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“Oh, why are you frowning now?”
Bethany slumped back, making a controlled fall from the log they were sitting on to sprawl dramatically on the ground. One leg kicked up in the air, barely missing Carver’s face as he jerked away.
“I’m not—What are you doing?” he laughed lightly, entirely bemused by his odd twin.
“Ah, there it is!” She shot up, finger pointing at his slowly growing smirk, “You barely smile anymore, not even when we break open a whiskey barrel. So, what’s got you in a mood?”
There were plenty of reasons for his “mood.” They hadn’t heard from Garret or mother in almost a year, roving around Orlais meant dealing with idiots who thought they were Fereldan dogs, Bethany was still a mage and that could bring Templars down on them at any moment, and he was just a man with a sword running around behind a massive Qunari who didn’t even really need him. His smile faded.
“Carver,” Bethany pinched his side, hard.
He flinched and tumbled to the ground beside her, “Ah, Fuck, Beth!”
Across the small camp, he could hear Dalish and Skinner laughing at them.
He sighed, already accepting his not-so-new position as the butt of the joke for the next week. He resolutely stared at the sky, ignoring Bethany’s intense stare as long as he could.
“Seriously, Carver. What is it?”
Bethany had always been the social one, always reading the mood and knowing what to say. Carver, on the other hand, knew exactly what everyone was feeling, but usually bumbled everything and made it worse. He hated it when she turned everything around on him.
“Beth, it’s nothing. My face—”
“Does not just look that way. I’ve known you forever, you can’t hide from me.”
And that just sparked his always simmering anger into an ever-familiar roaring bonfire and he finally turned towards her, a yell on his lips, “I can—”
Bethany was staring at him, eyes dark and wide as her arms unconsciously curled in toward her chest. She hadn’t looked so lost and small and scared since they fled Lothering all those years ago. His anger immediately deflated, and he reached over, grabbing her hand in a comforting grip.
“It’s just, I don’t want to lose you too,” She wasn’t quite tearing up, but Carver could see the growing shine in her eyes, hear the waver in her voice.
Of course she’d seen him pulling away, looking at where to go next, looking for someone to value him. Even without Garret around to be the center of attention, the favored child, Bethany was a mage, and a strong one at that. All he could do was swing a big sword.
“I won’t leave.”
“But you want to.”
He couldn’t argue that, could he?
“Sunshine, can I talk to Carver for a minute?”
They both startled as a massive shadow blocked the waning sunlight. How a man as large as The Iron Bull could move so damn quietly, neither of them would know.
Bethany shifted, sitting up and pouting at the Qunari, “I was about to get a serious conversation out of him and you ruined it.”
Carver could hear the slight quake in her voice as she forced back tears. From the apologetic tilt to The Iron Bull’s head, he noticed it too.
“Yeah, yeah, but this is important. I’m sure you could puppy-dog eye him into talking again later.”
They both scowled. The dog references had gotten old the first week. Years later, they were no more funny than the first time. Across the camp, Dalish and Skinner started making barking and whining noises.
“See what you did? Now they’ll be making dog puns for the rest of the month,” Carver finally moved, shifting from his back to his feet in one quick, graceful movement. Then, he punched The Iron Bull in the arm. The man didn’t even have the grace to shift a bit from the force. Carver’s scowl deepened.
“It’s like a pup tryin’ to fight it’s Da,” Krem said, voice pitched low, as if he was trying to stay unheard.
Bethany was up like a shot, charging across the camp at the man, “I heard that!”
Carver sighed, already prepared to put out whatever fire Bethany inevitably set as she chased the lieutenant between the tents. Before he could move, The Iron Bull’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“I wasn’t joking about needing to talk.”
Another sigh and Carver followed The Iron Bull into the woods that surrounded their clearing.
They walked for a small while, the shouts and laughter of the rest of the Charger’s fading into distant murmurs, then disappearing entirely. Another small clearing opened up, the weeks old remnants of another camp sitting in the middle.
The Iron Bull beelined for a fallen tree, much like the log Carver and Bethany had been sprawled over. He sat, stretching his leg out in front of him and massaging his left calf, the muscles tense from his strained ankle and tender knee. They were old injuries from his time on Seheron, though how he got them, Carver had no idea.
Carver carefully sat down next to the man. While The Iron Bull was never one for formality, he commanded respect. He was also incredibly dangerous when it came to those he cared for. Carver had no idea why, out of everyone in camp, the man wanted to speak to him.
It wasn’t like they were close, he was just Bethany’s brother, an extra fighter to back up the Iron Bull and Krem and Grim. He had little worth beyond being an extra body in the company. He wasn’t needed for strategy meetings or discussions on what jobs to take. Hell, Carver didn’t even have a nickname.
He was just an extra.
So being singled out was odd, and Carver was surprised to find he was terrified.
He clenched his hands and pushed them into the wood on either side of his hips as he waited for The Iron Bull to start.
The silence was long, and as Carver felt his shoulders tense and his head drop, fingers starting to twitch nervously against the rough bark, The Iron Bull tilted his head back and sighed.
Then, “Dalish hates her clan.”
Carver went entirely still, confused at where this was leading. He waited, and when nothing more came, said, “That’s pretty obvious.”
The Iron Bull huffed a laugh, “Yeah, the yelling’s a good clue. She hates them for what they made her into, that they loved her and left her, decided she wasn’t worth the risk. But she still loves the Dalish.”
The Iron Bull stretched, his arms pulled back, his massive chest pushed forward for a moment before he grunted and continued, “And Skinner, well, she never fit in, even before the whole thing with the nobles. She likes killing too much, takes pride in her work.”
He stood, shaking his arms out, rolling his neck, and walking across the clearing, “Rocky loves his explosions, and loves playing at the stupid dwarf stereotype. Makes it easier to rob someone blind if they think he’s dumber than the rock he’s standing on.”
He leaned down and picked up two long, sturdy branches. He tossed one in the air, then the other, getting a feel for their balance before, finally, looking at Carver.
Carver had sunk further into himself as The Iron Bull had talked, insecurity pressing down on him the more the Qunari talked about his Chargers. He felt less and less like he should be here. It was a surprise when The Iron Bull just gestured for him to stand and, when Carver found his feet, tossed the branch to him.
The wood was harsh in his hands, most of the branch covered in thick bark and the ends still faintly sticky and green with life.
Before Carver could think, The Iron Bull was rushing him, brandishing the branch. Reflexively, Carver parried and dodged around The Iron Bull’s blindside.
“Stitches was at Ostagar too. You know how that fucked people up. He just wants to put things back together, so he won’t fall apart.”
Carver danced back as Iron Bull swung again, the thick branch lightening fast in hands used to a much heavier weapon. He backed away, the branch held defensively as Iron Bull kept pushing forward.
“Grim is a pessimistic little bastard. He may not say much, but every time he decides he has something to say, he just has to be sure everything’s about to fall apart. Of course, he’s usually right.”
Anger Carver hadn’t known was stewing under the terror finally reared its head. He ducked under another swing and came up fast and hard. He slammed the branch into Iron Bull’s side, the wood springing back from the force. Iron Bull grunted, eye widening in amusment before he smirked and pulled away.
The swings came faster. Carver blocked more than dodged as Iron Bull chased him around the clearing.
“And Sunshine, well, you know she’s looking for adventure. Life was boring when she had to hide, before the Blight. Now she’s always looking on the brighter side of things. Heck, between her and Grim, we might break even.”
A turn, a swing, and Carver’s branch splintered as he slammed it into Iron Bull’s raised arm.
“What does this have to do with anything?!” Carver screamed as he kept swinging at The Iron Bull with the broken branch, “Why!”
Instead of retaliating, taking easy advantage of Carver as the man swung wildly, Iron Bull dodged and danced away, “Krem may have picked his name, but he doesn’t like going by the full thing with friends. It’s his choice to shorten it.”
Carver’s swings slowed, his arms tired and shaking from the exertion. When The Iron Bull stepped forward instead of away and smacked Carver’s wrist with an open hand, the splintered wood fell away. Carver collapsed forward, face and eyes red from crying as much as the exertion.
Bull wrapped an arm around the man in front of him and led him back to the fallen tree. They sat heavily, the wood creaking and shifting a moment before settling further into the ground.
“Carver’s name is apt. He’s an amazing fighter who can punch through an enemy line better than any of us. He can carve a path and lead a charge and protect the others. And he needs to be recognized for who he is, not the younger brother or the only non-mage of his siblings, but as a man who stands in front of his comrades and makes sure they will see another day.”
Carver sobbed into Bull’s chest, every wall and barrier he’d built since his sister had set their bed on fire in a fit of temper when they were eight and he realized he was the only one without magic crumbled.
Bull squeezed him gently, “You belong here just as much as the rest of us, Carver. We see you, I see you.”
~*~
Night had fully fallen by the time Bull and Carver made it back to camp.
Krem was sitting, back to the fire on watch. He gave them a small nod, gesturing an ‘all clear’ before he focused back on the trees. Dalish and Skinner were curled around Rocky, the two elves snuffling and snoring directly into the dwarf’s ears. Stiches was muttering quietly to himself as he counted his supplies, pulling out bandage roll and salves one by one. Grim was spread out on his back, breath slow with deep sleep. Bethany was slumped sideways beside him, having fallen asleep while waiting for them to return.
Bull pulled ahead for a moment, leaving Carver in front of the fire as he walked into the large tent set-up at edge of the camp. He emerged moments later with a stack of blankets and tossed half of them to Carver.
Quietly, they went to work, spreading blankets across each of the chargers. Bull finished wrapping one around Krem’s shoulders before joining Carver back at the log where the twins had been sitting. Seeing Carver’s empty arms, Bull shook his head fondly and pitched his remaining blanket at the man’s head.
Giving Bull a sour look, Carver pulled it around his shoulders, “Beth gets cold easy.”
“I was wondering why you never had any blankets. Thought you just got too hot,” Bull commented lightly.
They both chuckled for a moment before falling silent, staring into the fire.
“Thank you, Bull, for….everything,” Carver murmured, darting a quick glance in Bull’s direction before once again focusing on the fire, “I’ve never…It’s been…just, thanks.”
Bull tilted his head to the side, the end of his horn brushing across Carver’s head in a friendly tap, “It’s no problem, Carver. No problem at all.”
The Chargers were quiet and calm, breathing deeply as they slept peacefully in the warmth of the summer night. Carver felt his eyelids grow heavy and his shoulders fall as he relaxed. Pushing forward, he slipped to the ground and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he leaned back against the log.
Above him, Bull sighed contently and placed a hand on Carver’s shoulder.
“Sleep, Carver. I’ve got you.”
With the warmth of the fire and the care of the Chargers and the watchful gaze of The Iron Bull keeping an eye on them all, Carver smiled and slept peacefully for the first time in years.