"Syrio..." Carver began whilst sidling over to his fellow warden. He was curious about his companions and as the most junior warden besides him, Syrio seemed to be the perfect candidate for his impromptu information gathering.
"What do you want shem?" Syrio snapped, the cold reply startling Carver somewhat. He knew that the elven mage could be considered surly even at the best of times - kinda like Fenris I suppose he thought, but he'd never seen any mistrust of humans; the man never cowed away in fear or raised his hand in anger to any of the many humans they had met on the road North.
Not that it mattered now, clearly Carver had done something to piss him off without realising it and he had no wish to continue that particular streak any further. Although he was curious as to where this hostility came from and he wasn't about to leave without an explanation at the very least.
"I did not seek to offend you mage, but you have left me a little confused" Carver decided to play it diplomatic as he'd seen his brother do many times when addressing the various idiots and ingrates that they had been trying to help over their first year in Kirkwall. My god I sound pathetic, Carver mused with a chuckle, Almost as bad as Anders when he used to pine after my brother.
"If you do not wish to offend me, human..." that last word was dripping with scorn, Carver could see the revulsion it caused Syrio by the way the elf's face screwed up when uttering the last syllable - like it was some vile taste he couldn't quite get rid of fast enough.
"..then leave." Carver was again shocked by the coldness of the mage's demeanour, so much so that all the practised, diplomatic responses that he had ready completely vanished from his head and in their place his mouth seemed to work of its own accord.
"Well what's your sodding problem then!?" He pretty much shouted at the elf. At the back of his mind, a small voice was insisting that this was a very bad idea and that he should shut his stupid little mouth right now but when he saw the look of surprise on Syrio's face, he pushed on.
"I thought that maybe the fabled grey wardens would actually live up to their reputation but no! You're just another bitter elf with a petty hatred for humans!" By now Carver had worked himself up into a rage and was not backing down, his voice rising in volume until even Kane and Ash began to take notice, turning round to observe the display with stony faces.
"Seriously, you act all high and mighty and go around thinking you're so much more intelligent and noble than the 'pathetic shems' and yet you still judge every human by the actions of a few!" It occurred to Carver, somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, that he was pretty much adapting parts of Ander's manifesto, swapping mages with humans but he shook the thought from his head.
He was expecting to be interrupted with a punch, or maybe a knife, judging by the expression of barely concealed rage on the elf's face but Carver was determined to finish his tirade and ploughed on regardless.
"And I'm sure there is a tragic story behind your anger but by now it's just petty! I've done nothing to deserve your scorn; I only met you a couple of months ago for Maker's sake!"
He was beginning to run out of things to say and though he wanted to keep shouting about the unfairness of it all, he was losing his anger rapidly. If he was honest it wasn't even Syrio he was angry at. It's this whole sodding situation isn't it? I never wanted this and yet here I am, forced to spend my life fighting for a cause I couldn't care less about surrounded by people that hate me...fun fun fun!
Carver visibly deflated, fatigue replacing his rage and before the elf had the chance to run him through, verbally or physically, he stalked off with as much indignation as he could muster.
Syrio made to follow, shaking with anger but Kane laid a hand on his shoulder. "Give him time, remember the months after your joining? You were no delight either my friend".
"I was never THAT much of an ass though!" Syrio replied through gritted teeth, slightly insulted.
A strangled laugh sounded behind the mage. "Not that bad? You set my hair on fire you nug-lover!" Ash chimed in, mirth colouring his voice.
"Okay guys come on, no more dwarven insults - it's bad enough that the new guy uses them constantly, I really don't need you two starting as well" Pleaded Syrio, seemingly calm and composed once more. The three wardens continued their slow trek along the north road, banter flowing easily between them while Ash recounted one of the many tales he had in his repertoire.
Carver didn't know where he was headed but he knew he couldn't stop. Jogging through the undergrowth, ducking under low hanging branches and pushing leaves from his face he allowed thoughts to drift. He was bitter, he had realised that much by now, but he still couldn't figure out why. He'd never particularly enjoyed being in Kirkwall and there was nothing for him there but disappointment.
The disappointment in his brother's eyes when Carver undoubtedly made some snark remark about his leadership, The disappointment written across Varric's face when Carver would say something relating to the trials of living in Hawke's shadow, Even the contempt that Fenris would never attempt to hide hurt but worst of all by far was the disappointment in his mother's voice.
He could hear her sadness whenever she spoke; she would look down on him - which was always weird seeing as how I am at least a foot and a half taller than her he thought - with something close to anguish shining in her eyes and he could just tell that she blamed him for Bethany's death. She never said it explicitly but it was still there. A subtle shake of her head, the way she could never meet his gaze without flinching, as if she was afraid he would let her down somehow by simply looking at her.
And so why did he feel like he'd lost something so precious? He'd always wanted a calling, some way to make his mark on the world, an opportunity to carve out his own path. Was this not it? He was now part of a legendary order of warriors, fighting against an enemy that threatened the whole of Thedas and yet he still didn't feel as if his life was his own. There was too much turmoil in his heart, too many conflicting emotions for him to really figure out what was going on.
He was broken from his reverie when he stumbled out of the undergrowth. The forest had parted almost immediately and a small round clearing had come into view. Carver looked around dubiously, noting the large rock in the centre surrounded by soft grass which gave way to fine dirt further from the rock before reaching the edge of the clearing where it was covered by bushes and thorns.
He edged closer to the rock, wearily scanning the tree line for any hint of danger. He wasn't usually this jumpy but it seemed like a strange place for a clearing. The soil looked like it would support roots as well as anywhere else and he could see no reason for the lack of tree cover. There was also a faint hum that surrounded the clearing, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The tingling sensation spread down his neck and over his back and before he even realised what he was doing his sword was in his hands and he was crouching into his fighting stance.
The tingling grew in intensity and he shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, considering backtracking to grab the other wardens before coming back. But no. There was no time; the tingling had grown to a full-fledged itch that made his skin crawl and his throat prickle.
The sensation seemed somehow oddly familiar and his breath started to quicken. He was beginning to worry, anxiety clawing at his gut. What was this feeling and why didn't he recognise it? Why did he? He wasn't sure.
And then just as the hum became near deafening, something clicked in his head - Darkspawn. The word leapt into his mind accompanied by a surge of emotion. Dread, anger, fear, rage - he felt them all within the span of a single heartbeat.
He was jarred into motion by sound of an arrow whistling past his face, mere inches away from ending his life. He dived to the left, tucking into a role in mid air and coming to his feet behind the rock in the centre of the clearing. He could feel them straight ahead, at least a dozen, with a couple breaking left to flank him.
Fear was replaced with a detached calm as he rose from behind the boulder, already moving to his left, one hand clutching his greatsword while the other was launching a soulroot bomb towards the bulk of the darkspawn.
He sprinted to the tree line, hoping that the bomb provided enough of a distraction to prevent him turning into a walking pin cushion stuffed full of arrows. And as luck would have it, he managed to make the 20 yard dash unscathed. Now that he was within relative cover, he started after the three creatures that had tried to flank him. Genlocks he suspected, most probably rogues - easily dealt with if he was right.
He saw a shadow move about 3 meters in front and hefted his greatsword in preparation. He steadied his breathing, counting down the seconds and trying to keep his impatience in check. 2 more steps and then he swung, cleaving the shadow in half from sternum to hip. The creature cried out in surprise, choking on its own blood, and the other two were similarly dealt with before the first had even hit the floor. 3 down, 9 to go he thought grimly; time to do what I do best.
He glanced out of the tree line towards the clearing. A mixture of Hurlocks and Genlocks surrounded the large rock with a taller darkspawn standing on top of the rock, towering above them all. The emissary, the robe is a bit of a giveaway, why not wear armor as a disguise?, caused him to pause momentarily and part of his mind was screaming at him to run for help before it was too late. But then the more rational part of his mind, or maybe just the angry part, kicked in and he felt steely determination settle in his stomach, cold and hard and completely unforgiving.
Tensing his legs, he felt the coiled strength of his muscles propel him forward as he scythed out of the forest and into the clearing, slamming into the nearest couple of creatures with such a force that they were thrown back a couple of meters, bodies smacking into the stone behind them and crumpling to the floor lifelessly.
But Carver didn't notice, already spinning with his blade held level and straight, slicing through a particularly ambitious Hurlock trying to take him from behind. Without losing any momentum, he continued the swing to intercept another blade aiming for his throat before ducking to the right and smashing his pommel into the face of the offending Hurlock, gratified to hear the sickening crunch of steel breaking bone.
Turning to face his next opponent, he managed to leap back just quick enough to avoid a potentially fatal hammer swing from one of the larger Hurlock before he stepped forward and caved its chest in. However, as he kicked the alpha off the end of his blade and turned, he knew he would not be quick enough to avoid the arrow that slammed into his shoulder a moment later.
The force of it staggered him and lights flashed in his vision but he didn't go down. Instead he used the momentum to spin around the side of the boulder out of sight before diving away from a well placed fireball launched by the emissary.
While he was no templar, he'd had plenty of experience fighting mages after running with his brother for a year and a half in Kirkwall, the most blood-magey place in all of Thedas and so he managed to avoid being burned to a crisp for the moment.
Rolling to his feet he charged towards the remaining few darkspawn and a few swings, parries and a well placed kick later, there was silence. He turned slowly towards the centre of the clearing again, rage building in his stomach. The two things he hated most in the world right now, magic and darkspawn, was standing not 5 meters from him, snarling and waving its hands - claws he corrected himself mentally - in a complex pattern, evidently summoning a very powerful, and therefore dangerous, spell.
A feral grin spread across his face as he broke into a sprint. 3 steps and only half a second later he was leaping through the air, surging toward the spindly creature, roaring a challenge at the top of his lungs. He felt the temperature drop to well below freezing in an instant and he knew that he had about 2 seconds before he was frozen solid and killed.
But 2 seconds was more than enough time to bring his blade up in front of him and stab it through the chest of the emissary. The magic spluttered and died at its fingertips instantaneously and Carver heaved himself up to his full height, snarling in the face of darkspawn that represented everything he hated about the world. He hefted his sword in both hands, raising it upwards towards the sky with the limp body of the emissary still impaled on the end and allowed himself a moment to bask in his victory.
His chest was still heaving from exertion, and sweat and grime coated his face but he felt alive, more alive than he ever had done while following Hawke around that stupid city. He was a grey warden now and for the first time, he felt acceptance wash over him - along with something akin to contentment. It was only a poor imitation, he knew. He would never be content with this life and what it represented but at least for the moment he could drink in his victory.
It was at that moment that the three wardens burst through into the clearing, weapons out and stained with blood. Syrio was glowing with an arcane light, mana visibly pulsing from him at regular intervals. Kane's face was an impassive mask and his mood was unreadable but he was swinging his sword in slow, steady arcs, his body tensed and ready for combat. Only Ash showed any emotion and Carver was surprised to see panic on his face. Was he worried about me? Surely not he thought but he couldn't argue with the evidence - Ash's face was slowly transforming from panic to relief before his very eyes and as much as Carver hated to admit, it felt god to have someone worry about him.
"Well Carver, it looks like we needn't have rushed after all" laughed Kane, a hint of relief washing over his face as well.
Syrio just scowled, which didn't surprise Carver in the slightest given their previous conversation, but Ash butted in before he could reply.
"We're all very impressed with the work you've done here but we didn't expect to find you cutting such a dramatic pose I have to say" Ash said with a wink, "it looks like you're waiting for someone to paint you!".
Carver laughed, not sarcastically or in a guarded manner as usual but a proper, honest laugh. "I think I'll just commemorate this moment with a tattoo. I need something to keep my mabari company anyway." said Carver with a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
Kane cleared his throat meaningfully, causing Ash to fall silent. "As enlightening as it is, hearing that a warden under my command has a tattoo of a mabari somewhere on his body, this is a serious issue" Carver frowned, I just killed a dozen darkspawn and an emissary single headedly, surely he's not gonna punish me?, and waited for Kane to continue.
"The darkspawn shouldn't be out in this number above ground. There must be an entrance to the deep-roads nearby, we set camp here and we'll discuss it later. For now: Syrio - get a fire going and cook us some food. Ash - scout out the perimeter. While I can't sense any darkspawn nearby, I'd rather not be ambushed by bandits or wolves later. Carver - You're with me, I want to see to that shoulder."
Ash nodded and melted into the tree line like a ghost while Syrio gathered wood and set about creating a fire while readying pots and pans. Carver walked over to where Kane was standing against a tree, his muscles protesting every movement. Earlier, with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, it had been easy to ignore the aches in his legs and the screaming agony of his shoulder but now, every meter seemed like an eternity, pain flaring through his upper body with each step.
Kane merely observed him calmly from behind his dark locks which had fallen across his face. He made no move to help Carver on his seemingly endless journey that couldn't have taken longer than a couple of seconds but Carver could make out a hint of compassion in his eyes.
"You did well today Carver, it seems our fears were unfounded." Carver couldn't help but be drawn to Kane's deep, gravelly voice. It seemed understanding an authoritative at the same time and he marvelled at the strange gruff quality of it.
"Fears?" Carver queried, unaware that there were fears in the first place.
"We thought that given your history with the darkspawn" He's talking about Bethany, Carver realised, "you would struggle to face them again. Clearly we were wrong." He finished, sweeping a hand to encompass the clearing filled with darkspawn corpses.
"We'll need to burn the dead once I get that arrow out of your shoulder. You should be proud - that will leave a nice scar" Kane chuckled and Carver smiled with him before grimacing at the thought removing the arrow. He sighed;it's going to be a long night.