Carver eyed a window of the office he was in.
The door swung open, revealing Nails.
Carver slumped in his seat behind a desk. "What," he demanded flatly.
Nails snorted and closed the door behind him. "There are so few of us Shielders left, Postboy. No way am I losing one through the window."
"I wasn't thinking of running," Carver muttered. "Yet."
A mountain of papers crowded the desk before him, covering possibly every acre of Ferelden that required attention. Cauthrien's army of secretaries had dumped the madness on him the moment he had returned to Denerim. Queen Anora herself had ordered him to enter Cauthrien's old office and address the paperwork.
Carver set his quill down and pushed an ink well aside. "The next captain should be resolving these. Or you."
Nails clicked his teeth. "Postboy, I had to lead an army while Teyrn Loghain was gone to Denerim and the king was bedridden. Don't you dare turn down this promotion. I'm literally here because of you. Besides, I have enough work on my plate."
Carver held up some papers. "I have recommendations for the next captain––"
Nails pushed his wrist down. "That wasn't a request, Ser Carver."
"This is tyranny."
"You gave me the power."
Carver crumpled up the recommendations and tossed them into a waste bin. His aim was improving.
"You missed the king's celebration," Nails remarked, "and his survival of the Joining. Of course, no one but the Wardens and Teyrn Loghain attended the latter, but Satin says the queen had welcomed her husband home enthusiastically."
"Of course," Carver echoed. "After all, one wouldn't be eager to see Warden Elissa and Faren after horribly flirting with them many months ago."
"Practically a year ago," Nails defended. "Cut me some slack, Postboy. I haven't had the free time to tap anything since my promotion. A man has needs!"
Carver's lips quirked. "Satin's sister is always available."
"To cut my balls off," Nails muttered. "At least the king and queen are happy."
Carver tugged at the middle of a paper pile. As a last favour before the final battle, he had asked Morrigan to use blood magic on Anora, who had consumed a pinch of ashes, and restore her fertility. Given Cailan was "early" in his wardenhood comparatively to Fiona, and he was married to an untainted woman, it was possible for the couple to conceive. Where Morrigan had gone after fulfilling her promise, Carver couldn't say for sure, and that was how they both preferred it.
Wynne, Shale, Sten, Faren, and Oghren were also long-gone. Wynne and Shale had departed for Tevinter to research how to restore Shale to a dwarven body, while Sten had a report for the Antaam in Seheron. Faren and Oghren, meanwhile, had travelled to Knotwood Hills with the Legion of the Dead once they had heard of Kal'Hirol. The former smithing centre of the Empire was too valuable a thaig to abandon, and Orzammar seemed inclined to agree. The kingdom's warrior caste was going to coordinate with Faren's party on clearing out a part of the Deep Roads that connected Kal'Hirol to Orzammar, and restore the thaig as a part of the kingdom.
Leliana hadn't returned to Denerim with Carver, either, instead opting to help Solona lead the wardens in Vigil's Keep back to Soldier's Peak. Sigrun and Velanna were following them.
After the events at Amaranthine, Solona had offered Velanna a blank journal and recognised, "You let humans live when you find logic in it."
The observation had been an olive branch.
Velanna had accepted the journal. The former First was determined to record her people's history – not just old stories, but present memories. Velanna decided that it was time for the Dalish to stop clinging to the ancient past and appreciate the present. She no longer questioned Solona's leadership.
Duncan, Loghain, and most of the Wardens had also already left for Soldier's Peak, including the forces in Ostagar. The Orlesian Order and Orlais' soldiers were likewise headed for the border, bringing with them stories about the Champion of Ostagar and the Hero of Ferelden. According to Duncan, Theron had been curious about Elissa and Alistair's mission under Carver, and was disappointed he couldn't help in the battle at Denerim. Soldier's Peak was going to soon be witness to a memorable reunion between two living legends.
Carver frowned. "Why aren't Warden Elissa and Alistair out of Denerim yet?"
"You can't get rid of the Hero of Ferelden," Nails mocked. "When she and her fellow warden insist that they watch your promotion ceremony, the Crown can hardly complain."
"Who let them believe there would be a ceremony?"
"The Crown."
Carver groaned and left his chair, heading for the door. Might as well hurry and be done with it. "Inform His Majesty and the wardens that I'm ready."
Nails followed him out with a chuckle. "Ferelden is recovering from a bloody blight. The soldiers and nobles who know you, know you are needed – if you would just stay still for two seconds."
"So you chain me down to Denerim through responsibilities," Carver recognised, much to his chagrin.
Nails patted him on the back. "You're getting it."
The ceremony was a quick affair, attended by few outside those Nails described. The colour had returned to Cailan, last Carver had seen him. The king could rarely be convinced to release his queen's hand from his grip. They were disgustingly affectionate, even as Anora appeared outwardly unperturbed by her husband's behaviour. They resembled a golden retriever and his master. Although, Anora was often the first to hold hands.
While Nails chatted with Satin and Rhiannon and slipped sovereigns between themselves, Elissa, Alistair, Zevran, and Dog approached Carver. The assassin had naturally stolen into the event unnoticed.
"I should have snuck out after you," Zevran referred to the festival.
Carver greeted Dog with a ruffle of his ears. "Trust me, you missed nothing worthwhile."
"I heard about a broodmother," Alistair lowered his voice. "Duncan's keeping the details of Amaranthine quiet, along with Arl Nathaniel, but what I've heard so far has been distressing."
The Grey Wardens had been a private sort even before the blight. It was doubtful that Alistair or even the higher-up wardens in Orlais would be able to hear of much more.
Carver straightened up and grimaced. "All that matters is that it's over. Be gentle with Solona, when you can."
Elissa sighed. "I wish we didn't have to leave."
"You have many Joinings to complete in Soldier's Peak," Carver reminded, "along with an archdemon's carcass to safely store away and gradually destroy. I'm sure Warden Avernus would be ecstatic. The Ferelden Order has much to do."
"How about you, Zevran?" Elissa turned. "You said you were planning to return to Antiva and become a Talon."
Alistair blanched. "Wait, you're serious?"
Zevran smirked. "I might entertain myself on the way there."
Carver crossed his arms. "Don't look at me. I'm grounded." They looked at him. "I'm not a child."
Elissa snorted. "Oh, I know it. Who do you think handheld us through ending the blight? I just have regrets." She gently pulled Carver's collar down to expose a scar on his neck. "If I had been smarter or stronger…."
Carver tugged his collar back up. "I was careless. I could have been more self-aware."
"You could have died," Elissa corrected.
"You didn't know he would be ambushed with me," Zevran reminded. "Besides, if you keep at the subject, he'll sit you down for a discussion."
Alistair rose a brow. "Is that what he did before the battle at Denerim?"
It had been a short discussion that ran along the same vein as Wynne's. Zevran and Carver had settled on addressing the original Carver as "Carver," and someone else as "Carv." In turn, Carver could call his dear friend "Zev."
Carver and Zevran shared a small smile.
"I suddenly don't want to know," Alistair flipped his tone.
Elissa stretched an arm out for a hug, and Carver stepped into an embrace. "Wardens aren't supposed to maintain political relationships outside of the Order."
They parted, and Alistair replaced Elissa. "So tell us the moment you get fired, alright?"
Carver released Alistair and turned to Zevran.
The assassin hugged him. "I know, live for myself and all that."
"You'll be a great Talon," Carver said.
"The deadliest."
"The deadliest," Carver agreed. They separated, and Carver crouched down before Dog, running a hand down the mabari's head. "You're a good boy, Dog."
"Borf!"
He stood up, clearing his throat. With a last nod, Carver turned away.
Ferelden indeed had much to recover from, with the blight's end. The king's army was once again reduced to just Ferelden's standing army while nobles and their manpower returned home to their lands. Soldiers laid down their arms and picked up farming tools. At word of rare materials in Vigil's Keep – including a fresh dragon egg and the bones of an ancient dragon – the blacksmith Master Wade and his husband packed up and temporarily moved to Amaranthine, eventually crafting Nathaniel a longsword that sang with power.
Labelled "Vigilance," the golden blade became Ferelden's own Summer Sword, and Master Wade rose as his generation's Vercenne of Halamshiral. Vigilance was a beautiful masterwork whose subtle, draconic iridescence separated it from merely gilded blades. Though Nathaniel tried to pay Wade for the work, the smith accepted only the honour of working with such rare materials, and the sword joined Nathaniel's bow as heirlooms of the Howe family. Ironically enough, Nathaniel subsequently reached out to Carver for advice on how to wield a longsword, while Carver requested pointers for how to wield a longbow. They exchanged a few letters, then vocal words when the young arl visited Denerim upon Cailan and Anora's announcement of a new bannorn.
The world itself seemed to stir when the Theirins named Kallian Harthon the bann over Denerim's alienage and the old Grey Warden compound. The area was now collectively named Adahlan, with Kallian's heraldry a painted tree to symbolise the vhenadahl. As the first elf to join nobility, Kallian was pleased to move with her husband, father, and cousin into her own property, from which her cousin Shianni also managed the alienage with Hahren Valendrian. Merchants without a guild licence and citizens of low income districts answered to and placed their faith in Kallian, who had once been one of them.
After the event, Nathaniel returned to Amaranthine to reveal the truth about the tragedies in the Pilgrim's Path. The young arl delivered a moving speech before a gathering of his citizens about human history, Dalish history, and the circle of hatred, humbling all who heard. Even the stiff Bann Esmerelle grudgingly acknowledged the public's positive mood regarding Nathaniel, and ceased her vocal quibbles over Amaranthine's redistribution of guards. Outside the arling, nobles' opinions of the young arl improved.
Carver also slogged through seemingly endless work, attempting to restore the numbers – and with them, the ability – of the king's army. He oversaw soldiers' training, assisted with the royal palace's security, and guided the neverending search for Rendon Howe and his traitorous legion. On top of it all, Carver also worked to restore communication with Gwaren, Ferelden's most prosperous port that had fallen silent after the Clash at Ostagar. The teyrnir thankfully turned out to have survived the blight due to points Carver had considered in the beginning of the war. With new patrol routes through the Brecilian Passage, and merchants no longer averse to docking in Ferelden, Carver saw to Gwaren's steady recovery.
The question of a new teyrn, however, remained unsolved. For the moment, the royal family managed Gwaren, leaving Fergus Cousland as Ferelden's only highest-ranking noble.
Gwaren had originally started off as Orzammar's centre of salt trade with the surface, way back when, and now primarily prospered from its abundant fish and timber. When Orzammar restored Kal'Hirol as a thaig, King Bhelen invited King Cailan over for a banquet. Faren, Oghren, the Legion, and the warrior caste had discovered a record of casteless dwarves who had fought to defend the thaig in the First Blight – a record now immortalised by the Shaperate. Bhelen seized the opportunity to celebrate the deceased casteless' honour, and Orzammar's close economic relationship with Ferelden while he was at it. He used Gwaren as a reminder of the nations' long positive relationship.
For better or worse, Cailan declined the invitation because Anora was discovered pregnant. Delight swept across the nation – partly for the couple, partly at the royal family's new stability.
Carver barely had the time to partake in that celebration, either. Since he was already in the captain's chair, he decided to set up an academic expedition to Frostback Basin. Professor Bram Kenric and his assistant Colette from the University of Orlais spearheaded the quest, motivated by their deduction of historic evidence that Inquisitor Ameridan had spent his last moments in the overgrown wilderness.
While Carver didn't personally attend, he ordered his soldiers to peacefully facilitate communication between the scholars and the Avvar settled in the basin's mountains. So long as the expedition group agreed to stay out of the Stonebears' territory, or sent word ahead that they were cutting through, there would be no trouble. Everyone's patience proved fruitful when Bram and Colette found an altar that Ameridan had created, a monument that Avvar in the Divine Age had carved out of respect to Ameridan and his close allies, and the final resting place of an elven dreamer mage suspected to have been Telana.
The altar proved that Ameridan had revered both the Maker and the Creators. The artefacts in Telana's resting place additionally proved that the formerly dismissed incomplete texts about Ameridan's elven lover were correct. The monument even placed Telana as Ameridan's wife. Carved inscriptions on all locations pointed to a mage of both passion and faith.
The last nail on the coffin was, apparently, chemically-tested rock and dirt samples that placed these finds at exactly the same time as Ameridan's disappearance. His body was never found, nor was the reason for his death. Regardless, Inquisitor Ameridan, closest friend to Orlais' founding emperor, had undeniably been an elven mage.
Bram and Colette's published findings turned the academic community on its head, starting from the renowned University of Orlais. The indisputable facts lead to widespread changes in belief of accepted history, particularly of those who claimed relations with Thedas' last inquisitor. Carver quietly sent a letter via Oriana's family to the Imperial Palace on how to handle Clan Ghilain's demands for reparations from the d'Ameride family, who had profited from their claims.
Briala stepped forward in the political arena as her own person for the first time, convincing the d'Amerides to spare themselves prolonged embarrassment by quietly paying full reparations. It was the beginning of many opportunities Briala seized to develop a status as the negotiator between Orlais' nobility and elven population.
At one point, however, a soldier had to leave his desk.
Thus, Carver turned his gaze northward….
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..
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…
Another day in the docks, another day paying couriers to run messages between Varric and his contacts. So far as the City Guard knew, Varric sought his darling missing brother. What Varric intended to do upon completion of his search was strictly a family matter.
Regardless, Varric knew he could find an errand boy or girl for a decent price in Kirkwall's docks. The city-state technically allowed its citizens access to all public areas, so the jobless of its citizens often loitered outside the harbormaster's office where a wealthier individual could send them on an errand across the city for coin. These were the unskilled or the unlucky, whose place in marketable society was already filled by someone who had lived in Kirkwall longer or was better at the craft. Ever since the Fifth Blight, most errand boys or girls were Ferelden refugees, sometimes as young as thirteen or as old as seventy. With fresh reputations, they were more trustworthy than longtime dawdlers — and thieves — of the docks, leading to a rise of Kirkwall natives in Darktown.
And a rise in crime.
Which Kirkwall's harbormaster would have none of. Master Liam already suffered enough work, charged as he was with Kirkwall's water channel, lighthouse, the Twins that guarded the channel, Kirkwall's public docks, and the quays meant for transportation between Kirkwall's mainland and the Gallows. When merchants weren't harassing Liam to lower the tolls or cut them in, Templars were overstepping their bounds regarding loose apostates, and guards were clashing with Liam's marine staff in search of smugglers. On top of it all, Liam had to send daily updates to the viscount's office on the Qunari's movements.
Spying on Qunari was easy.
It didn't stop Liam from ageing the three years since their arrival.
Varric respected Liam, he really did. One man and seventy marine staff were in charge of a whole harbour – which happened to equate to the protection of an entire city-state. However, Liam's staff were weak to bribes, up to even Liam's assistant, Aden. If someone with big pockets didn't want errands being ran to their rival's house, they could harass couriers who went there – or, they could pay Aden to dissuade errand boys and girls from taking up jobs for their rival. Such dissuasion usually involved physical harassment. Which was why Varric paid Aden handsomely for keeping his errands open. Varric didn't want to chance being outbid by someone in the Merchant's Guild who sought to cull Varric from his information network.
Ergo, being Varric was expensive.
Of course, this meant little when House Tethras owned auction houses for commodities from livestock to real estate, had investments in mercenary companies and smithies, ran half a beet plantation in Rivain, and owned the money lending industry. Currency in every sense of the word began and ended with House Tethras – or, just Varric, now that Bartrand had vanished with the wind. Varric's brother had already owned the most prominent seat in the Merchant's Guild before the expedition to the Deep Roads; indeed, that expedition was originally going to be the final means to break House Tethras free from the guild and function as its own independent conglomerate. Now, Varric kept his guild seat merely out of acknowledgement that he didn't share Bartrand's gift or interest in business beyond the strictly necessary.
Which meant that while Liam tried to prevent crime in his office, Aden harassed refugees outside his office, and Varric only knew to throw money at the situation.
When Aden itched for more coin, he would also spend time in the office's antechamber filtering errand requests from colourful characters or new faces he might be able to bribe. Varric joined the short line in the antechamber to send money along a courier to one of his contacts, check on the status of his search for Bartrand. Remind his contact why they were helping him. Varric wasn't on Aden's colourful list, but he had to regularly pass his bribes to Aden once a month. Today was the day Varric would have to wait in line.
A line that had slowed to a stop.
Varric glanced towards the front. Aden was engaged with a figure in a set of plate armour that had evidently been smithed in one batch, rather than assembled through different pieces over time. The worn-down ensemble lacked crests or layered cloth typical in uniforms such as the City Guard's or the Templars'. However, it also lacked eclectic touches found in self-made mercenaries like Garrett's red butt-cape or Anders' feathers. The self-discipline in the figure's posture firmly dissuaded any impression of a thug.
Aden's sour expression quickly explained the odd visual: Ferelden.
A country too modern to lack independence, yet too primitive to be considered a world power. Ferelden's standing military, the king's army, couldn't afford to issue unique armour except when it came to small-enough units, like the lauded Maric's Shield. Aveline herself had arrived at Kirkwall in no more than a tunic and studded leather to show for her contribution to the king's army. Then again, Aveline had been serving under one lord, before King Cailan had called all his countrymen to arms under the expanded "king's army."
Varric peered at the person near Aden again. Armour by Ferelden smiths hardly complemented one's figure, but did serve their purpose — better, in fact, than their appearance would suggest. As a result, Ferelden's soldiers usually ended up all looking the same regardless of gender. Varric didn't personally have the experience to speak of Ferelden with such familiarity, but given recent world events, it was hard for anyone to not have heard details of the country by now. Kirkwall's abundance of Ferelden refugees shared facts about their homeland often. And loudly.
The stranger in line was easily tall for a human male, and could probably see over Aden's head if they wanted to. Counter to Kirkwall's customs, the stranger was wearing a helmet indoors; from what Varric could see of the person's failing conversation with Aden, the stranger's hand also tended to rest on the pommel of a sheathed greatsword. They were either rightly wary of Kirkwall's residents, or unaware of the paranoid habit. Regardless, the stranger was visibly invested in convincing Aden to grant them access to couriers.
Finally, the stranger side-stepped the line to wait for Aden's lunch break, conscious of stalling the line but determined to achieve their goal. If Varric wasn't sure already, the stranger was definitely a new face to Kirkwall's docks. Regulars already knew that they could skip past Aden to hire a courier, so long as Aden didn't catch them.
Varric reached the front of the line and eyed the armoured stranger standing aside, waiting. "You have yourself a barnacle, Harbour Assistant."
Aden shrugged. "A miserly one. Next!"
The stranger straightened up in alarm when Varric handed Aden a hefty bag of coins and strolled for the antechamber's door. Varric didn't fear bribing people in broad daylight. The sight of Bianca usually discouraged wild ideas.
Varric did smirk at the armoured stranger as he left.
Sure enough, the Ferelden followed him out. "Were those…sovereigns?"
Synonymous with gold, the largest unit of monetary measurement above copper, then silver.
"You're on this side of the docks," Varric commented, "which means you've been granted entry into the crowded city that is Kirkwall. If you aren't smart, you're only going to lose more money from here."
Sea voyages were costly. Based on the stranger's hesitance to pay Aden the "courier fee," they must have already spent half their money moving from the ship to the docks like any other refugee. Unfortunately, most of Kirkwall's current job openings involving muscle were of the risky, criminal variety.
However, the Bone Pit was always in need of miners, and Garrett had a fifty-fifty stake in it. The Ferelden labourers could always use an able-bodied fighter among them.
The stranger shook their head in disbelief before Varric could mention the pit. "Kirkwall uses Ferelden sovereigns as currency? I suppose given the prevalence of dwarven trade through the Merchant's Guild…. No, I'm making assumptions."
Varric stalled. "You're familiar with the Merchant's Guild?"
The stranger stopped alongside him, wary of his tonal shift. "They invented wheelchairs, didn't they?"
Varric subtly eyed the busy crowd of errand boys and girls, marine staff, and dockworkers outside the harbourmaster's office where they stood. The ambient noise easily swallowed Varric's conversation from curious ears. He could probably drop someone and walk off without being noticed.
"Don't let them hear you say that," Varric snorted, outwardly friendly. "Every family has a stake in placing themselves ahead of the rest, and claiming patents is the best way to do it. Generalising a product's inventor risks insulting the real one."
The stranger didn't display familiarity with Varric's words, but the Guild never hired merely anyone, even for an errand. The stranger's blank body language forced Varric to concede that he needed to read their face to be certain.
"I'm Varric Tethras," Varric shared with a smile. "Everyone's favourite merchant dwarf born and raised in Kirkwall."
The stranger nodded. "Ser Charis, of the king's army."
No last name, then. No interest in Varric's socio-economic standing, either.
Varric would also be very impressed if the Merchant's Guild bothered to hire an active Ferelden soldier from across the sea just to reach Varric. Some guild members were playing a game of risk where at any moment, the Tethras with a seat could change from Varric to his cunning brother. A tentative question floated around concerning which brother would be most lucrative to back. It was likely that Ser Charis' stiff, wary posture simply sourced from the same soldier handbook that mandated Charis' regulation-tight and polished armour.
Better safe than sorry, though. Bartrand's trail had been last scented in Rivain where Varric couldn't penetrate the information web there, but Varric wouldn't put it past his brother to then unexpectedly hide in Ferelden and manipulate its soldiers.
Varric chuckled. "Oho, a knighted soldier? Any chance you've come to whisk the Fereldens back home?"
The title of "ser" referred to Ferelden soldiers above a certain rank, though as Varric understood it, the rule excluded some sergeants and all non-knighted commoners. Charis' lack of correction confirmed that the Ferelden was indeed knighted.
Charis hesitantly intoned, "There is a process in place for those who wish to return."
Varric recognised the speech patterns of the overworked and underpaid. "Hey, excessive workplace demands exist in every country. No one can blame you. I can see you're just obviously not from around here."
Charis self-consciously touched his helmet. "Is this uncommon?"
Varric encouragingly hummed. "Sure, the guardsmen and Templars are a mix of those with and without helmets in casual settings. If you speak to people without the helmet, though, I assure you that you'll have an easier time getting others to warm up to you."
Charis' tone turned uncertain. "So if I'm not a Templar or a guard, then I would conversely stand out."
Varric didn't refute the interpretation.
Charis surprised Varric by – hesitantly – removing his helmet.
The sight underneath shocked Varric into a bark of laughter. "Bloody ashes, if you just apologise to that assistant, he doesn't stand a chance!"
Charis blinked. "What?"
"Aden has a weakness for pretty boys." Varric watched the soldier's expression. "…What, no one's called you pretty before?"
Charis sharply exhaled, both relieved and flustered. "N-Not to my face."
Heavy, dark brows; a comma hairstyle; and bright blue eyes seen in pure-blood Marchers. Families were known to mix around the Waking Sea, leading to grey or cornflower blue eyes in coastal ports like Denerim. It was striking to see pure Marcher blue in another's gaze. Combined with a tall, lean physique and his reticent nature, Charis could easily be the fifth son of a noble gone to join the king's army. He was also around the age that most of such soldiers received a knighthood.
"Where are you headed?" Varric jovially asked. "I can give you a quick tour of the city."
"No need." Charis shifted, his hand on his pommel. It was always resting there. "Though I appreciate the offer. Farewell, serah."
Varric watched the textbook soldier quickly vanish into the crowd, before he pulled aside an errand boy and dropped coins in his hands.
"Follow him."
;
A/N:
Since Act 2 starts three years after Act 1, Carver is now 21 years old. Still on the young side for a knight, but not unusual. Garrett is 28.
For reference, the events of DAO and Awakening all occurred within twelve months, from 5:30 to early 5:31. DA2's Act 2 starts in 5:34.
Also, even though it's custom to address people by their surnames outside Ferelden, I'm having Varric mentally refer to Hawke by his first name. I think it sounds more natural than Varric referring to everyone by their surname if they have any, like Aveline Hendyr née Vallen.