A/N: Posting a day early because I was inspired. Enjoy!

;

The mood at the army barracks was solemn. Even with the bustling of activity beyond the barrack walls, the interior felt as cold and silent as a grave. The warden's party sat facing each other in their shared room. No one was meeting gazes.

Carver leaned against the closed door he had come through with a frown. The atmosphere wasn't good.

Elissa murmured. "How could the archdemon come here so quickly?"

She already knew the answer, of course. Her reports to Duncan and his experience at the Line had helped him arrive to a disheartening conclusion. The darkspawn had finally created enough broodmothers to not only accost Ferelden's forces in the south, but also assist the archdemon with laying waste to the surface. The instant the horde's usual attacking numbers had dropped in Ostagar, Duncan had known that the darkspawn were preparing to hit another target. Insight from the Orlesian Warden-Commander Alisse had then revealed that based on Elissa's report on Orzammar, the archdemon's trajectory pointed to Denerim.

Loghain and Duncan's forces had barely left Ostagar in time to arrive at the capital.

Elissa glanced up at Carver. "Did you know?"

Carver turned his eyes away. He had been aware of the darkspawn's conceivable plan since the Clash at Ostagar.

However Elissa read Carver's response, she slumped back against the wall in acceptance. "This is it. If we have any regrets to voice, now is the time."

Zevran chuckled. "At this point, have enough deadly situations not wrung us dry of confessions?"

Oghren revealed, "I saw Morrigan sneaking off to Faren's corner of the rookery last I was there."

Alistair groaned. "Morrigan is getting laid before me on a night like this?"

Sten grunted. "The saarebas knows what she wants."

Leliana watched her fingers lace together and spoke softly. "I am a Chantry sister, Carver, so I'm allowed to hear confessions."

Heads turned his way — some in knowing, some in interest. At the very least, Leliana could sense that Carver was silently plagued with an internal conflict. The sister was offering him a safe place to speak freely, considering everyone present trusted each other.

Carver crossed his arms, slightly hugging himself while also closing his hands. "There isn't much to say. I'm a good soldier, but a terrible brother."

Elissa straightened. "The guardian said that you replaced the life of a babe in its crib and traded worlds that aren't winning hands. I'm not sure I grasped the poetry."

Alistair cut in. "Elissa—"

"It's alright." Carver sighed. "…I have a twin who is Fade-touched. Growing up with peers who didn't share her same anxieties, she has confessed to me before that she wished she was 'normal.' She never told Father, knowing it would break his heart."

Alistair gaped in realisation. "…You're from a family of apostates."

"Kadan," Sten exhaled. "No one would have guessed it, looking at you."

Carver stared at the ground. "Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if Bethany and I had traded places. Then I hate myself for it."

Bethany was female and well-loved. However, it didn't mean that someone else would have been the same if they had woken up in Bethany's place instead of Carver's. The thought was pointless to even conceive.

There was already a load to unpack behind someone else being a terrible brother.

Alistair shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder what I'd do if I had magic. It doesn't make me a thief for stealing a mage's chance at normalcy. Besides, you were just thinking about your sister."

Leliana softly stated, "The Maker doesn't make non-mages on a quota."

Carver couldn't pry his jaw loose, fearful he would betray a deeper truth. He watched a crack of sunlight from the barracks' window crawl across the floor like a sundial, counting down the time until night would fall. Then Denerim would have nine hours before the archdemon and its horde would arrive.

"Sten," Elissa suddenly spoke with inspiration. "What were you praying, back when you were in that cage?"

Sten looked at her. "A prayer for the dead."

"Oh." Elissa slumped. "Never mind. I'm not so naïve as to not recognise Denerim's position. I can't promise we'll triumph, nor can I prematurely celebrate our funerals like the Legion of the Dead. I'm not strong enough."

Elissa was playing with two necklaces that usually hung under her armour: the Warden's Oath, and Reflection.

Her voice mellowed. "Tomorrow will be a red dawn for all of us. I suppose I can only most fittingly say…in war, victory."

Alistair intoned, "In peace, vigilance."

"In death," Duncan echoed from the doorway, "sacrifice."

Alistair jumped up from his seat in surprise while Elissa slowly followed. The warden-commander stepped in with a nod to Carver in greeting as the rest of the room turned their heads.

"Well done," Duncan praised the two younger wardens. "You've completed the mission in the spirit of the Order. I have one more assignment to share with you in private before we head out tomorrow. Ser Carver, your commander seeks you as well."

Based on the context, Duncan was referring to the Lieutenant-Commander that was Loghain, seeing as Cailan was in the south.

Carver hesitated. "Teyrn Loghain must wait. I have a matter to attend to."

Half of the party stared at him in shock. Carver's chest was known to beat with a soldier's heart.

Carver passed Dog out the door, deftly petting the mabari. "Spiritual matters. Excuse me."

He strode quickly for his room and barely acknowledged the occasional salute as he passed by. It felt as if the same soldier's heart was lodged in Carver's throat. Even if he retreated to the shadow of a candle and a closed Chant of Light, the parts Carver didn't like about his situation would remain. The shapeless force that had given someone else a second life — a shared second life — couldn't give Carver the courage he needed to face those parts if he was rejecting said courage.

Nine hours.

Loghain could wait one.

Carver found himself exhaling into his personal desk and cracking open scrolls alongside tomes. Kallian had forwarded him an update on the Siren's Call's status, which sat on top of Satin's report regarding the Hawkes that Carver had been consuming in increments. It meant that Carver had also been borrowing from the Chantry and royal library concerning subjects from the socio-political to the arcane. Mostly by international authors.

The intellectual exercise helped soothe Carver's nerves. It was something he had been doing ever since he'd been a farmer's boy, and now a soldier in a city with resources.

Common was character-based, with each character representing a syllable, and no fixed rule on how to pronounce them except through memorisation. Adding a diacritical mark to the first character for "fi-ll," for example, would "strengthen" it into "pi-ll," but textual context could make them be pronounced as "fee-l" and "pee-l." A diacritic was also necessary for the second character to "soften" it from the default "la" to "ll," unless there was a following word that started with an L sound, in which case the appropriate syllabic character would be used.

No spaces were required in Common, either. This allowed it to be written vertically and still be as fast to read, though it seemed that only the ancient dwarves had taken liberal advantage of this, whereas increased trade with surfacers had gradually fixed Common to a horizontal plane.

In comparison, Orlesian struck closer to home without actually stirring nostalgia, since Carver had only been passingly familiar with French in his past life. Orlesian had a Latinised alphabet due to its Tevinter roots as opposed to Common with its dwarven roots. Orlesian could also only be written left to right, whereas the character-based Common could be written vertically. Ironically, while Orlesian and Common both didn't require spaces, Orlesian actually phonetically linked the consonants between its words, which in Carver's opinion made it make more sense, despite his personal ire at French's usual "logic."

Aside from the pronunciation rules typical of French, the only personal issue Carver could find in it was the fact that the Orlesian alphabet was in all lowercase. Punctuation was too easy to miss while reading it.

Tevene was apparently no better, being in all caps, but Carver at least found it slightly easier to learn how to read. To an extent. He had received an unpleasant surprise when he had once cracked open a tome on "magical theory" and realised that the closest scriptural and lexical relationship he had in all of Thedas were dead people, because modern Tevinters obviously were not it. Ancient Tevene was fine –– everything from law to medicine was best friends with Latin, after all –– and Ancient Tevene was essentially Classical Latin. Words like "ventriculus" retained their definition across worlds.

Modern Tevene, however, was a different animal. It was like New Latin and Middle English's child raised half-way by the cipher known as Elvhen before being sent back home. Carver could recognise some words, especially with context. A "magus" was "a person with helpful power," while a "dweomer" was "one who raises dust," or a dwarf. However, the ever-favoured curse "venhedis" –– cousin to the celebratory "femundis" –– could from Carver's best efforts only be connected to the Elvhen swear, "fenedhis." Guessing at its meaning was beyond the power of deduction, save for the fact that one could assume any elven word prefixed by "fen" referred to a wolf. It was a stretch to seriously consider a claim Carver had once read, where "dhis" meant dick.

It needn't be said that Carver had tried to read Elvhen when he could access it. Tried, and failed. Nevermind he had looked at romanised Elvhen before the written language itself.

Written Elvhen was cursive.

Cursive.

Carver felt like he should have been rewarded for putting in as much effort as he had.

Regardless –– in short, Carver grasped that Ancient Tevene had been the surface's lingua franca until the schism of the Chantry. Until then, the Anders region had sat in a corner playing with Ancient Dwarven, slowly witnessing their developed language of Common spreading through dwarven trade. By the time the Chantry had split, Thedas had been ready to embrace Common as the new universal language.

That had been more than five-hundred years ago. Not nearly as long as English's universality in Carver's native world, which might explain the lack of colourful accents in Common, but long enough for Carver's grasp of English to be useful. In fact, his curiosity noted that Thedas's greatest difference in accents was merely in Orzammar's American pronunciation and Starkhaven's Scottish, and even then, Starkhaveners were still easy to follow. They were nothing like the Scots of Carver's native world who might as well have been speaking tongues at him.

Phew.

Sten eventually found Carver wrapping his fingers around a quill instead of a sword hilt, contemplating coastal urban infrastructure and methods toward recovery.

"Kadan," Sten murmured as he approached the doorway.

Carver motioned for Sten to enter while sliding his reading material under an especially heavy volume of The Exalted Marches: An Examination of Chantry Warfare, by Sister Petrine.

"The Arishok asked, 'what is the blight?" Sten closed the door gently. "Staring into its eyes, I still have no answer — but perhaps you do."

Carver turned. "Religious and scientific study can only go so far."

Sten shook his head. "You have led us to this point. Thus, you know more than expected."

Carver pondered. "I assume you use the word 'know' differently."

"Shok ebasit hissra," Sten recited. "Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun. Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun."

"A prayer for the dead," Carver recognised softly.

Sten nodded. "To understand the world is to understand oneself, and mastery of oneself is mastery over the world. When I was ordered to investigate the blight, I did not expect to find an ashkaari like you."

Carver's brows furrowed. "I just found your sword."

"You have found a great many things," Sten corrected, "including my soul. You naturally grasp the Qun, 'what is to be,' and are ending the blight with such awareness."

From the lowest peasant's happiness to the largest battle's consequences, Carver was driven to right as much of the world as he could according to his unique knowledge. In whatever manner the Qunari and Carver defined "world order," it appeared that Sten sensed Carver's similar devotion towards achieving it.

Sten continued. "Yet, you are one person. Your efficiency would be greater should you have those around you obediently fall in line. Howsoever you look at the blight and gain understanding, few others evidently share the ability."

Carver hummed. "I can't force the world to listen to me."

Sten crossed his arms. "That is why invasions are a last resort in the Qun."

Carver paused, but couldn't dismiss Sten's sentiments — not without knowing that one of Thedas's possible, dire futures would drive anyone to desperate lengths. "I pray I'll never have to take forceful action. I understand, though. The Qun demands to hope for the best, plan for the worst."

Sten watched Carver, then curtly exhaled. "You are wasted here."

Carver's lips twitched. "Thank you. Sten?"

The qunari grunted.

Carver looked at him properly. "Why 'kadan?'"

Sten straightened. "I am a soldier, the hands and feet of the greater body. However, the Qun also knows that hands and feet have hearts. Mine resides in you."

Carver quieted. "What of your comrades whom you lost to darkspawn?"

"My heart was with them as well," Sten confirmed.

Carver unwittingly, faintly smiled. Even the Qun possessed romanticism. How could it not when Sten appreciated paintings: masterworks that were the product of diligent skill?

"I'm not sure Common has a fair equivalent," Carver regretted. "A 'friend' can be many things…but a 'brother' would stand by your side through adversity."

Sten huffed. "Your language is polluted with inconsistent meanings. You are not my brother."

"No," Carver agreed, "but you are one of mine."

Carver didn't specify the others of the warden's party or mention certain blood relations, and Sten didn't ask for him to elaborate. The qunari merely stood in the quiet of Carver's room with deep-set eyes.

Sten finally spoke. "You have brought us all this far, kadan. Do not doubt that."

"Teyrn Loghain."

"Ser Carver." Loghain straightened up from a requisition table and motioned in the direction of Ser Rhiannon's office.

For private conversations, they would customarily meet in Cauthrien's space. However, paperwork choked the sitting space out of Loghain's office, and Carver…didn't use Cauthrien's office. So Carver led the way to Rhiannon's currently vacant office where bookshelves formed tight walkways from the door to every corner of the room. Only the path to the desk wasn't a maze, and the two of them took advantage of it as Loghain leaned against the desk and Carver closed the door behind them.

"Forgive my lateness," Carver said, but Loghain dismissed it.

"I know how it is." Loghain crossed his arms and leaned back. "Queen Anora will be leading the king's army tomorrow morning as provisional Head-Commander. She, Warden-Commander Duncan, and I will cover battle strategy tonight and finalise it with the legion commanders and senior wardens ere dawn. I would have you present tonight, as I understand Warden-Commander Duncan has called on a Warden-Constable Gordon as his primary aide."

Carver's palm sweated. "Teyrn Loghain…."

"It will be a long night for several of us," Loghain acknowledged. "While I brought a few Shielders with me from Ostagar, you are the Shielder who gathered the peoples of Ferelden and tracked the archdemon with the Wardens. I would value a Shielder's input as my primary aide."

"Teyrn Loghain," Carver solemnly cut off. "I know you poisoned Arl Eamon."

Loghain stilled, then his gaze sharpened, cold and focused. He said nothing.

"I didn't want to suspect you," Carver sighed regretfully. "You're a good commanding officer, a good soldier. I was glad to see that no one in the king's army was sent to Redcliffe on flimsy orders before you left for Ostagar."

Carver summoned the courage to commit to what he had decided long ago.

"It wasn't until I found Foggy and Badger's corpses," Carver continued, "that I realised that Maric's Shield was my blind spot. We're always sent on odd tasks without set destinations, and a member of Maric's Shield would have had the authority to send my scouts back to Lothering claiming that the arlessa and lord were in good health. I only wish there hadn't been people with staunch anti-Orlesian sentiment in the group, that you would have found willing volunteers for your clandestine work. It is…truly a shame."

There was a pregnant pause.

"You don't cut corners," Loghain eventually remarked, voice dropping to quiet seriousness. There was a moment where they stared at each other and stood on the same plane. "You're a farmer's son with unmoving devotion to Ferelden and its king, yet you have an aptitude for the quill, whereas I can only swing a sword. …It is a shame."

"Is that why you knighted me into Maric's Shield?"

"Perhaps. I promote people for many reasons."

Carver shifted. He could know everything Loghain could and would have done in this timeline and others, but he'd never know what Loghain was thinking. No matter, Carver had to wrap this up. "Why did you do it?"

Loghain lifted a brow. "You were there when I read Arl Eamon's letter, Ser Carver."

Yes, but…fine. Carver would do the heavy lifting in Loghain's confession. "You wanted the Guerrin legion delayed," Carver reasoned. "The last thing Ferelden needed while its main military forces were in the Wilds was Arl Eamon welcoming Orlesian chevaliers into the kingdom by the thousands. You ordered Foggy and Badger to discreetly delay the Guerrin legion's march to Ostagar, so they drugged Arl Eamon into an artificial sleep. For such a delicate task, you would have been better off hiring Antivan Crows."

"I never intended the arl harm," Loghain corrected. "A sprained ankle would have been enough to discourage Arl Eamon from commanding his forces south. Ser Guthrie and Ser Brock –– or anyone, for that matter –– couldn't have foreseen the arl's mundane son engaging in blood magic. On that, Redcliffe has my sympathies."

Carver sighed. "Have you heard enough?"

Loghain blinked.

Elissa and Alistair stepped into view from behind bookshelves.

"…Wardens," Loghain curtly identified.

Alistair was frowning. "The royal court would never stand for this."

"And yet," Elissa curbed his tone, "Ferelden needs every sword hand it can get. As wardens, we must remember to exercise pragmatism where others would not."

"So we sit on this crime and do nothing?" Alistair gaped. "You can't honestly say that pragmatism dictates we leave someone willing to poison nobles as the commander of the king's forces!"

"I'm not saying that," Elissa returned. "It would be wise to keep this crime to ourselves until after the blight, but regardless, I've made a decision. Teyrn Loghain, when this blight is over, I'm conscripting you into the Wardens. Until then, know that you are watched so long as you command the king's army."

Carver stared. What?

"What?" Alistair turned.

"Come, Alistair," Elissa's lips quirked, "if Loghain survives the Joining, you'll be his commanding officer."

"Yeah, no thanks," Alistair grimaced, "I don't trust myself with that kind of power. I might order him to dance the Remigold and slap darkspawn in the face with roses."

Loghain looked disturbed.

"If you don't like the idea that much," Elissa assured, "then we could just send him to the Orlesian order."

"What?" Loghain interrupted.

"That's what concerns you?" Elissa rose a brow.

"Alright," Alistair allowed. "The look on his face was worth it. Orlesian Grey Wardens it is."

Carver sighed. "Don't I have a say in this? I can't be your watchful eye in the king's army, stuck to Loghain's side like a burr. That would raise questions, for one."

"With everything I know you capable of, I'm sure you'll find a way," Elissa reasoned.

"I'm not eager to attract the queen's displeasure."

"As I said." Elissa smirked. "You'll figure out how to balance your many machinations."

Carver hesitantly coughed, unable to find a response to that.

"You'll attend tonight's meeting." Elissa turned to Loghain. "Prepare Ferelden's powers-that-be for your transfer after the battle against the archdemon. I'll prepare Duncan. Carver, will you attend?"

Carver shook his head, eager to catch sleep before dawn. "I'm not—"

"He will," Loghain stated unexpectedly confidently. Everyone blinked at him. "Following his acceptance of my invitation, I was going to elevate his responsibilities. This is a chance as any for Ser Carver and I to prepare Ser Nigel for the position of Lieutenant-Commander."

Carver's throat closed in shock. His voice crawled out of it. "I can't be Captain. Ser Cauthrien had served for far longer before taking the position — many others have served longer than I've been here—"

"You chose Ser Nigel to be my captain," Loghain remarked. "The least you can do is support him through another promotion."

Carver inwardly huffed at Loghain guilt-tripping him because of a situation the teyrn had caused. Loghain was wonderfully righteous and illogical like that.

Elissa approved. "The queen can't criticise a soldier for sticking close to his commander even in private conversations between father and daughter. Not when the commander expects to resign and the soldier will be promoted accordingly."

Carver interceded. "At the very least, I will keep a door between myself and Teyrn Loghain."

"But within hearing distance," Alistair noted. "Congratulations on the promotion, I guess."

Carver stressed, "I haven't accepted anything—"

"That would be the bell before the meeting time," Loghain said as a gong-like impact resonated throughout Denerim. The local chantry maintained a bell tower, and a cleric would track hours with a candle clock to know when to ring the tower's bell. The cleric's last shift was always the last bell in daylight.

Night had fallen.

The four of them departed from Rhiannon's office and strode for their destinations. Carver followed Loghain to the royal war room while Elissa moved to catch Duncan. Alistair tailed after Loghain and Carver until they reached the meeting location and greeted Anora. It was indeed strange times; the one wedded to royal blood on the throne traditionally only had influence over the royal legion, as it were, during peacetime. Now, all noble powers under the crown — the true king's army — were ready to mobilise under Anora's command.

Alistair caught Carver after the formalities with a whisper. "You're lucky Elissa and I noticed the message you slipped into Dog's collar."

Carver glanced at Alistair, noting a stiffness to his jaw that outlived the night's revelations. Loghain had contributed to the suffering of those Alistair had grown up around, including his guardian Arl Eamon. It didn't explain Alistair's twitchiness.

Carver politely excused himself from Anora's presence and stepped out of the war room, closing the door behind himself and Alistair. "You wish to talk."

A heated whisper answered him. "You knew Redcliffe would happen, yet you remained silent! Your actions speak for themselves!"

Carver pulled Alistair aside from directly facing the door and sternly lowered his voice. "A king doesn't send his army before his scouts. If the two soldiers I sent had returned with news of undead stalking Redcliffe, the army would have readily answered. But if I had sent the army to Redcliffe on the mere claim of undead, not only would I have been suspect, but the army would have been justified in rejecting my orders and instead arresting and questioning me. No matter how certain I could have been, no reasonable army would act on a claim without evidence."

Alistair shook off Carver's grip. "The possibility of them going to Redcliffe wouldn't have been zero."

"It would have been greater by sending scouts ahead," Carver stated. "Regardless, this debate is moot."

Alistair clenched his jaw. "I would have sacrificed everything I had to save Arl Eamon."

"So you would have," Carver agreed. "You would have had only Arl Eamon to worry about." He watched Alistair pace in front of the door, one round, two rounds. "What's wrong, Alistair?"

The fire in Alistair visibly sputtered. "Duncan's going to kill himself."

Ah.

Alistair halted before him with wet eyes. "You knew? Of course you did. Tell me you have a way out of this — please. When I imagine Duncan or Elissa sacrificing themselves to slay the archdemon, my throat swells with grief."

Carver hesitated. "…Faren can kill the archdemon without dying."

Alistair's brows shot up. "How?"

"I honestly don't know," Carver replied. "You'll have to ask Morrigan the details. After her night with Faren."

"After—?" Alistair held his face in his hands. "Zevran's going to laugh at me. Sex really can save the world."

Alistair and Carver shared a sigh in unison.

Alistair lowered his hands. "Will we all survive tomorrow? Can you deduce that?"

Carver noted Duncan and Elissa's approach and moved to open the door. "If I can convince the queen, blackmail her father, and bribe the commanding warden of Ferelden with his own survival that our main strategy should be throwing one crazy dwarf at an archdemon, then we stand a pretty good chance. Greetings, Warden-Commander."

Duncan stopped before them. "Ser Carver, I understand you'll be joining us tonight. I have also called on Warden-Constable Gordon to accompany us."

Carver watched Elissa stroll to a stop behind Duncan. "Will the Warden-Constable be assisting you with Joinings after tomorrow's battle?"

Duncan knowingly led the way into the war room. "Not all of them. Us wardens don't have to share everything between ourselves, and it isn't our place to meddle in politics."

Carver's eyes briefly met Loghain's as they entered. "I appreciate it."

Anora elegantly snorted from her side of the war table. "Warden-Constable Gordon is already busy enough recruiting from Orlais' numbers. The few Orlesian soldiers here in Denerim are under his care."

At that moment, a man with a voluminous beard hurried into the room, Elissa and Alistair closing the door behind him. "What can I say? Only a few showed promise." He noticed Carver. "Pardon me, it seems I've missed introductions. Gordon Blackwall, Warden-Constable of the Orlesian Order."

Carver froze.

Loghain gestured. "Carver Hawke of Lothering, knight of Maric's Shield. Following my enlistment into the Grey Wardens, Ser Carver will be captain of Ferelden's standing army."

For the first time, Anora's composure cracked. "What?"

"Temporarily," Carver hastily negotiated.

Duncan clapped his hands. "Well, it seems we have a long night ahead of us. Shall we?"