Marian rolled onto her side, turning her back to the fire. It warmed her back, and the scent of burning wood mostly covered the odor of stale dust and sweat. Sleep was eluding her. Fenris was balled up tight on his sleeping mat, arms and legs tucked close, one hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, even in sleep. The tension in his back and across his shoulders hadn't relaxed out, either. Every few minutes or so, he would flinch or twitch like he had been struck. Marian badly wanted to wake him to help him if he was having nightmares. If he was anything like Carver, though, he would wake swinging, and she didn't want to add hurting her to the burdens he bore.

Varric was splayed out, arms cast wide. Bianca was within reach, of course. His broken nose made him snore. Compared to the nightly chorus she was used to sleeping through that consisted of Gamlen, Carver, and Valor, he was a touch above a whisper in volume. He was not the cause of her sleeplessness. No, that lay solely on Anders.

It wasn't truly fair to lay it all on him. She should not have asked what to expect further into the Deep Roads, or more accurately, pushed him when he was reluctant to speak of it. She was glad their fire was separate from the main body of the expedition; it was likely everyone but Bartrand would have quit on the spot and run back to Kirkwall as fast as their legs could carry them.

The other mage lay with his head pillowed on his coat, feathered caplet spread out so as not to crush any of the feathers. His brow was pinched, and random expressions crossed his face. Once, while she had been watching, he had mumbled out the word that was still rattling through her brain and keeping her staring into the dark beyond the campfires. Broodmother.

Marian didn't want to believe such things existed. She had seen darkspawn with her own two eyes, lost Bethany to an ogre. She wanted to believe that every one she killed was irreplaceable, a member of a finite army that had been knocked out of the count. Finding out that there were hideous monsters who actually birthed more-

She had vomited when Anders had told her. Pushed too far, he had grabbed her arms and snarled at her.

"You want to know what's in the Deep Roads, Hawke? Death, and darkspawn. Things you should never see. Bloody blighted Broodmothers. Do you know what those are? Hideous creatures, pale and slack from not being able to move, but so tall they can reach the roof of a cavern. The folds of their bodies are covered with too many breasts, and they stink of dried blood, the Blight, rotting flesh, and birth fluid. Do you know why they smell like that? They give birth to darkspawn, Hawke. Give. Birth. And it's not like there's just one. I was with Gwyneth Surana at Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine. I was there in the lower reaches of Kal'Hirol when she killed three broodmothers in one cavern. Three!"

Marian felt her stomach lurch again, and sat up, putting her head between her knees. She took deep breaths, hoping she'd be able to keep down the little bit of tea and travel bread Anders had managed to coax into her after as an apology for making her vomit up the rather delicious stew Bodhan Feddic had put together for their dinner. Varric wasn't awake to hold her hair back or rub between her shoulderblades this time.

"Hawke?" Fenris's deep voice was even rougher with sleep.

"I'm fine, Fenris, go back to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

"You are still unsettled by the abomination's outburst earlier."

"Aren't you?"

"I am, but dwelling on it will only cost me needed sleep, as it is costing you."

"Well, pardon the hell out of me for being upset by the knowledge that there are creatures out there birthing more darkspawn like the one that killed my little sister. I'll just dwell on it somewhere else, if it bothers you so much."

Marian stood, needing to move or do something to keep her temper down. Even with the Veil being thicker in the Deep Roads, the demons still pressed close. Their whispers were faint, but sibilant over the crackle of the fire.

"My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."

Her father's mantra ran through her head over and over. She did the exercises he taught her to exhaust her temper. Call up fire, pass the flames from hand to hand, flicker it across the fingertips like a gambler rolls a coin across their knuckles, split the flame in two then make it one again, extinguish the flames, and repeat.

Marian turned back to the camp fire. Fenris's eyes glowed faintly as he watched her. Every so often, the flicker of the flames in her hands caught in his eyes, reflecting the light like a cat's. It was fascinating to watch. When the flames extinguished a final time, he rumbled out, "Better, after that little display?"

"Much, thank you. You can still take your cut of whatever we make from this and leave Kirkwall when we get back if being around a mage that frets over darkspawn puts your dander up," she hissed out, trying not to wake the others as she flopped back down on her bedroll.

"I never said any such thing. Do not put words in my mouth."

"Then what are you trying to say, Fenris?"

"I am saying that I am concerned that you will not be well-rested tomorrow, and if we do encounter darkspawn, even with the abomination's warning us beforehand, you will not be in the best state to fight. If you are not, I will do my best to protect you, but I do not want the burden of telling your mother I was unable to save her only surviving daughter from yet another darkspawn if I fail in that."

"You-!"

"No, let me finish," Fenris growled, "Aside from the fact that your brother would attempt to take his frustrations out on me, I do not want you to die, Hawke. You have my back when you have no logical reason to help a runaway slave. You had the dwarf keep track of how much of my coin went into the pot for this because for some reason, you want to ensure I have a share of whatever is earned from this beyond the pay Varric guaranteed for me. I believe I can trust you, and I know you rush head-first into things without regard for your safety. I will not pay back your trust in me by letting you get killed on this expedition."

He stretched out, rolling his shoulders with a crackle, then balling up again. Marian thought he had gone back to sleep, until he uncurled enough to roll over and glare at her, "My hands are bloody enough. I would not have your blood on them because I could not keep you safe. Go to sleep, please."

"Alright." Well, that was decidedly unexpected. Marian watched Fenris watching her and listened to the fire crackle. She never did figure out which one of them fell asleep first.