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Chapter Text

The deep roads expedition was well underway. 

After rescuing Bodahn’s son from what turned out to be a non-threat, the group had reconvened at camp in preparation to make the journey through the alternate route. It was going to add on a little more time to their initial estimate, but Bartrand had been confident that it would be worth it. For now, everyone was advised to rest up and prepare for a long trek the next day. With the number they had, it was quick and light work to set up camp. Many hands, Wyatt remembered his father repeating fondly. The three of them - his mother, father and himself all before the twins were old enough - worked tirelessly on the farm back in Lothering. He was no stranger to hard labor. It kept him grounded and humbled, or so he thought. 

Once everything was established, as newcomers, the brothers accepted the duty of starting a fire and preparing a meal for those who wished to partake. Stew was on the menu tonight - a tried and true Feredelan dish of course. The preparation was simple and meant dinner was ready for consumption before long.

Most of Bartrand’s men had already filled their bellies on some other fare, likely provided by the dwarf himself. However, a handful still took from the stew, followed by Carver, Varric and -

Someone was missing. 

A certain blonde healer was not immediately visible in Wyatt’s line of sight as he searched the area with just a sweeping glance. Perhaps he hadn’t heard the call of supper? 

Hawke approached his companion’s tent and parted the flaps. “Hey Anders did you-” Caches of herbs, empty potion flasks and sheets of parchment littered the interior but Anders himself was notably absent. He didn’t expect the mage to have abandoned them, but Wyatt did recall the harrowed look in his eyes and short controlled breaths he had taken when they first began their descent underground. 

He couldn’t say that being down here was at all pleasant, even he was already eager to return to the surface, to see daylight and breathe Lowtown’s stagnant air, hot and acidic at its best. Passing judgment on anyone else would be inconsiderate.

The question remained - where had Anders gone?

Finding him had not been difficult. In an offshoot tunnel that had collapsed, just a few yards north of where Bartrand and his men had set up, Anders was standing pensively at the mouth of a deep chasm. Tension pulled his shoulders taut while he stared out at the sprawling expanse of endless tunnels and layers of stone overhead. His rigid posture spoke volumes, as did the tenacity of his grip on the staff he leaned on earnestly. 

This was not a man content to be underground.

A sympathetic hand reached out to offer comfort. Such a simple action - performed of his own volition - twisted his insides together. It was not an appropriate time to be giddy over even the smallest of physical contact, but being cold and unfeeling about his companion’s strife wasn’t the answer either. “Are you alright?” Hawke inquired with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Despite his obvious discomfort, it had been more than generous of Anders to join them on the expedition for no additional price. He could have declined on the basis of already having provided them maps but instead, he suffered in silence. To what end?

Of course, his past as a Warden was extremely useful. That he possessed knowledge of both darkspawn and the deep roads served them exceptionally well in addition to his boast-worthy talents as a healer. The prospects made Wyatt more than a little excited. Practicality aside, he considered Anders to be pleasant company, and equally pleasant to look at.

“Just feeling a little closed in is all,” Anders replied cautiously. If the man was truly feeling ill at ease then he was keeping up appearances for their sake alone.

The crunch of gravel beneath heavy boot steps announced Carver’s presence before he even spoke. “So, the former Grey Warden is claustrophobic? How’s that for irony.”

Tawny brows furrowed in annoyance and Wyatt jabbed an elbow into his brother’s chest sharply. Carver recoiled in pain, clutching his body where he’d been hit. “Ow! What in the Maker’s name was that for?”

Wyatt regarded him critically feeling a frown pull at his lips in stern disapproval. “Could you be a little less of an ass?”

“You look like Father when you do that!” Carver snarked with a bitter, wheezing laugh.

“Shut up, Carver.” Little brothers. He sighed morosely, avoiding the subject of their father whose presence was sorely missed at a time like this. Since his passing, the transition from simply older brother to the surrogate father-figure role had been a difficult one for Wyatt who favored Malcolm the most out of his three children. Beyond their physical resemblance tying them - tall and brawny with swarthy red hair - it seemed accepting his new responsibilities meant practically becoming his father at times, from training with the twins, being the one to keep a sharp eye out for templars and protecting the family, or locking horns with Carver as father and son had often done growing up. 

Wyatt sincerely wondered if he'd made a mistake bringing his brother along on this trip. Arguments between them were a common occurrence but the memory of what happened to Bethany still intruded his thoughts in the silence when there was nothing to distract his mind.

“You sound like him, too...” the younger Hawke griped, still nursing what was sure to bruise in the morning.

Wyatt sucked in a breath through his nose and snorted. He had nothing else to say, and there was no sense in trying to get the last word in.

Someone found their bickering marginally humorous, or at least that was his assessment when he caught the ghost of a grin on Anders’ face. Butterflies loosed themselves inside his chest cavity and briefly rendered him bereft of any coherent thought. 

Once the moment passed he shook it off and found his voice again. “Feeling a bit better?” He approached Anders cautiously, avoiding making any sudden, startling movements. “Came to let you know we’ve got a stew going. If you’re hungry enough. Can’t speak for the quality but I can promise you won’t even taste the darkspawn!” 

Anders eyed him dubiously, brows creased in mild concern. 

When he didn’t get the reaction he had hoped for, Wyatt cleared his throat and broke the awkward silence. “Sorry. Bad joke.” 

Carver sighed, visibly exasperated by the way he rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, Anders was quick to recover and laughed it off in good faith. The curve of his lips and creases at the corners of his warm eyes caught Hawke’s attention and he felt his face grow warm. His eyes lingered a little too long, studying, analyzing, committing things to memory - the way Anders had been standing with his feet apart and both hands on his staff, or how the coat made his lean frame appear bulkier than it was, long and slender fingers with a freckle on every other digit. 

“Wait-” Carver stopped Wyatt in his tracks just as he turned to follow after Anders back to camp. “You fancy him. Hah! The Mighty Wyatt Hawke felled by a pretty face. Sounds about right. I’m sure Mother would be thrilled.”

Of all the things his brother could say. He choked down a stream of protests and deflected instead. “Shut. Up. Carver. Don’t you have a sword to polish?” So much for restraining himself. If they made it out alive without him feeding Carver to the darkspawn, it would be a miracle.

“Don’t you?” he retorted, with twice the snark. 

Wyatt grabbed him, haranguing his brother with an arm slung around his neck. “Oh, you think you’re so funny. Come on. Let’s go before Sandal eats all the stew.” Carver wrestled free from his sibling’s clutches, griping all the while. The bickering was over and they tottered back to camp with growling stomachs.

That evening

Insomnia was not a familiar friend to Wyatt, who sat up in his bedroll, frustrated. Sleep didn’t often elude him the way it would his father some nights. Restless evenings weren’t uncommon in the Hawke household - at least not after both his and Bethany’s magic came into being - but more often than not he had always been able to sleep heavily and for the length of the night. Sudden changes of scenery stopped keeping him awake after so many years of moving from place to place to avoid notice by the templars. Following the first move, from his birthplace in Edgehall to West Hill, it took weeks for him to adjust, but he had learned to adapt quite readily by the time they had settled in Lothering. Tonight was an outlier.

His eyes were open too wide for a restful mind and fixed on the interior of his tent, all detail or color completely lost to the darkness. Shapes formed out of shadows and he tried to spin a tale to settle his busy thoughts and push him under the soft haze of sleep, but to no avail. Wyatt laid there with his back flat against the bedroll and arms comfortably tucked beneath his head. Indecipherable mutterings could be heard beside him and he stole a jealous glance at Carver’s vague shape, laying to one side and slumbering deeply still.  

Closing his eyes meant little, but he tried all the same. 

At some point, he finally drifted off.

There was no slow awakening, no gradual adjustment to consciousness - panic forced his eyes open as it tore through his mind like a spike. With his mind followed his body, jolting upwards into action. Seconds passed before a modicum of understanding developed within his fogged mind - there had been a noise. Carver?

He looked to his left but found his brother still soundlessly resting and only just stirring slightly. 

No. Not Carver. Something else. Something that pulled him from a warm bedroll and into the cooler cavernous air that pricked the bare skin of his chest the moment he emerged from the tent.

Shaking the sleep from him, he squinted in the darkness, forcing his eyes to adjust. A dull headache plagued him after being woken so abruptly but Wyatt ignored the pain and trained his ear for a listen. What sounds he could pluck out of the white noise of dwarven and Mabari snores was muffled but unsettling. Not a soul stirred within the immediate vicinity but a pair of dwarves on watch who seemed undisturbed by the sounds coming from nearby. 

Wyatt rubbed harshly at his eyes as he followed the direction of the noise to Anders’ tent just to the left of his own. Frenzied rustling - sounds that would come from fitful tossing and turning - drifted out and a voice wrought with what could only be described as fright and desperation accompanied the noise. The realization that he left his staff behind with his things inside the tent came too late. A cold chill traveled down his bare back. He was ill-prepared for the things his mind conjured up - images of demons, shades, or even darkspawn that had somehow found their way into his companion’s tent without notice. 

However, what he found upon throwing the flaps open -

“Anders?”

The man had been caught in a slumbering fit, sheets clutched fiercely in twitching hands, visibly agitated or disturbed by something in his sleep. Concern tugged at his heart the more violent his friend’s night terrors became. He threw caution to the wind and entered the tent, kneeling down beside his fretful companion. 

Nudging him gently, he called his name. “Anders?” 

Nothing. 

Again, he tried shaking a little more firmly  “Hey, Ande-”

The immediate area was bathed in a vivid blue brilliance shining through eyes that should have been a golden brown, through cracks threading through and across Anders’s skin as he jolted upright suddenly. Instinct took over when the healer lashed out at a presumed attacker rather than reaching for his staff. Hands wreathed in the same blazing fade light lurched forward but sharp reflexes allowed Hawke to intercept them.

“Anders - it’s just me! It’s Hawke-”

A struggle commenced as Anders, still trapped in half-waking state and wrought with a touch of delirium, fought to pull away from him. “NO! You will not take me back there! 

Maker’s ass, this is not ideal.

Wyatt acted on impulse as he pulled the man into an embrace, not stopping to consider other solutions or the potential danger the other mage might pose to him. Anders was a spirit healer but still a mage of impressive skill, he was still a fighter.

“It’s alright! You’re alright and you’re safe.” The heavy thudding of his companion’s heartbeat against his own steadily slowed and the ragged, shallow breathing in his ears became deeper with each inhale and exhale. After a few minutes of silence, Anders’s body relaxed against his own. Despite his own heart racing and wide-eyed stare, he didn’t relent, but a shudder rolled through the smaller man and the light faded out with it like the tide.

The awkwardness only occurred to Hawke after his companion recovered but did not pull back right away. Carver’s words were an echo in his mind but he didn’t wish to startle Anders by suddenly letting go. Sucking in a breath through his nose, he feigned a calm smile. He was still concerned for his friend’s wellbeing so it was mostly genuine. “Anders?” He called again. 

“Hawke?” Amber eyes opened wider, pupils dilating as he became fully aware and focused on what was in front of them. Anders composed himself quickly and broke away. “Oh Maker, what happened?” 

So much for not startling him. Wyatt, who looked on with alarm, immediately launched into apologies. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to - you were having a nightmare. You were just - I - Maker’s Breath. I was just concerned. I really shouldn’t have-”

“Nightmare?” Anders looked at him woefully. 

In that fleeting moment between action and consequence, heat flooded Wyatt’s face as he waited for judgment. “I heard noises coming from your tent here. I thought you were being attacked…” He had made a split-second decision without forethought, not knowing if it was at all appropriate or wise. Instinct had driven him. That was his only excuse.

“Oh. I see.” Where he expected Anders to appear angry, or insulted, what he found instead was just the opposite. His demeanor changed as his shoulders relaxed and face softened in appreciation. He still refrained from making physical contact, but his body language said enough. “So you came rushing in to save the day?” Amber eyes stared back with warmth again, creasing at the corners when he smiled looking vaguely smug.

That did nothing for his embarrassment. Wyatt was sure now more than ever that the Maker had an awful sense of humor by putting him in situations like this. “Yeah - something like that.”

“Thank you, Hawke. I appreciate the concern, and I’m sorry for waking you.” 

Relief chased away the tension in his muscles and he coolly shrugged. “I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep. I’m going to get dressed and take over the watch. You’re welcome to join me.” 

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I won’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon and the company would be nice at least.”

Hawke forced himself to turn away back towards his own tent if only to avert his gaze from the unfairly attractive mage as he rose from the bedroll. It was a test of willpower to avoid staring for too long.

This was going to be a very long expedition.

Chapter Text

By Bartrand’s insistence, the expedition got an early start the next morning, and though there were a few grumbling voices, the more significant majority pulled up camp with little resistance, and they set off not long after Hawke, and the others departed. While the dwarf was leading the caravan by technicality, it had apparently fallen on them to clear the route ahead. 

Typical, but not unexpected. 

The Deep Roads were not at all lacking in Darkspawn to slay throughout their journey. With such a diverse group, the four of them cut down the bands of spawn with little difficulty. If they were going to fall victim to anything down there, it would be the monotony, such was Hawke’s personal observation at least. Murky tunnels of cold and unforgiving stone stretched on endlessly and time was lost to obscurity with no way to know how long they traveled before there was a break in the tedium.

“Hmm.” Varric’s step slowed to a crawl as he mused and turned his studious gaze to their cavernous surroundings. He remained silent long enough that the hard set to his jaw and heavy brows hanging low over his eyes said it all. Recognition eventually released the focused tension in his face and pulled his mouth into a smile. “Ah! This goes right where we want it to.”

Frankly, it all looked the same to Wyatt, who was happy to follow his dwarven friend’s lead, but then Varric had also made a similar remark near the start of their journey. Sneaking a glimpse of Carver, his brother seemed hardly impressed by the looming stalagmites and incandescent blue glow radiating from the veins of lyrium, the ones that lined the all-encompassing stone walls. At a glance, he was no less gloomy than Anders. However, they had been underground for close to a week, and there was still so much ground to cover. 

Hawke saddled up to his brother with nonchalance and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Why the long face, Carver? I’m sure we’ll stumble across more darkspawn to kill before long. That ought to perk you right up!”

Varric craned his neck slightly to catch them from the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry Junior, I’m just as eager as you and Blondie there to get back to the surface.”

He heard no verbal response from Anders, save for a quiet chuckle. Carver protested loudly, however. “Yes, well, we can’t all be as chipper as you while weeks from the surface. And to think I used to wonder why they were called the Deep Roads.” 

“Oh, I don’t know-” Wyatt cajoled, relinquishing his brother. “Maybe I’m just enjoying this little bonding session. Mother would be proud to see us actually getting along and accomplishing something.”

Carver groaned and shoved him away when he leaned back in. “And what is it exactly that we’re accomplishing, brother? All I’ve seen you accomplish is staring-” 

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll see to it that you bunk with Uncle Gamlen for a week.” 

Rather than the usual terse scowl he might have received from his brother, Carver laughed in a way that made the past two years they had spent together, mourning and struggling to protect what remained of their broken family, all worthwhile. Joking and palling around with his brother unearthed fond recollections from when they were much younger and the world a lot simpler. At that moment, it was like no time had passed, but it was a fleeting feeling that vanished as soon as Wyatt immersed himself in the bleak surroundings again. The grim reality set in far too quickly for his liking, and he frowned.

After what seemed like an eternity spent in awkward silence, Carver spoke, choosing his words carefully. “Bethany would have hated it down here,” he muttered in a wistful tone. His voice did not crack, but the furrow in his dark brows and the way he turned his face away stated more than his words let on.

“Probably,” Wyatt’s response was brief, curt even. The last thing he wanted to think about was Bethy. Memories of her weighed heavy on his heart. They were bittersweet at best, like embracing a beloved stuffed toy sewn together with pieces of glass. Carver, for all his strength, suffered her loss equally, if not worse.

“So, Varric,” his brother mercifully changed the subject. “What is it that you’re hoping to find down here? Besides more darkspawn, that is.”

“Look around you, Junior,” Varric swept his arms out as they crossed through an impressive crater in the side of a wall into an entirely new world. 

The change of scenery was immediately apparent as haunting blue bled into threatening red. Blushing vines coiled possessively around looming stone pillars that lined the cavern in precise, man-made rows. They stood in their silent and unmoving invitation, beckoning them further down the man-made corridor and deeper into the den of the Dwarves themselves. Simply stated lanterns, their design a relic of an earlier era, gleamed the same ominous red and cast malevolent shadows across the path ahead.

At once, the four of them stopped moving and gaped in awe at what surrounded them. 

A quick glance to his left, Wyatt saw Carver’s eyes widened, glinting under the harsh light. Varric appeared equally fascinated, despite all earlier reticence. It quickly became apparent they all shared in similar astonishment.

His voice drifted past his lips, unbidden, as he still drank in the view before him. “Was this what you expected?”

“I thought maybe an abandoned thaig, something old - something - not like this.”

Bartrand’s voice pulled Wyatt out of his stupor, one he had spent staring with his mouth agape at the scenery stretched out in front of them. He shook away the awe and finally turned his head to see the dwarf and his troupe had caught up.

For a few minutes, Bartrand continued on, audibly processing their discovery and muttering about how he had been banking on little more than rumors, miner’s tales at best about some ancient secret a week or more below the city surface. The dwarf ordered his company to settle here while once again the responsibility of delving deeper into the thaig fell unto Varric and the humans.

-

“I have half a mind to ask your brother for a bigger share of the profits, for all this extra work he has us doing.” A wry smile crossed Carver’s face, and he jabbed a thumb back in the direction of Bartrand and his men still prowling the entrance to the thaig they’d discovered. 

Varric nearly doubled over as chuckles shook his stout form. “Hah! Keep dreaming Junior, Bartrand would sooner die before that happened. I’m still shocked he agreed to let you join.”

While the two of them conversed, Hawke slowed his pace until he was following in step with Anders, trailing just behind the three of them. The mage turned his head with some confusion, but Wyatt returned his suspicion with only a smile. “Hey.”

“Hawke. Need something?” Amber eyes stared back with genuine curiosity, lacking the turbulence he had seen last night.

Still smiling, Wyatt felt his cheeks pull tight and growing warmer the longer he let his gaze linger on the mage beside him. “No, just checking on you. Feeling better?”

“I-” Anders hesitated as if stunned by the question, and sandy brows arched high in his astonishment. “Yes, better. Thank you for asking.”

Why did it always feel like time stopped whenever they made eye contact? Even if the world screeched to a halt for the briefest moment, it was still a moment too long spent lost amongst intruding (but not entirely unpleasant) notions, like his reaction upon their first introduction. 

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?” 

The tall, lanky blonde mage declared his intent openly as he stood his ground, a staff clutched in one hand, a sharp jaw jutting out at them and golden eyes brimming with tenacity. His posture was defensive, but not so rigid that he couldn’t spring into action should they make a move to attack. Not that they would.

Feeling his collar growing too tight and his ears burning, Wyatt blinked before reality set in and he held up his hands as a sign of peace. “I apologize for bursting in. Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

A spark of wonder came to life within his mind. He couldn’t help but be curious and perhaps a little excited to be meeting not only another mage but a former Grey Warden...

Hawke felt his breath hitch in his throat, and his chest tighten as he saw the most subtle flush of pink color Anders’ cheeks, but it vanished as quickly as it surfaced. “Good.” He averted his gaze, for fear of his private thoughts giving away this growing infatuation. The heat had not yet left his face, and he wondered if it ever would.

It was an unintended interruption by Carver that granted him mercy. “Why do I get this feeling we’re going in circles, Varric? I thought you knew where we were.”

“Don’t look at me Junior, Blondie’s the one with the maps.”

“What?” Anders cut in finally, taking his attention away much to Wyatt’s utter relief. “I gave Hawke the maps.”

He sucked in a breath as if relearning how after hours spent deprived of air. Shit. Anders was right, wasn’t he? “Er, well, I’m fairly certain I gave them to Bartrand.”

The other mage balked, “Really, Hawke?” His admonishing went ignored in favor of staring, raking the length of the man’s sharp nose and the small cluster of freckles that crossed the bridge. “Hawke?”

“Sorry! He was leading the expedition, and I thought it was best…” he replied with some regret but no lack of his usual carefree attitude. He shrugged his shoulders even as Anders sighed dejectedly and returned to Varric, who appeared equally nonplussed.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine. Besides, we can always wait for my brother to catch up again while we look around.”

A groan slipped from the healer’s lips, whose placid appearance was wearing away with every passing second following that revelation. Seeing it was like a lance forged of guilt through his heart, but Wyatt maintained his composure, hiding it behind his usual mask of enthusiasm. “Good plan! Let’s do that.”

Rousing conversations and the start of unlikely friendships flourished amongst the group as they carried on down the long corridor. It was the growling squeal, a sound guttural and inhuman, that raised the mage’s hackles. The noise, issued in a warning from somewhere just around the corner, earned Hawke’s full attention.

The party came to a halt mere steps away from an open chamber, with ceilings that stretched toward the surface. All throughout the space was the same ancient architecture that ran throughout the rest of the Thaig. More of the ominous red lanterns shone down upon them from atop their stone pedestals, and their haunting glow washed over the entire space, seeping into the corridor like a stain.

It was a fitting invitation, considering the nature of the sounds that continued to echo from somewhere within the hollow space just up ahead. 

With Hawke at the head of the party, he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling his companions and fellow adventurers to remain silent. Several of them exchanged questioning glances as he cautiously peered around the corner in search of the source. Nothing. At least, not at first. There was only looming pillars and a raised platform at the center. Not a soul could be seen, and he turned back to the group with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“What was that!?” Carver, still facing the mouth of the corridor that dumped out into the room, was drawn to something before the heavy beating of wings alerted the rest of them. 

Swooping down from an unseen perch was the creature responsible. It descended from on high, spreading its large leathery wings as it came to a slow, yet graceful landing in front of the platform. Before anything else, it issued another cry, not to them but to somewhere else in the room and moments later a gaggle of young crept out of the shadows to circle around their parent.

“A dragon,” Wyatt breathed out, practically vibrating with anticipation as adrenaline rose to the surface and began to filter through his veins. Almost subconsciously he reached for the staff on his back, eyes still fixed to the winged beast just ahead.

With brows knitted in concern, Anders stepped up, inserting himself as the voice of reason. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Those are her dragonlings. We should find another-” 

But the words died on his lips as Hawke gripped his staff and marched right out of the corridor. “And they’re blocking our exit-” he shouted before darting off.

“Of course,” Carver muttered bitterly. “We somehow manage to avoid the templars, and then my brother gets eaten by a dragon. In the Deep Roads.” 

“Just your luck, huh, Junior?”

“Come on, before he gets himself killed.”

-

By the time Carver and the others had rushed to his aide, Hawke had already engaged the beast. As fire licked at the end of his staff and each spell he slung exploded upon impact with the dragon, the scent of ozone was sharp in his nose. Like a familiar song, the crackle of flames spoke to him, enticed him.

It was one he’d known since childhood.

He stared at the orange flickers dancing between his small fingers, none of which any bigger than the wick of a candle, but it was still something. It was still magic.

“You need to concentrate son, but you can’t think too hard. Let it come naturally.” His father admonished, gently, as he pulled a ribbon of fire from nothing like tugging on a thread from a spool. 

Awed by the display, Wyatt beamed at his father in all his boyish glee. “Wow! I want to do that!”

Chuckles rumbled in Malcolm’s chest, their low timbre like the faint roll of thunder somewhere off in the distance. His father’s palm was heavy and warm on the top of his head and it was the same smells that clung to him - sulfurous ozone, burning wood, hot coals -

- they lingered even now in his memory.

The mage held his footing, even as the creature, whose sheer bulk vastly overshadowed him, and summoned forth more mana from his inner reserves. The touch of the fade was subtle, but enough that he recognized the usual sensation of fullness within his person, the tingle of power at his fingertips as he extended his will outward and used that raw potential to pull a group of the dragonlings into a tight cluster. They squealed and screeched as they ricocheted off one another which gave his brother the opening he needed to approach from the side and slice through the horde with a mighty swing of his greatsword. 

In his ears was the familiar twang as Varric loosed a bolt from Bianca at the larger of the beasts and Hawke turned just in time to see it moving in on his dwarven companion, not at all pleased by the assault. He turned to defend, just as a hastily summoned glyph illuminated beneath their feet and thrust the stalking dragon back with an unseen push of arcane force. It skidded along the floor, talons scraping garishly against the stone. 

Anders still hung back, supporting them from range, and though Wyatt found himself immensely grateful for the man’s impeccable timing, he dared not pull his attention away. 

His lips split into a grin and he bared his teeth, already feeling the kindling in his chest again. 

Carver had successfully dispatched the remaining dragonlings and Hawke watched his brother with pride as he flanked the creature, drawing its attention away from their group. They had the perfect opening and were too happy to exploit it...

Chapter Text

Heavily panting, sweat pooled in and around his collar as hair clung to his slick forehead and somewhat obscured Hawke’s vision. Despite his ragged breathing, despite being all but mana starved leaving him feeling empty, drained of all will to continue, he still smiled like the world’s biggest fool. 

At his feet - their feet - lay the massive corpse of a dragon slain just like in the fantastical tales his mother used to read to him until he fell asleep. 

Pride swelled within and supplied the insignificant surge of adrenaline that saw him stand upright and stow his staff so he could breathe a little easier. From the corner of his eye, Hawke spied Carver wiping the blood from his blade as deep inhales and heavy exhales saw his chest rise and fall.

“That was incredible!” He boasted to his brother, who rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“That was stupid, is what it was.” He rested the blade precariously against the wall beside where he sat and climbed to his feet. When a wobble in his knees threatened his balance, Wyatt jumped up to his brother’s aid with alarm.

“Carver! Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, just tired. We did fight a dragon after all.”

It was typical for Carver to dismiss and diminish any concern shown for him with a wave of his hand, but they wouldn’t be brothers if they didn’t look out for one another. Wyatt did not break his worrisome gaze as he retreated. The sweat on Carver’s brow could have very well been just from fighting, but he noted the subtle grey pallor of his brother’s face. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

Carver stood up on steadier legs this time and heaved the massive blade to stow behind him with a confident grin. “Why do you keep asking me that? Besides, you’re the one who’s bleeding. You daft idiot.” The threat of laughter hung on his brother’s lips and brought some minor relief, relief that turned to annoyance just as quickly. 

“Shut up, Carver.” But Hawke couldn’t stop himself from grinning right back at him. The air was thin, stale and unmoving, it stood to reason they probably all looked a little green around the gills, not that there was a looking glass handy for him to confirm. Touching a hand to his forehead, he pulled his fingers back to see them wet with traces of blood, but not enough to raise alarm. “Huh. Would you look at that.”

“Told you. Why don’t you get your magey friend there to help you out, I’m sure you’d love that.”

“And why don’t you find a nice hole to trip into.” 

Carver erupted into barking laughter just as Varric and Anders approached. The dwarf smiled at the two of them with every ounce of smugness he could muster. “Are you two kids done bickering over here?”

Face flushed with a hint of pink, Anders cleared his throat while deliberately avoiding prolonged eye contact, clearly forcing himself to concentrate solely on the head wound. “It appears to be rather shallow,” he asserted in a low but direct tone. Fingers wreathed in blue grazed his forehead just so that his breath hitched. Hawke reached for the words - a simple thank you, anything except silence and a positively dopey smile. 

“That should take care of the bleeding.” 

The soothing warmth from the touch of magic lingered on his skin long after Anders had left his side to see if anyone else was in need. Hawke felt his chest constrict. The threat of a giddy, boyish chuckle settled in the back of his throat as his eyes regarded the healer’s fluid movements, watching him fish a bottle from his satchel and hand it over to Carver before sitting down. He watched Anders’ hands as they freed his hair from the disheveled ponytail. It hung around his sharp face like a curtain of gold. Though he felt his lips curl tighter, Wyatt did nothing to stop the ridiculous grin from forming or from staying. Not until a dig in his side made him jolt forward.

“Ow! What the-”

“Easy there, Matchstick. You were about to start drooling,” Varric quipped, withdrawing his elbow. 

Hawke nursed his side with a grumble, “I was not.” He had simply been grateful for the aid. After all, Anders was an excellent healer. Who wouldn’t appreciate having him on an expedition like this?

“Hah,” Varric barked, “And I’m the Queen of Antiva!” His broad chest heaved with each chuckle. 

The dwarf’s laughter was infectious enough that Hawke found himself snickering along, and why not? It was simply a joke shared among friends, innocent teasing that held no weight. “Well, lead on, your majesty. Looks like Bartrand and his men caught up so we should get moving again.”

Yet as Varric rattled on, keeping the level of humor on high as he carried forward by request, Hawke swept his gaze one more time across the room and he spied Carver falling into step beside Anders, the two of them seemingly at ease with each other for once instead of tense and tight-lipped. A wayward glance from the healer was not what Hawke had expected. Panic set in and he feigned ignorance, looking away quickly to avoid any further awkwardness. When a gleeful satisfaction swelled up in his chest, he credited the feeling to the last glimmers of adrenaline still lingering in his system. 

They did just fight a dragon.

It wasn’t a long trek through more narrow corridors and byways through and around cave-ins before they finally came upon another spacious chamber in a similar design to the one they had left, but the steps leading up to a raised platform and pedestal in the very center were the most notable differences above all others.

Even from their position on the ground, yards away, none could miss the haunting, pulsing red glow radiating from whatever was on the pedestal. Their steps were slow and deliberate as they approached, and Varric’s keen eyes swept the immediate area for traps. When he signaled he foursome exchanged knowing glances, a silent agreement to satisfy their combined curiosity. 

Varric broke the silence first. “You see what I’m seeing?”

“Wait - is that lyrium ?” Hawke found himself practically whispering in awe of the artifact, a bizarre ornamental idol, fashioned of carved twisted wood and crystal formations that resembled the familiar mineral in all but color. 

“Doesn’t look like any lyrium I’ve seen.” Among the four of them, the Dwarf would be the first one to know the difference. Varric maintained a healthy skepticism. 

As did Anders. “Careful, Hawke. It’s definitely magic and not the good kind.”

Even Carver looked astonished by the find. “Brother, I hope you know what you’re doing. I’m no mage but that thing gives me the creeps.”

He had a point, Wyatt conceded silently to himself. Though his brother never developed magic like he and Bethany had, being mage blooded meant that Carver still maintained some sense of it. Their father had tried to instill even a minor education on magic in his youngest son if only to make sure he was never caught unaware, that he knew the risks and could help his siblings.

It was difficult to describe the specific feeling the carved totem gave Hawke as he reached for it. It wasn't any overwhelming power that radiated from it, but a peculiar one that slid across the senses like static or petting a cat the wrong way. Not that he had much experience with the latter, however. It didn't matter once his fingers closed around the object and he lifted it cautiously from its resting place. Hawke bristled, hackles raised, as he waited for the trap to spring, an alarm to trigger, any reaction other than the tense silence that already existed. When nothing came, he released all the breath from his lungs in a deep exhale.

Without thinking about it, he passed the totem off to Varric who also gave it his own brief inspection before turning around to face his brother, who had drawn a little bit closer. "Look Bartrand! An idol made of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune." Light as it was, he tossed it down to Bartrand who whistled sharply, catching it safely in two hands. 

"You could be right. Excellent find…"

Too busy reveling in their minor victories and discussing the next plan of action - there had to be more to see -, the group was in no mind to pay attention to Bartrand who managed to slink away unnoticed until the door was already closing. 

It was Hawke who finally turned to look after his chatter with the others concluded. “Varric-! The door!” At once everyone else’s attention had been redirected as they made a hurried shuffle down the platform steps and across the room to intercept the door, but luck was not on their side. Just as they reached the threshold, the massive slab of stone that served as the gateway in and out of this room thudded loudly as it closed and sealed them in. 

Once it became clear that Bartrand’s swift exit, leaving them behind in the process, had been no accident, Varric pounded against the door with more fury than Wyatt had ever witnessed from his dwarven friend.

“Bartrand!”

Varric’s bellow was met with resounding silence from his brother.

“Bartrand!” The dwarf’s voice echoed through the cavernous hall they stood in, carrying the full weight of his well-checked rage over the betrayal. He continued muttering bitterly to himself, swearing retaliation. “I swear, I will find that son of a bitch - sorry mother - and I will kill him!”

Hawke found himself grimacing, wishing there was something he could do to reassure his friend but even his ire was lightly brewing below the surface, evidenced by the heat coiling in his chest, and not from Anders’s very near presence this time. He hesitated, wrestled with the idea of resting a hand in solidarity on Varric’s shoulder but the dwarf sighed after a moment and his shoulders relaxed. 

“Alright. Let’s just hope there’s a way out of here. Come on.”

“Agreed,” Carver chimed in, “The air in this place is starting to get stale anyway...”

Trapped underground with two people who would rather be anywhere but was certainly not the worst part of this expedition but Wyatt felt some sympathy for the two of them, his brother and Anders (who also voiced his concerns about their predicament albeit much quieter.) As Varric marched ahead of the group, his newfound ambition to strangle Bartrand propelling him forward, Hawke slung an arm around the shoulders of both men far too casually and attempted to inject some optimism into the room.

“Oh don’t look so dour you two, come on. We’re proper adventurers now!”

The collective groan from both gave him a chuckle. What surprised Hawke was that neither of them made any serious effort to scramble away, but after a moment passed, Anders politely removed the arm from around his neck and excused himself. 

"Stuff your enthusiasm, brother. Let's just get out of this hole. Alive." Carver scoffed as he rolled his eyes and shoved off to catch up with Varric.

“I’m surprised these tunnels don't simply collapse." 

“That’s because Dwarves made them, Junior.”

“Then I'm surprised they're not smaller." The two had begun walking in stride and easily fell into an exchange of quips, much to everyone else’s amusement. Varric cracked and a peel of laughter escaped him as the group carried on.

Before they could round the next corner, the finer hairs along the back of his neck stood at attention and a creeping wrongness slithered down along his spine. A shudder rolled through his body and his gait slowed, creating a significant gap between him and the two ahead. A glance across his shoulder, however, put Anders in his peripheral vision. For the brief moment they made eye contact, no words were exchanged but to Hawke, it seemed they shared a common thought.

Trouble.

Chapter Text

"Boiling in oil?"

"Too prosaic. Trapped in a cave with hungry bears, right at the spring thaw."

"No, that lets him off too easy."

Honestly, it was good to see Anders laughing and joking around, whether it was a momentary distraction or he had genuinely found his stride again. He and Varric stood at the front of the group, and Hawke had not realized he was still smiling while staring at their backs.

Not until his brother beside him groaned quite audibly. "How long are you gonna keep that up?"

"You realize, Carver, that I have seen the way you look at Merrill when you think no one's paying attention."

"What?" He protested sharply, slowing his gait that he almost came to a sudden halt. "You don't know what you're talking about. Don't be an ass."

Grinning over his small victory, Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. "Wouldn't dream of it." He said nothing to Carver rolling his eyes, not as he picked up the pace to reach Varric and Anders, who were still trading peculiar quips.

"Dipped in molten gold and left as a statue in the Viscount's Keep," he heard Anders counter in a lively tone, very much in contrast to his demeanor at the start of their journey underground.

"Ooh. That's poetic!"

They shared a laugh just as Wyatt caught up and inserted himself into their banter. "What are you two talking about?"

"What to do to Bartrand when I find him."

Ah, yes, that made sense. Hawke snickered to himself while conjuring up all manner of images based upon their back and forth. Everyone was in much better spirits, despite basically being left for dead.

"Any suggestions?" Anders asked, leaning on his staff as he sipped from the waterskin at his hip. The clashing red and blue light reflected in his eyes, highlighting the devious glint within them. Maybe it was the air the further below ground they ventured, thick with moisture but still so thin that left Hawke devoid of breath and struggling to find the right words to follow.

"Uh," he stammered, realizing he lacked a witty retort when something darted across his peripheral vision. Hawke squinted and looked beyond his friends at the mouth of the corridor. The longer he peered, the more he thought he could see unmistakable movement. When it ceased, he shook his head and returned to the conversation. "Sorry, what were we discussing again?"

Varric just waved him off, "Don't worry about it, Hawke. Come on, let's get a move on. Bartrand is probably halfway to Antiva by now with that damned idol."

And move they did. Everyone fell into step with one another, slightly more revitalized, all except for one. Wyatt spotted Carver just from the corner of his eye as he wiped the sweat from his face with a rag and shook out his tunic to promote airflow. It was undoubtedly stuffy below ground, but significantly colder than the surface. The others appeared to be okay, and unconcerned with Carver, but he could not help but be a little concerned, even if the stoic young warrior didn't always appreciate it. However, Wyatt resigned himself to staying silent for now.

Something passed across his vision again, this time, more prominently, and Hawke knew it wasn't a case of his active imagination. He sped up to catch the others and signaled for them to halt. "Wait. I saw something." Varric, Anders, and Carver all came to a dead stop and actively sought out whatever may be lurking in the dark, threat, or otherwise.

All was quiet around them. It was the same sort of haunting stillness found up in the mountains on the same cloudless night they met Merrill. He vividly remembered the ink-black sky devoid of stars to guide their way as they set up a small camp, and getting ambushed by shades not too shortly after-

The irony was not lost on him as one darted out from the shadows towards the party, and Varric, with the quick trigger finger, loosed a bolt from Bianca without hesitation.

"What are they doing down here?" Hawke asked, but suspected he already knew the answer.

Anders and Carver both offered their commentary, but their words were little more than idle static in his ear as more shades poured out of the darkness unchecked. There was no more chit chat once everyone else sprung into action, starting with Carver pulling ahead of the group and swinging his greatsword into a small cluster of the twisted creatures. Anders laid down a protective glyph to repel any others while the three of them safely attacked from range.

Wyatt sucked in a long breath through his nostrils and exhaled sharply once he felt the tips of his fingers cooling. Ice always seemed to slow down shades better than any other element, much as he enjoyed calling fire down upon such threats. Winter's grasp was an easy cantrip, and he released a torrent of ice from the head of his staff as he swung it down and across the group just to the side. It succeeded in stopping most of them in their tracks while Carver sliced his blade clean through the ones that had been frozen solid. They worked as quite the functional team until there was but one left, one that had a knack for evading all of their attacks. It turned tail and started running, prompting Carver to give chase.

Wyatt, assuming it for the trap it surely was, darted after his brother, ignoring the shouts hollering after him as he did. "Maker damn it, Carver! Wait!"

The pursuit led them down further down the corridor until it opened into an ample cavernous space, illuminated only by the blue lyrium veins covering the walls and ceiling overhead. However, there was little chance to admire their surroundings as they all caught up in time to defend the young warrior against an ambush by more shades. Three of them all but unfurled out of the shadows themselves and struck out, and Wyatt (seeing his brother right in the center of them) gathered his will before pushing them away with an outwards utilization of force. It was only after hitting the sides of the cavern that they retreated through whatever crack in the veil that granted them access to this realm initially.

"I had that!" Carver griped, readying his blade for retaliation.

"Like nugshit, you did, Junior."

"You bloody reckless idiot-"

With a disappointed frown, Hawke cut Anders off before he could finish whatever criticism he might have. Sure, it had been reckless, but if anyone was going to lecture his brother, it was him. "Alright, enough. I think he gets the point." He focused on Carver again, whose chest was heaving as he panted. To say it was worrying was to diminish the anxiety twisting in his gut. Wyatt laid a hand on his brother's shoulder as he tried to catch his every ragged breath. "Are you sure you're alright? We can take a break."

"Don't worry about me so much. You're as bad as Mother." It was just like Carver to crack a sideways smile and play it off as nothing.

There was little Wyatt could do if his brother didn't want his help. So, he ruffled the warrior's hair and forced a chuckle. "Well, someone has to be the naggy one when she's not here to do it."

The brothers shared a little laugh, but Wyatt still observed him even as Carver stood up straight without having to lean on his sword for stability.

"I hate to interrupt the family bonding moment, but we've got incoming," Varric alerted as he hoisted Bianca into his arms.

Sure enough, just on the horizon were a half dozen creatures the likes of which Hawke had never before seen. As if animated by magic, anthropomorphic rock formations marched towards their small group at a strangely menacing pace. No-one stopped to ask what, or why, as the creatures launched into attack immediately, unleashing streaks of wild lightning that weren't easily dodged or deflected.

That didn't mean Hawke wasn't any less eager to wipe them out fast. Staff temporarily stowed, he drew upon his deeper mana reserves and called the heat to both palms. His focus went into forming the flames and pulling them into realspace from above, before inviting them to rain down upon the strange constructs. When they did not stop, and the fire merely glanced off their rocky exteriors, Wyatt cursed inaudibly under his breath and reached for his weapon, mirroring Carver and Anders, who did the same. The foursome fell into a rhythm of attack and defense, trying everything they could to fend off the wraith-like golems.

It took concentrated effort to the extent of near-complete Mana exhaustion for the group to finally stop the assault and push them back. They eliminated most, but two had retreated down a long corridor. No one was in any position to give chase.

"Bloody flames, what were those things?" Varric had found his breath and taken to sitting on a set of stone steps while inspecting Bianca.

Carver lurched and stumbled as he tried to find a space to sit down beside the dwarf, but Wyatt sprung forward in time to steady his brother. "Carver, seriously, are you sure you're okay? You really don't look so good. We can make camp here if we need to, we've been doing a lot of fighting. I'd rather take an extra day to recover fully than see one of us get hurt."

For once, the young warrior didn't protest - too much anyway. He allowed himself to lean on his brother just long enough to sit down. "Maybe. Let's just see what's around the next corner. It looks like another big cavern. More room to set up, if nothing else."

"Alright," Hawke conceded, despite catching a flash of concern on Anders's face. It was fleeting, but he supposed that was simply his healer's instinct. "How are you two doing?" he addressed both Varric and Anders.

"I'll be right as rain in a minute. Don't you worry about me, Hawke."

"I have plenty of potions." Glass clinked as Anders rummaged through his satchel. "But we should still be cautious. While I don't sense any darkspawn, there could be more of those things up ahead, and we don't know what they are."

Wise words that were worth heeding.

After everyone had caught their breath and found the energy to do so, they set off further down the corridor. The group cut their way through another wave of shades and rock golems that eventually dumped them into an open cavern, lined with two rows down the center of the same pillars that had been present throughout the rest of the thaig. It was a strong effort to dispatch the small swarm of darkspawn that they eventually came upon and the wraith-like guardian of the rock golems after that. What awaited them following its defeat was practically a dragon's hoard of wealth.

"Well, that was bracing." Hawke quipped, stowing his staff and sucking in deep breaths to slow his racing pulse. He inspected the mass of gold and other valuables while Anders tended to Varric's wounds, who had found a seat on a nearby rock. "If this doesn't get us an audience with the Viscount now, then nothing will. Eh, Carver?"

"Could we-" Carver gasped as he braced himself against the cavern wall. Wyatt caught sight of his brother from the corner of his eye. The warrior's chest heaved, and sweat pooled at the back of his neck. "Could we stop-" But his knees gave out, and Carver sank before he could finish the sentence.

Seeing his brother collapse, Wyatt rushed over. "Carver!" Unlike before, he saw the dark veins creeping up into his face, and the haunted look on his face. "Shit - Anders!"

The other mage needed only to hear Hawke cry out for him and made haste. Even Varric slipped off his perch and wandered over with a sense of urgency.

"Oh, Maker."

"Anders," Hawke pleaded as he carefully cradled his brother's head. "Please."

"I'm so sorry, Hawke. It's the Blight. I can sense it now."

"Oh shit." He heard Varric curse and saw the way his face twisted.

Carver panted and chuckled bitterly. "Just like that Templar, Wesley…"

Anders crouched down beside the two brothers and only performed a vaguely superficial inspection if only to satisfy Hawke's wishes. Even if Hawke himself knew there was nothing more to be done. "He's strong, and his body is trying to resist the infection, but I'm afraid that even I can't do anything."

"Brother, you know what you have to do," Carver muttered weakly.

"No, no, no-" He clutched his brother tighter and clenched his jaw, silently cursing the Maker's name. What had he done to lose so much in so short a time? "Anders, you're the best-damned healer I know. There must be some other way, come on!" Even the reassuring hand on his shoulder made him tense up, and he struggled to swallow the growing knot in his throat.

With a heavy sigh, Anders stood up. "There may be a solution. It's not ideal, but I suppose it's an option."

Wyatt, desperate for even the smallest thread, jumped at the still vague suggestion. "What is it? I'm willing to do anything to save him. I'm not letting him die down here." He wasn't about to let Carver die anywhere, but least of all down here in the deep dark.

Something akin to guilt flashed across Anders's face, and along with the hard set of his jaw, made Hawke apprehensive about what he was going to say. "Those maps I had were taken from a troupe of Wardens who came to Kirkwall. Before I learned that they had planned their own expedition through the Deep Roads, I suspected they were searching for me. They weren't, of course, but based on those maps, they should be nearby. If we can reach them in time-"

"The Grey Wardens are here? Could they help him?" A swell of hope, though small, bubbled up from his chest and served to lessen the knot of anxiety just a little. "Are you up for it, Carver?"

There was a long pause of serious consideration before his brother grimaced and came back with his response. "You mean, become a Grey Warden?"

"Is becoming a Grey Warden a cure?" He knew the answer, knew Anders wasn't going to tell him anything he did not already know. Even as a former Warden himself, there were things Hawke understood the Order held close to their chests and did not reveal to outsiders. But he still asked, still sought the confirmation he desperately wanted to hear.

"I suppose in a way it is, and at the same time, it's not. There is still a price, and not one everyone is willing or ready to pay."

Hawke let his frustration get the better of him, and he snapped "Maker's sake, just give me a straight answer!

Anders's frown deepened, etching lines into the man's handsome face that did not suit him at all, but he maintained a level tone of voice and did not lash out in return. If anything, there was distinct remorse behind those golden eyes of his. "The process of becoming a Warden is, well, unpleasant, not to mention irreversible. You might not see each other ever again. He could survive, but at great cost. Being a Warden is not an easy life."

They knew that. They all knew that. Whether or not Anders spoke of it beyond occasional anecdotes here and there. Everyone unanimously understood that the life of a Grey Wardens was an honorable yet grim duty. The finer details of why, beyond being the front line against Darkspawn and the Blights, was not something Hawke was privy to, but his mind often filled in the blanks. Still, Anders stood here before him as more or less a free man. So what separated him from the rest?

"But you- you got away, didn't you?" It came tumbling out without consideration, and Hawke almost wanted to kick himself for not thinking his words through.

With a snort, the mage folded his arms tightly across his chest. "Eventually, the Circle will drag me back. I've got no illusions about that."

"No," Wyatt stated bluntly, as he helped Carver climb to his feet, feeling much braver about the choice presented before him and his brother. "I won't let that happen. Now let's find these Wardens. I'm not losing anyone else."

Anders gaped at him for a moment with wide eyes until he blinked away his astonishment. "Alright. I'll lead the way then."

Face hot and heart racing, Wyatt stared at his back as Anders turned around to start heading in the other direction out of the cavern. His own words played back in his thoughts, and his chest tightened at the very reminder. He knew it had been a bold declaration but had it been one made under duress, or was there a deeper reason for it?

As Anders looked back across his shoulder to see if they were following, the light caught his profile just right, highlighting the ridge of his jaw and accenting his cheekbones. The man was unfairly attractive, and Hawke realized the complication of this revelation.

Could nothing in his life be simple?

Chapter Text

In some small part of his mind, Hawke should have supposed it was inevitable. An inescapable fate. Like his mother before him, was he predetermined to follow an accepted tradition of falling for an apostate? Only this time, his own apostasy made it worse. That would be courting danger at best.

While he wasn't quite declaring his intentions to run off and elope exactly, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his growing interest in the man. Hawke admired Anders as a person, or what he had gleaned about the other mage from his interactions thus far. As if his determination to run a free clinic in the deepest, most unfortunate part of a broken city wasn't telling enough. Watching him parlay with this Warden Stroud to accept Carver into their ranks in a desperate attempt to save his life was nothing short of incredible.

Wyatt's eyes remained fixed on Anders' form, tall and lean as it was. The mage's earlier trepidation was replaced by defiant confidence and perhaps a touch of pride while he spoke to his fellow Grey Warden. Truthfully, Hawke hadn't been able to stop looking at Anders since they started their journey underground. Still, it was after Carver fell sick that his newfound fascination cost their group a few near misses and easily preventable injuries. Thinking back on how Anders had so nonchalantly pulled back layers to get at the scrapes and bruises he acquired along the journey made his face hot. Wyatt couldn't forget the way the healer's magic seemed to touch his own while simultaneously working to staunch the bleeding and seal the wounds. The way it felt as the mage's hands brushed his skin so carefully while cleaning it, and the sensation of creation magic soothing his aches and pains as it worked-

"Hawke?"

He blinked away the distracting thoughts and met the eyes focused on him, eyes that were seeking an answer to a question he hadn't heard, or looking for a reaction to some revelation that he missed while lost in a daze. It was more than just his fixation for Anders, but the dizzying reality closing in on him that he could easily lose his little brother. At the very least, Carver wouldn't be going home with him.

Hawke shifted slightly to compensate for Carver's weight supported by his shoulder, and a groan escaped his brother's darkening lips. Seeing his ashen face and the subtle yet sure presence of dark veins creeping up along his neck, flashes of Ser Wesley's ghoulish face came to mind and settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

"You will not have him!" Aveline declared to the encroaching spawn, shielding her husband's body with her own. He watched her defend Wesley and cut a wide arc through the group of blight stricken monstrosities.

Wyatt felt nauseated as he recalled her desperation at that moment and how it seemed like history was repeating itself. Bile crept up in the back of his throat, but he swallowed hard.

"You must know," Stroud pulled his focus away from the others with his voice far less flat than he likely intended. His tone was almost solemn, "being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It is a calling. It is as much of a death sentence as the sickness..."

A frown tugged at Hawke's lips and cheeks and pulled his brows low over his eyes. He knew as much; the Grey Wardens were an order to be proud of for all they did for not just Ferelden, but Thedas as a whole. Still, the words rang hollow in his mind. It meant little to him right then when all he wanted to know was whether his brother would live to see another day or not.

Anders offered a sliver of optimism; "He's strong. He'll make it. Trust me, Stroud. This one is worth your time."

The hard crease in Ser Stroud's dark brows softened, and the Warden's steely blue eyes warmed if only slightly as they met with his. Even though no words passed between them, a mutual understanding was born.

"If the boy comes, he comes now, and you may not see him again."

Weakly, Carver lifted his head to finally weigh-in, "I guess this is it then."

"Are you sure?" Wyatt asked one more time. Had to ask. It wasn't that he didn't want his brother to live. Better that he lived, and they never see one another again than die a ghoul in the Deep Roads, but that didn't lessen the blow at all.

"It'll be fine, brother. Just take care of Mother for me, alright?"

The words wouldn't come, despite how he beckoned them, his tongue was too heavy and his throat too tight, he just nodded. Even as the Wardens took Carver from him and helped saddle the boy with Stroud, who struggled to keep him upright, the growing pit in Wyatt's gut threatened to consume him. Watching his brother's retreating back as the Grey Warden troupe departed left him feeling hollow as yet another piece was carved out of him.

Carver would live.

He was fierce, determined, strong of will, and body.

He'll survive.

Carver will live.

Maker, damn it all.

Perhaps by repeating the words over and over in his head like a mantra, Hawke thought he could convince himself this was for the best, that he could make peace with his decision and face his mother.

Varric clapped a hand against his bicep. It was a gesture of comfort, an appreciated gesture, but he still flinched. He even recoiled and drew his arms close to his chest - as if by making himself seem smaller, it would allow him to fade into the very walls of the cave where he might find peace to wrestle with this loss.

Varric, fortunately, said nothing. Whether he understood or took offense to being shunned by his friend, Hawke wasn't in any mind to care. Not yet. Later. He could apologize later when he needed a more inviting company, and one too many glasses of soured whiskey to burn a hole through him and numb his chest to the sting he knew was to come when confronting his family. Later, when he wanted to forget the whole Blighted expedition in a drunken haze and a flurry of cards, where he could throw tainted coins at will and pretend like everything was fine.

They - the three of them now - pressed on in strained silence, retracing their steps to seek daylight once more. They all had their reasons to put this experience far behind them, to tuck it away in some dark corner of their memory that they would probably only think back on in times of strife.

By the time they emerged and made it back to the city proper, the sun hung low on the horizon and cast a sinister orange glow across the pale, grime-covered stone of Lowtown's walls. Predatory shadows stretched across the uncomfortably familiar hovel that housed the last two people he wished to see.

A subtle quiver in his legs stalled him, and Hawke froze meters from the steps leading up. The subtle burn of bile lingered in the back of his throat, just thinking about how he was going to approach this with his mother and Uncle, but a steady hand gripping his shoulder pulled him from the brink for a moment.

"Perhaps I can explain to your mother what happened? It was my idea to find the Wardens and I convinced them to take Carver. I'm sure this isn't easy for you…" Anders' voice was grounding against the foreboding task presented before him. His words soothed much in the same way his magic soothed and were the only thing keeping him from turning around and running in the other direction just to avoid the confrontation awaiting him inside.

Enacting self-restraint, Wyatt didn't turn around to kiss the blonde mage as a show of appreciation; he held his composure instead and fought to control his racing pulse and the heat in his chest. He did face the man with a measure of surprise, almost dumbstruck that he once more put himself out there without hesitation. Perhaps in Anders' mind, the offer was entirely innocent of any other motivations, just like the entire exchange with the Grey Wardens had been a simple kindness for a new friend.

Still, the unexpected sincerity was a little baffling. Hawke shook his head, waving off the notion as entirely unnecessary. "No, no, it's fine. I have to do this myself. Thank you. I uh - I'll see you sometime? Goodnight, Anders."

It took significant self-control not to turn around and beg him to stay when Hawke heard Anders's mumbled follow up "goodnight," but he managed to stalk forward, right up and through the front door.

Mother had been inconsolable for the better part of a week and the weeks following that she had spent saying little more than one or two words at a time to any of them. The way she would sit in her chair and stare silently into the flickering flames of the unfortunately small hearth squeezed his heart, but Hawke had no courage to disturb her. The guilt weighed on him every time he walked into Gamlen's hovel and stowed his staff to check the mail, whether it was correspondence for the many jobs he had taken on, or something else.

By the time Wintersend was almost upon them, he had feared his mother had given up all hope.

"There's another letter for you on the desk." Gamlen muttered as he drifted through. "I've never seen anyone get as many as you do in a day…"

Wyatt refrained from following up with a joke, only mumbling his thanks instead. He leaned his staff against the wall adjacent to where a pile of messages, some opened and just as many not, practically eclipsed the desk's surface. With little scrutiny, he grabbed a handful and tossed them into the bin and had prepared to pitch yet another fistful when something stopped him. One carefully folded parchment sealed with wax in the shape of a griffon stood out amongst all of the other letters. Heat rose into his face, and his pulse jumped, all before he had even opened the damned thing. Wyatt hesitated to break the seal, fearing the worst possible news, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and tore it open.

He quickly scanned the page just to search for the news his heart was not at all prepared for, but that his deepest fears expected.

Brother,

I'm sorry this letter is so late. That I'm writing this means I made it. I survived, and I'm a fully-fledged Grey Warden now, I guess. No thanks to you.

Relief as a word to describe what he felt, what made his knees almost buckle, and slump against the wall with a long exhale, was hardly adequate. Delirious laughter threatened to consume him, and both Gamlen and his mother turned their heads to see what had befallen him.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Wyatt sucked in a deep breath and smiled, still riding the euphoric high delivered by the good news, he thrust the letter into his mother's trembling hands. "It's from Carver."

The uncertainty on her face changed, and for a fraction of a second, he saw glimmers of hope. She still hesitated to read it, but he didn't wait around a moment longer to convince her. Both his mother and uncle hollered after him as he practically darted out the door, even forgetting the staff in his hasty exit. The realization didn't strike Hawke until his legs carried him through the rest of Lowtown's residential quarter to the entrance into Darktown. By then, it was too late and not worth turning back. He breezed past the milling bodies of his fellow refugees and other residents of the Undercity without a second glance and continued straight for the doors of the clinic. Hawke dodged and weaved through the minor gathering that had formed in and around the entrance - there was never any shortage of people in need here - and breached the threshold. Within the clinic, Anders had just finished tending to the last patient of the hour and was busy organizing his station.

Good timing.

"Oh, Hawke! I didn't expect to see you-" Anders greeted. He turned around just as Wyatt crossed the room and swept him up into a bear hug.

"I got a letter from Carver. He's okay!" It didn't occur to Hawke that people were watching, mildly curious by the scene unfolding before them. He hadn't even noticed his friend bristle beneath him until all the tension fled Anders's form at the mention of Carver's survival.

An arm snaked around to pat him lightly on the back before Anders pulled away gracefully, "Good. I'm glad to hear it. Your brother is strong, Hawke. I'm certain he survived out of spite alone if nothing else."

They shared a laugh in mutual understanding. "Carver would be like that, wouldn't he? I just came down here to say thank you. For helping him."

A cloud of gloom crossed the other mage's face, and a frown replaced his hesitant smile just as he started to turn away. "You really shouldn't thank me. Being a Grey Warden isn't an easy life. It's-"

But Hawke stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, "It's better than death."

Anders's mouth formed a hard line, and he pulled away from Hawke, whose hand fell as he returned to his desk and started idly straightening the pages of his notes. "I don't know that it is…"

"Hey." Wyatt's brow furrowed, and he stalked over. "Listen, you stuck your neck out for Carver. You willingly put yourself on the line and sought out the Wardens, the order you left behind, to save my brother. Whatever is in store for him in with them has to be better than dying alone underground, or becoming a ghoul."

Eventually, the mage's shoulders slumped with a sigh, and he turned back around with a meager smile. "Ever the optimist then? Alright. I'm glad I could help. Anyway, I should get back to work."

It was only then that Wyatt realized they had an audience. He cleared his throat and feigned a confident smile, "Yeah. Right. Sorry. Join us for celebrations at the Hanged Man later?"

"Sure, Hawke."

It would have been lying to say Wyatt's heart didn't do a little leap upon Anders's quick acceptance. "Great. See you then!" However, he maintained his cool and waited until he was half-way to Gamlen's before he let himself grin ear to ear.

Complicated or not, he was feeling much more prepared for the strange turn his life had just taken.