappear into the crowded streets, Dog scuttling after them with playful yips.

Leliana sighed sweetly. "They have been consummating their feelings, and now Alistair is jumping ahead to marriage. Their love is as clumsy and pure as a newborn puppy."

Morrigan's face twisted in disgust. "Mayhaps I should follow you, dwarf, and stain my tongue with ale."

Leliana, Sten, Zevran, and Carver watched Morrigan and Oghren depart for a tavern.

Carver blinked. "Alistair and Elissa confessed their feelings?"

Sten grumbled. "You're a heavy sleeper."

Carver flushed. "Those two just started holding hands back in Haven. When did they have time to build affection in the Deep Roads?"

"Not much," Zevran provided, "but our boy Alistair plucked a rose when we were by Lake Calenhad and gifted it to Elissa. I believe his words were, 'I can't live without you.' Those two spent nearly as much time in the tavern as Oghren."

Carver immediately shook the image from his head as quickly as it formed. He didn't want to see such things about people he basically thought about as family. In the sense that it would be gross.

He wasn't that close with them. He couldn't be, given how closed off he was.

Carver tracked down a signpost. "We might as well make use of this time and bring our drake and dragon scales to Wade's Emporium. He's a skilled blacksmith."

"We're in Ferelden's busiest market," Leliana pointed out. "I'm going to take the time to find Solo and I a new pair of shoes that aren't clunky and muddy."

Sten scoffed. "You're in Ferelden. It will always be muddy."

Carver side-eyed him. "Hey, I'm from here."

Zevran nodded next to Sten. "It will also always smell of dog."

Carver gave up and headed towards Wade's Emporium, the party following behind him as they discussed the sights and smells of Orlais, Seheron, and Antiva. To be honest, Carver had a personal curiosity about the countries, having spent his recent thirteen years in armpit nowhere and the last six in the rest of Ferelden. In a way, the only other country he had visited in this life was Orzammar, which had been a culture shock of its own.

Carver paused and turned to face the rest of the party. "Leliana…if you want to go shoe shopping, feel free to do so. Don't let us boys dissuade you."

"Here it comes," Zevran commented. "You utter one whimsical comment, and he returns six months later with a gift."

"You're all homesick," Carver defended. He knew what that felt like better than anyone else.

Leliana squeezed his arm with a gentle smile. "That's very thoughtful of you, Carver, but you don't have to. We wouldn't have followed you and the wardens across Ferelden if we hadn't wanted to." She paused, then teasingly shrugged at Zevran. "Except him."

Carver revealed a flower he had plucked while on the road. "That's a shame. I was going to give you this."

Leliana's eyes widened as she picked up the flower. "Andraste's Grace. Oh, you remember I said it smells like memories of my mother!"

Carver shifted. "Not to be misleading, but while I value our shared trust, I can live without you."

Leliana grinned. "I harbour no romantic feelings for you, either."

Sten grouched. "The bard taints her surroundings with sentiment."

"You big softie," Leliana swiftly accused. "I saw you playing with a stray kitten the other day."

"I was training it," Sten vainly dismissed.

The light flow of their conversation halted before the sight of a chantry. Carver glanced at Leliana.

The bard caught it. "I'm at peace with where I am." Leliana smiled assuredly. "Who I am."

Zevran nodded. "You killed your past with a knife. That is a certainty you can't buy — though I wonder if you would also consider revising your position in the chantry, Sister Leliana. Or at least its customs."

Sten side-eyed him. "This is about how you once wished to be a brother because you wanted to drink all day."

Leliana clicked her tongue. "Antivan chantries make wine, and even so, the clergy doesn't pass time drinking, Zevran. We have work and prayer."

Zevran gazed up at her with round eyes. "So you're still dedicated to being a sister? As a fellow murderer, I think that would be a shame."

Carver flatly shot Zevran a look. Wording.

Leliana's face twisted with visible struggle. She couldn't escape a bardic mindset, and at the time of the guardian's query, she had been oscillating between her Andrastian faith and lying to herself. How she felt after killing her former lover with help from her current one was a mystery.

And none of the men's business.

Carver cleared his throat, grasping for a distraction besides the chantry blatantly in front of them. "Uh, shoes—"

"I accept my inclinations," Leliana stated with certainty. "Marjolaine may have been the one to help me discover them, but I've decided to keep using my skills. While I know not what lies in the future, I know the Maker is positioning me for it."

Leliana smiled at them. "My faith isn't a falsehood. Solo reminded me that regardless of why I became a Chantry sister, my devotion is what helped her out of her immediate trauma from surviving broodmothers. My belief is meaningful to more than just me."

Carver, Sten, and Zevran ended up alone together by the end of the day. Leliana had excused herself to quietly pray in the local chantry, though she had extended an invitation for them to join her in the market if they saw her afterwards. It left Carver to continue down his laundry list of cleaning up Denerim.

Zevran watched Carver drop off a painted box in front of an unremarkable door. "Is this why the soldier of Maric's Shield calls you Postboy?"

Carver closed the lid of the barrel he had placed the box in. "He isn't the only one."

Sten followed them as Carver pivoted for another direction. "You gather information on foot, when you could order a Sten to do so."

Carver knocked on a door. "Some information becomes actionable in the field."

When no one behind the door responded, Carver glanced both ways before kicking the door down.

Zevran and Sten immediately drew their weapons, conditioned at this point. A Tal-Vashoth mercenary group leapt at them from inside the building, but Carver nullified their attacks with surgical redirection as Sten had taught him.

"Peace," Carver stated. "I just want to ask questions."

A female mercenary drew an arrow at him. Another mercenary quickly lowered a hand at her. "That's Maric's Shield," her ally discouraged in the same tone of, "we don't kill police."

The vashoth archer scowled. "You sound unconvincing, geared up like that."

Carver lowered Summer Sword. "Your mercenary band is called the Word of Kadan-Fe. You pick up jobs regardless of their moral direction. Ordinarily, I would just kill you, but I'm giving you the opportunity to leave Ferelden's borders and never return."

A mercenary spluttered. "Where's the question?"

Carver focused on their body language. "Were you hired here by Arl Rendon Howe?"

The archer shrugged. "Yes, and?"

"Where's Ambassador Gainley?" Carver asked.

"The Pearl."

Carver stepped aside the door. "Thank you. I don't like cleaning up blood or writing up reports. Watch your back on your way out."

The mercenary group frowned as they left their hideout. "Don't you mean our step?"

Zevran perked up as Carver dismissed the mercenaries. "The Pearl is Denerim's most profitable brothel."

Sten glanced at him. "You wish to de-stress. Right now."

"Always," Zevran teased.

"Servants to Arl Rendon are prime prey in these times," Carver commented as they navigated alleyways for the brothel. "They attract assassination contracts. I just wish Teyrna Oriana wouldn't enable her husband so much." Jurisdictional restrictions didn't justify creating headaches for Carver.

Zevran blinked. "Oriana is an Antivan name."

The three males nearly tripped over a rush of children running after a ball without looking both ways. The imps barely noticed their rudeness as they excitedly yelled.

"Which Carver are you this time?" the children giggled amongst themselves. "Wolfsbane or Warden?"

One of the children kicked the ball into an empty fish basket. "I'm Ser Carver, the knight!"

"Stop, rascals!" a fishmonger shook their fist.

The children scattered, cackling.

A street urchin ran up to Carver and tugged on his sleeve with dirty fingers. "The Pearl, Room 1 — be there."

Carver spluttered, ambushed by what he was experiencing. "Who—"

The urchin dashed off without waiting on a response.

Carver stared.

Sten pointed. "The children appear to believe you are three people."

Carver scrubbed his face. "I'm just one boring one. How on earth…."

Wait.

Carver hurried the group to the Pearl, whereupon entering, alluring sights, smells, and sounds greeted them. A minstrel in a corner strummed their lute to the tune of a courageous Templar cutting down undead with one hand and curing a possessed child with another.

The Templar's name was Carver.

"Leliana," Carver hissed under his breath.

The bard had apparently made full use of her time in Soldier's Peak not just supervising its chantry, but contributing to the villagers' music selection. Carver could already hear her reasoning. Something along the lines of healing hearts and minds with song, or casting light in dark times. Carver could do without being Leliana's sacrifice.

Patrons and employees of the brothel sang and clapped along with the minstrel, raising their voices and drinks on the climax. The brothel clerk barely batted an eye at Carver, Sten, and Zevran's arrival, merely humming the next chorus. Carver waved aside her offer to find them a room and navigated to the farthest one. Zevran pointed at Room 1 as they passed it, but made no comment.

Carver jiggled a door handle to no avail. Zevran moved in to lockpick it open.

The door swung in to reveal a room full of Howe soldiers in bandit garb with drawn weapons.

Sten unsheathed Asala and skewered two soldiers in one strike. "Are you picking a fight with the entire city?"

Carver beheaded two more with one slash. "I'm just cleaning up!"

The three of them made bloody work of the soldiers who had been using a corner of the brothel as a hideout. The room's silks ended up completely ruined, but Carver had prepared sovereigns for compensation. It helped when the three of them then did the exact same thing in the next room where Gainsley had been shuffling through his collection of blackmail and bribes on foreign ambassadors, determined to find the Howe legion a refuge outside of Ferelden. Carver bound the material in twine and stuffed them into his pouch, separating a few coins from the bribe money for accidentally ruining the bed. The Pearl's back rooms wouldn't be usable for a while.

Carver dropped off the money with the clerk, then finally knocked on Room 1's door. A mellow, polite voice allowed them in.

Zevran tensed and stepped up to Carver's side as the door closed behind them. The room's occupant gestured for them to take a seat by the room's brazier with him, unfazed by the manifestation of daggers in Zevran's hands.

"I expect you are assisting the Cousland warden," the stranger greeted.

"Save us the act," Zevran curtly replied. "Carver, this man is an Antivan Crow. Though I suppose you already knew that."

The stranger passively accepted the accusation. "I offer a mutually beneficial situation where I can more easily organise deaths without a direct link to myself. The Cousland warden, I understand, has no love for the Howe legion. Of course, your assisting efforts will be appropriately compensated."

"Ignacio." Carver leaned forward on his knees. "Is your surname Arainai?"

For once, the stranger looked ruffled. Then he resigned himself to the strange fact that Carver knew his first name. "No. The contracts of another house are none of my business. I am a professional, like any Crow." He glanced at Zevran. "I recognise you, Zevran Arainai. The guildmaster of your house has sent Taliesen to verify if you failed your last contract."

And to kill Zevran if he still lived.

Zevran's shoulders tensed. "I never expected to return to Antiva alive, but I can appreciate a tip."

Ignacio didn't care if Zevran — or any of them — lived or died. He looked at Carver. "Will you help me with my contracts?"

Carver showed the plaques he had taken from the rooms he, Sten, and Zevran had cleared out of Howe affiliates.

Ignacio accepted them, only partially unruffled this time. "…You already knew. This saves me the time of organising a fatal food allergy for two rooms of paranoid targets."

"The Kadan-Fe are on their way out of Ferelden," Carver shared, "though I'm sure you've prepared an unfortunate dock accident. As a soldier of the king's army, I would prefer the accident isn't costly."

Ignacio considered it. "Compensation, then. I have only one more contract." He retrieved a scroll from his things.

"Howe soldiers have taken a noble's son as hostage and demanded a ransom," Carver guessed. "The Crows have already covertly rescued the boy and returned him to his father. I just need to kill the soldiers."

Ignacio handed over the scroll listing the contract's full details, including a time and location. "Since you seem to know the job already," Ignacio explained.

Zevran accepted the scroll before Carver could reach out, and pointedly examined it for falsities, venomous ink, and other possible tricks. Ignacio patiently folded his hands in his lap — and in sight. It didn't matter that Ignacio was outnumbered, with the numbers consisting of a venom-resistant qunari, a fellow Crow, and an elite knight. Ignacio relaxed in his seat like he was exactly where he should be.

Carver frowned, only assuaged by his foreknowledge. "The payment for this job…."

Ignacio gestured to the bedroom's bench. "I have gloves crafted by Antivan tanners."

"…Will be information," Carver cut in.

Ignacio's lips twitched downwards in betrayal.

Zevran smirked, showing off his hands. "We have no need for extra gloves."

Ignacio's voice flattened. "You demand an unbalanced deal."

"From one perspective," Carver dismissed. "From another, advantageous. I would like to know when and where to expect Taliesen and any hired muscle he might bring with him. Meanwhile, I understand the Crows promote competition between houses — refines your institution's skill, presumably. Refines your numbers."

Ignacio's gaze slid from Carver to Zevran. "…House Arainai has been cursed since meeting you."

Zevran raised his brows innocently. "I've been its greatest addition."

"I wasn't speaking of you," Ignacio primly stated. He stood up, and everyone warily leapt up from their seats. "Taliesen has attracted ten Howe soldiers with money. The eleven of them haunt Denerim's back alleys at day, and streets at night."

Carver hesitated, then wordlessly left through the door, Sten and Zevran following him. The ransom point was at the edge of the noble district, a considerable distance, and as the three of them headed towards it, dusk fell.

Carver glanced aside. "Zevran, when you attacked Warden Elissa and the rest of us, you hired bandits to help you, right?"

Zevran tilted his head at the statement. "I did."

Carver continued. "Did those bandits have contracts on them?"

Zevran shrugged. "I didn't want to seem like I wasn't trying to kill Elissa. If I fell or vanished in battle against my mark and alongside other ones, then I wouldn't be suspected of attempting to leave the Crows." By indirect suicide. Zevran looked at Carver. "You suspect what we already know. Taliesen will come at me with disposable numbers."

The ten Howe soldiers had contracts on them. Taliesen had never planned to pay for their help — whether by Taliesen killing them, or a resistant Zevran doing so. At the end of the day, Taliesen was going to return to Antiva with a full wallet and his tasks complete.

The Crows were deadly efficient.

Then again…

So was Carver.

The chaos wracked by the Howe legion was going to be neutralised — whether by Ser Rhiannon's command, or by a certain merchant family's money. Carver simply chose to further benefit by extracting information from Ignacio. The warden's party couldn't afford to be ambushed on the streets by Taliesen and his fodder. There was a blight to end.

Carver hummed. "If your house's guildmaster sent Taliesen after you, he must be skilled."

Zevran chuckled. "Taliesen's 'skill' lies in his loyalty. He will sooner risk death before failing a task from Guildmaster Eoman. It is how Taliesen survived Crow training."

Sten spoke up. "You two trained together?"

Zevran fluttered a hand. "We were the only two recruits of our year to see our next birthday. Me thanks to my talent, him thanks to his stubborn determination. I could hardly not learn the name of my only other 'graduate,' however unremarkable."

Sten grumbled. "It's a waste to train warriors into the ground."

Zevran teased him. "Evidently, the Crows and the Qunari practice different philosophies."

Sten shook his head. "Regardless, I see where Karasten stands. We would benefit from any insight towards how this Taliesen would conduct an ambush. …I suspect with fewer trees."

Zevran placed a hand over his chest. "You wound me, my towering friend. Alas, Denerim lacks convenient vegetation, so we can expect a mere venomous dagger from the dark before any close-quarter combat."

"Taliesen prefers to weaken a mark before striking," Carver acknowledged. "His hired muscle will simultaneously seal off exits. Sensible. Zevran, are you alright with facing Taliesen in a fight?"

Zevran quirked a brow. "Worry not, Carver; there is no doubt that Taliesen will strike to kill without giving us a chance to flee, but I have more than enough skill to do the same to him."

Carver reluctantly nodded as they continued forth. He was concerned for precisely that reason. Taliesen wasn't as professionally cold as Zevran was expecting.

Talent couldn't always trump determination.

Eventually, Carver, Sten, and Zevran cut through the Howe soldiers waiting at the ransom point, then passed through Denerim's market to recognise that Leliana had likely retreated to the army fortress for the night. A swing by Wade's Emporium also confirmed that a set of drake and dragon scale armour was in the works. As the three of them trudged for the army fortress, the streets emptied of people. With the fortress's top floors in sight, nightly danger was unlikely, but the hair on Carver's arms slowly rose. There was no mistaking him for a Shielder, and the possibility of someone on the street targeting him for it wasn't null. Running a city didn't make everyone happy.

Carver slipped his helmet on at the same time Sten's and Zevran's hands strayed to their weapons in his periphery.

Their echoing footsteps seamlessly multiplied.

Then their shadows.

A lithe silhouette peeled off the corner of a building and slunk for them, raising its spine, until a beautiful, confident man stepped into the moon's harsh glare. Even from afar, Carver could count his eyelashes. As Carver, Sten, and Zevran stopped, they could count the bandits surrounding them, too.

Ten total.

There was no dagger from the dark, no sudden ambush.

Just a caring smile as Taliesen's thick lips curled endearingly. "Zev, it's time to come home."