Archive of Our Own

The Deep Roads were hot, humid, and stuffy, and Bethany's head ached. No, 'ached' was the wrong word -- her skull was splitting, cracking further open with every step. Why was she still walking? There had been a reason, once, but the memory was shrouded in a fog of pain and exhaustion. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe. If she could just lie down, take a quick nap on the rocky ground…

The arm around her waist tightened, pulled her closer into a broad chest. "Just a little further." A man's voice, in her ear, cajoling but firm, a voice she knew, a voice she loved: Carver. Of course, Carver was with her. Where else would he be? He was here to hold her up, to help her with-- something. The scrap of memory gave her something else to grab, easier ground to stand upon, and she stood up a little straighter.

"Can't I take a little rest first?" She lifted a palm to her throbbing forehead. "My head hurts."

"We have to get to camp first," said Carver. "The Grey Warden camp, remember? They'll take care of your headache and-- everything. Just a few more steps and we're there. You can do this."

"Right." Bethany couldn't remember how the Grey Wardens might help her, but if Carver said they would, it had to be true. She took a deep breath, steeled herself against the pain, and kept going, putting one foot in front of the other, each step heavier and more difficult than the one before it. Her whole world was reduced to this walk: to taking one step, then another, her footsteps falling in time to the strains of distant music, and so she almost missed it when the leader of their party called a halt.

She looked up, into the face of a man with dark hair and a bushy mustache. His name, she remembered, was Stroud, and he spoke with a heavy Orlesian accent. "We're here," he said. "It will take us a few minutes to prepare the Joining. Are you certain about this?" He turned to Carver, his scowl deepening. "This is not a decision to be made lightly."

Carver stood up as straight as he could without letting go of Bethany. "I'm sure. Where my sister goes, I go."

Stroud shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you're as good with a blade as Anders claims, I won't turn you away." With that, he left them alone. Carver nudged Bethany with his hip.

"C'mon, there's a fire right over there. I'm sure you'd like to sit down while we wait." Arm still around her, he led her to the campfire -- actually a smokeless brazier, like the ones the dwarves had brought for the expedition -- and eased her down to the ground. Bethany gratefully sank down into a sitting position, then balanced her head between her hands. It helped to sit, but her temples still pounded, and now that she'd stopped, she was sure she would never be able to move again. Every muscle in her body ached, and she could still hear that music, closer now, jangling out of tune, but if she just listened a little closer…

"Ah, our new recruits. There you are." The voice was male, the accent familiar, but difficult to place. Bethany looked up and was surprised to see an elf -- male, blue eyes and red hair, about her age, wearing what looked like a Grey Warden mage robe. He had been smiling, but the expression faded into concern as he studied her face. "Oh dear," he said. "You're quite far gone, aren't you? We'd better not delay on this a moment longer. Stroud!" He turned his head, calling the name over his shoulder. "I have the chalice, whenever you're ready."

"Any time." Stroud stepped into the firelight. "You'll need to stand up, both of you."

Her very bones screamed in protest, but somehow Bethany got to her feet, with a hand up from Carver. She swayed, and Carver helped steady her. The elf stepped forward, a large white chalice in his hands. "This is the Joining," he said. "The ceremony that will make you Grey Wardens, and, if it works, save your life." He nodded to Bethany, then raised the chalice. "This contains a mixture of darkspawn blood, lyrium, and a drop of blood from an Archdemon. To fight the darkspawn, we become like them, taking the taint into ourselves." He looked at Bethany, then Carver. "I'm sure Stroud told you this already, but once you become a Grey Warden, there is no going back. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Carver said, staring intently at the chalice.

Bethany could only nod. She wasn't sure she understood; she was not, in fact, entirely sure that drinking from that chalice was preferable to lying down and going to sleep, even if it meant never waking up. But she had promised to try the cure, and so she nodded again. "Yes," she said, voice rasping and wobbly in her throat.

"Then we can begin." The elf lifted the cup and lowered his eyes. "Join us, brothers and sisters." His voice shifted into a lower register, reverent, as though he were speaking the Chant of Light, and a hush fell over the camp. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Then he looked back up. He held the chalice out to Bethany, but Carver stopped him, resting his hand on the rim. "I should go first," he said. He shot her a crooked smile. "Always charging ahead, right?"

Bethany shook her head. "Carver…"

But before she could say anything more, Carver had the chalice in his hand. He closed his eyes, tipped his head backwards and drank, a dribble of black coming from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he lowered the cup, and the Warden Commander took it from his hands. Eyes still closed, Carver swayed back and forth a few times, and then his knees buckled and he collapsed to the rocky ground.

"Carver!" Bethany almost tumbled down herself as she shrieked his name. He couldn't be dead, no, not now, not after all this, it would be so unfair...

"It's all right," the elf Warden said. "See, he's still breathing. He should wake in a few minutes." He turned his light blue eyes on her. "Now. Are you ready?"

Bethany took the chalice in both hands and almost gagged from the miasma of rotting blood. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and lifted the chalice to her lips.

-x-

Drowning-- demons-- darkspawn-- an ogre, its breath hot in his face-- Carver clawed his way up from unconsciousness, hand over hand, dragging himself out of the nightmare. Sitting up, he opened his eyes, gasping for air. He could feel his heart pounding, hot blood coursing through his veins.

"What-- what happened?" He held a hand to his head, the visions of darkspawn and yawning black pits already fading, like a bad dream. "Bethany?!" He looked around him, searching the campsite for her, but he couldn't see her: not on the ground next to him, not standing overhead.

"Your sister will be fine." It was the elf who had performed the Joining ritual; he held out a hand, and Carver took it, rising to his feet. "She's sleeping." He waved toward the tent. "If you want to see--"

He hadn't even finished the sentence before Carver turned and bolted for the tent. Once inside, he stopped short at the sight of Bethany, wrapped in a bedroll. Sleeping, indeed, and her color already much better -- the black circles under her eyes were gone, as were those dark veins that had begun snaking across her forehead. Carver took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder, almost collapsing in relief. She'd made it. She would be fine. They'd be together, and they'd be fine.

She stirred, and Carver dropped to one knee, taking her hand. It was still a little too warm, but no longer clammy -- her fever had broken. "Bethany!"

Her eyes opened, and she turned her head with a small smile. "Carver."

Carver laced his fingers through hers. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, although--" She sat up, pulling her hand from Carver's grip. "It's strange. A part of me is still tired, but the rest is filled to bursting with energy and can't hold it all, like I could walk to the end of the Deep Roads and back without stopping."

"Grey Warden stamina." Carver turned; it was the elf again, stooping to enter the tent. "One of the effects of the Joining. There are others, which we can talk about soon. I'm glad you're better."

"Thanks to you." Bethany crossed her hands across her lap.

"You may not always thank me. But for now, I'll take it." He smiled and made a small bow. "Well, introductions are long overdue. My name is Alim, and I'm Warden Commander at Vigil's Keep, in Amaranthine. I'm travelling with Stroud and his team to Ansburg, the main Warden stronghold in the Free Marches. That's where we're headed next."

Alim… Carver had heard that name before, somewhere. He looked at Bethany, into her wide open eyes. And then he remembered, his head snapping around on his neck to stare the Warden Commander in the face. "You're the Hero of Ferelden."

Alim smiled again, but this time with a hardness in his eyes. "Guilty as charged," he said, spreading his arms wide. Carver had to fight the urge to get down on one knee and bow his head to the person who had, if tales were to be believed, almost single-handedly stopped the Blight, saving Ferelden and most likely the rest of the world.

Bethany looked at him with a thoughtful expression. "So then… you are a mage."

"Indeed I am," Alim replied. "And so, I gather, are you. An apostate, but educated by your father, who was a Circle mage?" Bethany nodded, while Carver wondered why he knew all this. How much information had Anders been able to pass along? "The Grey Wardens can always use more well-trained mages. Especially since we can't exactly say that on the recruitment posters."

Startled into a chuckle, Bethany covered her hand with her mouth, and Carver had to smile, too. His sister was alive, well, and in a company where mages would be welcomed. Maybe this taint business would turn out to be a blessing in disguise for her.

Alim turned to Carver. "Not," he continued, "that more swords are not welcome. Far from it, especially if everything in Anders's report is true. He spoke quite highly of you both."

Carver and Bethany exchanged looks again, she meeting his eyes with an encouraging smile. "I-- I have to admit, I never realized Anders thought much of me," Carver said.

Alim shook his head. "Anders was never much for the social graces. Unless he wanted to hook up with you, then he could be quite charming." He chuckled. "I knew him in the Ferelden Circle, though not well, and of course we got to know each other better as Grey Wardens. Not that much better," he added with a quick grin. "I have other commitments." He fingered the tip of his earlobe, where a small diamond earring caught the light from the torches. "Anyway, enough about that. As soon as you're ready, we need to move -- you caught us as we were about to break camp, and although we don't begrudge the time we took for your recovery, it's time we got started. But first, I imagine you're hungry."

-x-

Bethany could not remember the last time she'd been this glad to see sunlight.

They'd spent another full day in the Deep Roads after the Joining, slogging through dusty tunnels and fording underground streams. And then, hours and hours after breaking their second camp -- but who knew, really, how to judge the passage of time beneath the earth -- she turned a corner and saw it: a glow in the distance, barely discernible over the light of their torches. And she broke into a run, heedless of Stroud's disapproving shout behind her. A few more twists and turns brought her to the mouth of a cave, nearly grown over with roots and weeds; she clawed them aside as she stepped through, winding her fingers through the dirty tendrils and pressing them to her face, smelling the rich green of living plants and soil. She closed her eyes and walked into the sunshine, letting the warm rays soak into her skin.

A hand fell on her shoulder: Carver's. "Maker, that's glorious. Did I ever appreciate the sun that much before?" He let out a contented sigh. "Well, don't let me take it for granted ever again."

"It's a deal," Bethany murmured. Then she stepped forward, eyes still closed, and extended her arms outward, spinning around before falling backwards to land flat on her back in the soft grass. And she just lay there, breathing, the scratch of the grass against her cheek and its living scent deep in her lungs.

"We only have another hour or so until sundown." Bethany opened her eyes to see Stroud standing above her, arms crossed, frown disapproving. "This is not a good place to camp."

"Why not?" Carver looked around as Bethany sat up. "It's a large clearing, and I think I smell water nearby."

"Darkspawn," Alim said as he emerged from the cave entrance. "Only about an hour or so behind us. They might not come to the surface, but I'd like to put more distance between us just in case." Bethany closed her eyes for a moment and tried to sense the darkspawn as Alim had told her she would soon be able to, but she felt nothing. She could only feel the darkness in her own blood, creeping, seeping, giving her the shivers. "Anyway," Alim continued, "the path is fairly easy from here, and we're only two or so hours from Ansburg. We could be there in time for dinner."

His words were gentle, but Bethany knew an order when she heard one. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and started walking, away from the cave, wondering how much longer she'd be allowed to travel in fresh air.

-x-

Carver had been expecting a stone fortress, perhaps on top of a hill or carved out of the side of a mountain, so he was surprised to see little more than a collection of wooden buildings in a clearing, surrounded by a low masonry wall. This dinky settlement was Ansburg?

Alim looked back over his shoulder, and only then did Carver realize he had spoken aloud. "It is, indeed," Alim said. "Not the most impressive-looking stronghold, but I assure you, it is well protected." He pointed toward the forest. "Look."

Carver squinted, peering through the trees, and then he saw them, scattered among the treetops. "Lookout posts?"

"Correct. Almost a dozen of them, surrounding the compound. And the walls are much stronger than they look -- dwarven-made, with lyrium dust worked into the mortar, and then enchanted, protected by old spells of warding and alarm." Alim smiled. "Let's just say I wouldn't want to lay siege to it."

"I can feel it," Bethany murmured as they drew closer to the walls. "The lyrium, and the spells."

"Like it's buzzing in the back of your brain?" Alim asked. Bethany nodded. "I feel it, too. Most of the mages who come here say the same thing. Some of the dwarves, too, the ones who work with lyrium." They approached the open gates, Stroud exchanging nods with the guards as they passed through.

Inside the compound were a scattering of single-story buildings, mostly small cottages that looked like dormitories. A dirt clearing surrounded by lit torches seemed to be a training ground -- Carver saw several groups of Wardens, dressed in their blue and silver armor, some sparring with blades, one row of archers engaged in target practice. On the other side was a long, low building with a chimney belching smoke. Alim pointed to it. "The armory and blacksmith shop. That'll be our first stop, once I've reported to the Warden Commander here. You both have pretty good weapons, but you'll need Grey Warden armor, and I'm sure that sword could use sharpening and repair. And who knows -- maybe you'll find something that suits you better."

Carver thought of the beating his sword had taken in the Deep Roads, especially going up against the Rock Wraiths. It would be nice to be well-equipped for a change.

-x-

" So." Ricker, the Warden Commander at Ansburg, was a large man, with broad shoulders and thick legs. Almost the size of the Arishok, whom Bethany had seen once, from a distance, when he'd given an audience to her brother Garrett. He sat on a chair on a raised dais, almost like a throne, which completed the effect, though it was mitigated somewhat by an Orlesian drawl even heavier than Stroud's. "Two new Wardens, joined under duress?"

"In a sense," Alim said. "Bethany was on a Deep Roads expedition, dying of the taint. One of their companions knew of the Grey Wardens and led her to us. Her brother, Carver, decided to follow."

Ricker raised an eyebrow. "'Knew of' the Wardens? And how, pray tell, did he know our secrets?"

"Because he is a Warden himself." Alim looked back at him, expression schooled. "Formerly one of mine."

"Figures." Ricker scowled. "And I suppose you gave no thought to bringing him back to answer for his crimes?"

His crimes? Bethany wondered. She glanced at Carver, who shook his head slightly. Was leaving the Wardens considered a crime, or had Anders done something else to earn their enmity?

But Alim only shrugged. "I never saw him. Take it up with Stroud, if you like. Meanwhile, I bring two more Wardens to swell our ranks, a mage and a sword-hand, and they have both proven their mettle to my satisfaction." A half-truth, at best -- they had seen no action on their trip to Ansburg, so Alim had to be taking Anders's word for their skills. But perhaps that was proof enough for him.

"Fine." Ricker waved a hand back toward the door. "Get them suited up, and we'll talk assignments in the morning."

"Thank you, sir." Alim nodded to the commander, then exited the audience hall, Bethany and Carver a step behind. "Armory first," he said, "and then I'm sure you're starving." His mouth turned up into a half smile. "Sorry we had such short rations on the road. Feeding two extra Wardens is no small matter." At even the mention of food, Bethany felt a rumble in her stomach, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Alim's grin widened. "Never fear, dinner will be plentiful. But we really should get you measured for armor and robes first. This way."

He turned through a side door, and they exited almost directly onto the training ground. The group of fighters had thinned, leaving only two dwarves going after each other with swords and three archers still working the targets. Bethany's attention was drawn to one of the archers, a tall man with dark brown hair, half-braided in the Ferelden fashion and brushing his shoulders. He held his bow up, arrow nocked and drawn, the tautness of the string matched by the tension in his powerful shoulders. Then he let it go, and the arrow flew free and fast across the training ground, landing in the exact middle of the target.

"Nice shot," Alim called, and the man started, then turned to look at him. "Showing them how it's done, as usual?"

The man smiled, and it transformed his craggy face, a light coming into his grey eyes. "Welcome back, Commander. Did you have a productive trip?"

"Well, we didn't find what we were looking for," Alim said. "But I got two new Wardens out of the deal, so we'll call it a success. Nathaniel Howe, meet Carver and Bethany. Carver, Bethany: Nathaniel. He's my second."

"A pleasure," Nathaniel said, his Ferelden accent comforting and familiar. He shook Carver's hand, and then took Bethany's with a bow. "My lady."

The blush that came to Bethany's cheeks was surely just from being tired, hungry, overwhelmed by so many changes. "Nice to meet you."

Nathaniel nodded, then returned his attention to Alim. "Any other news?"

"I'll tell you later. Meanwhile, I have to get these two to the armory. See you at dinner?"

"Of course." Nathaniel nodded at Carver and Bethany again. "I'm sure I'll see you both again. Welcome to Ansburg." He walked over to the target and began retrieving his arrows, pulling them out of the straw ticking. Bethany indulged herself in watching for a moment before turning away and following Alim into the armory.

-x-

Bethany stepped out from behind the curtain and took a slow spin in the center of the room. "Looking good, ma'am." The seamstress, an elf with long fingers and an easy smile, stepped back to put a critical eye over her handiwork. "How does it fit?"

"Pretty well," Bethany conceded as she turned from side to side, checking different angles in the mirror. Royal blue wasn't really her color, but the silver worked through the pattern helped it from being too overwhelming. Even after several fittings, the chain mail that hung down her torso felt heavy and awkward, though she would appreciate its protection in the field. She reached for her staff and twirled it around, and did not feel the tightness around her shoulders she'd noticed at previous fittings. "Much better through the top now, thank you."

The seamstress shrugged, but looked pleased. "Just doing my job. I think it's ready, and just in time, too. I hear Warden Commander Alim is scheduled to move out tomorrow."

"Oh?" Bethany set aside her staff and took a seat in the rickety wooden chair in the corner to lace up her boots. "What else do you hear?"

Before she could answer, the dinner bell rang, and Bethany's stomach growled in response. A week in Ansburg, nine days as a Warden, and Bethany was still not used to this constant gnawing hunger. "Never mind, I should get going so you can close up for the night. Thank you for the robes."

"You're welcome." The seamstress nodded, and Bethany left, walking across the emptying practice ground and into the dining hall. Across the room, Carver waved at her, and he stood up with a smile.

"Those look good on you," he said. He'd had his own last fitting yesterday, and he'd cut quite a dashing figure in Warden blue -- it brought out the color of his eyes. Of the three of them, only Carver had their father's brilliant blue eyes, and Bethany had always been jealous. Earlier that afternoon, she'd seen him out on the practice ground, the silverite breastplate and pauldrons gleaming in the afternoon sun as he'd sparred with other Wardens. But he'd changed for dinner, and Bethany felt a little awkward in comparison.

"If you say so," she said. "Let me get a plate, and I'll be right back." As she turned, she caught the eye of another woman in mage robes, sitting in the back corner, alone at a round table. She seemed to be staring straight at them, bright eyes above a hawk-hooked nose, dark red hair and a stern expression. Bethany shuddered under her regard, then shook it off. No, it had to be her imagination. Why would anyone be watching her?

But when she returned with a full plate of food, the woman had not moved: still she kept watch on their table from a distance. Bethany sat down next to Carver, not really willing to turn her back on that hard stare. "Who is that?" she asked under her breath, nudging Carver with her shoulder.

"The creepy lady? I don't know. I saw her yesterday afternoon, watching me during drills." Carver shrugged. "Maybe she's just curious. There can't be many twins in the Wardens."

"I suppose." Hunger won out over unease, and Bethany tore her attention away from the mysterious woman and to the hunk of beef on her plate. "One thing I will give the Wardens: they hire better cooks than I expected."

Carver chuckled, glancing down at his own half-finished portion. "I suppose it's a necessity, when you feed an army that gets this hungry."

"It also helps that the leaders have as big an appetite as anyone else. So it's to their advantage, too, when the food is edible." Bethany looked up, mouth full, to see Alim standing over them. She hastened to swallow, but he waved her off. "No worries, go ahead and finish. I'm just glad I caught you both." He slid in to the bench across from them; in the distance, Bethany saw the mysterious woman stand up and leave the room. "I spoke to Ricker and got your assignments. Bethany, the Grey Wardens at Montsimmard are short on mages, and there are difficulties with recruiting in Orlais right now. And you, Carver, you'll be with me, heading back to Ferelden. So tomorrow--"

"Wait." Carver held up a hand and leaned over the table. "We can't stay together?"

"I'm afraid not," said Alim. "I already have another mage besides myself. We don't need another, and in fact they prefer not to keep too many mages in one unit -- makes us too tempting a target for the templars."

"Then I'll go to Orlais," Carver said, drawing himself up tall. "Surely they can use more blades in Orlais." He glanced at Bethany. "Right?"

Bethany couldn't say anything, too gripped with panic to speak or even nod. They couldn't possibly split them up, could they? Not after Carver had given up everything, his whole entire life, to follow her here.

"Well…" Alim spread his hands, expression sheepish. "You see, one of the main tenants of being a Warden is that you give up your claims to home and family. So even if there was a post that was ideal for you both, they'd still separate you. At least for awhile."

"But…. we work together!" Carver grabbed Bethany's hand under the table, and she squeezed back, tight. "We're twins, we're a team. Always have been. You can't split us up. It would be inhumane."

Alim sent a sharp breath out his nose. "You may have realized by now that humane treatment is not always the Grey Wardens first concern."

"Screw that, then." Carver started to stand up, pulling Bethany with him. "We're leaving."

"You can't leave--"

"Anders did." Bethany forced the words out. "Things got bad for him and Justice, so they left. They wouldn't be separated, and neither will we."

Alim let out a heavy sigh. "I wonder what you think really happened to them," he said, almost to himself. Then he shook his head. "Theirs is a long and sad story, and not really typical anyway. Being a Warden is for life. You know that, and so, if he'd really thought it through, would've Anders. I won't say we could force you to stay, exactly, but we can make you wish we had." He reached across the table and lightly touched Bethany's hand. "Just…. think about it, will you? One of the senior Wardens at Montsimmard is a good friend of mine, and I'd be glad to introduce you. I think you'd be happy there."

Bethany jerked her hands away from Alim and Carver both, fury giving her the impetus to move again. "What do you care about my happiness? What does anyone care?" She jumped all the way to her feet and slammed her palms against the table. "The Wardens don't want you to be happy, they want you to obey. Don't ask questions, don't have opinions, don't do anything but murder darkspawn until you fall over dead. Well, I don't want to be a Warden. I never did." Crossing her arms, she whirled away from Alim and Carver, then marched out of the room. From the commotion behind, she was pretty sure that Carver had followed her, but she didn't even really care. Right now, she wanted to be alone. Alone was all she would ever be again.

So determined was she to get out of the mess hall and into the fresh air of the courtyard that she barely even noticed when she crashed into the broad chest of a man and almost knocked him over. "Hey, whoa there!" She tried to step around the interloper, but strong hands fell on her shoulders, and she looked up and into the face of Nathaniel Howe, his brow furrowed. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she muttered, pushing him aside, and tried to continue on her way. But he stopped her with a hand to her arm.

"You don't seem fine," he said, gently.

Bethany pulled her arm away with a huff. "Then maybe I don't want to talk about it."

He tipped his head to the side, compassion in his grey eyes. "Alim gave you the news, didn't he?"

She drew back as if she had been slapped. "How did you--"

Nathaniel lowered his chin. "I was there when he received the order." He spread his hands. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine you wanted to be separated from your brother. "

"It's not fair," Bethany muttered, crossing her arms. "After everything we've been through, how can they break us up now?"

Instead of answering, Nathaniel gestured toward a bench in the corner of the courtyard, and Bethany followed him there. She took a seat next to him, and he kicked out his long legs, leaning back on his hands. "I was also conscripted by the Wardens," he said. Surprised, Bethany looked up and into his face. He was calm, betraying almost no emotion, as though he spoke about a tragedy that had befallen someone else. "By Alim. I had committed a crime, and my life was forfeit; he had every right to take it, but he gave it back to me instead."

"By making you a Warden?" Bethany shook her head. "I don't see how that's much better."

"It's a second chance," Nathaniel said. "A chance to right the balance of the universe. I know your circumstances were different, but think about it. Maybe there's some wrong the universe is trying to right, by leading you here."

Bethany crossed her hands in her lap. "Do you believe in the Maker?" she asked.

"More or less," he replied. "Are you asking if I think being a Warden was the Maker's plan for me?"

"Maybe." She paused. "I have to believe--" Bethany stopped, shook her head again. "I don't know. I have to believe, but I don't know if I do. And I don't know if would even help if I did." She stood up and looked back at him, into the sharp planes of his face. Had he been this handsome before? Or had she just failed to notice? "But thank you for trying."

He got to his feet with a solemn nod. "I'm sorry we won't have the opportunity to serve in the same unit. But we will be traveling together, as far as the coast. Perhaps we can speak more then."

Mouth suddenly dry, Bethany had to stop herself from licking her lips at the warmth of his smile. "Perhaps," she managed.

-x-

Dawn broke early, too early for Carver. He rolled over, throwing a hand up over his eyes to block out the sunrise.

He'd tried to run after Bethany when she'd stormed out of the dining hall, but she was too quick for him; by the time he pushed through the crowd to reach the door, she was gone, with no indication of which hallway she'd taken. So he'd returned to their room, somehow managing not to stomp like a petulant child. What good was being a Warden if he couldn't be with Bethany? They were a team, dammit! It was stupid to split them up. But he could tell that complaining to Alim would be no use. Whether Alim agreed with the command or not, the command was received and would be obeyed. Carver had been with King Cailan's army, so he understood how these things worked.

But that didn't mean he had to like it, and he spent that whole night tossing and turning, trying to decide what to do. Regardless of what Alim said, surely there were Wardens besides Anders who left. He could take Bethany and run, and go…. Where? Not back to Kirkwall. It had been hard enough to keep Bethany away from the templars; they couldn't force Garrett to shelter them from the Grey Wardens, too. Another city? With no money, no connections? Most places still wouldn't take Fereldan refugees, even now. Their options were limited.

He sat up and sighed. Maybe an answer would present itself on the way. Bethany's bunk was already empty, so he got out of bed, stretched, and started getting ready for the day.

By the time he made it to the dining hall for breakfast, the Ferelden Wardens were already gathered together at a table. Bethany sat with them, a little distance away. The space between her and the female dwarf with the tattooed face might as well have been a chasm. Taking a tray piled with meat and bread, Carver made his way to the team -- his team, he thought. Very different from his regiment in the army, or Garrett's friends in Kirkwall, or even Athenril's rag-tag band of smugglers. He hadn't really fit in with any of those groups, and he wasn't sure he'd fit in here, either. But he sat down anyway, across from Bethany and next to Nathaniel Howe.

"Ah, good, you're up." Nathaniel set down his fork and patted at his mouth with a folded napkin. "We leave as soon as we're done eating."

"Already?" Carver swallowed hard and looked across the table at Bethany, his stomach twisted into an instant knot. "But--"

Nathaniel chuckled, an oddly reassuring sound. "You don't have to say farewell just yet. There are no Wardens bound for Orlais for at least a fortnight, so we'll be escorting your sister at least to the coast, possibly as far as Amaranthine."

"Oh." Carver's stomach unclenched, and the ravenous appetite immediately returned. "Well, all right then." He picked up the hambone and took a large bite. "But mark my words," he said, through his mouthful. "I'm not finished trying to convince Alim to change his mind."

"I'm afraid it's not his mind you'd need to change." Nathaniel shrugged. "But it's not relevant anyway; he's not joining us. I'll be leading the group back to Amaranthine."

"Oh?" The dwarf with the tattooed face perked up. "Alim's staying behind?"

Nathaniel nodded. "He has some things to discuss here, apparently. A hero's work is never done, as they say. He might come back to Vigil's Keep after, or he might be reassigned. He's not sure."

"Ah." The dwarf picked up her fork, then set it back down again, eyes going wide. "Wait! Does that mean…."

He turned a fierce scowl on her. "It means nothing until we hear otherwise, Sigrun. Do I make myself clear?"

Sigrun grinned. "Yes sir, Mr. Warden Commander sir."

Nathaniel sighed, though it carried an air of fond exasperation. "What did I just say?"

"Right, right." Next to Sigrun, another dwarf with a long red beard waved his hand in the air. "Somethin' about counting chickens or somethin'. Whatever, we all know better."

"Naturally," said the last Warden, an elf with Dalish markings and light blond hair pinned up in the back. "The elf leaves, and they put the human in charge."

Nathaniel put his head in his hands with the weary air of someone who's had the same fruitless discussion ten times in a row. "Did I even say I wanted the job?"

"Oh, fer sure," said the male dwarf. "Because the Wardens are all about giving people what they want. Right? Ow!" He bounced in his seat, turning a glare on Sigrun. "What was that for?"

"Shhh!" Sigrun cast a swift look at Bethany, who had shrunk down further in her seat, cheeks pale. "Sorry," she said, addressing Bethany and Carver both. "Oghren isn't exactly the king of sensitivity."

"King of something," the Dalish elf muttered.

"All right, Velanna, Sigrun, enough," said Nathaniel. "If you are all quite finished?" He looked around the group, glowering. "Get your things together, and we'll meet at the gate in ten minutes."

-x-

" So." Carver stooped down as he walked, so as not to be hit in the face by a low-hanging branch. They'd been half the morning on the road, and he'd finally worked up the courage to take a place by Velanna. "You're Dalish, then?"

"I am." Velanna glanced up at him, scowling. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, nothing, just wondering." He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting back a blush at his memories. "I, uh, I knew another Dalish elf, once, is all. In Kirkwall. And I just wondered if maybe you knew her?"

Velanna snorted. "Typical. You humans, assuming that all elves and clans are interchangeable. When we typically go years without coming in contact with another clan."

"I guess. I'm sorry. I just thought-- She was second to a Keeper before she got herself outcast, and--" Carver stopped himself with a deep breath. "Sorry," he said again, limply.

She let out a long, heavy sigh. "Just ask," she said.

"She's called Merrill. From Clan Sabre?" He found his voice going up on a hopeful note, and he scowled his hopes back down. It's not like Velanna knowing Merrill was actually going to mean anything.

Velanna seemed to take the question seriously, though. She thought for a long moment, then shook her head. "No," she said. "I know the clan you mean -- they were in the south of Ferelden for many years, while we were in the North. But I've never met anyone from that clan." She looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Why do you care so much?"

"No reason! No reason at all."

"Uh huh." Velanna hitched her pack higher up on her back. "Well, I don't know her, and that's all I care to discuss." She hurried her steps away from him, and he fell back, feeling deflated without really knowing why.

-x-

Meanwhile, Bethany walked alone, a few steps back in the middle of the group. Wrapped up in her misery, she almost didn't catch the sound: a soft rustle in the bushes. She stopped, and Nathaniel nearly crashed into her from behind. "Did you hear--"

Nathaniel put a finger up to his lips and held his other hand out, blocking Bethany's progress forward. He pursed his lips and let out a quick whistle -- it sounded like a simple tune, but it must have been some sort of signal, because Sigrun, in the front, immediately stopped and turned around. She raised an eyebrow; Nathaniel nodded, and she slipped off the path.

Bethany looked up at Nathaniel, and he made a sign for quiet before retrieving his bow and preparing an arrow. The rest of the party had stopped as well, confusion on Carver's face, understanding on the others. Oghren casually pulled the axe off his back and Velanna looked to be preparing a spell. Bethany caught Carver's eye, and he nodded at her, moving closer to her side.

And then a shout came from the bushes, followed by the sound of a tussle: leaves crunching, branches breaking, grunts of exertion, a quick yelp of pain. After a few seconds, Sigrun emerged, dragging a dwarf in mismatched armor with her. She dumped him in front of Nathaniel, who lowered his bow but kept the arrow ready. "Where are the rest of you?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the dwarf sneered. And then, as if on cue, a whole pack of dwarves emerged from the underbrush, weapons ready.

"Ambush!" Nathaniel hollered, loosing his arrow and knocking the prisoner back, the shaft buried in his shoulder.

The dwarf jumped back to his feet and pointed at Bethany with his other arm, then Carver. "Blood of the Hawke!" he shouted. "Get them both!"

And then the attackers were on them with knives and swords and clubs, a whirling storm of death. With nowhere to retreat but the center, Bethany took a few steps back, nearly bumping into Velanna, who was already shooting bolts of energy from her wooden staff. Her magic was green and lively, similar to the taste of Merrill's spells, without the dark undercurrent of blood magic, and Bethany clung to the familiar feel, drawing on her own power to shoot a jet of flame at the nearest dwarf attacker. The two mages stood back to back, sending out their alternating bolts of green and red light while Carver and Oghren ran interference with their large blades, keeping any of the enemies from getting too close.

In the end, they made short work of the dwarves, and when the last one fell, Carver grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him off the ground. "What is this?" he growled.

The dwarf kicked and struggled, then went limp. "Corypheus's will be done. The blood of the Hawke must be destroyed," he gasped, and then he slipped out of Carver's grasp, falling dead to the ground.

"The blood of the what now?" Sigrun asked. "Isn't a hawk a kind of bird?"

Carver and Bethany exchanged a look. "He must have meant us," Bethany said. "Hawke is our family name." She shook her head. "But I have no idea why. Or who Corypheus might be."

On the other end of the path, Oghren leaned over one of the bodies. "Carta," he said, grunting, kicking it with his heavy metal boot. "Look, the insignia, here. They're all Carta." He looked up at Sigrun. "What would the Carta want with surfacer Grey Wardens?"

Sigrun shrugged. "I didn't understand the Carta when I was working for them, much less now. If there was gold in it, maybe. But fighting to the death? Not their usual style."

"If someone is after you, we'll protect you," Nathaniel said, facing Bethany. "It doesn't matter why." He looked around the group and caught every eye. "Be on your guard."

-x-

The next ambush came the next morning, and it was considerably clumsier than the first: Sigrun had heard the dwarves crashing through the underbrush at least ten minutes in advance. So the Grey Wardens drew their weapons and charged into the forest instead, Carver and Oghren at the forefront, sweeping their would-be attackers aside with their blades while Velanna turned the trees against them and Nathaniel and Bethany provided covering fire. Oghren pinned the last one against a tree and would have taken his head off, but Carver caught the haft of his axe. "Wait!"

"Sure." Oghren shrugged and Carver took his place, grabbing the dwarf by the collar and shoving him up against the tree trunk. "Who are you? Who sent you? Why are you after us?"

"The blood of the Hawke--"

The dwarf barely got the words out before Carver smashed him in the jaw with a fist, his head hitting the tree with a sickening crack. "We know that part already! Now tell us the rest."

The dwarf turned his head to the side and spat blood. "The blood of the Hawke binds the master. The master will be freed."

"The master?" Bethany appeared through the trees, Nathaniel a step behind, and hurried to Carver's side. "Is that Corypheus?" The dwarf turned his sullen glare on Bethany, who raised a hand wreathed in flames. "Tell us, and we let you go. Don't tell us…"

She trailed off, leaving what she might to do the dwarf's imagination, a vivid one if his suddenly terrified expression was anything to go by. "Corypheus," he repeated. "The blood of the Hawke holds him prisoner, and the blood of the Hawke will set him free. The Grey Wardens know."

"The Wardens?" Nathaniel stepped forward, eyes widening. "What have the Wardens to do with this?"

"Grey Wardens imprisoned the master. Bound him in darkness, until time forgot him and the world moved on. But no binding lasts forever." The dwarf smiled, his mouth smeared with red. "The blood of the Hawke will unbind him. You'll see."

Carver relaxed his grip, but did not release the prisoner. "What does the Carta have to do with all this?"

The dwarf just shook his head, even when Carver punched him again. He drew back his arm for another shot, but Bethany laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's no use," she said. "That's all he's going to tell us."

"And the moment you let him go, he's going to try and kill you both again." Nathaniel lifted his bow. "Stand back," he said, and as Carver stepped away, he loosed the arrow and it found its target, buried in the dwarf's neck. It pinned him to the tree and he died.

"Well." Nathaniel put his bow away and crossed his arms. "Once again, we are surrounded by dead dwarves and not enough information. But one thing is clear: they aren't going to stop coming. Sigrun, do you think you can follow their trail, back to their camp or wherever it is they're coming from?"

"They weren't exactly running the stealthiest operation I've seen," Sigrun replied. "Yeah, I think I can."

"All right. With the words of this latest miscreant, I feel comfortable declaring this matter to be Warden business." Nathaniel gestured outward. "Sigrun, lead the way."

-x-

It took the rest of that day and the better part of the next to retrace the Carta's path. They had planned to follow the Minatar River down to the port at Wycome, but instead they turned south, fording the river and following the trail the dwarves had left through the foothills and toward Ostwick. Even Bethany could see the obvious damage to the underbrush. "They weren't trying very hard to hide their tracks, were they?" she asked, fingering a stand of broken cattails at the edge of a marsh.

"Nope," Sigrun said. "Warrior dwarves," she added with a snort. "I'm not much of a stealth fighter either, but seriously. Oghren could do better than this."

"Thanks," Oghren grumbled, and Sigrun shot him a grin.

"I, for one, am grateful," Nathaniel said. "Any thoughts on how much further to their encampment?"

"Another day, maybe?" Sigrun sniffed one of the bruised stalks. "Given the freshness of the trail."

"Let's get a bit off their track, then, and make camp for the night." Nathaniel took the lead this time, passing through the trees with nary a whisper. Bethany watched, impressed.

"Why does he have you do the tracking?" she asked Sigrun. "He seems so good at it."

"He can't run off after trail signs and be in charge at the same time," Sigrun said. "When the Commander is with us, he sometimes takes the lead. But also, he's better at not leaving signs of his passage; I'm better at finding those of others. Still, he's an excellent tracker. So I don't mind when he takes over." She nudged Bethany with her shoulder. "Besides, I enjoy the view."

Bethany covered her mouth with a hand. "Sigrun! How can you--"

Sigrun winked. "Easy," she said. "And I think you do, too."

"Well, I…" She stopped. What was the point, when they'd only be separated when this errand was done and they reached the coast? "I thank you not to speculate on my personal life," she said, forcing a haughty tone and holding her chin up. And she walked straight ahead, refusing to look either at Sigrun or the back of their leader.

-x-

Traveling through the woods was much nicer than camping in the Deep Roads. Carver held out his hands to the warm campfire and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. That was one thing about being a Grey Warden he was not looking forward to -- more time in the Deep Roads. But maybe they'd be on the surface more often than he'd expected, if this trip was any indication.

He sat down on a log next to Bethany, who was staring into the flames, a bowl of soup in her hands. "Hey," he said, shoving her shoulder with his.

"Hey back." She shoved him back, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it. "Enjoying the fire?"

"Yeah." He leaned back on his hands and kicked his feet outward. "I suppose braziers are more practical underground, but there's nothing quite like the smell of a campfire, or eating meat roasted in the coals."

"Enjoy it while you can," said Oghren from the other side of the fire. "You'll be back in the Deep Roads soon enough, happy to have cold rations and roast deepstalker."

Bethany shivered, set down her bowl, and curled up on herself, rubbing her hands over her arms. "Don't remind me," she muttered. Carver put his arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I hate this. Bad enough that I'll have to go back down there for weeks on end. To do it without you…"

Carver wanted to reassure her, but the words stuck in his throat. For the first time since they'd parted, he wished for Garrett. Their brother would crack a joke, or just say something so inappropriate that the only possible response was laughter, and they could forget about their problems for a little while. Or he'd charm the Warden Commanders into letting them stay together. If Carver tried to do either of those things, he'd just make the situation worse. Instead he just sighed and stroked Bethany's arm. It wasn't much, but she relaxed a little. For now, he could be here for her. It would have to be enough.

-x-

Late the next afternoon, sky darkening into dusk, they stepped out into a clearing and were set upon almost immediately, arrows flying down from overhead. "Beards of my ancestors," Oghren grunted, throwing up his arms to ward his face. "Dwarves aren't supposed to climb trees!"

"Well, these dwarves have." Velanna twirled her staff in the air, creating a makeshift shield that the party crowded underneath as they bolted back for cover. "Smart thinking, I'd say."

"This group seems better prepared than the others." Nathaniel set an arrow to his bow and fired into the leaves. "Bethany, can you smoke them out?"

"One fireball, coming right up." Bethany stepped out from behind a tree trunk and shot several bolts of flame into the treetops. One of them caught, and the dwarves tumbled out, shouting with pain and confusion. Carver and Sigrun rushed in as she took aim at another -- and then an arrow found a target in her arm, knocking her to the ground and the staff out of her hand. "Aah!"

Distracted by her scream, Carver turned around, and the dwarves he was fighting took the opportunity to run, dashing off into the densest part of the forest. "Bethany!"

"They're getting away!" Sigrun took off after them, Velanna and Oghren on her heels. Carver looked after them, pained, then back again at Bethany.

"Go," she said through gritted teeth. "Finding their base and keeping them from reporting back is more important. I'll be all right. Go!"

"Bethany is right," Nathaniel said. "I'll take care of her." Carver nodded in acknowledgement and hesitated no longer, racing after the rest of the team. Bethany then collapsed the rest of the way to the ground, her vision hazing red with the agony she could now allow herself to feel.

"Bethany?" Nathaniel sounded alarmed as she slipped out of his hands and to the ground. "Were you--"

"Faking it... so Carver would leave?" She laughed, then winced with the pain of laughing. "However... did you... guess?"

"I'm an excellent judge of character," Nathaniel said dryly. "Now hold still and let me help you." He pulled out his pack and started sorting through poultices and tinctures.

"What--?" Bethany started to sit up, but Nathaniel pushed her back down with a gentle but firm touch to her uninjured shoulder.

"Alim is our best healer-- well, really Anders was our best healer, but..." Nathaniel glanced swiftly away from his work and caught her eye, then shrugged. "Alim is also excellent. But he can't always be with us, given the responsibilities of command. So I learned as much herb lore from him as I could. You'd be surprised, too, how similar the art of making poison is to crafting antidotes, and other healing poultices and salves." He pulled out a bottle, frowned at it, then set it aside. "Also, knowing the damage I can inflict with an arrow gives me a sense of how it can best be fixed. Ah, here we are." He pulled out a wrapping and set it aside, then pulled the knife from his belt. "First, we need to get the arrow out. This is going to hurt, I'm afraid. Can you do anything for your own pain?"

"No." Bethany closed her eyes. "Not a healer, really. Just staying conscious is hard enough."

"I'm afraid it needs to get worse before I can help make it better. Brace yourself." With no further warning, he yanked the offending shaft free, and Bethany let out a soft gasp that felt like the start of a scream. Before she could react further, Nathaniel wrapped the bandage tightly around the wound. The pressure of the cloth and the cooling salve with which he'd painted it numbed the pain almost instantly, and Bethany took several deep breaths, letting more of the pain go with each exhale.

She turned to see him leaning back on his heels, a hand still resting above her shoulder. "Better?" he asked.

Bethany nodded. "Thank you."

"Good." He let out a breath of his own, his shoulders falling, his grip tightening, almost into a caress. "I was worried."

Something in his tone, in the gentle fingers wrapping around his shoulder, caught Bethany's attention. "Surely you see injuries in your troops all the time."

"Perhaps, but this is the first you've suffered under my care." He let his hand fall and lowered his chin. "And I never thought to look for enemies overhead. Maybe if I had…"

Now it was her turn to lean closer, to lay her hand on top of his where it rested on the ground. "Don't blame yourself," she said, lifting her chin in the direction the attackers had come from. "Blame the fanatic who shot the arrow."

He looked up and met her gaze, his eyes warm with an unspoken smile. Her breath caught and her hand tightened against his knuckles. "You're as wise and generous as you are beautiful," he said softly.

She turned away and yanked her hand back in a vain attempt to stop the blush rising any further up her cheeks. "Well. I. Ah. Do-- should we go, to, um, help with tracking down our attackers now?"

"I'm sure the others have it under control," Nathaniel replied. "And you ought to rest." She looked up again, and he was all professional, but for a hint of a smile that still graced his lips. "Grey Wardens heal faster than most, but it still takes time. No, best to wait here until they return. I'm sure they'll have news for us."

She nodded, and then she lay down on her uninjured side, buzzing with elfroot and the warmth of his hands.

-x-

An hour later, Carver stumbled back into the clearing. Hot, tired, face covered with scratches and bruises from the run through the forest, he let the sword fall from his hands as flopped down onto the ground next to Bethany, who lay on the ground, dozing. "Beth?"

Bethany sat up, a blood-stained bandage wrapped around her arm. "Carver? Did you find them?"

He nodded. "Got the stragglers, and found their base camp. Well, the lights from it, anyway. We were far enough away that they weren't able to signal. The others are waiting for us there."

Nathaniel checked the darkening sky, then rose from his spot by the trail where he'd been crouched, keeping watch. "You ran all the way back?" he asked, eyebrows up. Carver could only nod. "Good work. Take a few minutes to rest -- we have all night to get there."

"Maybe." Carver leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "It's hard to tell how long before they move on, when none of their parties have reported back in. That's why I hurried -- Sigrun wants you there to scout out the situation."

"In that case, we haven't much time after all." Nathaniel handed Carver a canteen, and he took a grateful gulp of the fresh cool water. "As soon as you're ready, then. If you're all right to move?"

Bethany got to her feet, winced, then closed her eyes and chanted a few words. Her arm straightened, and she flexed her fingertips. "I should be, if you can change the bandage first."

"Of course." Nathaniel went to help her, and Carver closed his eyes to take a few more gulps of air, letting the air fill his lungs and give him a second wind. It didn't take nearly as long as it should have. This Grey Warden stamina had a lot to recommend it.

-x-

"You are certain?" Nathaniel stared down at Sigrun, hands on his hips. "This is a serious charge."

"If you don't believe me, look for yourself." Sigrun handed her spyglass up to him, and he took it, turning to face the direction she had indicated through the trees. Everyone stood still, waiting as he adjusted the eyepiece and used it to scan the horizon. Then he froze, and slowly lowered the optic, his jaw tightening.

"Maker's breath," he whispered. "So it's true. The Carta is working with the Grey Wardens."

"What!" Carver snatched the spyglass from Nathaniel's grasp and lifted it to his own eye. He saw a campfire, surrounded mostly by dwarves, and two standards snapping in the night breeze. The black sun of the Carta -- and the silver griffon of the Grey Wardens. "But-- why?"

"Good question," Oghren drawled. "Not that Wardens haven't worked with unsavory types before. I c'n tell you stories from the Blight that would curl your hair. But why work with someone attacking their own?"

"Well, we've only become Wardens recently," Bethany said. "Maybe whoever's this far out in the field doesn't know."

"Or perhaps this is not an officially sanctioned action." Nathaniel crossed his arms. "Well. There's only one way to find out."

Oghren snorted. "Just march into camp and ask to talk to the Warden in charge?"

"I could," Nathaniel said. "I have that right."

"And if you do not like the answer?" Velanna asked. "If this is Warden business, they could order you to hand the twins over."

"They wouldn't," said Sigrun, aghast.

Velanna laughed. It was not a pretty sound. "Just like they didn't order me not to search for Seranni? Or Anders and--"

"All right, all right." Sigrun sat down on the ground. "Point taken."

Carver shook his head and closed up the spyglass, handing it back to Sigrun. "I don't like this," he said. "Why not just attack and get it over with?"

Sigrun leaned back on her hands and looked up at him. "You'd go up against other Wardens without knowing what's going on?"

"They attacked us first," Bethany murmured. "And never told us what was going on."

"Fair point." Sigrun shrugged. "But I've learned one thing about the Grey Wardens: they never do anything without a reason -- a reason, I mean, that relates to protecting the world from darkspawn. They can be ruthless, reckless, even callous, but it always come down to that."

Nathaniel nodded. "If our dwarven captive is to be believed, Grey Wardens bound Corypheus; now these Wardens may seek to unbind him. I will not attack them without knowing why. We go to the camp tomorrow under a flag of truce to get the full story." He looked up at Carver, then Bethany. "But I swear, on my honor as a Warden and a Howe, I will not hand you over to them. The choice of what we do with our knowledge is up to you. Agreed?"

Carver looked at Bethany, who shrugged. "I trust him," she said.

He let out a sigh. "All right. Tomorrow, then."

Nathaniel dropped his pack to the ground and then followed it, collapsing cross-legged. "Then let's get some rest. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

-x-

The next morning, Nathaniel led his team of Wardens into the enemy camp. He carried his rarely-used standard, which he had fashioned into a flag of truce by pinning a white bandage diagonally across its face. The encampment was a rough circle of tents surrounding a campfire, and it had been in place for at least a week by the look of things. Most of the residents were dwarves, at least a dozen, armed to the teeth but standing back, in respect for the truce. Nathaniel approached the campfire and placed the standard in the ground; the other Wardens assembled behind him, weapons sheathed but wary, a spell of protection already poised to cast on Bethany's lips. "I come under truce," he said, "to request parley with the most senior Grey Warden present."

A rustling came from the largest of the tents, the flap cast aside as a woman wearing Grey Warden mage robes emerged, followed by three men in armor. "As is your right, assuming you are in command."

Bethany started, and nudged Carver with her elbow. "That's her!" she hissed under her breath. "The woman who was watching us at Ansburg."

If the Warden mage heard, she made no sign of it. Instead, she approached Nathaniel directly. "I am Janeka, senior Warden at Vimmark Prison these last five years. And you?"

"Nathaniel Howe," he replied, crossing his arms. "Second in command to Alim Surana, Warden Commander of Vigil's Keep. Perhaps you've heard of him."

"Perhaps I have." Janeka inclined her head. "But the Hero of Ferelden is not the reason for my current interest in your little band. If you've tracked me here, I suppose you already know that." She stepped past Nathaniel to stand in front of Carver and Bethany. "So, you are the younger children of Malcolm Hawke."

Bethany sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, and Carver's jaw tightened. "How do you know that?" he asked.

Janeka smiled, a dark smile that showed too many teeth. "Many years ago, your father performed a service for the Grey Wardens. A ritual to bind a darkspawn emissary deep in the heart of the Vimmark Mountains. A ritual--" Her voice dropped, and she lowered her chin, looking at the twins through veiled eyes. "Of blood magic."

The bottom dropped out from Bethany's stomach. Father, performing blood magic? But he couldn't-- he'd never--

"That's a lie!" The words burst forth from Carver, and before anyone could move he drew his sword and pointed it directly at Janeka's chest. "Father wasn't a blood mage! How dare you?"

The dwarves surrounding them jumped to attention, pulling out their weapons, moving to attack Carver; Bethany reached for her weapon and so did the rest of the Wardens, on both sides of the campfire. Then Janeka waved everyone off.

"Stand down," she barked, and the Wardens flanking her did so. Everyone else followed suit except Carver, who stood perfectly still, poised to strike. "I mean no disrespect," she said. "One need not be a blood mage to perform a single rite of blood magic. You are a Grey Warden, which means you undertook the Joining; what is that, if not a sort of blood magic? But I digress. Malcolm Hawke performed this ritual in exchange for his freedom, and that of his wife and unborn child. Your elder brother, if I have the timing right."

The tip of Carver's sword wavered. "How did you know--"

"I know a great many things, my boy." She nudged the end of his sword aside, and Carver let it fall to his side. "I have taken a great interest in Corypheus, you see, and in the means used to bind him."

"And who is Corypheus?" Nathaniel asked.

Janeka turned toward him. "A darkspawn emissary, as I have said, but quite different from most. He talks, and reasons, and seems to have some level of self-knowledge. Not the mindless creature you see in most darkspawn hordes. Too valuable to kill, too dangerous to allow to roam free. Ah, but why am I telling you this?" She smiled again, and Bethany's skin crawled. "I believe you're more than familiar with the concept."

Nathaniel's expression hardened. "You mean the Architect."

Carver looked at him blankly. "The who?"

"A long story," said Nathaniel. "Not worth telling here."

"But relevant, yes?" Janeka said. "Your Commander chose to spare the Architect, to leave him free to continue his studies, and rumor has it that you supported his decision."

"We have had reason to reconsider that choice," Nathaniel replied, stiffly. "And this Corypheus? Would he experiment on darkspawn and Grey Wardens to bring an end to Blights?"

Janeka spread her arms. "No one knows, because no one ever asked him. He's been left to rot for hundreds of years. But the knowledge that may be locked inside his head! How much could we learn, if we spoke with him, worked with him as an ally rather than treating him as a witless enemy?"

Nathaniel slowly shook his head. "You cannot control the darkspawn. And it is too dangerous to try."

She shrugged. "Well. That's not really your decision to make, now is it? You're a foot soldier, Nathaniel Howe, and that's all you'll ever be. The mages, the thinkers and researchers, we're the visionaries. We're the ones who are looking for ways to end the darkspawn threat, not just contain it for a few hundred years at a time. No, it's not your decision." She turned back to Bethany and Carver. "It's yours. The blood of Malcolm Hawke binds Corypheus, and his blood could set Corypheus free. Would you join me in the pursuit of knowledge and freedom?"

Bethany looked up at Carver. His look of horror was plain. But still, she considered it. They could join Janeka and research darkspawn instead of fighting them. She could live in the mountains rather than the Deep Roads. She and Carver could be together. Maybe Janeka was right about gaining more knowledge. Would this be a valuable goal? Was this why the Maker had brought her to the Wardens?

She tipped her head to the side and met Janeka's eyes. "You're senior to us," she said. "You could just order us to help you. Why haven't you done it?"

The corner of Janeka's mouth turned up in a sneer. "I tried. I asked Stroud and Ricker if they would assign one or both of you to Vimmark. They both said no."

Bethany arched an eyebrow. "And so you took matters into your own hands?" She didn't trust Stroud or Ricker. She wasn't even sure if she trusted Alim. But even more, she did not trust Janeka. So she shook her head. "Then you have your orders, and I have mine: I go to Montsimmard, and you leave us be."

"Hmpf." Janeka stepped back. "Well, nothing says you have to be alive. Men! Take them!"

In a single motion, Janeka grabbed her staff and whirled it around, tossing a blast of energy toward Bethany's face; in the same instant, Bethany drew the last line on the warding glyph she had held ready, and the purple light dissipated harmlessly around her.

Janeka grunted, then stepped back with a shout. "Wardens! To me! Dwarves, attack!"

The three Grey Wardens formed up in a phalanx around Janeka, and she vanished from view even as Bethany shot a fireball in her direction. But too late -- one of the Wardens held up his shield, and the fire energy scattered, sending a shower of sparks up into the air. And then the dwarves were on Bethany, charging her as they howled in unison.

The first one was near enough to touch, hand axe swinging, when an arrow appeared in his chest and he stumbled back. She threw up another ward, closer this time, and stepped back again. The heat at the back of her legs suggested that she ought not to step back any further lest she stick a foot in the campfire. She narrowed her eyes and swept her staff in an arc, letting her flame sweep through the dwarves that had charged her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sigrun, coming through the back of the crowd, twin swords flying. Bethany aimed a blast of ice at her next target, and he froze; Sigrun knocked him away with a blade in his back, and then she was at Bethany's side.

"Don't move any further, you're too close to the fire." Sigrun took a quick glance around. "At least this a defensible position, so I can... Oof!" She just barely got her arm up in time to ward off a crossbow bolt, then she swung her sword in a circle to send another ricocheting off to the left. It was one of the Grey Wardens -- he had pulled out his crossbow and was firing directly into the crowd, heedless of catching the Carta fighters in the crossfire as he attempted to provide cover for Janeka's escape. Bethany looked quickly around to see which of her allies might be the closest. "Oghren!"

"Gimme a minute," Oghren grunted as he struggled, the head of his axe locked in place with another dwarf's blade.

"I have him!" It was Carver's voice, and Bethany spared a moment to turn her head toward him, his sword already swinging down as he charged the Wardens. He let out a yell and brought his blade down on the crossbow; with a groan of splintering wood, the weapon broke into two pieces, and the man howled. Without pausing, Carver sliced back upwards and caught the man in the chin. He fell backwards, silenced, and Carver shoved the body aside as he lunged for Janeka.

Before he could connect, one of her other guards stepped between them, parrying Carver's first thrust with relative ease. Behind him, Janeka shook her head. "You really expect to go up against seasoned Wardens and win?"

"You don't scare me!" Carver twisted his wrists to knock the other man's sword aside, then stepped back for a clearer shot.

"Then you're either very brave or very foolish." Janeka lifted her hand and flipped it in a circle, and suddenly Carver found himself struggling for breath, pain lancing through every limb. He tried to fight the spell, but it was easier just to go limp, let it take its course, even as the sword fell down toward his forehead...

And just as suddenly, the pressure was gone, and so was the Warden, falling at his feet with an arrow in his neck. Janeka looked blankly at her hands, then back up at Carver. "How..."

Oghren stepped forward, holding up a hand wreathed in a pale blue glow. "Learned a few tricks from an old friend," he said. "Your magic is toast, lady, at least for a few seconds."

"And a few seconds is all I need." Velanna, who had been out of range of Oghren's cleansing blast, raised her staff high and called out a few words in Elvhen, words that Bethany immediately recognized from their travels with Merrill. A network of roots sprung out from the earth, twining around the legs of Janeka and her two remaining guards. Taking the opening, Carver sprang forward, sinking his sword directly in Janeka's chest as she screamed with frustration and failure.

-x-

"… and so we killed her. If we must submit to official reprimand, then so be it, but if she had lived, she would have continued to come after Bethany and Carver. And Carver cast the final blow, so--" Nathaniel cast a quick glance in his direction, then turned back to face Alim and Stroud, who stood side by side in the main hall at Ansburg.

"Self-defense?" Stroud snorted. "That might be a hard sell to the First Warden."

Nathaniel gripped his hands more tightly behind his back. "And you believe the First Warden would be supportive of Janeka's actions?" He raised an eyebrow. "If you thought that, Stroud, you would have acquiesced to her request for one of the twins.

"Fair point." Stroud let out a long sigh. "I suppose our next step is to send an inquiry to Vimmark Prison, see if any other Wardens were in on this mad plan. We also need to find out how many of these special emissaries are still out there." He glanced at Alim, who had remained seated quietly at the table. "That's your department."

Alim raised his hands. "Hey now. I made one short-term truce with the Architect. Which, I may remind you, we rescinded as soon as it became prudent. And you may recall I wasn't first Warden to try working with him."

"Regardless," Stroud said. "You know more about him than anyone else living. We'll talk about it later." He turned to face the twins. "So. Assuming we can root out Janeka's people from within the ranks at Vimmark, you two are safe. Which means I can tell you that we didn't just break you up to be cruel. Janeka asked about you the day after you arrived, in enough detail that we knew she meant you no good. We felt it would be safest to separate you, giving her two targets to deal with instead of just one."

"Really." Alim leaned forward, hands crossed on the table. "You didn't tell me that."

Stroud cast him a quelling look. "We didn't know where your sympathies might lie, given your past with the Architect. Your interactions with him might even have been where she got the idea. Besides, what you told them wasn't a lie. We really do need more mages at Montsimmard."

Carver's hand tightened around Bethany's, and her heart skipped a beat. "Does that mean we can stay together?" Carver asked.

"For now," Stroud replied. "But not at Montsimmard. You'll stay here, at least until this threat from Corypheus is neutralized. You too," he added, with a nod to Alim, "and the rest of your team. There's trouble afoot in the Free Marches, and we can use your experience dealing with these odd darkspawn."

Carver relaxed, his fingers slipping out of Bethany's hand, as tears of relief sprang to her eyes. "We can stay together?" she repeated, almost in disbelief.

"For now," Stroud said again, holding up a single finger. "I don't promise that you'll always be assigned to the same place. Wardens go where they're sent. But as long as you have shared experiences that are more useful to us together? Then you'll stay together. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Carver said with an emphatic nod, which Bethany echoed. They held their positions of attention until Stroud walked out the back door, and then Carver gathered her up in a huge hug with a whoop.

Bethany hugged him back. "Don't you dare put me down," she said.

"Not ever," Carver said. "I promise."