"Taliesen," Zevran breathed.
The man's eyes crinkled at Zevran. A Spanish-Italian dialect suddenly flowed from his lips like a refreshing stream, every other syllable leaping with fondness. Then Taliesen gestured behind him, and the ring of bandits around Carver, Sten, and Zevran abruptly twitched to strike.
"Oh," Taliesen chuckled, breezing through an introduction in Common. "Don't mind them, Zev. They're just here to help me with a contract. I've been assigned the little bird standing behind you."
Zevran turned to meet Carver's eyes. His gaze trailed down to Carver's hand resting on Summer Sword yet not unsheathing it, then past Carver to where Sten hadn't drawn Asala either. It was evident that Zevran belatedly realised he hadn't drawn weapons at Taliesen despite the fact he had reflexively done so at Ignacio. Even though it risked their safety, Carver and Sten hadn't either. Carver was letting Zevran lead, with Sten following suit. It was a decision afforded by their experiences together.
They trusted Zevran.
Zevran turned to face Taliesen again. "You don't have a contract on these bandits themselves? Their armour bears the worn markings of the Howe legion."
Taliesen responded in dismissive Antivan, and the bandits shifted uneasily.
One of the bandits demanded, "What are you saying?"
Carver, meanwhile, felt his head explode. Of course Taliesen had a contract on the bandits he was using — just like he had one on Carver. While Carver and the former Howe soldiers fought each other to death, Taliesen could flit off to Antiva with his dear Zevran in tow and feed House Arainai's guildmaster an excuse to pardon Zevran from execution. Taliesen had lined up his three tasks to be completed in one fell swoop. Like Ignacio, the darn assassin could only be encountered in a situation set up for him to win.
Here Carver was, investing his best efforts to keep up with Ferelden's problems, while the assassins in Antiva were playing 3D chess.
Taliesen sighed. "I was telling my fellow Crow here that my priority is the boy knight you fallen soldiers hate so much."
The bandits drew their weapons. "That just means you'll kill us after him!"
Zevran nodded. "And I was saying that I've sworn an oath."
"—What?" Taliesen whiplashed.
Zevran slowly drew his shortswords, and Carver and Sten swiftly imitated him. "I've promised to protect my charge until I die or until he chooses to release me from my oath."
It was Carver's turn to look at Zevran in shock. "He? As in Warden Elissa?"
Zevran cheekily smirked at him. "You were there, Carver."
"No," Carver immediately rejected. "No way. Your life is your own — and no one else's, Zevran. You have no master but yourself. I release you from your oath."
"I thought you would say that," Zevran admitted, "though you must have noticed at one point that I would always shadow you when I could."
"Zevran," Carver pleaded, "don't force yourself into a blight for one person. Live for yourself!"
Zevran chuckled. "In the beginning, I wanted death. Only my oath kept me living, gave me time to realise how much someone can miss their homeland. The sights, the smells…." He lifted his gaze to Taliesen. "…The people."
Every word struck Carver like a physical blow in empathy.
Zevran continued. "Now I recognise that I'm someone else. I've changed. I don't live because of my oath — the time I've spent with the warden's party has taught me how to be alive. I pity you, Taliesen. The Crows' loyalty reward system can't substitute for love and support from others. I have people in my life who will never blame me for failing to meet an expectation, and will fight at my back till they draw their last. They take me as I am — and I too prefer them as they are. Should we encounter danger, we will stand together without having to speak a word."
Zevran readied a stance. "Just as we do now."
Taliesen's lips twisted regretfully. He responded in their shared language.
"I will see Antiva again," Zevran agreed, "as alive as I am now. Which means I won't return as a mindless Assassin."
Zevran was referencing the lowest rank in the Antivan Crows whose only function was to obey their superiors. Disobedience was rewarded with death.
The statement shocked Common out of Taliesen. "Have you picked up ambition while in Ferelden, Zev!? Aiming to rise to a Master — or Guildmaster!?"
Zevran shook his head. "At whatever point I will return, change will inevitably occur in the Crows. I'm different now. The Guildmasters, Masters, and my fellow Assassins like you will try to 'neutralise' my behaviour. No, Taliesen; the day Zevran Arainai returns to Antiva is the day House Arainai earns a new Talon."
Maker's breath.
Carver remembered how Zevran had once described Antiva's national defence:
The Talon of the Navy Staff.
The Talon of the Defence Staff.
Eight titles in total, each held by one of the Crows' strongest houses. And where did House Arainai stand, exactly? By Zevran's words, it seemed to have a Talon whom he intended to replace.
Either way, Zevran obviously didn't care. He didn't intend to revert to the person he had once been.
Taliesen came to the same conclusion as he swiftly threw a dagger that Zevran deflected. The street instantly burst with action.
Carver pointed with Summer Sword. "I have the five on the right!"
Sten jabbed with Asala, skewering a bandit. "Then I have the left."
Carver and Sten darted past each other and swung their swords, splitting the air. Compared to darkspawn in the Deep Roads, a handful of rogue soldiers in a city street were no more than tissue paper. The Howe loyalists in fact surprised Carver with their tenacity to lunge at the two of them. Rendon Howe had evidently paid the Crows for Carver's head out of sheer spite despite being on the run and wanting for money — though in all likelihood, Carver was simply more affordable to kill than the Couslands. The former Howe soldiers were expressing a rage that overrode their fear or any such rationality.
A bandit suddenly cried out before Carver's blade cleaved through him, and Sten and Carver warily refocused on their surroundings. Taliesen and Zevran were locked in a dance of flashing steel caught by the moon — their movements were otherwise invisible. Zevran's nimble footwork revealed that Taliesen had tossed caltrops in front of him and complicated the terrain between him and the bandits.
Sten picked up and threw a dead bandit over the caltrops.
Carver stepped on the corpse and leapt for the other side.
Taliesen cursed in surprise as Carver swung through where his head had been, Taliesen barely parrying a strike from Zevran. Past the latter, Sten could be seen throwing another body over the caltrops to allow Sten a clear path without having to jump.
Taliesen scowled at Zevran. "You were a good assassin."
Zevran redirected a blade to the ground. "You always cheated."
A shortsword split Taliesen's neck open at the same time a dagger nicked Carver's neck. They both fell.
"Braska — Sten!" Zevran swore.
Carver felt a fire bloom down his neck with white-hot agony as Sten ran into view. The qunari tore Carver's helmet off and leaned down to suck the venom out of his neck, spitting aside to repeat the process. Zevran hurried over and inserted a needle in Carver's neck before removing it.
Immediately, air sucked back into Carver's lungs. He focused all his thoughts on breathing. "Army…fortress…."
"Right." Sten grabbed Carver's arm and swung it over his shoulder, then hauled him up on his feet. The qunari dragged Carver to the army fortress as Zevran quickly cleared the way.
When they arrived in the barracks, some of the warden's party had been startled awake. At first, they didn't grasp the severity of Carver's limp form; Sten often carried a party member around to help with a sprained ankle before a mage could heal it.
Morrigan quirked a brow at the bruise on Carver's neck. "…Dare I ask?"
Alistair blushed. "I heard there was a commotion in a nearby brothel."
Carver gasped, "This…Sten…."
Said qunari dumped Carver on a bed.
Alistair spluttered. "Wouldn't have been my first guess—"
The open cut in Carver's bruise could be clearly seen by the new angle. The rest of the party jumped to their feet.
"What happened!?" Elissa gaped.
Zevran crossed gazes with Elissa. "My past."
Elissa straightened in recognition and hastily left for another room in the barracks that the warden's party had occupied. She returned with Leliana in tow holding a wooden box. Leliana smoothly drew a chair up next to Carver and opened the box to reveal a poisoner's kit, while Zevran quickly joined her with his own tools. They hurriedly relieved Carver of his armour and anything else restricting. Carver could feel his flesh swelling where the venom had spread. He was vaguely aware of Morrigan drawing up another chair nearby and pulling out some light reading so she could watch him suffer at her leisure.
Elissa leaned over Morrigan's shoulder and furrowed her brows at Carver in diagnosis. "Soldier's Bane?"
Leliana and Zevran whipped their gazes at Elissa, startled.
Elissa crossed her arms. "Please, I was a teyrn's daughter."
Soldier's Bane was a toxin that Thedas's nations would inevitably try to ban in times of war. Any military figure with the responsibility to negotiate its prohibition also knew that it was too effective for a lasting pact to be had.
Leliana wiped Carver's wound clean and applied a bandage. "He's clear for now; Zevran injected the antivenom almost instantly. However, I don't have enough materials to treat the serum sickness disease if Carver contracts it."
Alistair rubbed his eyes and collapsed on the next bed over. "How long does it take for someone to get it?"
"Symptoms can manifest four to ten days from now," Leliana answered, glancing at Morrigan. "We need to prepare to treat his symptoms as soon as possible. Morrigan's healing will help. Ultimately, though, Carver will have to fight the venom's aftereffects and the serum sickness disease on his own."
Zevran cleaned up his tools. "There was a Crow supplier in the market during the day."
"Cesar?" Leliana deduced. "I'll talk to him tomorrow."
Elissa placed a hand on her shoulder. "Focus on monitoring Carver's blood pressure. I'll talk to Cesar tonight."
Alistair's brows jumped up as everyone watched Elissa move for the door. "You can't go alone!"
Zevran rose from his chair. "I'll help you find him."
Elissa nodded as Leliana squeezed Zevran's hand in empathy before letting him go. "Everyone grab some rest where you can," Elissa said, then left with Zevran.
Sten grunted in agreement and departed for the party's other room. Alistair settled in Zevran's former chair to rotate with Leliana through the night and track Carver's health.
Carver blearily blinked up at him. "How…did your sister…?"
Alistair sighed into his hands, debating if he should respond. Eventually, he accepted that Carver was stubbornly staying awake. "Elissa and I found her in the tavern that Oghren and Morrigan were in. Name was Goldanna, a barmaid."
Morrigan snorted at the memory.
Leliana murmured for Carver to take it easy. He spoke slower, nearly slurring. "Didn't…go…well?"
Alistair's voice softened. "She just wanted my money. I'm not — you know — I tipped her heavily, and the four of us left. She made it clear she didn't want to see me unless I had sovereigns."
Alistair wasn't a rich man. No one in the party really was.
The former Templar rubbed his eyes again. "Elissa pointed out the truth to me. I'm learning to harden my heart to protect it."
Leliana sweetly nudged him. "You're still a good boy at heart, Alistair."
A squawk answered her. "I'm not Dog!"
"Clearly," Morrigan muttered from behind her book. "We have a dog and Alistair is still the dumbest one in the party."
"I see you flipping through pages of herbs," Alistair accused. "Elissa beat you to diagnosing Carver's poison!"
Morrigan hurriedly corrected, "Poison must be ingested; you mean venom."
"You know what I mean!" Alistair defended.
"'Tis my curse to understand you," Morrigan drawled. "I've studied animals more complex."
Leliana giggled. "Just admit that Zevran knows his toxins better than any of us. We're fortunate he had an antivenom ready."
Morrigan sniffed. "This once, he displayed better survival skills."
Alistair cheered. "Woohoo, one for one-hundred!"
Morrigan snapped. "'Tis Zevran's win, not yours!"
The two of them bickered over Carver's head, their voices gradually washing out to whitenoise. Carver didn't realise his eyes had slid shut until sleep had completely claimed him.
"…Is this normal?"
"Fevers are one of many symptoms for the serum sickness disease. Carver is probably sleeping to fight it."
"He's barely lucid these days…."
Distant voices leaked through Carver's migraine, barely registering. His head throbbed with a violent resistance against any semblance of sanity. It hurt to wince.
The voices tenderly lowered in volume.
"His body is mistaking the antivenom as a foreign substance. Think a severe allergic reaction."
"Just severe, then?"
"Oghren…."
"I'll take over, surfacer. Catch up on sleep."
"You've been taking the most shifts—"
…
..
.
..
…
Humming.
…
..
.
..
…
The scent of paper, then the sound of it ruffling,
Like raven feathers….
A hand brushed Carver's hair out of his closed eyes. For a moment, he knew sweet relief.
…
..
.
..
…
"The woman's name was Rinna. We had been together, the three of us, though Rinna had been my first."
A cleared throat.
"Mine and Taliesen's."
Carver's bedside faintly dipped with drawn circles.
"I never told you the details about Crow training. Near the end, they put us on a rack to prove we can resist pain. I'll call it what it was: torture. I'm proud to have passed. Still, I'm right about Taliesen — his only strength was his loyalty, no martial or strategic skill whatsoever."
"He didn't regret killing Rinna with me. He probably didn't regret trying to kill me, either."
"Like any twisted person, Taliesen was insecure and scared of the world. Half of the Crows are the same."
"You and the others made me different."
…
..
.
..
…
Obnoxiously loud snoring. A heavy weight at Carver's feet twitched into rapid motion, before its energy tapered off.
A jerk near Carver's elbow. "Ugh, Dog…!"
A snort on his other side. "He dreams of running."
An unintelligible groan. Two more snores eventually joined in.
…
..
.
..
…
"Kadan."
…
..
.
They didn't dream. They had no connection to the Fade.
There were only spaces in their memory,
And a bleary wakefulness.
They didn't know which they preferred. A foolish consideration, given they had no choice. Would they have made the same decisions that had brought them to this state? For Zevran? For the rest of the warden's party?
A foolish consideration, indeed.
Someone else suffered from a bleeding heart.
"No way," Elissa refused.
Carver fixed Summer Sword in its sheath. "The archdemon has been sighted on its way here. You know my mission. Ours."
Elissa would have none of it. "All the peoples of Ferelden are on their way here to fight."
Carver clicked his teeth. "It's enough that I missed the Landsmeet. I have to prepare us for the next crisis."
He had lost three weeks of time due to pain and swelling. There was a mountain of tasks to catch up on.
Elissa frustratedly turned to Satin. "You speak sense to him. I have to babysit your noble."
She stormed off.
Rhiannon frowned from behind her desk. "She shouldn't be allowed on this floor."
"Wardens are allowed anywhere in a blight," Carver corrected. "Besides, she's still warming up to Arl Nathaniel Howe."
"An altruistic and level-headed young man," Satin remarked. "Witty."
Rhiannon eyed him. "Don't you dare flirt with a noble. Sergeant."
Satin morosely muttered. "You'll fit right in with Maric's Shield."
Carver moved for the door. "I have to pick up my replacement helmet and make sure Warden Elissa doesn't bite Arl Nathaniel's head off. Keep me posted on the alienage."
Rhiannon and Satin's replies faded out the door as Carver navigated his way through the army fortress. The restored noble Lady Delilah and her husband Albert had moved to Amaranthine as Nathaniel's proxy while Nathaniel was helping Denerim prepare for the archdemon under Elissa's guidance. It had been Anora's tactic for quelling disgruntlement in court under the thin guise of promoting direct communication between the Grey Wardens and Ferelden's nobility. Anora had obviously seen something in the man as Carver did, since Nathaniel's performance was winning over even staunch critics like Fergus and — though she wouldn't admit it — Elissa.
The blight and events within it had utterly shattered the existing hairline fractures in Ferelden's political landscape. Just on the subject of provisioning drinking water, the queen especially had difficulty with three Bannorn lords and four Coastland lords. The Guerrins, Brylands — as in Arl Leonas Bryland — and Oswins — as in Bann Loren Oswin — couldn't come to an agreement given their lakes and rivers also controlled transportation. In the north, theDrydens and Howes controlled mountains from which freshwater flowed, but the rainy season had just passed; meanwhile, the Couslands and Kendells had more access to coastal rather than clean water.
That was just the topic of water. If the queen was struggling to keep her nobles in line, the situation was unquestionably volatile.
However, Nathaniel's utter gift for negotiation was soothing Ferelden's fractures back to health.
Given Nathaniel's unenviable and impossible position, the skill seemed born of survival. Regardless, Ferelden's pulse was leaving the red zone. People in charge were starting to reach agreements and move processes along. Wardens from Soldier's Peak, soldiers from Orzammar, Dalish warriors, and members of the Circle could expect an organised welcome in Denerim and pillows for each of their heads.
While Nathaniel's martial ability had yet to be seen, there was no denying his diplomatic brilliance. He would be a boon in peacetime. Carver doubted that Amaranthine would owe post-war reparations for long before it would start prospering in trade across the Waking Seas. In another timeline, Nathaniel's reputation would earn him an impressive, towering statue worthy of Orlais' approval.
Still, Carver had to focus on the immediate future. Loghain and Duncan were on their way north to add portions of the king's army and the Wardens' forces to Denerim's numbers. Nails and the Orlesian warden-commander had the southern line in the meantime, along with Cailan. The king was essentially an honorary commander, too far along in both his sickness and stubbornness to participate as more than a patient. Duncan had advised that the Line would be safer than Denerim based on the archdemon's presence alone. It was also worth noting that Gaspard had apparently returned at one point with Celene's seal of approval, allowing him to lead Orlesian soldiers into the south so long as they ultimately answered to Ferelden and the Grey Wardens.
It meant that Carver had to prepare for Loghain's and Duncan's arrival in the context of his private plans, and under a shorter deadline due to his recent illness. There was also the matter of facing the archdemon with the expected forces while avoiding as many casualties as possible. Throwing all they had at the fallen god was tempting, but meant nothing without a means to ground the winged nightmare.
Aerial firepower changed the tides of war every time. Carver could smite the archdemon and persuade it to attack Denerim in close quarters, but he would need to reach the darn dragon before that could happen.
Considering the behaviour of the warden's party, Carver would have to ask his companions for permission, first.
Carver sighed.
Right. Alternatively, Denerim could just catapult a warden at the archdemon and tear off its wings. Faren would leap at the chance. Elissa would probably wind the catapult back herself.
While Carver's mind raced with overlapping thoughts, he picked up a dragon scale helmet from Wade's Emporium and saw to it that the other drake and dragon armour pieces were delivered to the army fortress rooms occupied by the warden's party. Despite Wade's passionate insistence that simply working with such rare materials was a reward of its own, Wade's husband and Carver firmly agreed that Carver pay them handsomely in accordance with Wade's efforts. Falling utterly broke for what felt like the tenth time of his life, Carver then navigated his way through Denerim to check tasks off his list and ensure that the arling was efficiently anticipating the archdemon's arrival. The day seemed to slip through his fingers quickly when he realised he was going to eat lunch at dinner time.
To Carver's surprise, he found Morrigan alone in a tavern corner. The witch glared at anyone who thought to amicably approach her space, leaving a portion of the tavern eventually ignored.
Carver sat down at her table with a bowl of stew. "Making friends?"
"Do you eat anything heavier?" Morrigan criticised.
Carver glanced at his bowl.
"You pick at your food like a bird." Morrigan sipped her drink. "I would know. Even in Redcliffe, you only took advantage of the arl's soup stock. You should fatten up."
Carver neutrally spooned his meal into his mouth. "I'm not an animal."
"No, you're my friend," Morrigan curtly agreed, "which is why you should take better care of yourself. You're hardly a dense child — or Alistair."
"Morrigan," Carver murmured in realisation. He remembered a hand on his brow, easing his migraine with mana. "You used to be averse to touch."
She sniffed. "So were you."
Carver refilled his spoon. "Maybe neither of us had been comfortable with anyone until recently."
"I used to know little of friendships," Morrigan murmured, "never saw a need for them. I fully expected to be kicked out of the party once my personality was made known, and I won't apologise for my personality."
The woman had observed the warden's party as a raven for a long time. If Carver was to understand correctly, Morrigan had even been watching Elissa and the other wardens since further back, when the wardens had first stepped into the Wilds.
"When I discovered Flemeth's plans…" Morrigan's voice drifted. "The four of you didn't abandon me. You must have fought a terrible battle without hope of real reward — which describes much of our party's experiences for each other."
Carver shrugged. "Had you asked Elissa, I'm sure she would have also helped against your mother. Alistair and the others too, with more persuasion."
"That is what I don't understand." Morrigan looked at him. "One may imagine all sorts of results from when Flemeth told me to go with the wardens hunting the archdemon. The very last I expected was finding like minded-people with myself, and a friend in you."
Carver paused. Like-minded people…meaning Faren, Zevran, Sten, and Shale? It was a quick deduction based on how the pragmatists of the party often behaved on the same wavelength. Sometimes they were even as thick as thieves.
Carver hid a small smile. "Morrigan, I really…."
They sat in comfortable silence through Carver's meal.
Morrigan eventually found her voice. "Carver. I may not always prove…worthy…of your friendship, but I want you to know I will always value it."
Carver laid his spoon down. "It is I who doesn't feel worthy, honestly. I admire you and everyone else in our party." He gently met her gaze. "You're going to leave after the upcoming battle, aren't you."
Morrigan didn't tear her eyes away. "You knew."
"Deduced." Carver's lips twitched. He bowed his head. "I won't stop you. With all these forces gathering, the archdemon's death is certain."
The price was not.
Still, Carver continued. "The rest of us can handle its army should the horde persist after its death; I'll make it happen. Faren would be happy to spend a night with you before then. Just…don't disappear without saying goodbye."
Morrigan laid a hand on Carver's own. When Carver looked up, he found Morrigan's lips trembling like his hand.
Nearly one year felt like a lifetime.
Carver murmured. "We'll miss you."
Morrigan exhaled sharply. "If we cross paths again in the future…I won't pretend I don't know the lot of you."
;
A/N:
Yeah. Remember how someone else clenches their hand when they lie?
Fun fact: do not try to suck toxins out of a snake bite. I only had Sten do it because I couldn't resist the idea of the party mistakenly thinking Carver and Sten had shared a "moment."
I like to frame sad moments with humour. Can you tell? :D
:(