Authors Note: Originally this was suppose to be a sequel to The Warden's Rose, but since I intend to cover all the wardens life, I just had to get this started. More of Awakening's wardens will be introduced in the next chapter. Enjoy!

HOMECOMING

"Wake-up lad, we've arrived in Amaranthine."

Carver let out an exhausted sigh. His body ached, he was hungry, and the taste of darkspawn blood had yet to leave his tongue. The younger Hawke should have been happy to be free of his brother's shadow and to finally be home in Ferelden, but he wasn't. If he hadn't followed his brother into the Deep Roads, Carver wouldn't be where he is now, miserable in the cabin of a ship heading to port and a Grey Warden. He still felt nauseous from the Joining. In the end, however, he owed the Wardens his life. That was three times now that he should have been dead.

The Warden-Lieutenant, Stroud, lingered a moment longer, "Once we dock, we will ride to Vigil's Keep. There awaits warm beds and hot meals."

"You had me at hot meal," Carver jested, stumbling to his feet, and hitting a wall just as the ship jerked to a halt.

Stroud laughed and patted the rookie Warden on the shoulder, "See you up top."

His empty stomach growled as he stretched his stiff limbs. Since the Joining, Carver hadn't kept anything down except for cold stew broth and water. Then again, he wasn't exactly hungry after downing a cup of darkspawn blood, but two weeks at sea had suddenly changed that. Now, Carver was starving and could eat a horse; confirmed by another loud growl from behind his belt. Groaning, he followed the path Stroud took to the deck and welcomed the fresh sea air.

The docks were bustling and loud, fishermen running up and down the docks as more ships lined up to to take anchor. It was nearly sunset, with the horizon red and sea behind him calm. Stroud was watching on as the gangplank was lowered, barking directions in his hefty Orlesian accent to the two other wardens with him. Carver stalked across the deck, foot asleep, something foreign rattling around his neck. The Ferelden native fingered the amulet, noticing the deep red fluid float back and fourth in a tiny vial.

"Darkspawn blood," came Stroud's gruff tenor, catching Carver off guard. The lieutenant reached beneath his royal blue collar and yanked free a matching vial, holding it to the fading sunlight. The tiny glass container was stained black, nothing sloshing back and fourth anymore. "Warden's Oath—we are all given one when we survive the Joining." Stroud tucked it back into his shirt and gave Carver a faint smile that was hidden behind his dashing mustache, "It is a reminder of the brothers and sisters we loose to the taint." The Orlesian warden stomped down the gangplank, nodding at the fishermen passing by and hurrying home to their families. "Oh—" he turned on his heel and looked up at Carver, still grinning, "I understand you're originally from Lothering?" The young Hawke nodded. "Welcome back," Stroud said and headed down the dock towards the mainland.

Carver quickly followed in suit, matching Stroud's pace. "Anders is a warden, why didn't he have one of these?" He was still examining the amulet, curious.

Stroud scoffed and stopped, "Was a warden." He continued moving into the city, huffing and cursing, "That mage has been nothing but trouble for the Commander, ever since he and that spirit—" They side stepped around a gathering of locals and continued shaking his head, "but you know all about his condition."

"You knew him before he and that thing—" Carver started, interest peaked as they were breezing through Amaranthine.

"Me? No, but the Commander did," the lieutenant answered, "according to her, he wasn't always out for templar blood. He even told jokes. Unfortunately, when that spirit's body died, Anders offered himself up, and, well, you know the rest."

Amaranthine was glittering around them. The setting sun reflected from one window to another, complimenting a city that was at the end of healing. Walls and businesses had been rebuilt since the attacks, families returned to their homes, and the farmers had flourishing fields again. Carver wondered if Lothering was back on its feet yet, if the windmill still stood, if that qunari was still caged. More importantly—if their home was still standing. They had left in such a hurry, he wasn't able to collect any personal valuables before they fled. He wouldn't truly be home until he stepped foot in Lothering.

They continued through the city, the locals happily greeting the wardens as they passed through. Stroud was happy to oblige to the praise, smoothing his mustache as they passed a gathering of ladies. He turned to see Carver's confusion, his hesitant nod and wave at those that greeted them. "Just over a years ago," Stroud started, just as they were walking under the front guard towers. "After the Blight, there was still a pocket of darkspawn attacking the countryside. The Commander had just taken control over the arling of Amaranthine and these lingering darkspawn were smarter than the ones in the Blight." The walked through the city's front gate, aligned with street markets and had a recently paved road, with unleveled stones. The other two wardens were waiting with horses, handing the reigns of a black steed to Stroud. "When they finally attacked the city, she choice to save the city over Vigil's Keep—where the wardens were stationed, we nearly lost the Keep," the lieutenant passed along another pair of reigns to Carver. "Since then, the city has great respect for the Commander and the wardens. And soon enough," Stroud paused, "she will have yours."

The wardens took to their mounts and headed south from Amaranthine. By then, the sun had sunken beyond the horizon and was replaced by the moon. Clouds were rolling in from the sea, thick and black. Stroud took notice to the approaching storm and had them riding harder to Vigil's Keep. Carver felt the wind on his face, that familiar stink of dirt and dogs. He forgot how much he missed the grass and mud of Fereldan, nothing compared to the smoke and metal of Kirkwall. Whether they got the estate back or not, the Free Marches would never be home. For the first time, Carver felt himself smile, even as the rain started to come down and the road ahead grew dark. This felt like home.

Stroud had them following a lit path before the complete darkness had settled in. Ahead was Vigil's Keep, greeting them with a flood of light. There was a fire in all the windows, smoke from a larger pit of flames just behind a heavy gate. Two guards let them in, not minding the abrupt downpour. A grand bonfire in the center of the courtyard was slowing going out, men and women going to and fro as they sought shelter. Someone took their horses as they dismounted, Carver being dragged towards the partially opened doors into the Keep. Which was fine, he couldn't see much in the dark anyways.

The main hall was empty, save for piles of wood and stone. Renovations were being made, but it was apparent the workers had retired for the night. Carver was ringing out his shirt and running a hand back through his dark hair when he heard loud commotion through an open door down the hall. Stroud sent the other two wardens away and came up to the newest member, heavy arm swung over his shoulders. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep lad," he slapped Carver on the shoulder, "good luck."

As they approached the open door where the clinking of forks and drunken merriment was ringing through the hallway, a man met them at the doorway. He was tall and his hair cut short, but it was the tattoo on his face that stood out. "Ah Draco!" Stroud exclaimed, greeting the other man as an equal.

"Stroud." The man was not as enthused, but his voice was familiar—the accent at least.

"Taking the new recruit to the Commander," the Orlesian warden answered.

"The Commander hasn't returned." Draco eyed Carver, not impressed—his accent still annoyingly familiar—then disappeared back into the mess hall.

Carver noticed Stroud's demeanor falter for a moment, his worrying masked by another cheerful smile. "Let's eat!"

The mess hall was loud and full of food. Two long tables centered the room, both full of men and women, dwarves and elves, all enjoying a festivity of drinks and boar. Nothing smelled more heavenly. Carver followed behind Stroud, watching as he filled a flagon of ale and made a toast with a red-headed dwarf. He noticed the tattooed man again—Draco—sitting alone in the corner, observing the dining of others. The novice wondered if he was somehow important, perhaps higher in rank like Stroud was. However, before he could continue to ponder, a battle-axe was suddenly blocking his path.

It was the red-headed dwarf, with a beard full of crumbs and grease, narrowing his drunken gaze at Carver. He belched. "I smell a baby warden," he grunted, not moving his weapon. Carver wasn't sure how to react or what to say, he simply stood there hoping Stroud would spring into action. Instead, it was the other dwarf beside him.

"Leave him alone Oghren—" she punched him in the shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Sorry, he's only a little more easy to tolerate when he's sober so get use to it now," she explained for the dwarf. She had tattoos on the whole of her face, similar to some of the dwarves he travelled with into the Deep Roads. "I'm Sigrun, this unfortunately is Oghren."

Oghren scoffed and muttered under his breath as he finished his drink, pointing at his eyes and then back at Carver.

Sigrun elbowed him this time, "Just ignore him, like we all do. Hey—hey Myrah! Bring a drink to the novice here!"

Carver followed the dwarf's line of sight and met large forest green eyes. She was skinny and barefooted, long pointed ears poking through a dark mane. Her smile was bright, but shy as she approached the table. Myrah handed Carver a tall flagon of ale, "I wasn't aware the Commander was recruiting." Her mannerism was similar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"She's not," Sigrun piped in, "he came in with Stroud."

The armed dwarf finished his drink and poked Carver with a fork, "What made you so special baby warden?"

The 'baby warden' opened his mouth to answer, but a commotion stopped him, and a loud voice.

"Commander."

The loud conversations fell into a low rumble, all the attention was drawn towards the open doorway. Carver watched as Oghren lifted his drink in greeting and the girls nodded. He turned, feeling hesitant as the festive mood matched the woman's in the doorway. She was soaked to the bone, dripping still, with dark hair slicked against her cheeks and neck. It was hard to make any clear details in the dark, but Carver recognized the look of contemplation on her furrowed brows. The Commander scanned the room, taking a few cautious steps through the doorway as she pulled soaked leather gloves from her hands. She stopped where the ale and wine was out, oblivious to the attention she had gathered. Carver watched as she grabbed a full bottle of wine, pried the cork top free with her teeth and spat it to the ground. Then she disappeared back through the doorway. Dropped conversations immediately resumed as if she had never been there.

"Great..." Oghren groaned, taking Carver's drink and finishing it for him. He waved a finger at Carver, "Better enjoy tonight baby warden, cause tomorrow we face the ten foot tall beast with lightning bolts shooting out of the eyes."

The drunken dwarf left the table in search of more ale, ignoring the terror he left in Carver's face. "The what?"

"In other words," Sigrun sighed and tapped her drink with Myrah's, "The Commander in a bad mood."