Chapter Text
Carver woke after his joining with a ringing still hanging in his ears. His vision swam, and for a moment, he thought it might all be a terrible dream or another of Mors’ jokes.
Concerned, low voices of the uniformed men that crouched over him were garbled and far-away, like hearing through water. Carver forced himself to focus and push past the ringing, the thrumming in his head, and the strange, sickening pull that crawled through his veins. His skin itched. He moved, as if to scratch at it, and one of the men caught his hand.
“It’s the blight. You can sense the darkspawn. You’re a Grey Warden now.” The man explained, his dark blue eyes fixing on Carver. He was the one Anders had called Stroud, and he seemed to be in charge here.
“I - what?- my brother - “ Carver sputtered as thoughts surged through him, too many to sort into sentences. Stroud’s lips quirked, his prominent mustache twitching with amusement.
“Give it some time to sink it, eh?” He’d barely gotten the words out - in a gruff but kind, understanding tone, when another of the Wardens let out a long, low whistle. This seemed to signal something, and Stroud stood up, straightening to his full height as he turned away. Carver scrambled to his feet, as it was clear something was happening. He stumbled, still a bit foggy, and a nearby warden steadied him.
They were still near the entrance to the Deep Roads. He remembered the Wardens rushing him through tunnels toward the surface before they performed the ritual they called The Joining. He could see the entrance, a wide dark tunnel that seemed to go on forever into the dark. It beckoned, and Carver absently wondered if he would ever see sunlight again. Mors was probably basking in it, taking it for granted, the bastard. The next time he saw him, he would have a word or two for…. oh. Realization settled in, like a punch to the gut. He might never see his brother again. Or Mother. Or any of them…
There was a second long, low whistle from one of the Wardens standing guard on the edge of their little camp. Something was moving at the edge of the shadows down the tunnel, just out of sight.
After a few tense moments, two sharp, higher pitched chirps answered from the darkness. Carver noticed his companions let out audible sighs of relief.
The shapes moving in the dark turned out to be two more wardens. A lanky, dark-haired man and a younger woman with pretty, sad features. Her hair was cut short, just at her chin, and a grimy honey-brown. It hung in wavy, unwashed locks around a battle-hardened face. Dirt and all manner of grime masked a freckled complexion and green eyes darted about warily.
The man leaned heavily on the shorter woman, allowing her to support most of his weight. A tight bandage was tied around a large portion of his upper- thigh, and his face contorted in pain. As they neared, the others rushed to relieve her, and help him into the camp. A mage fussed over the wound as a fellow offered the man a flask. He accepted with a gruff, gracious response. The woman waved off the attentions of her companions, and sidled up to Stroud.
“Genlock caught him on the way back. It’s not serious.”
“Good. I had started to worry. And… Darwith? He is…?”
“Not coming. Ah, and I see our recruit is awake. Survived after all, have you? Good. I would hate for our rush to the surface to have been in vain. Only you would find strays in the middle of no where, Stroud.” Her green eyes lit on Carver, and he felt a jolt of nervous energy run up his spine. Shit. Was he blushing? No. Absolutely not. He didn’t blush.
“He found us. If you remember, Anders brought him.” Stroud’s gravelly voice carried the lilt of an accent, and he fixed the woman with a stoic stare. She looked strangely familiar… Carver remembered a female warden being with Stroud when his brother had handed him over, but it was hazy. He had memories of a feminine voice prodding at him to stand, to walk… but he had been so tired and the blight sapped his strength, growing stronger. Had this been the same woman?
“Anders.” Her eyes flashed gold, and she frowned at Stroud.
“You. Hawke.”
“Carver.” He corrected her before he even realized the words were coming out of his mouth. No. No no no. Not a good start.
“Right. Carver. You know Anders then? Was he… alone?” she asked carefully, but her tone implied that she knew what he did. Carver considered carefully. Anders had mentioned that he had left the Grey Wardens - and that this was not a thing that people normally got away with. And Mors had sworn them all to secrecy about Ander’s…. condition. But these people were to be his new brothers in arms. How could he trust them to watch his back if he lied to them on his first day?
“I…I had heard the Grey Wardens made him get rid of his cat.” Carver answered carefully. It was not a lie. But it was not an answer either. The woman huffed, rolling her eyes.
“Maker’s balls! The cat again. I swear he is marching across Thedas telling everyone that the Grey Wardens kick kittens.” She grumbled, hands on her hips.
“I believe Justice was still with him.” Stroud answered the question that Carver had dodged, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Fantastic. I need a drink.” She left Stroud and Carver standing together in her wake, stepping over to where the other wardens fussed over the now recovered, grinning dark-haired man. Stroud shifted uncomfortably, he was clearly the one in charge here, but he seemed to respect her almost as an equal.
They both watched as the injured man grinned, making a toast and brandishing his silver flask. The arrows in his quiver tipped out, spilling onto the ground with the motion.
“That is Nathaniel Howe. He came over from Amaranthine. Fereldan like you.” Stroud offered, following Carver’s gaze. He offered a hand in belated greeting as he continued.
“And I am Jean-Marc Stroud.” Carver clasped the older man’s gigantic hand in greeting, forcing himself not to grimace from crushing weight of his handshake.
“And she was?” Carver asked as he clasped Stroud’s hand and nodded in the woman’s direction. She’d left quite the impression. Stroud made a sound that was almost a chuckle, shaking his head.
“That’s Rowan Cousland. She’s Fereldan too. No, not that Cousland, Rowan’s her sister. Best not to mention that. She’s a bit sensitive. Rowan scouted the route that got us to the surface in time, and collected the ingredients for your Joining for you. Normally we have recruits do that themselves. We... we weren't sure you had the time.”
“Errr…. Thank you?”
“You are a Warden now, Carver. It is not a gift. You may have survived but there is no turning back. This is a calling.” Stroud left him with these words as he moved to join the others.
Carver hesitated in following him, but Nathaniel Howe’s laughing eyes sparkled as they lit on him, and he motioned him over with a hearty greeting. Carver took a deep breath, and tried to quiet the nerves in his stomach and the shaking of his hands.
Here’s to life as a warden…