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Carver must not have heard correctly. “What did you say?”
Isabela took another sip of her ale and glanced back at him from where her gaze had drifted to the head of the table. “All I’m saying is that if she and Fenris are done, I’d like to see what color his—”
“Stop, please, not that part,” Carver said with a grimace. He turned his head to watch Varric deal another round of Wicked Grace to Fenris, Merrill, Anders, and Sebastian across the table in Varric’s suite. Merrill held one of her cards backwards, Anders glared at his hand the way he usually glared at Carver, Sebastian laughed at whatever story Varric was telling, and Fenris looked as inscrutable as ever. His sister’s absence loomed large above them, and he wasn’t surprised almost every conversation revolved around her tonight. He didn’t know where she was, and on a normal evening he wouldn’t worry about it. But after Isabela’s admission…
“My sister and Fenris were a thing?” Isabela stared at him, and he stared back.
“You really didn’t know? I guess you don’t hear much gossip up in the Gallows.” She began picking at her fingernails, feigning disinterest in the conversation, but Carver saw through her act. “They slept together after he killed that magister, but he ran out on her. I can’t imagine the sex was bad for either of them, just look at them both, but Hawke hasn’t really told anyone why.”
Carver saw red. “That’s why she’s been acting so weird lately?” He didn’t usually spend his days off with his sister and her friends, but occasionally he would join them at the Hanged Man for Wicked Grace. For the last two times he attended, Marian had been conspicuously absent. He hadn’t really thought much about it until now.
He glared at Fenris and started planning all the ways he could kill the man and hide the body. Marian and he had never been on the best of terms, but if that elf had hurt her, Carver vowed to pummel him and silently fumed.
Isabela’s eyes roved over his face, looking for something. “They were tetchy around each other for a while, but they seem to be over it.”
Carver watched Fenris play cards with a more discerning, if intoxicated, eye. The man did seem more subdued than usual. Whenever Carver joined them for Wicked Grace, Fenris often made dry, cutting remarks, mostly at Carver’s expense. He was less forthcoming tonight, even less combative towards Anders and Merrill, if Carver really thought about it.
Fenris must have felt Carver’s stare, because he turned his head in one swift motion to meet his eyes. Carver glared, trying to imbue his stare with all the anger and protective brother feeling he had. Fenris blinked, unimpressed. The rage inside Carver’s chest burned hotter.
Isabela laughed at him and made a joke that Carver didn’t hear. He ignored her until she moved seats to play the next hand. Carver sat alone at the end of the table for a few minutes stewing until the game began to break up.
—
Carver followed Fenris out of the Hanged Man, walking just a few paces behind. Far enough that Fenris knew he was there, but not enough to welcome company or conversation. It was late enough that the streets were empty of civilians and tales of how his sister had taken out the mercenaries that roamed the streets reached the Gallows. He hoped the city guard didn’t come around if he had to knock some sense into Fenris.
When Fenris stopped at the door to his mansion, he folded his arms and turned to look Carver head-on. “Care to explain why you have followed me home tonight?” Carver realized maybe he should save this confrontation until he was sober and less riled up, but. He wasn’t sober and he was infuriated.
Carver glared and clenched his fists. “I heard about you and my sister.” He straightened his shoulders and tipped his jaw up as he watched Fenris determinedly.
Fenris shifted his weight on his feet, most likely preparing to fight or flee. “And?” His tone was just disinterested enough to get under Carver’s skin.
“And!” Carver closed the gap between them and slammed his fists into Fenris’ chest, not enough to damage him but enough to push him into the door. “And! You broke her heart! That’s why she’s been acting all weird!”
Fenris’ eyes glinted with emotion before they slid away from Carver. Was it guilt? No, the elf was mercenary enough apparently to abandon his sister, he couldn’t feel guilty about it now. “It’s not like that.” Fenris’ voice was sulky and Carver pushed him against the door again.
Carver let out a grunt of anger and his voice came out as a growl. “What the fuck is wrong with you? After all she’s done for you.”
Fenris met his eyes again and the blank mask was back in place. “My decisions are my own. You cannot shame me for them.”
“Yeah, well, someone should.” Carver let go to take two steps back and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You can’t just treat someone like that. Running out after sleeping together? She cares about you. That much was obvious, even to me, and I haven’t been running with you in years. Both of you have been acting all different. Maybe that’s why I haven’t seen her lately, because she doesn’t want to see you!”
Carver felt uneasy with the way Fenris shut down at his accusation. His face became solid stone and his body loosened, somehow simultaneously preparing for a fight and slumping in disappointment. Carver shifted his feet.
“Again, my decisions are my own. I do not have to explain myself to you.”
Carver couldn’t contain his fury, and he knew in the morning he would regret this even as his body acted. He hauled back to slam a sloppy fist into Fenris’ jaw. His head snapped to the side, and one of his gauntleted hands rose to dip in the blood trickling from his nose. He glared back at Carver, and Carver felt his stomach drop to his feet. Fucking Maker.
What was he thinking? Fenris was dangerous, with his lyrium and his greatsword and his magical fisting thing. Fenris surely could have blocked the punch if he wanted, Carver was confident in the elf’s ability to fight back after working alongside him for so long. Why didn’t he then? Marian’s sad face rose in Carver’s mind, and his resolve eliminated his doubt.
He swallowed nervously and shook out his fist. He took a step back. “I don’t want to fight with you, Fenris, but you can’t do that to her. She would do anything for you, for all her friends sure, but more you. And you just throw that in her face?” Carver shook his head and his lip curled. “I thought you were better than that.”
“You don’t understand,” Fenris snarled as he met Carver’s eyes with an icy expression. “It’s none of your business, but I do care for your sister. I…” His eyes drifted away from Carver again, and his gauntlets ground together as he clenched his fists, grating metal on metal breaking the awkward silence. Carver noticed the sigil Fenris wore on his waist, one he recognized immediately. “What’s between us is over. I never meant to hurt her, but. It cannot be any other way.”
When he looked up again, Carver saw the pain in his eyes. The fight fled his body for good, and Carver realized Fenris was hurting probably as much as Marian. “Why not?”
Fenris shook his head and began fidgeting with the red fabric wrapped around his wrist. Carver had never seen Fenris fidget before. “Something… unpleasant happened. And it cannot happen again.” Carver’s eyes narrowed. Did he mean a sex thing? He didn’t want to ask. “It’s for the best. She deserves better than a fugitive elf, anyway.”
Carver’s brow furrowed. That didn’t sound like Marian. A fugitive elf sounded exactly right for her. The woman went out of her way to surround herself with unusual strays. A Dalish blood mage, an apostate hobo, a hot pirate with no ship, and Fenris thought Marian was too good for him? Carver had been there when they met, and he had seen the awe and interest clear on Marian’s face. Fenris was bloody blind. “Even if she wants to? Doesn’t it matter what she wants?”
Fenris looked at him, and Carver squirmed under his intense stare. “She does not know what’s best for herself.”
Carver rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong.” He thought of all the times Marian came to the Gallows with her staff on full display, when he had to scramble to make excuses for her or distract his commanding officer. “But in this, I think she might. Both of you have been weird, and well. It’s weird. To be around either of you. Just, talk to her.”
Fenris nodded and his eyes drifted away from Carver again. “I will apologize.”
“Bloody right you will.” Carver figured that was the best he could get from someone as taciturn and brooding as him. “I don’t want to think about anything more than that, but, y’know. Listen to her.”
A slow smirk spread across Fenris’ face. “It’s hard not to, when she screams my name.”
Carver immediately covered his ears with his hands. “Nope, no more. I’m done. Be nice, or I’ll be back to kick your ass,” he threatened as he backed away. If Fenris was teasing him, maybe things would turn out alright. He did his good brother duty for the night, and he didn’t need any more details than that. The thought of Marian and Fenris together— nope. He wanted Marian to be happy, but he did not need to hear any more.