Authors Note: I just want to thank all the followers this story has gotten in the last four days, I was honestly surprised anyone beside myself would be interested in this story. Which is why this chapter was written up quicker than I had planned, and I am already working on the next. I may come back and tweak the chapter a bit, but I will let readers know in the next chapter if any changes were made. Otherwise, please enjoy and the next chapter will be up soon.

THE COMMANDER

Draco watched the Commander leave the room, very aware of her unusual behavior. She hadn't even brought a glass to go with the bottle of wine. He looked for the Warden-Constable—Nathaniel Howe—but quickly realized the former noble had already left for his chambers. The warden tried to shoulder his curiosity and masquerade his worrying behind a flagon, however, there was no fooling the Orlesian. Stroud had wandered to Draco's corner, eyes still watching the empty doorway, twisting the end of his mustache. He waited for Stroud to say something—like he always did—to have Draco do exactly what he wanted him to do. The Orlesian grinned faintly, knowing his presence was being ignored.

"Whose the kid?" Draco inquired, moving the focus to the new warden awkwardly sitting with the dwarves.

Stroud smirked, "Acquaintance of an old friend." The warden noticed Draco's disinterest and continued to rattle on. "Found him in the Deep Roads, already touched with the taint, but he survived. You're gonna have fun with this one..."

Draco's curiosity faltered to the novice, "And whys that?"

"Some sob story about being in his brother's shadow," the prim warden answered.

"My favorite," he groaned. Stroud saw the disgruntled Draco fidget from the corner of his eye. He finished his drink and growled a sigh, giving Stroud a knowing glare before stomping through the hall.

He stepped into the main room where some of the guards were sharing jokes, hushing as Draco passed them to get to the stairway. The Commander had been absent for a while, running off to the Korcari Wilds with little warning. She only sent word a week ago, with details of her return. Naturally, all the wardens had their own theories—the worst being that her Calling had arrived. The wiser wardens knew better. Before she was the Commander, she was one of two surviving lone wardens from Ostagar, and before that, she was a noble of Highever. There was a number of potential reasons why she had disappeared from her duties.

Draco followed the hallway to her office, rapping a fist against the door. "Commander?" he called to her. He heard the heavy thump of the bottle of wine she had taken with her. She didn't give him an answer, but he decided to go in anyways.

The Commander stood at her window staring into the dark beyond. It was still storming and the rain pattered loudly against the glass, lightning illuminating the room as he shut the door behind him. Her dark hair was still tucked into the cloak she had yet to remove, dripping a puddle on the floor. Her eyes were shadowed by tired circles, face red from the wind—or the wine. He noticed the bottle was down to the last drop. Draco cleared his throat and stood observant by the door, "I do not mean to pry Commander, but is everything—"

She didn't even let him finish.

"He's fine," she smirked, a fake pained smile on her scarred lips as she turned towards her warrior.

"Pardon Commander?" Draco inquired.

She turned back to the window, "The child."

Draco waited to respond, hearing the tremble in her voice. "Child commander—"

Suddenly the empty bottle was flying across the chamber, shattering against a shelf of books. "The child I forced my husband to have with a woman he hated!" she huffed, body rigid and thoughts intoxicated. "That child."

He stilled, surprised. Few wardens knew exactly how she survived slaying the archdemon. Draco was one of the trusted few. He was aware of the 'Witch of the Wilds' and the ritual performed—the promise the Commander made never to seek out her former companion. Yet she did so anyways. It was all very clear now. She followed the rumors that had spawned the last few months. Disappearing before anyone could stop her. The Commander obviously was looking for answers, or closure, but from the way she swayed angrily at her desk, that was not what she got.

She slinked back to the window and pressed her cheek against the cool glass. "He has a son," the Commander whispered, careful not to let her voice tremble.

"Commander," Draco stepped to her desk, "perhaps it's time you return to Denerim for a while. Or maybe Highever, I'm aware your brother has made great progress on rebuilding—"

"No. I can't," she started, beginning to pace with her arms crossed tightly, "the Vigil is still being rebuilt—Voldrik is going to need materials—"

"Commander—"

"...the city is finally flourishing—and my recent venture has kept me away long enough..." She was rambling, something she did when she was nervous and upset. He's known her long enough to know she was delaying the inevitable.

"Vesper!" he called her by name, silencing her.

Draco walked around the desk and stood over her. She smelled of wine and woods as he breathed her in, brushing wet hair away from her face with one hand. He brushed the familiar scar on her eyebrow with his thumb and felt her step away. "As your oldest friend," the warden stepped away too, turning to collect the broken bottle as he spoke. "I think you need to speak with your husband about this."

She shook her head, "I promised him I wouldn't go after her."

"But you did anyways," he snapped back, voice emotionless as usual. He picked the large pieces of the bottle up from the ground and pulled a rug over the rest, mentally reminding himself to get a maid to clean the mess in the morning. "Doesn't the King deserve to know his child is safe?"

The glare that followed would have had any man cowering, recanting their offense, but Draco would not. He knew Vesper when she was merely a young noble coming of age. She had his loyalty then and had it still, but since joining the wardens, Draco was both friend and foe now. The Commander was not always happy with his advice, like now—even if he was right. She was moments from reminding Draco of her authority, beyond the wardens, but a knock interrupted the tense moment.

Stroud poked his head through the doorway, took notice to the Commander's angry glower, and pushed the door wider anyways. He was followed by the new recruit—Carver. Vesper hid her surprise, instead giving the new warden a once over. He was tall, almost a match in stature to Draco, with dark hair and a young face. Clearly nervous by the way he avoided looking her in the eye and respectively keeping his distance. Meanwhile, the Orlesian warden noticed the shards of glass in Draco's hand and Vesper's lingering glare. "A new recruit Commander," Stroud announced nonchalantly and casually pushed Draco out of the way. "Found him in the Deep Roads," he added, standing between the Commander and Draco.

Taking the hint, Draco left the room. Carver watched him vanish into the dark hallway, curious of what he might have missed.

"Your name?" he heard her ask, voice surprisingly calm despite the terrifying glare still on her face.

"Carver—Carver Hawke," he stuttered as his stomach growled again.

The Commander's demeanor changed and she moved towards the scattered piles of parchment on her desk, looking up at Carver between pages. "Hawke, that sounds familiar..." she suggested.

Carver wondered when this would happen, "My brother..."

"No—" she intervened, now handing piles of papers to Stroud, "I've only heard the name once." The Commander was going through her hand of parchments, pausing as she traced words with her finger, suddenly paling. She met Carver's gaze, her glare gone but replaced with something more haunted. He watched as she handed the page to Stroud, whose face lit in surprise. "You were a soldier in Ostagar," the Commander finally said, eyes narrowed again. "This is a list of all the bodies never accounted for," she slipped past Stroud before he could stop her, stepping up to Carver. "Your name is on there."

The new warden wasn't sure how to respond, whether the Commander saw him a coward or a survivor. "I was ma'am," he stuttered. Her stare never changed, even as she walked away and back to the window. "I saw what Loghain did to the Wardens—" Carver piped up, feeling the need to explain his absence from the battlefield. "We were being slaughtered, I—I had to get my family away from the horde. I couldn't abandon them to the same fate as the men in Ostagar." The young Hawke felt Stroud grab his arm and shake his head, stopping him.

He saw the Commander's fist fidget. Stroud cleared his throat, "I'll show him to his chamber Commander, please get a good night of sleep."

The lieutenant was dragging Carver from the room, but not before he saw the Commander collapse into her chair, face buried into the palms of her hands. Had he said something wrong? Noticing the novice was still distracted, Stroud squeezed his arm. Carver winced, but complied. "Was she at Ostagar?" he curiously inquired, assuming she may have come from Orlais as well.

"Was she at Ostagar..." Stroud annoyingly mocked, quickening his pace as they headed back down the stairway and across the main room through another doorway.

Carver was lead down beneath the Keep, where it was cold and wet from the rain. He walked past closed doors where he could hear snoring and movement. They passed a large chamber with tables, one occupied by a group of wardens playing cards, all taking notice of Stroud and his ward. "Listen little Hawke—" Stroud started as they neared the end of a hallway.

"Don't call me that—" Carver felt the collar of his shirt tighten around his neck, the cold stone of the wall against his back.

Stroud had him against the wall, not angry but frustrated. "Listen Carver," he rephrased, pushing him into the open doorway beside them. "The Commander isn't just any woman, she is the Hero of Ferelden. She rallied together armies across the land and slayed the archdemon, thus ending the Blight. Next time you see her, I expect you to mind your manners," the lieutenant's voice carried, silencing the game of cards down the hall. Stroud sighed and helped Carver back to his feet, "Like I told you before, there is a lot of respect for the Commander and we don't like seeing her upset."

"I didn't mean—" Stroud held his hand up and a shadow of a smile slipped beneath his large mustache.

"I know lad," he simply said, patting Carver on the shoulder and then left.

Carver turned and slunk to the bed, sinking into the uncomfortable bedding. His stomach growled again, but he wasn't sure if he dared crossing paths with the drunk elf again; or the fellow with a tattoo on his face. He pondered what Stroud noticed that he didn't when they went into the Commander's office, but decided it was probably for the best he didn't know. A sigh crept out as he thought about Mother and how she would react to the news of him becoming a warden. After loosing Bethany, he assumed she wouldn't receive it very well. Mother was strong though, and she still had Garrett. Carver then wondered how much longer his brother could avoid the templars, even with his growing presence in Kirkwall. There was always something about the templars there that rubbed him the wrong way.

Hunger, however, stopped his thoughts there and the young warden thought about asking the wardens playing cards if they had anything to eat.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the open door and a plate of food met Carver's growling stomach. Behind the food was the elf from earlier, carrying a pitcher of drink in her free hand. She smiled kindly and passed him to put the meal down at a table in the corner. "I figured you would still be hungry after Stroud dragged you from the feast," she spoke, a faint familiarity in her enunciations. "I remember the appetite I had after going through the Joining, I think I ate a whole herd of halla before the cravings subsided..." she spun to face Carver, her name still not coming to him, "Of course, one couldn't possibly eat an entire herd of halla—and I'm rambling." He immediately thought of Merrill. He would miss her.

"Myrah..." he suddenly remembered, relieved when she nodded happily.

"Well, Ser Carver, I'll let you eat. Unfortunately Oghren wasn't joking about how tough tomorrow's tasks will be," she replied, as she quietly walked past him again, "Sleep well."

She disappeared before he could say anything more. Carver placed his full attention on the hefty plate she brought him, towered in meat and potatoes and cheese. He ate it all quickly, no time to savor how more favorable the food was then the food in the mess hall; or that there wasn't cheese served at the dinner he attended earlier.