A/N: In reference to Someone Else, should I use "themselves" or "themself" as a pronoun? Let me know what you guys think.

Also to TheReader994: Thanks, and no problem! I have Alistair at age 25 by the Fifth Blight, according to the DA wiki. This allowed me to conclude on Arl Eamon's "pot and kettle" situation as you eloquently put it.

One thing about writing, you end up searching topics that make you sound like a psychopathic divorcee with a murderous streak and a weakness for fine cheeses. You also do a lot of math for fictional birthdays and historical events.

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Carver and Theron began to draw eyes as the West Road's traffic thickened, and when they neared Lothering, Carver donned his helmet, not eager to be recognised by anyone from his hometown. Fortunately, while he and Theron were an odd sight together, no one bothered them. Carver levelled his chin with the ground, and Theron was unfazed by attention, allowing the armoured knight and Dalish elf to turn adequately forgettable with an air of belonging.

They handed their horses off to a stablehand, before they headed towards the heart of Lothering where a river divided the wooden, old-fashioned half of town from the stone structures of the more modern side. Farmers populated the former while artisans dominated the latter, and all were united in their sense of harmless, unchecked freedom; thus Lothering was in truth too loose a place as to have a "centre," save for where the local tavern and Chantry faced each other across the river. Carver was reluctant to cross the bridge for the tavern - where he would be more likely recognised - but he and Theron needed to eat, and Carver needed directions to the local sergeant.

Turned out, the sergeant needed him more.

"Postb–– Ser Carver?" Basket intercepted Carver questioning the bartender. "Word from Ser Rhiannon - came with a runner."

Carver glanced back at Theron and confirmed the elf was safely occupied at a table with food, before facing the sergeant. Carver remembered serving under Basket once; the balding man hadn't participated in the army's hazing of Carver, but he hadn't stopped it either. Basket didn't appear to have a problem now playing messenger for Carver and the capital, so he was at least professional.

Carver accepted the letter Basket had kept on him, and broke the seal to reveal Rhiannon's tight, hasty writing. Carver wasn't able to read a word before a civilian in the crowded tavern nudged into their space, consequently blocking the nearest light.

"…Carver?"

Garrett stepped closer to him with wide eyes fixed on the slots of Carver's helmet, as if the mage could discern one's identity at will, and with only Carver's muttered name to inspire a connection. Carver inwardly cursed at Garrett's timing. Basket was no country Templar softened by an amicable relationship with a farmer's boy.

Carver was terse. "This isn't a good time."

"Four years of silence isn't enough for you?" Garrett's voice wavered with light sarcasm. "Maybe I should wait for the next blight and check on you then."

Basket looked up. "This your brother?"

"Our father passed away," Carver briskly shared. "Garrett is head of the household now." Because that was the only reason Garrett was still in Lothering while most able men and women were moving for Ostagar. Desertion wasn't taken lightly.

Garrett's chuckle was thin. "So you did receive Bethany's letters. Here I thought you couldn't read."

"Send her my love," Carver decidedly slipped a money bag out, "and take this. Bring the family out to the Free Marches, see Uncle Gamlen."

Garrett held the pouch with dazed disbelief, not knowing where to start with the wrongness in Carver's actions. Carver could see the exact moment Garrett felt betrayed. "Since when did you care about Uncle Gamlen?"

Basket shifted alert. "Is the blight that bad?"

"Not if we do things right," Carver coolly addressed, turning away from Garrett. The older Hawke didn't know that Basket was the local sergeant, and that Carver was Basket's superior. Lothering couldn't afford a panic. "Just thought Kirkwall could benefit from a family visit."

Garrett spluttered. Kirkwall was the reason why the two of them and Bethany had been raised in armpit nowhere.

Basket leaned on the bar with Carver, fractionally unwinding. "I see. The locals here could benefit from finding more northern land to farm, anyway," he grunted. "Hear me, bartender? You folks should make space for the soldiers coming to Lothering."

"Spread the word," Carver agreed.

The bartender grumbled, then blinked at Garrett standing in Carver's space. It seemed that Carver was still at risk of being recognised even with his armour and helmet on.

Carver ducked his head and peered at Rhiannon's letter. "Anyway, I'm busy, Garrett. Let's talk another time."

"The next blight then," Garrett surrendered, humour slipping. He pivoted and stalked off with silent anger.

The bartender surreptitiously drifted down the bar, spreading word of the almost mundane event he had witnessed. What was a spat between a local and two soldiers? The only detail of note was the fact that the local involved had been the beloved Garrett, and that the soldiers had wanted to kick the locals out for the army's sake.

Carver exhaled.

Rhiannon's letter at least shared good news. The poor knight in charge of the capital had been forced to arrest Vaughan Kendells for attempting to kidnap and rape a couple elves leaving for Highever, which made for an awkward meeting when half of the Cousland legion rode in to Denerim to warn the Kendells of Arl Rendon's treachery.

The king's army tried to recover from their embarrassment and swore to provide all Cousland servants - elf and human alike - secure travel to Highever, but the Cousland legion vehemently rejected this and insisted on protecting their own themselves. The Kendells legion was meanwhile forced to bow to the king's army and Cousland legion on the matter of running Denerim. It was the first time in history a couple of elven and human servants were escorted out the capital with a full guard.

With the Cousland legion had also come a clearer picture of the events at Castle Cousland:

Duncan had been passing through Highever to recruit Ser Roderick, a member of the castle guard, when Arl Rendon and his squad had sacked Castle Cousland. Ser Roderick had fallen in defence of the castle, while Duncan had rescued the visiting Bann Loren's family and most of the Cousland family. By the time Duncan had managed to reunite the group with Teyrn Bryce in the castle's pantry, it had been easy to see that their enemies had outnumbered and surrounded them. Teyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor had thus laid down their lives to buy Duncan and the group time to flee the castle.

Fergus and the Cousland legion had fortunately crossed paths with Duncan and the rest while hurrying north, allowing Duncan to split off for Ostagar, and Fergus to retake Castle Cousland with his wife, son, and Bann Loren's family safe at the legion's rear. Fergus had been hurriedly named teyrn of Highever before sending half of his legion to Denerim as promised to Carver, while Bann Loren's family had returned home to spread word of Arl Rendon's treachery among the Bannorn.

So far, Highever was still recovering from the attack, and the state of the Bannorn was a mystery since Ferelden was still in the middle of fighting a blight.

Naturally, Rhiannon's news came with a flip side. Tensions had spiked between the Cousland and Kendells families, and so long as Arl Rendon couldn't be captured, the Couslands and their people had no outlet for their grief and rage. The flawed Kendells of Denerim were a ready target.

Rhiannon was also concerned that in the king's absence, whoever commanded Denerim with the most power could threaten the hierarchical structure of Ferelden's kingdom. She wondered when Carver would return to the capital - or even better, when Teyrn Loghain or the king would.

Carver couldn't give an answer to that, so he wrote to Rhiannon a temporary solution: to pull out the king's army from northern patrols, and have the Cousland and Kendells legions share responsibility over them. Knights of the king's army would remain as their supervisors. Two squads from the king's army should also be sent to Lothering to assist with population overflow and escort migration as necessary.

While it was unorthodox asking the Kendells legion to help guard highways leading to Denerim instead of guarding just Denerim itself, "maintenance" of like roads fell under an arling's duties. Not all of Ferelden's roads were left to the Couslands and Kendells either, since there were still the mercantile routes around Lake Calenhad, and portions of highways like the southern half of the West Road. The distribution would occupy the Couslands and Kendells from lashing out at each other, and allow Rhiannon to focus on doing her job in the capital while keeping an eye out for Arl Rendon. Carver mentioned he'd also ask Loghain for advice on the matter and forward the commander's response to Rhiannon when able.

Carver sent his letter with a runner, before he glanced back at Theron. The Mabari Madness tonic cured a mabari of the taint for at least a year, based on a certain dog's journey in another timeline, but Theron was the one and only experiment for the tonic working on hominids.

Given the tenuous link between the tonic's efficacy and a patient's magical bloodline, it reasoned to say that the tonic fed to a dog could delay the taint by fifteen dog years, and thus if fed to an elf could delay the taint by fifteen normal years. However, it could be equally likely that having too much "magical blood" was like having a metabolism that was so high, a medicine's effects would be diminished or negated. In which case, it was possible for the tonic to be effective for one year for mabari, and effective for merely one-fifteenth of a year for elves. The uncertainty was compounded by Carver's near-negligible modern medical knowledge from his past life, and the fact that he was essentially working with magic.

Even while Carver wanted to pursue a few threads of interest in and from Lothering, Theron - in the unpredictable state that he was - still had the Imperial Highway to cover.

A headache flirted with Carver's focus.

"Basket," Carver summoned, "I heard concerning news on my way here. The Guerrin legion is delayed from marching to Ostagar?"

"Yes, ser," Basket readily replied. "Arl Eamon apparently fell ill. He sleeps and takes in drink like a man in slumber, but he won't wake up."

Between the rumours, Eamon's marriage with an Orlesian, and the arl's letter to the king, Eamon was easy to dye with suspicion. One could assume he was partial towards welcoming Orlesian forces into Ferelden; as the king's uncle, they could be the Wardens whom Cailan wanted, while as the king's uncle who believed he knew better, they could also be the chevaliers whom Celene wanted. Thus in the time leading up to Loghain's departure from Denerim for Ostagar, Carver had gauged Loghain's mood towards Arl Eamon and had kept an eye on army mail in and out of the capital.

Without Rendon Howe whispering in Loghain's ear, Carver had eventually come to believe that Loghain wouldn't feel compelled to pursue an extreme measure and have Eamon drugged into a temporary slumber, until such a time that Orlesian forces were certain to not enter Ferelden at any moment.

Now, Carver doubted not just his judgement, but his own senses. Had he missed a sign in Loghain's behaviour, no matter how subtle? Had Carver allowed himself to balance too many issues to keep an eye on, and missed the sign even if it had been obvious? Was Eamon merely fated to catch an illness in the spring? Carver hadn't noticed strange behaviour within the king's army before and after Loghain had left the capital, so it was difficult to determine if the arl's illness was a product of external influence or medieval hygiene.

The pressing mystery was just one thread.

Another was Carver's reluctance to leave things as they were with Garrett, and by extension the rest of the Hawke family. There were still many other threads Carver wanted to personally pursue, but Carver ultimately directed his resources to his highest priorities.

"Send two soldiers to Redcliffe," he ordered Basket, mind racing to justify the command. "Have them check on the health of Arlessa Isolde and Lord Connor. If they return with any observations of note, write to me."

Carver dismissed Basket and searched for the tavern owner. If he allowed himself one of the grim thoughts he kept boxed away, he knew he might not need his possessions after Ostagar, so he had the tavern owner promise to send a message and the rest of Carver's money to the Hawkes.

Carver said to emphasise that he loved his family and wanted them safe north of Lothering, and though the affection was hollow without direct communication, Carver had to make do. Seeing the Hawke family in person would have meant a somber sit-down conversation that would have lasted for days that Theron couldn't waste. Carver was fond of the Hawkes, but he couldn't play favourites in the current circumstances.

Without staying to rest, Carver and Theron mounted horses of the king's army and put any regrets and Lothering behind them. They had to.

;

Their arrival to Ostagar was anticipated by the last person Carver expected.

"Ah…ser." Duncan saluted in greeting. "I sensed your approach."

"Theron," Carver ignored, "Warden-Commander Duncan. Warden, Theron Mahariel."

Scattered patrolmen marked the edge of camp, blanketed by quiet provided by their sparse numbers and open hilltop air that was obstructed by so few stone pillars, the wide sky seemed to press down on the naked ruins of Ostagar. Even as soldiers trickled into the nearby Tower of Ishal, their whispering armour barely registered to Duncan, Carver, and Theron as they stared at each other.

"I see." Duncan blinked at Carver's bluntness.

Carver crossed his arms. "Wardens can sense the taint, can they not?"

"We also decide if someone is worthy of joining our order," Duncan returned. He looked at Theron. "The Dalish are counted among some of the proudest warriors in our history. I hadn't expected one of your people to come with a soldier of the king's army."

Theron inclined his head. "…Carver is fine company."

Introvert. So silence was fine company.

Carver didn't shift his weight. "Will you save Theron's life or not?"

Duncan neutrally hummed. "I take responsibility for his life, and no more. Walk where you must, ser."

The Joining was a secret, so it was true that Duncan could make no promises or explain himself. Carver knew when he was dismissed.

Theron snatched Carver's elbow before he could pivot off. The elf shifted. "Carver…thank you again."

"You'll live," Carver assured - stated, like it was fact. "I meant it when I said you might have the strongest will in Thedas. Joining the Wardens, facing a blight - you'll see your next birthday and reflect on this moment with pleasant vagueness. Your future is ahead of you, Theron. It always has been."

Theron's ears twitched, his anxiety seen through. "You seem to know much, for a human."

"Take care, Theron."

They exchanged heavy glances before parting ways. Carver almost missed the faint smile on Theron's lips.

;

Loghain wasn't pleased by Carver's arrival - both his absence from the capital, and his tardiness to the front line.

"Ferelden shan't suffer the stumbling of fools," Loghain said, clipped. "If two arlings prove allergic to reason, then one must force-feed it to them. I'm sending Ser Cauthrien back north."

"The captain?" Carver quirked a brow.

So long as "the king's army" encompassed all of Ferelden's legions, Loghain was the army's commander next to His Majesty, and Ser Cauthrien led the king's personal legion in Loghain's stead as its only captain. It seemed overkill to send Cauthrien to Rhiannon when the captain's skills would be more useful against darkspawn, and if the blight could end soon, Cailan or Loghain's arrivals might as well be expedited over Cauthrien's. The projection for Ferelden's darkspawn was currently a near future of exile to the Deep Roads, based on the consecutive victories of the king's army and on Loghain's tactical prowess to maintain the consistency.

No one was expecting an archdemon.

Carver slipped his helmet off and shook his hair. Many times had he wanted to protest his superiors' decisions, from Basket to Cailan, but there was a limit to overstepping one's rank. If Carver wanted order around him, he had to remember to respect it. "Shall I prepare Ser Cauthrien's immediate departure for the capital?"

"No." Loghain flicked a road map on the war table. "Your call was sound. Ser Rhiannon can handle the distributed Cousland and Kendells legions as they are, and Arl Rendon must turn up eventually. Ser Cauthrien has time to ease the change of the royal legion's command before she rides for Denerim. Inform Ser Cauthrien of her new duties and receive your post from her—"

They were interrupted. When commanders weren't with their legions, after all, they were in the war tent.

"Pardon," a man in marked armour stepped in, "I couldn't help but hear mention of Denerim. What has the royal legion commanded of the Kendells and Cousland legions remaining north? I have a right to know of significant changes in my domain."

"Arl Urien?" Carver identified, and when he looked, received a nod from Loghain permitting Carver to share the news. Arl Urien Kendells was the man who, outside of the royal palace, owned the kingdom's capital, and who, outside of Gwaren, owned Ferelden's most profitable sea port. He was educated, cultured, and unafraid to wrestle with mabari like any Ferelden. He was essentially the most influential arl of the north, where Arl Eamon was of the south.

And he was about to be massively disappointed.

"Where should I even begin." Carver hesitated, and was easily answered by Urien.

"A simple start would be my son."

Ack. "Very well," Carver readily answered. "Lord Vaughan has been arrested for sexual assault."

Urien stilled. "That boy dares blemish the family name?"

Carver ignored Urien's priorities and continued with a blank face. "As for the entire situation: Arl Rendon's murder of Highever's teyrnir, his siege of Castle Cousland, and his currently unknown whereabouts have forced the Couslands to be wary of even those they once explicitly trusted. Ser Rhiannon of the king's army in Denerim has extended additional rights to the Cousland legion on the promise they assist the skeleton crews patrolling the highways and protecting Denerim, which the Cousland legion has so far answered with trust. At the same time, within days of Teyrn Fergus Cousland's ordered recollection of all Highever loyalists, Lord Vaughan attempted to sexually assault three Highever servants and obstruct their ability to leave Denerim. Ser Rhiannon has been forced to assign separate highway patrols to the Cousland and Kendells legions for everyone's safety."

Urien spluttered. "Then…who runs Denerim!?"

"Presently, the king's army," Carver calmly replied. "Teyrn Fergus is focused on securing Highever, and the Bannorn nobility that are left from those who have marched to Ostagar have proven difficult to contact."

Loghain blinked at the last two bits. The royal family technically had no jurisdiction outside the palace regarding Denerim, and it went without saying that a queen's influence over the king's army typically applied only in peacetime, when she shared control with the king over the army as the royal palace's protection. If Anora's name was attached to the king's army that had invited the Cousland legion to briefly control Denerim's escorts and that was currently ordering the Kendells around, Anora could be accused of tyranny at worst.

Between that and the news Carver carried, the kingdom's entire nobility was essentially too occupied to sense the empty capital or act on it. The king was needed now more than ever to return to his throne, but Cailan was still fighting with his army against darkspawn.

Carver had basically admitted that Ferelden currently had a power vacuum, and no one had noticed.

Of course, this was all from a certain perspective. No Ferelden considered Ser Rhiannon's unopposed influence from the capital as military rule, especially since Loghain's devotion to Ferelden's value of freedom reflected well on those who served under him. Therefore, Denerim, the seat of power, seemed to be "unclaimed." Carver also had faith in Queen Anora's political sense to continue maintaining Ferelden's state of affairs from behind the scenes. In wartime where informed centralised power encouraged efficiency, Carver preferred this temporary "military rule."

From an intellectual standpoint, it was better than Carver could have hoped for. After all, he had originally been prepared to address certain interests in the Circle of Magi and Orzammar, and leave Denerim in the hands of his superiors. Instead, Carver's deal with Oriana and his prioritising of the little people had led to Vaughan's arrest and the Couslands' assistance with Denerim's security, and Carver considered the protection of elven servants from rape worth the threat of military conflict between three noble houses. Ferelden's nobility had already been unstable long before Carver had arrived.

If Carver had to cut it down, his losses were ultimately the unknown but depressingly imaginable situations of the Circle and Orzammar. The burden of seriously acknowledging every ripple of his actions would otherwise drive him insane.

Urien shared Loghain's impression of the kingdom's situation. "My idiot son dares lose control of Denerim!?"

Carver didn't respond to Urien's expectant, intense expression. At the end of the day, Carver's duty was to share information, not opinions, and he had stated all the relevant facts concerning Vaughan Kendells' situation…and none of his personal analysis. Carver's judgement was validated by Urien quickly dismissing his existence with a gaze that glossed over as the arl sighed and pinched his nose.

"I must write letters," Urien excused himself to Loghain, and pivoted out of the tent.

A pocket of silence returned to Loghain and Carver.

The seasoned commander between them murmured lowly. "It sounds like the north needs you more than the south."

Carver didn't hear a question, so he didn't answer.

Loghain looked at him. "There is respect in the quill as there is in the sword, Ser Carver. Anyone can pick up a blade; not so wit."

"Let the mabari have respect, Teyrn," Carver curtly replied. "I shall not leave Ostagar regardless."

Loghain wasn't impressed. "I shall pretend that you are not the dunce you seem determined to imitate, and assume you know where you are best served. Enlighten me, then, why you wish to wield steel for the king even knowing this."

Carver sighed. Without sounding crazy? "The royal line is Ferelden's lifeblood. I would be honoured beyond description to protect it."

Loghain stared at him with a frightfully unreadable gaze, before the teyrn appeared to come to a conclusion. "Inform Ser Cauthrien of her new duties and receive your post from her. Dismissed."

;

Finding Cauthrien proved as difficult as when Carver had navigated his way across camp for the war tent. The southern ruins of Ostagar's fortress were occupied past its limits, so that legions under different banners spilled out into the Korcari Wilds around them. A fence of wooden spikes separated the southern face of camp from the direction of the darkspawn infestation, while the northern end of the fortress was starkly vacant save for the soldiers preparing the Tower for signalfire, and the patrolmen guarding them.

In the fashion of Cailan's impressionability, the king's tent and the war tent stood at the foot of Ostagar's fortress among the commoners. The fenced area of camp was crowded, but Carver had little trouble locating Cailan.

The king was chatting up soldiers and wardens in the latter's huddle of tents with ease, as if Cailan was a born beam of sunlight. The crowding around him markedly differed from plain tightness, as Fereldens were drawn to the king's easy confidence, and the Wardens had no hardship being amicable with him. Carver passed a quartermaster, a servant elf, and a lay sister before he reached the halfway point of camp and picked out Maric's Shield uphill. They were settled in Ostagar's solana.

"Ser Cauthrien," Carver called.

The captain was accepting a report from Ash Warrior scouts. She nodded to the courier and glanced up at Carver's arrival. "Ser Carver."

"Orders from Teyrn Loghain." Carver slowed to a stop and passed Rhiannon's letter. "Brief Nails for succeeding your role. You're wanted in Denerim."

Cauthrien opened the letter to be greeted with paragraphs of tight writing, and shuffled it under the scout report. Carver handled small details; Cauthrien only worked with the big picture. "Received. Fetch Ser Nigel from the Warden recruits - I understand the Grey Wardens recently conscripted a knight, a cutpurse, and a mage of noteworthy features. Return here for your post when you're done."

"My post…?"

"Will be assigned on your return." Cauthrien looked at him flatly.

Hurry up and wait, essentially. Carver saluted and ran to cross the entire camp again. That darned Nails - why couldn't the knight flirt with a Chantry sister? Then he'd be at the sacellum or infirmary instead of the front of camp.

At least Cauthrien's comment enlightened Carver on the path Duncan had taken out of Highever. The warden must have followed the eastern road by Lake Calenhad for Ostagar, and passed by the Circle Tower to recruit a mage on the way. Carver already knew from his past life that the knight and cutpurse whom Cauthrien had mentioned were Ser Jory and Daveth. They were two examples of people Nails hadn't pursued before, but there was a first for everything.

"Hey, you!"

Carver turned. Was that…Bryce Cousland's youngest? "Ser Elissa," he greeted.

The youngest of the late teyrn's children tilted her head at Carver as she approached. She stood tall and broad-shouldered, with a waterfall of brown hair past her neck. A shield and sword hung strapped to her. "You've passed me twice wandering through the Wardens tents. You looking for Warden-Commander Duncan?"

Carver closed his mouth, bewildered. "No, that's - I was looking for the warden recruits, if you've seen them."

She gestured. "Then you found us."

"…Us?"

"Well," Elissa revealed a small bonfire behind her, "there's me, then Faren Brosca, and Solona Amell. Duncan recruited us. I understand we have one more in number, but he's off fetching Warden Alistair."

A red-haired dwarf with a tattoo under his eye dispassionately flicked a gaze up from where he sat sharpening a knife, and a black-haired mage next to him timidly nodded in greeting. Carver whipped his gaze back to Elissa.

A knight, a cutpurse, and a mage.

Maker.

;

A/N: Updates are going to start slowing down, but due to real life and not a lack of motivation on my part. I love reading everyone's comments! If I could download my thoughts straight into a Word document without need for proofreading, all of my fics would update a lot faster, haha. Unfortunately, we don't live in that timeline.