peopleofthedas | Fanfic: Carroll's Bad Day

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Fanfic: Carroll's Bad Day

Title: Carroll's Bad Day
Rating: E
Word Count: 3,600
Summary: How many encounters does it take to hate someone?
Notes: This fic is a gift to polytene for winning the Readers' Choice section of the caption contest over at peopleofthedas. I'm sorry it took so long; I wanted it to be good, and I wrote several that weren't before dusting off this idea and running with it. Hope you enjoy!

Wanna know what this stuff about Conri is? Go here: (NSFW.)
Set in the 20 Reasons to Forget the Blight universe.

When Carroll had been assigned to guard the docks, he'd been guiltily pleased not to be fighting alongside his brothers. That held true until Greagoir warned him “not to botch this like everything else you do.”

Maker's blood. None of it was ever his fault. There was no convincing the Knight Commander of that, though. An entire barracks of Templars, assigned to watch over the sodding mages and their books and their spells, and yet it was Carroll's fault when things caught fire. Or that time he was guarding the main door and that elf girl went for a swim. How was he supposed to know how she'd gotten out?

Carroll spent the first bit of his time on the dock imagining increasingly amusing scenes involving Greagoir and various pastries.

By the second hour, he'd moved on to asking the Maker why it was always him. What had he done? So he'd been the third son and not quick enough with his letters to make it as a monk. Did that really mean he was meant to stand on a sodding plank and watch some old man glare at him and mutter about boats?

By the third day, he was shuffling awkwardly and wondering whether or not anyone within the Tower was still alive. He was also hungry, but had run out of rations, and even though the inn was close enough to taunt him with the smell of mutton and stew, he just knew if he ducked away for one second the Knight Commander would choose that time to come across the lake and find him. Or, worse... not find him. So Carroll stood, and shivered, and waited.

It was dusk when he was jolted out of a daze by the sound of boots on wood. Four travelers were striding purposefully toward him up the dock... and he recognized the one in front.

“Oh, no. No, no!” he shouted as she drew closer, but she didn't slow down. “Andraste's gold-trimmed knickers, no!” Had he not been wearing gauntlets, he would have buried his face in his hands. He recognized that tattoo and the way her sodding little pointed ears peeked out from among the cluster of messy ponytails covering her head.

“Hey, Carroll.” She smiled widely enough to show her eyeteeth. “How've you been?”

This was going to be a bad day.

“Carroll, is it?” The stark eyes of his Knight-Commander practically pinned him to the floor.

“Y-yes, sir.” Ah, wonderful. His voice had chosen the perfect time to crack.

Greagoir shuffled through the papers on his desk. “You've come highly recommended for someone so young.”

Carroll looked at the floor. “Thank you.”

“Normally I start the new members of the Circle Templars out on door duty, but given what your previous Knight-Commander has said about you, I think we'll start you in rotation with the full mages.”

Knight-Commander Tavish had hated him. This was a bad sign, Carroll was sure of it, but he nodded and listened to his orders all the same. He was told to report to a man named Ingram, who would tell him where to stand. And then he would stay there until someone came to relieve him.

Absolutely sodding fantastic.

What was even better was where they put him: the library, where all there was to watch was clusters of bearded mages hunch over books and take notes. Most of them kept to the other side of the library, anyway, by the windows, but here he was, stuck in some dusty side-nook. At least out in the hall they would be walking. They were a lot less boring when they were walking, especially the--

“Maker's breath!” A loud noise from behind him made him yell, and the helmet amplified his voice and made his ears ring. He stood, deaf and silently cursing, as a mage extricated herself from a large pile of books.

“Sorry.” She grinned up at him, then shook dust out of her hair. Through the helmet, she registered as short brown hair, pointed ears, and white teeth. “That looked far sturdier than it was.”

“You there,” he managed, ignoring how strange his voice sounded to his assaulted ears. “What are you doing?”

She pointed upward, but kept staring at him. “Trying to get a book. The shelf gave out.”

He stared at her while she stood and brushed herself off. She appeared to be mostly made of blue robes. “Can't you use a ladder?”

The elf put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Do you see a ladder, ser Templar?”

“Uh.” In all honesty, Carroll couldn't see much through this sodding eyeslot, but that didn't seem like the best thing to admit to a mage. Especially not one with a penchant for scaling obstacles.

“Oh well. Serves me right for climbing a bookshelf.”

Carroll smiled, then stifled a smile, then smiled again when he remembered that she couldn't see his face. “Keep your feet on the floor next time.”

“Okay,” she agreed, staring up at the unbroken shelves above her. “Andraste's ass, and of course it wasn't one of the ones that fell.”

Carroll turned away and looked for one of his brothers, wondering what should be done about the shelf, and so was caught completely off-guard by the windstorm that unfurled in the center of the room. He had just enough time to whirl and see the little elf girl triumphantly clutching a tome half her size before a desk side-swiped him and sent him sprawling with a loud clang.

He came to in the infirmary with the Knight-Commander frowning down at him. “Carroll, so glad you could rejoin us.”

“Uh. He-hello, sir.”

“Carroll....” Greagoir took a seat beside him, which didn't bode well. “Would you mind telling me why I have Templars piecing books back together page-by-page on the fifth floor?”

“Windstorm, Knight-Commander.”

“A windstorm.” Greagoir leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. “And why in the Maker's name did you let an apprentice cast a spell of that magnitude outside of their library?”

Oh. Oh. “...Oh, she was an apprentice, wasn't she. I... didn't notice.”

Greagoir's eyes narrowed. “I've been told other than a few bruises you're in good health, so I'm sending you back up there to relieve your brothers.”

“Which brother, Knight-Commander?”

“All of them, Carroll.” Greagoir waited for the words to sink in, then rose and moved toward the door. “Come and find me once the library is back in order.”

...So much for dinner, then.

Guarding the apprentice dorms had been fun at first. Sure, he had the night shift, but that meant there were mages sneaking about. Doing... things. And since Carroll couldn't do things, he took a great deal of pleasure in making sure no one else did them, either. But now they all knew better than to try when he was on duty, so he spent more and more of his time counting bricks in the wall.

One day he'd know how many were in this hall. There were seven hundred to the left of the statue by the door, another five between the statue and the arch, and that wall between the two walls of the boys' dorm had fifteen hundred and ninety-three, fifteen hundred and ninety-four, fifteen hundred and ninety-five, fifteen hundred and ninety-six, fifteen hundred and ninety-sodding demons of the Fade, what was that smell? Surely that wasn't-- but no, he'd recognize it anywhere.

There was giggling coming from the girl's dorm. Carroll walked closer and listened on the other side of the door.

“Elise, stop! Someone will hear!” Curious rustling sounds. Carroll pressed his ear to the door.

“We're not doing anything wrong.” He'd heard that before. But then, “We're baking.”

He was right. He had smelled cookies.

“With no oven,” hissed another girl. “Or wood.”

“We've got fire. It's not like we summoned a demon and asked it for macaroons, Elise.”

“Yeah, magic fire. We're not supposed to--”

“Hold that thought,” came a familiar voice. He leaned a little closer, trying to place why he felt suddenly nervous.

The door came open, and he stumbled into the room, coming face-to-face with the brown-haired elf and her smile and her teeth. “Hi,” she said, holding out her hand. “Want a cookie?”

Carroll had been about to take it from her when the other girls, none of whom were fully dressed, began to shriek in embarrassment. The elf had... filled out, come to think of it, but she seemed more amused at her companions' reactions to his presence than worried about being spied in her underrobe.

He never did find out how many bricks were in the hall. From then on, Conrí had the night shift.

Carroll shifted idly from foot to foot in front of the door, listening to his armor clink softly. Certain movement made specific sounds, and if he was careful he could almost get a decent rendition of—

“Would you stop that?”

He looked down his shoulder at the newest Templar to join their ranks. “When you've been standing for as many years as I have, you'll be playing jigs with your boots, too.”

Cullen shook his head. “You're making a mockery of Templars everywhere.”

“Give it time,” Carroll shrugged. “You'll find a habit you just can't quit soon enough, and then we'll talk about who's the mockery.”

The boy's cheeks pinked—the nice thing about door duty was you didn't have to wear a helmet. Didn't want to seem imposing to the visitors, oh no—as he caught sight of an apprentice approaching from down the hall.

“Hi, Cullen,” came a familiar voice, and Carroll's eyes narrowed as he stared at that bloody little elf girl. “Hi... you,” she added when she caught his gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Just bored.” She stared up at the door behind the two Templars. “Wow, that's really big.”

“And also not for you,” Carroll retorted. “Shoo!”

“H-h-how has your day been?” Cullen stammered, and Carroll resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“Boring,” the elf repeated. “My mentor cancelled my class and everyone's busy studying. Want to talk, Cullen?”

“I-I-I'm on duty.”

“Cullen, you're standing in front of a door.” The elf girl giggled and began spinning in lazy circles on the stone to their left. Her robe flared at the skirt and the sleeves as she gained momentum. “Aren't you bored?”

“Yeah, Cullen, aren't you bored?” Carroll echoed.

“I-I-I-Excuse me, please. I. Excuse me.” The young Templar took off down the hall, and Carroll shook his head at his retreating figure.

The elf giggled again and watched him flee, and Carroll looked down at her and shook his head some more. “You enjoy torturing Templars, don't you?”

And just like that, she was too close to him, wide smile and merry blue eyes and some sort of nice, flowery smell. He'd forgotten that girls smelled nice. “If you're talking about Conrí, that was his fault.”

No one talked about Conrí, so Carroll shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Look, if you're not going to do something, could you please leave? You're making me nervous.”

She spun a few more times, then whirled and walked back the way she had come.

Carroll was just heaving a sigh of relief when a loud boom and a shriek careened down the hall toward him and he felt magic ripple against his skin. He took off at a sprint, turned the corner, and was instantly surrounded by thick smoke.

...And now he couldn't see. Outstanding.

By the time they cleared the air and found that nothing was damaged, Carroll was feeling rather good about himself. But then two of his brothers slammed through the front door, holding the sodden arm of an elf girl in each hand. Her robes and hair were... very wet, and she was dragging her feet just to spite them.

“Someone took it upon herself to go for a swim,” Bran informed him, and Carroll resigned himself to that fact that he would no longer be on door duty. Somehow, it didn't seem like the most terrible blow.

“Thanks,” she smiled at him as they hauled her back inside. “I'm not bored anymore.”

Nothing ever happened in the Circle chapel. That, he'd been told by Greagoir, was exactly why they had stationed him there. Carroll didn't mind, because the Chant of Light was pretty, but mages never came in here, either, so eventually it just felt like he was herding the sisters.

The sisters at least talked to him. They weren't afraid of him like the mages were. So he took to asking them about verses of the Chant and pretending to listen when they went on about variations and this or that interpretation and dissonant verses and the like. Boring, but better than counting bricks, and far more relaxing than standing beside a statue and feeling like a suit of armor.

The only time he ever left the chapel on official duty was when Greagoir needed help getting new phylacteries into the vault. "Stand behind me, and carry these, Carroll. Drop one, and I'll send you to Aeonar."

He was joking--he might be joking, but Carroll was always very careful, regardless. Initiate vials in arms, he'd follow Greagoir and Irving into the cold, chilly basement, watch them open the doors, put them where indicated, and march back out occasionally, holding one or two from mages who passed the Harrowing.

Or maybe they hadn't passed. Carroll was never told where the vials were being taken after he returned them to Greagoir's office, and he hardly saw any of the mages anymore, anyway, so he wouldn't notice if one moved dorms or disappeared.

It was after one such errand that he reported back to the chapel and found Lily, one of the initiates, working through a verse. He stood politely and listened--she had a nice voice--and, as always, she came over to speak with him for a while afterward.

"You weren't here when I came in today. Everything is fine with the mages, I trust?"

Carroll nodded. "Yeah, I was just with Greagoir in the phylactery chamber."

"Oh, you've seen the Victim's Door!"

"I-I have?" He could think of several doors in this place for which that name would be appropriate.

"Of course! I learned about it last year. Each plank from the door represents one of the original Templars."

Her somber face was making him uncomfortable. "So they got to retire to Val Royeaux, and got a door? Seems unfair."

She shook her head and ignored his joke. "No, they died in the most gruesome fashion at the hands and minds of the blood mages they fought."

"Oh." Carroll shook his head. "That's... not good."

"Indeed not, especially for poor Jaques the Pure. His body was found scatt--"

Words from his trainers years ago sifted to the forefront of his mind. Don't end up like Jaques the Puréed. "You... like your history and trivia, don't you?"

Lily nodded eagerly. "I'd love to see that door myself, and the one it guards, but as neither a mage nor a Templar, I'll never get the chance." She sat down on a bench next to where he was standing and smiled up at him. "Will you tell me what it's like?"

Carroll did, because it passed the time. And when she asked how the door worked--because their books had been vague and she was curious--he told her that, too.

Only when he was beside Greagoir and Irving, watching the blood mages and Lily come out of the basement door, did it occur to him that he had also told her the sodding password. He was still running over the implications of this when the boy mage cut his bloody hand open and sent everyone flying against the walls.

When his eyes opened again, the little elf was standing in the middle of their prone forms, looking after the blood mage, tongue pinned thoughtfully between her teeth. "Huh. He lied to me. Didn't know he had it in him." Carroll lay on the floor and silently hated at her tattoos.

Lily was sent to Aeonar. The elf, he thought, would be as well, but she was cut loose of the Tower with some Grey Warden. She, Greagoir had explained, had just been doing what she was told.

"So, uh... what is there to guard besides the chapel?" Carroll asked sullenly, staring down at his hands.

"I will find something." The Knight-Commander made it sound like a threat. "And when I have found it, I will tell you. Until then, stay out of my sight."

But that sounded like a vacation. And, with the sodding elf out of the Tower, maybe he could fix things up with Greagoir and get back to guarding interesting places like the library.

"I need to get back to the Tower." She was good at the sad frowns. Maker curse women born with blue eyes.

"And I need a blanket and a warm meal! No!" Carroll resisted the urge to strangle her on the grounds that the heavily-armed people following her wouldn't like it.

"Greagoir will be angry if you don't take me to him, you know." She crossed her arms under her breasts. Maker curse women born with breasts.

"Oh, yes? Yes, I suppose he would be angry at me for keeping you out of the Tower. Otherwise, I might have managed to do one sodding thing properly, and he'd die of shock! How good of you to point that out!"

"So we can go?" Her eyeteeth flashed again.

"No! Now go away!"

He turned around, but she didn't move away. Instead, she threw her arms around his waist and pressed against his back.

Maker curse Templar armor.

"Carroll, please." Her voice made his chestplate vibrate slightly.

"N-No!" He pulled away and turned around to glare down at her.

Her voice grew sharp. "Look, either you take us across yourself or we kill you and take your boat."

"You can't kill me!"

The creepy, shiny statue also had a voice. Carrol had been happier before learning that. "Oh, it thinks we cannot kill it, does it? Is its head hollow, perhaps? I think I should check."

The elf swallowed a smile. "Shale, shush. Carroll, take us across."

Nothing could be worse than this ruddy dock. Nothing. "...Come on, then."

And then she sodding saved them all.

Greagoir found Carroll slumped in a hallway, staring at the pool of blood that had not long ago housed Bran, and slid to the floor beside him. The metallic scrape of his armor against the stone made his head throb.

"The Warden," Greagoir began bitterly, "tells me you tried to prevent her from coming across the lake."

Carroll nodded.

"Has it occurred to you that had you been successful, every mage and Templar in this tower would be dead?"

He nodded again, this time miserably, then jumped in surprise when Greagoir slapped him on the shoulder. "Good work."

"S-s-s-ir?" Oh, Andraste's shiny buttons, he sounded like Cullen.

"The Warden also told me to be nicer to you, because every demotion you've gotten so far has been her fault."

Carroll sighed. "It's true, Knight-Commander." And of course, now that someone other than him was saying it, his story was suddenly believable.

"Normally I'd call rubbish, but that bleeding elf seems utterly incapable of actually reaping what she sows." Greagoir scowled and tossed a gauntlet on the floor, then began rubbing at the back of his neck. "By all rights she should be in Aeonar, but here she is, playing hero. I hate owing my life to someone so...."

There weren't words, and so silence stretched out, instead. "I know what you mean, sir," Carroll said at last, and the other man shook his head.

The two Templars sat, side-by-side on the floor, and Carroll spent several minutes fuming that he hadn't even been able to clear his own name. Eventually, he decided to look on the bright side. "So, this is a Blight, right?"

"...Yes, Carroll."

"And she's a Warden."

"Yes."

"So if we're lucky, she'll die and never come back again."

Greagoir gave a short laugh. "Carroll, stop prattling and go clean the library."

"Who else is--"

"You. Go."

Some things weren't going to change, then. Carroll was pondering how he felt about that as he rose with several clangs and near-losses of balance, then moved down the hall and into the apprentice library.

...Maker's balls. Someone had built a fort out of the reference books, and there wasn't a ladder in sight.

Bloody mages.

“Andraste's gold-trimmed knickers, no!”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*snorfle*

I loved it. Carroll is definitely one of the overlooked gems of this game. Poor guy.

He'd be an awesome, snarky Templar companion.

Oh, wait.

Well, damn.

What you did there... I sees it.

*snerk*

... and also, this story is OMG epic! Love muchly :D

Awww, yay! I'm glad it's so much fun to watch Carroll suffer. :3

This was sooo full of win. I loved it to pieces. I'll never, ever look at Carroll the same way again. Beautiful stuff.

Awww, thank you, Miri! :D By the time I was done writing it, it didn't even feel like English anymore, so it's good to know it worked after all. <<;

Lol! That was great ... I've always wondered why Carrol has such an attitude - now I know! Poor sod *cackle*... and I loved your patented Faolán cheerfully messing everything up. Child of the Trickster, that one :D

Faolán insists she was born in Lothering and that's enough to make anyone "just like she is."

Personally, I think she electrocuted herself practicing Primal spells.

Trying to invent the e-guitar, no doubt. Or the microwave.

Faolán woke in the infirmary, and smiled at her mentor, who was sitting in a chair beside her cot.

"I left you alone for ten minutes. Ten minutes, Faolán." When she smiled, her mentor sighed. "Care to tell me what happened?"

Faolán sat up and felt her hair. Something wasn't right. "Can I have a mirror?"

"What happened."

"I was practicing electrocuting the dummy, and kind of missed and got myself. It felt tingly, so I thought more would too."

Her mentor was rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "And did it?"

"No."

"I think we'll stick to ice spells for a while."

"Ice is boring!"

"Exactly."

Lol! So that is why she's so good with ice! And does she still think that ice is boring?
The image of kid!Faolán with her hair sticking up ia hilarious.

She actually really likes ice now. :3

Oh my god, I loved the ever-living fuck out of this story. XDD

Carroll has always cracked me up (and I'm about to have to try to write him, myself), and... Greagoir. And... yeah. :D :D Templars.

This story loved the ever-living fuck right out of you, too. :D It appears you were a daisy after all.

What? Why are you calling me a daisy. :(

I'm supposed to write Tannusen/Carroll smut. But I admit I'm okay with this. :D

Isn't that a good thing? I thought was bad if you weren't a daisy.

Carroll tells me he's an enthusiastic, albeit somewhat confused, bottom if you electrocute him enough times.

(There's Faolan/Carroll, too. >>)

I... don't know, my grasp of ~~words~~ context is shot all to hell lately. XDD

(Yay Carroll porn! :D So now he'll have at least one het fic and one slash fic~)

I watched the movie to verify. It's good to be a daisy. :D

Hooray, you finished it!

I have no idea why, but "Andraste's shiny buttons" is now my favorite part XD

I sat there for a long time, trying to give the buttons a placement on Andraste, and then decided just to go with it. >>

That was wonderful. I really enjoyed this little peak into Carroll's life.

Thank you kindly, anon. :D

What an impish elf! A very charming story.

Thanks, Zute! By the time she's grown up, she's a pretty destructive force. Poor Carroll. XD

I loved this in soo many ways. But my favourite line:

Carroll lay on the floor and silently hated at her tattoos

I liked Jaques the Pure and Jaques the Puréed, too.

Those are my two personal favorite lines! (The third is "she appeared to be mostly made of blue robes" because the image of tiny young Faolan makes me giggle.)

Yeah, and that one, too. I scouted back through to find my favourites when I posted, and I missed that one.

So, the conclusion to this is clear: I am she as you are she as you are me and we are all together.

err... if you say so...
*tries to look knowledgeable and in no way as thick as Carroll*

I'm sorry. I've had "I Am the Walrus" stuck in my head all morning, and I suspect it only makes sense to people on drugs.

Which is why it won't leave my head. IS THERE MEANING THERE? CURSE YOUUUUUUU SONG.

Is it bad that I got the reference with no drugs involved at all? (Admittedly, I probably wouldn't have gotten it if not for the X-Files episode "Eve.")

Edited 2010-10-30 03:46 (UTC)

Oh, getting the reference is fine. Understanding what the fuck they're on about is another story.

Also, <3 "Eve."

I have a not-so-secret fondness for Carroll. This was awesome! I really liked how you pointed out that the Templars' field of vision is actually pretty narrow in those helmets. It's a pretty caustrophobic notin, those helments. (Glad I don't have to wear one!)

Carroll is basically the best thing. ~~I would trade him for Alistair~~ I fell in love with his attitude on the very first playthrough, and whoever animated him was a genius re: body-language.

Sadly, this is a modded Carroll shot. I need to go fix that, because I like his original build better. But dude. Righteous Grey Wardening. :D

I loved the whole thing, though this line made me crack up: “We've got fire. It's not like we summoned a demon and asked it for macaroons, Elise.” She's so reasonable! Also, I loved that Carroll is the one who accidentally told Lily the password. One more reason for me to dislike her.

I'm really glad I'm not alone in my foaming dislike for Lily.

Oh no, she's right up there with Isolde. I'd like to see an episode of "Will it blend?" with those two women.

...You say to the woman who's had like, six daiquiris tonight.

Bleeeeaaagh.

I've been offline having a pretty stressful week, and this is about the most delightful thing to find on my return. Oh, Carroll! Poor Carroll. Now I know why he's so determined not to let my mages across to the tower. I love how you've filled out this one minor character and how the Blight works out for him, and you can never have too many snarky Templars around. Ace.

Glad you liked it! I was really hoping you would, since... you know, it was for you. XD (I am very articulate.)

Best of luck with thesis and rest of RL. I remember that bit, and it was not fun at all. :(

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Fanfic: Carroll's Bad Day

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Yay for rarely-talked about NPCs...

Re: Yay for rarely-talked about NPCs...

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once more, with proper html :3

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