A/N: This will be a collection of oneshots centered around Carver. Love him or hate him, he's still your brother, and I love him. Please review!

)O(

"This must be a very different pace from serving King Cailan." Marian remarks.

"It's just one more change, though. The real end for me was Ostagar." the guard says; then she looks at him. "What about you, Carver? You were there. Do you feel something similar?"

"No." he states, coldly.

"All right, then." Aveline turns back to Marian. "Bit of a tit, your brother."

For him, Ostagar was only the beginning. Why is everyone so determined to dig up the past? They can't simply let things be. All he wants is to move forward, create something new. Lothering, Ostagar, the Amell estate...nothing changes. They're all going nowhere at this rate.

And he has no place in any of it. He never did.

. . .

Carver was just eighteen when the king called for troops to battle the Blight.

Lothering had few warriors to spare. His siblings, of course, had to stay home and be protected like the delicate little mage flowers they were. Carver set off on the march south with two others. The first was a man a year older than him and at least twice his size. Hugh was a brute; the kind of person who would save your life in combat and never let you forget it.

"It's not murder if they don't have souls." he often said.

And then there was Aveline. A redheaded woman with a sharp blade and a strong shield; she was certainly the no nonsense type.

"So...Aveline, hm? That's a curious name." Carver observed. "Just like the knight in the Orlesian legend."

"And yours is the most ordinary name in the world." Aveline deadpanned, then sighed. "Just don't start, please. I've heard it my whole life. It's a wish my father made. And I did want to be a knight, but...I'm a soldier. I'm proud of who I am."

"It's a good story, you know."

"Maybe when you're not constantly being compared to a martyr." Aveline agreed. "Were you named after anyone?"

"Not as far as I know."

"You're lucky, then." she said. "It leaves you free to choose your own path."

They reached Ostagar in a matter of days, and Carver was struck by the tremendous scale of the ancient Tevinter structure. It was this great white piece of civilization in the middle of so much untamed wilderness, inhabited only by witches and darkspawn.

The Circle of Magi had sent mages to assist in the fight, shadowed always by templars. A few of the notorious Tanquils worked at an almost mechanical pace, enchanting runes, their dead eyes never straying from the task at hand. They never noticed him watching. Whenever he saw those breathing husks of human beings, Carver began to feel fiercely protective of his sisters. No one deserved that fate.

But soon the battles started, and Lothering seemed a world away...

They did quite well, all things considered. Ferelden forces clashed with the darkspawn several times, and each time they achieved victory. But there were always losses. Every night, they cremated the dead. Darkspawn corpses also had to be burned lest their blood taint the earth. The foul creatures kept on coming back in greater numbers. Scouts returned from the Wilds with the most unimaginably horrible but true stories; the ground broke open and swallowed men whole, they said. No one knew where they took them or for what purpose. It was this kind of senselessly cruel thing that unnerved him.

At night, they stayed up late, drinking and laughing and playing cards. Seasoned warriors would swap stories of battles from long ago, but mostly everyone talked about their sweethearts. They did this, truthfully, to help them ignore the fact that someone who had been amongst them just a day before was now gone forever to the Maker's side.

"I've got a girl back home, in Denerim," one man might say, "with the most lovely eyes you've ever seen. And pretty nice tits, too."

"Oh?" another would join in. "Well my girl. . ."

Generally, the older men - who weren't necessarily 'old' but to him they seemed so - the ones with wives and children to fight for, spoke of women with reverence. Not at all the way these boys carried on. Some tried to give the female soldiers a hard time, but this happened rarely, since it was common knowledge that any woman with a sword would not hesitate to cut your balls off if she did not desire your affections.

"What about you, Hawke?" Hugh called. "You got some sweet lass waiting for you in Lothering?"

Carver did not have a sweetheart, per se. Except maybe Peaches, but she wasn't the sort of girl you brought home to Mother, especially not his mother. While Leandra had become a tough Ferelden woman over the years, she still wanted her children to marry someone of relatively decent social status and live a comfortable lifestyle. The only exception to this might have been if he could successfully convince Leandra that he loved the woman, which would of course involve taking her home to Mother and the rest of his family.

There were a few problems with this idea. First of all, he didn't love Peaches anyway. Second of all, she was dumb as a post. He'd been with plenty of women in the past, maybe even loved one or two of them, but Carver had yet to find a girl he could bring home to a family of apostates.

And so he told Hugh about Peaches, which inevitably led to cheers and pats on the back and howls of laughter.

"Don't let it get to you." Aveline said. "They'll make a joke of anything. You should have seen how they reacted when they found out I'm married."

"You're married?" Carver raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so surprising? I know I'm not exactly what you might consider young..."

"No, it's not that." he amended. "You just don't seem like the type."

"I suppose that's because I'm here, isn't it?" Aveline became very quiet for a moment before speaking again, softer now. "I fell in love, it happens. I'm a soldier and he's a templar. Duty comes first. Sometimes we have to put others before ourselves. If we'd wanted a normal married life with children and all that, we could have had it. But we can't ignore our callings, not even for each other."

. . .

There was this moment, Carver remembered, where the storm raged on and the darkspawn still fought, but everything else was suddenly very still. The beacon had been lit at last, and everyone simply waited, expecting the teyrn's reinforcements to charge any second, ready to defend the king and his army. But he never did.

So Carver ran. He wasn't about to let himself be dragged underground to whatever terrible fate awaited him. Perhaps it was a cowardly thing to do, but there was more at stake here than his life. Carver had a family to think about. He must protect them.

And he assumed Aveline was dead along with the rest. It was clear now that hope was a dangerous thing. It made people reckless and stupid. No longer would he put his faith in others. Carver changed. Something inside him grew cold that day.

. . .

Marian finally finishes discussing the details of an ambush, some sort of official city guard work. Then they turn to leave the barracks.

"Carver," Aveline calls after him once the others have already gone. He stops, but does not turn back. "If you ever want to talk...to someone who was there, I mean. Well, you know where to find me."

"Right," he replies. "Thank you, Aveline."

"Ah." the warrior laughs. "You're not such a tit after all."