Bethany...
His shoulders slumping, Carver was half-sitting, half-lying on the bar at the Blooming Rose, the bottle of brandy in his hand – he'd lost the glass somewhere an hour ago – holding but a finger-width of amber liquid by now.
It hadn't been his first bottle today.
And every time he drank from it, he'd secretly hope to choke on the drink.
Because it was a drink bought with Garrett's money.
The grief, the anger, the self-loathing, the feeling of helplessness...it was all sticking in Carver's throat to the point that he could barely breathe. He sure couldn't look himself in the mirror, nor stand his brother or mother...neither their concerned looks or their feigned happiness.
Bethany, why you, and not him?
It was a frightening, horrible thought, yet it wasn't the first time he'd wished that to be.
Out of love of Bethany, but also out of anger with his brother, out of jealousy, out of anger of that jealousy. Carver felt trapped, like he was falling, rolling down stairs, unable to stop the descent into...he wasn't sure, some place dark, some place scary.
So he drank. To forget about the fear, of the anger, of the misery...yet it wasn't doing him much good.
I'm a grumpy drunk... Carver grumbled, head thumping into the bar. ...how cliché. The thought drew a groan from his mouth, his mind all too easily conjuring up Gamlen's face, yet warping it into his own. Maker, I can't let myself become that...
When Garrett had returned, Carver had been devastated at the news of Bethany, as had Leandra and even Gamlen...yet they had all too easily forced themselves to get over it, in Carver's opinion. The gold...oh the gold had been flowing...they had moved up in the world, become nobility...and somewhere in all that change, things had changed for the worse.
Garrett focusing on nothing but money and power, Gamlen's all about the money and drinks he can now afford, mother is in love with old memories and a title...the expedition ruined us.
And I'm here, drinking like a fool.
The family had lost its heart with Bethany.
Growling, Carver grabbed the bottle and nearly hurled it at the wall, then he thought better of it and took a shallow sip, all too bitterly aware that he didn't have enough money to buy more. Garrett putting me on an allowance like Gamlen, who does he think he is? The gall of the man's decision was just another weight on Carver's already heavy heart. What? He doesn't trust my judgement? That's rich, coming from him...
By now Carver mostly stayed in the Blooming Rose, the Hanged Man, or the Lowtown Bazaar. Even the Chantry, whenever the thoughts of his sister's death became too much for him. Like prayers will do her any good, she was the believer of us, and still died.
It was no doing of the Maker that she had died though, Carver knew that much. After the man had told Leandra some lie about a random arrow, Carver had nearly beaten the truth out of the man...or least been as close as he'd ever gotten to coming to blows with his brother to force the truth from his lips. Blight disease, from the darkspawn, that live in the bloody Deep Roads! great plan, sending her down there, brother! And you dare speak of me lacking judgement?!
The grip on the bottle tightened as Carver glared at the far wall. You were supposed to keep her safe! We were supposed to keep her safe!
That stung almost more than Garrett's failure.
I wasn't even there, never got to try and save her, I could have stopped it altogether... Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Carver took another swipe from his bottle, the burning sensation all too quickly fading away, leaving a hole in his chest that wouldn't be filled. I didn't even get to say good bye...you never even gave me the option to come along...
Carver hated that. Everything that has happened so far is due to Garrett's decisions, he's driven every change in our lives, defined who we are! No one else even get a say in the matter! And everyone else just goes along with it. Carver especially hated that. If I'd gotten Bethany killed, they'd have strung me up and thrown me out. Garrett does it and everyone straight up forgives him and feels sympathy for him! Oh I saw the guilt in Garrett's eyes, but that's not goodenough! Why is he never punished for what he does, like me!?
Finishing the bottle with a grunt, Carver angrily slammed it into the counter, ignoring the glares he received from the bartender as he glowered at the bottle. But nooo...Garrett's too great, let's all pretend that everything is fine and move into High Town, that'll solve everything. We've moved on! Everything's great! We have money and are one big happy family! Grumbling, Carver again raised the bottle, spotting a single drop at the bottom, his voice was a low grunt. "Fucking pretending..." He moved the drink up, struggling to get the drop to slide down to the mouth of the bottle. And what happens when I point out that they're all just faking and just acting as if everything's fine? Mother starts crying, Gamlen leaves and Garrett starts chewing me out! Like it's my fault! I wasn't the one that got her killed!
With a growl, Carver gave up trying to get to the droplet and hurled the bottle into the wall ahead, making it shatter with a satisfying crash. "Hey!" Carver raised his hand, giving the protesting the bartender the finger. The man grumbled...but went quiet as Carver reached up to scratch the back of his head, near the pommel of the sword on his back. Good and reliable, not the new fancy new blade Garrett wanted to get me...I'm through dancing to his pipe. I'm through getting things from him! At the thought, Carver glanced down at the shattered bottle, the bottle he'd bought with Garrett's money...and the self-loathing reared its ugly head again.
Groaning, Carver laid his forehead to rest on the counter, his hands closing into fists of frustration. I spend my entire life protecting Bethany, and Garrett gets all the credit, because he does it more willingly. Garrett gets her killed...and he's forgiven as I'm left to...what...be the brother that can never measure up? Like Gamlen? I'll live on the stipend he's graced me with, in his house, eating his food, wearing his clothes and doing what he wants? The thought sent a shiver of dread down his spine, making him squeeze his eyes shut. I didn't do anything because he told me to though, never that...it was for Bethany's sake...and now she's dead, because of him. Gritting his teeth, Carver struggled with the rage boiling in him. I sacrificed so much of my life for her, and he didn't even give me a chance to protect her when it mattered...and now I'm supposed to keep meekly following his orders, like before!?
Within him, something burst.
"I will not." Grunting, Carver raised his head, a sudden calm settling over him as he repeated the words. "I will not." He shook his head, trying to bring some perspective on his sudden revelation, yet he couldn't shake it off, the idea refusing to let go of him. "I'm going to be my own man."
He slipped off his chair, legs unsteady under him, yet keeping him upright as he turned towards the door. His steps were unsure, yet getting more steady by the moment.
Somehow, a bitter smile found its way to his lips. "I'll make my own fate."
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"These die are really mean." Merrill pouted, looking down at the score made by the three die she'd just rolled. "They keep making you win."
At the other side of the table in the Hanged Man, Isabela was smiling at her even as the pirate sighed. "And why do you think that?"
"I...don't know." Merrill shook her head, confused as she looked to the seashells they used for money. By now, Isabela had nearly all of them, while Merrill was holding onto the three prettiest, unwilling to spend them in another futile attempt at beating the pirate. "I...I know how to count, and I know how to calculate odds...yet you're the one who's correct nearly every time! Even when I have the better odds!" She tapped her chin, biting her bottom lip. "Maybe...maybe you're just lucky today?"
"Like every other day?" Isabela asked, the smile turning somewhat strained. "Come now, think, why do the die keep falling in my favour?"
Merrill frowned. She hated when Isabela did this, it was as if she was trying to teach Merrill some kind of lesson, but refused to tell her what kind it was...leaving the elf to guess...and she never got it right. Looking up at Isabela, she found the pirate looking back at her with a small smile, easily ignoring the stares and glances of the various men and women sitting at other tables, her attention fixed on Merrill...who then glanced down at the seashells and die again, brow furrowing as she tried to think of something, anything that she might have missed. All there is are the die...I don't...I don't understand. "I...don't know." She smiled up at Isabela. "I'm glad you're so lucky though, it must be nice..."
For a moment, Isabela actually looked angry...then a little laugh bubbled out of her and she shook her head, face splitting into a pearly grin as she reached over the table to ruffle Merrill's hair. "Oh for...you're such a good person, Merrill, too good, really."
Smiling, though confused, Merrill pushed a rogue strand back behind her ear and smiled back, a little shy after the praise. "Not reaaally...I think most people are really good, actually."
Isabela shook her head, though her smile remained genuine. "And that's why you're such a good person."
The elf frowned, sensing...something. "Are you okay, Isabela? You look a little...sad?"
"Ha! Me? Sad?" The pirate grinned, then moved to ruffle Merrill's hair again. "No, kitten, I'm just envious of you...it must be nice being you."
Away from my clan and in a still foreign world surrounded by humans that either scorn me or see me as something cute and silly? Merrill still smiled though, shaking off the depressing thought. I have friends though, and learning lots of new things, I shouldn't complain. "Oh? Well I think you have a much more exciting-"
That's when Garrett entered the bar.
A hush settled over the place, every pair of eyes drawn to the human, and even Merrill understood why. The man had been known in Lowtown for a long time, but now, having reached the height of nobility, he was a legend. No one had ever heard of a low mercenary – one of the scum of the city – reaching that far. A minor merchant, yes, a crime boss, sure, but a simple mercenary? It was unheard of. Anyone with ears – and Merrill had pretty big ones – had heard the tales of the man. Of how he'd secured his wealth with dashing confidence, of how he had bested thousands of darkspawn single-handedly, of how he'd slain ferocious demons in single combat and plundered their lairs...Merrill wasn't sure who kept spreading such exaggerated stories, but they had taken root in Lowtown to the point that nearly everyone believed them.
It didn't help that the man really looked the part.
Tall, broad of shoulder, his every movement confident and with his hard eyes filled with intelligence, it was all too easy to imagine him as capable as the stories made him out to be.
Of course, all the capability in the world wouldn't protect a lone noble in Lowtown, but everyone knew the man had quite a few agents in Lowtown that looked after his interests, not to mention that he paid a good chunk of protection-money to the Coterie as well.
Yet if someone was foolish enough to try something...Maric was at the man's heels, the dog even larger than Merrill remembered, the better food available as the hound of a nobleman having made Maric grow into a terrifyingly large beast. Hard to think he's so happy when you rub his belly now... The man himself was armoured in leather, its dark green hue betraying it as having been made out of hardened dragonling skin, expensive and of high quality, offering comfort for walking around while maintaining protection matching that of chainmail. Not surprising, the other armour he showed at his place looks uncomfortable...and big... Besides that, the man had a longsword of silverite – though lacking the decorations most blades of such quality had – at his hip and a dagger of veridium at the other side, close to his money-pouch...it was all too easy to imagine what would happen should any try to reach for the pouch while the man was resting a hand on the dagger's pommel.
Yes, Merrill could see why he'd draw looks.
The man had come to a stop, eyes scanning the surroundings, a little frown of impatience knitting together just between his eyebrows...then Maric gave voice to a little bark and prodded at his leg, eyes on Isabela and Merrill. Nodding in agreement, the man headed straight for them, ignoring the stares of those around him and drawing a little sigh from Isabela even as Merrill smiled up at the man, secretly eager to speak to him. Maybe he'll have a job again? I...don't want to ask Varric to help me just like that...stupid shem woman, I didn't mean to ruin that shirt...no, I shouldn't think like that, I'm sure she only did what she had to do...could have paid me though... "Hello, Garrett! How are you?"
The man, obviously on a mission, blinked at the greeting, then managed a smile. "Hello, Merrill, always good to see you." Merrill couldn't help but beam at that. I've made another friend, I think... "Isabela." The smile was merely polite when he looked to the pirate, but it was there at least. Those two really should get along better, they're both humans, aren't they? "Have either of you seen Carver? I've looked everywhere."
Merrill shook her head, a little disappointed about the lack of work, but not about to let it show. Isabela also shook her head, though added a smirk and a question. "Why not send out your servants to look for him? You seem to have a small army of them..."
"Family matters are for the family." Was Garrett's stoic reply, the man refusing to react to Isabela's teasing tone "I just...hoped to find him here, that's all." There was a hint of tension in his voice, but his face betrayed nothing else.
Resting her head on her palms, Merrill shrugged while offering a reassuring smile. "Maybe he got lost? I've been here over a year and I still get lost at times."
Isabela chuckled at that, but Garrett nodded. "Unlikely, but thank you, something...similar could have happened, for all I know." Merrill shot Isabela a look. See? He takes me seriously.
Of course, the pirate didn't notice, still grinning at Merrill's suggestion as she looked up at Garrett. "Right, well...oh, maybe Anders could tell you?" She pointed towards the doorway, through which Anders was entering.
Ohhh...the whole group is almost here. Merrill smiled at that, even though she and some of those in the group didn't get along, it still reminded her of being in her clan. Though...I didn't get along with all in my clan either...well...with most, actually...so it's just like it! Except most are human...and a dwarf... and a dog...okay, so maybe not totally like my clan, but a little. Though, as Anders approached, his movement betrayed someone moving behind him, a woman, an elf woman. What...? Again, Merrill felt a jab of guilt at the sight of the once Dalish woman, guilt and sympathy. I...don't even remember her name.
Yet somehow, Garrett did. "Arianni...I did not expect to see you again." He turned his gaze to Anders, his tone somewhat cold. "Anders." Guess he heard the man back in the Deep Roads then... Merrill grimaced. Why must everyone fight all the time...?
"I'm, sorry, my lord, b-but..." The elf licked her lips, looking nervous as she shot Anders a questioning look.
The mage looked tired, as if he'd cast some powerful spell as of late...and his voice was parched. "What Arianni is trying to say is that we have a problem..." He held Garrett's gaze for a fraction longer than necessary, then looked down to the elf. "...Arianni?"
"I...I...it's Feynriel..." Garrett turned his gaze to her, and the elf visibly shifted where she stood, forehead shining with sweat, looking ready to faint, as if she was forcing herself to stay where she was and speak to him. I don't remember her being so nervous last time...? "M-my lo-lord, he's...h-he's not waking up..Anders th-thinks..."
"I think we're dealing with demons, trying to gain control of him..." Anders finished, shaking his head. "I've tried to train him, but he's more powerful than I anticipated, holding powers I know little about...I fear for his life." Garrett blinked at the words, his brow once more furrowing in a frown...a frown Merrill couldn't put her finger on what it meant.
"I...I know it's much to ask for...yo-you've already he-helped be-before m-my lord...b-but..." Arianni swallowed. "I only wish for him to...I just...if there's anything you could...do?"
Isabela suddenly snorted, leaning back in her chair. "Wow, you do realise he's now a noble, right? He has no need for a few coppers and-"
A hand dropped onto the pirate's shoulder, Garrett's hand. Isabela and Merrill both looked to the man in surprise, finding a strange look in his eyes as he turned his gaze to Anders. "You know a way to help the boy?"
The mage nodded. "Yes...in the Fade, one can find him, find him and save him."
If the idea of entering the Fade frightened the man, he didn't show it. "Then..." He turned his eyes over to Arianni, whose eyes were widening in surprise at the soft smile on the man's lips. "...of course I'll help you."
Merrill blinked in surprise, then blinked again. You'll...save the mage boy's life because...oh... "C-can I help?" The words came without her thinking, yet she couldn't take them back.
He looked to her, smile gone, yet eyes nearly gentle, for once. "Of course." He glanced down at the seashells on the table that the elf and pirate had used as money in their game. "And I'll pay handsomely for your assistance." Isabela instantly shifted at the words, and to Merrill's surprise, it drew a little smile to Garrett's lips. "And that goes for you as well, Isabela. I think Fenris would be useful too." He turned his gaze to Anders. "Will that suffice?" The mage simply nodded. "Then make the preparations."
A moment later Arianni was on her knees, hands reaching up at Garrett even as she held her head low, making everyone in the bar look at the scene in shock. "Oh lord, thank you! I...thank you, my lord! I don't know how I can...I...I'm just so...thank you!" She thumped her forehead into the floor in supplication, making Merrill blush in embarrassment on her behalf. "You...you honour me!"
The man reached down, catching one hand and making Arianni look up with wide eyes rimmed by tears...and helped her back to her feet, face solemn. "The honour is mine."
Looking on, Merrill caught herself smiling.
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Thanks to Abydos Jackson for always making time where there is none.