A/N: as promised *flourishes a little bow*

And on a side note, I kind of changed the dynamics of how Sandal's rune stones work. It made sense to use them this way, at least in this part of the story. *shrugs* Call it creative license, again ;)

Lastly, the lines in italics marked with * are excerpts from the Chant of Light: Canticle of Trials, from Dragon Age: The Calling, written by David Gaider

Chapter Twelve: Deep Roads and Deeper Pain (Part II)

"Is it just me," Varric's voice sounded quiet in the large cavern, "Or does this part of the Deep Roads look familiar?"

"It is," Hawke answered with assurance. "I recognize a spot over there, where we made camp one night. I remember finding Carver and Hrodwynn snogging behind that pile of rubble."

"We weren't… we…" Carver made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, giving up trying to deny it. No one would believe him anyway. He ignored the headache pounding between his temples and said, "Never mind. You're just jealous because Isabela and her attachment didn't come with us this trip."

"What?" Hawke feigned innocence.

"Oh, bullocks, I saw the way you were limping the other week, and the smirk on her face. The two of you… ugh… I don't even want to think about it."

"Then you shouldn't have brought it up," Hawke quipped. He wanted to ram his fist into his little brother's mouth, but he couldn't. Neither could he deny it had been Isabela who'd given him the limp. Truthfully, he had felt no reason to limp after that wonderful night, and it had been Fenris and not Isabela whom he had spent it with, but he wasn't one who boasted of his sexual conquests. Letting Carver think Isabela had done him over was far more entertaining than the truth.

Regardless, he refused to make eye contact with Fenris.

"Which way now? Go back to Kirkwall, or forwards to the thaig?"

"The thaig," Carver answered Aveline's question. "We've got to find Wynnie. And the others," he added as an afterthought. Damn, but the headache was making it hard to think. And breathe, the pain seeming to choke the air in his lungs.

"I don't think they stayed by the thaig," Fenris nodded towards the abandoned campsite. There were fresh ashes in the pit, no more than a day or two old. "Looks like someone came back through here, at any rate."

"How do we know it was Wynnie and the others," Carver pressed, his voice getting hoarse. "Might've been Bartrand who made that fire."

"Not unless he's taken to wearing scarves," Fenris countered, picking up a handful of bright yellow fabric.

"Wynnie's scarf!" Carver cried, coming up to take the item from Fenris' hands. Lovingly he ran it through his fingers, examining it in the dim light, his face filling with hope and joy. "It's hers, alright. And she had it at the thaig; I remember seeing it knotted around her throat when she was picking the lock. So she must've come back this way."

"Which means she's making for Kirkwall. Smart girl," Hawke reasoned, nodding approvingly.

"It means she abandoned us!" Fenris growled, the idea that she could betray them like a blade through his heart.

"She didn't abandon us!" Carver stepped up into his face, his headache forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Easy, Junior," Varric tried to push the two back from each other, a near impossible task but one he knew he had to at least try. "You too, elf. Think about it for a moment. Bartrand betrayed us—me! His own brother! Do you think he'd tell the others the truth? No, he betrayed them, too. Which would leave Hrodwynn with few if any choices. She couldn't come after us; no telling what she might find inside the thaig, or even if there was another way out, or if she'd ever find us. So she had to leave us to our fate, and focus on getting everyone else back to Kirkwall." He looked back up at Fenris. "She made the right decision."

The elf glared darkly at Carver a moment longer before reluctantly backing down half a step.

"Let's get going," Hawke gestured in the direction that would lead them to Kirkwall. "The sooner we meet up with the others, the better. I know I for one could use a bit of Hrodwynn's tender loving care; one of those shades managed to tag the back of my leg. And you, Fenris, took that nasty blow under your arm."

"It's only a bruise."

"I doubt that very much. If I'm not mistaken, by the stiff way you hold your side and the careful way you breathe, your ribs are at least cracked, if not broken. Carver, too, has that slice in his arm starting to look infected. So, if you two are done arguing, perhaps we could move along."

Fenris didn't speak again, not trusting himself to be civil, his thoughts too dark ever since they'd been locked inside the thaig. It seemed betrayal was everywhere, whether human or dwarf, mage or merchant, people wanted to screw him over. Even though his pack was just as heavy as everyone else's, brimming with the treasure they'd found exploring the thaig for another way out, the riches had come at too high a price. He picked up the pack, unable to sling it over his shoulder as Hawke was right—several ribs were at least cracked—and trudged behind the others.

A few hours hiking and they stopped again, but this time for different reasons. There were sounds drifting down the massive roadway to their ears, sounds of a battle and screams of the dying. The five of them looked at each other, Hawke and Carver and Varric and Fenris and Aveline. As one they dropped their packs and unsheathed their weapons, the treasure meaning little if they died because they were too encumbered to fight, and charged forward.

Up ahead, ensconced behind a makeshift wall of rubble and surrounded by darkspawn, Hawke and the others were the furthest thing from Hrodwynn's mind. She held a bow, quiver at her side, firing arrows as fast as she could draw. She was more proficient with her knives, but she didn't want to leave the dubious safety of their little encampment. So she stayed with the others, firing arrows, the darkspawn too thick to miss. "Sandal!" she cried, not daring to turn around to look.

"He's almost ready, Mistress," Bodahn answered for him. At the first sign of darkspawn, Hrodwynn had set the boy the task of making as many runes and enchantments as possible. Bodahn stayed next to him, offering encouragement and trying to keep Sandal from panicking. "What? Oh, it's finished? Good lad. What does it do?"

"Boom!" Sandal answered, handing it to Hrodwynn.

"Thank you, Sandal," she said, but made no movement to take the rune. "I can't use it right now, but…"

"Boom!" he repeated. When she still looked like she still wasn't going to take it, he used it himself. He tossed it out in front of a charging group of darkspawn, took her shoulders to turn her aimed arrow towards it and insisted, "Boom!"

She gave him a shocked look, but he seemed so earnest, so sincere, she gave in and aimed at the stone. Besides, he threw it far enough away she couldn't have retrieved the stone before the darkspawn reached it. She tried to remember what Varric had told her, about pausing halfway through exhaling, not taking too long to aim so her arm wouldn't tire, and…

The arrow flew, slipping from her fingertips, propelled by the taut string, and striking the rune stone just as the darkspawn reached it.

Boom was an understatement. An explosion occurred, more forceful than those ancient traps scattered around the roads, though without any fire. The darkspawn were still thrown back, knocked off their feet and slammed through the air, several of them struck so hard by the explosion that blood ran from their ears. Those darkspawn did not get up again.

Hrodwynn smiled, wanting to laugh, knowing she didn't have the time. "Sandal, you can make as many of those Boom-runes as you want!" Impulsively she kissed his cheek before she had to turn away and fire at another group of approaching darkspawn.

Sandal blushed from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

"Come on, lad, leave her to it. You've got more runes to craft."

There was a scream behind her, and she knew another of the porters had fallen. She didn't dare look—couldn't—there was too much right in front of her to hold her attention. She knew, Maker have mercy, that they were all going to die down here, but she wasn't about to give up without a fight! She lifted another arrow to the string, pulled back, and had to check herself.

A mop of white hair, lanky and unruly like the elf it belonged to, emerged from within the mass of enemies. "Fenris!" she unthinkingly cried out, relief swamping through her like a flood tide. She cast her eyes about, searching, hoping, praying the others were there, too. To his left she saw a flash of orange-red hair which could only belong to Aveline. A little further on she saw a bolt of lightening splinter several darkspawn to shreds, Hawke emerging from the smoking chaos and back-swinging the mace end of his staff into another coming up behind him. She looked further, needing to see them all, that they all were together again, knowing everything would be alright now…

Just as she found Carver, something hit her from behind and she fell to the ground.

Fenris had heard her. He'd heard Hrodwynn's first cry, wanted to tell himself it was his name on her lips, but the din of battle had been too loud to hear clearly, and he wouldn't delude himself. He strode into the fray, swinging his greatsword back and forth like a scythe, reaping the darkspawn on either side of him. He tried to head for the little fortification where she and the others were making their last stand, tried to reach them in time, but he knew he'd never make it. Even as he lopped off limbs and heads, even as he swung with all his might, ignoring the pain of sharp and jagged ends of broken ribs as they rubbed against each other, he kept track of what was happening to her and the others.

The last porter fell. A darkspawn leaped over the barrier. Sandal pushed Bodahn out of the way. The darkspawn took Hrodwynn from behind…

And the name on her lips, the one she cried out as she fell—he was close enough now to hear her clearly—had been, "Carver!"

Rage overtook him. Rage and ire and heat. He roared a challenge, the lyrium seeming to glow brighter than normal in the dark tunnel. He dropped his greatsword, choosing to phase through the horde between him and Hrodwynn, his gauntleted fists moving like claws, raking through bodies, tearing out organs and brains and muscle and sinew and bones, spilling blood and gore across the dry and dusty road. He left a wide trail through the horde, as wide as his arms could reach, but it wasn't enough, the evil creatures turning towards him and his challenge. Then he sensed more than saw Hawke bringing up the rear, his magic reaching further than his fists, driving the creatures back. Yet all his focus was before him, on that bright spot where Hrodwynn had stood, before the darkness swallowed her spark.

At last he reached the impromptu fort, using his ability to walk through the stones, to aid those inside. Sandal and Bodahn were cowering beneath an overturned cart, Bodahn wagging a spear at the nearest darkspawn, Sandal throwing stones. There were bodies around them, darkspawn and human, though none of them were Hrodwynn. She was struggling in the center of the camp, a darkspawn all over her, jaws snapping at her face. She held it back with her bow, using it like a staff, choking its neck, but she was already tiring. It wouldn't be long before the creature either broke the bow, or overpowered her young muscles.

Hrodwynn wanted to cry, her face screwed up from her efforts to continue, to keep the creature from tearing off her head, but it was too heavy, and her arms were already shaking.

Then he was there, his markings shining whiter than his hair, his eyebrows blacker than death, his teeth bared in a feral snarl of rage. The darkspawn over her jerked, its limbs immediately going lax, as Fenris ripped out its spine. She sobbed once with relief, her trembling arms finally giving up and allowing the dead creature to fall across her.

She must have fainted. One moment it was Fenris hovering above her, reaching out to lift the darkspawn off of her. The next moment Hawke was there, kneeling over her as he blasted bolts of lightening from his staff. She blinked, made to sit up, but he took notice of her movement and stopped her with a knee to her chest. "Stay down! You'll only get in the way!" He blasted a few more times before he managed in a milder tone, "It'll be alright, Hrodwynn. We're here."

She didn't argue, quite content to let someone else do the fighting. She did take the opportunity to look at Hawke's leg, the hastily wrapped bandage, the blood dripping down into his boot. She tried to peek underneath the strip of fabric, only to get the back of her hand rapped by his staff. "Leave it. Wait until we're done."

Despite being in the middle of a fight, despite her exhaustion and relief, she simply had to snark, "Looks like you grappled with a dragon again."

He paused, looked around and must have decided they were clear enough at preset. He glanced down at her and flashed his most charming smile. "I got that from a shade, though you are right about one thing—we did enjoy a quick tumble." She laughed, weak but genuine, and he winked at her before returning his attention to the last of the fight.

It wasn't much longer before he paused again, looked around the area, nodded, and took his knee off her chest. Using his staff to brace himself, he stood up carefully, mindful of his leg, and reached out a hand to help her to her feet. "Aveline can handle the last two. I think, my dear, we have won. Are you hurt? If you're even so much as scratched, Carver's going to have a fit!"

She shook her head for an answer as she looked around them, trying to get her bearings. Holding tightly to his arm, she attempted to see through the carnage, to make sense of the heedless attack and death. But all around her was chaos. Corpses were piled on top of corpses, blood and gore oozed across the road, and a wretched stench hung in the air. Her eyes searched further, desperately taking note of everyone left living, of Aveline lopping off the head of the last darkspawn, of Varric slinging his crossbow over his shoulder, of Bodahn and Sandal coming out from the overturned cart.

Her scan continued to where, just beyond them, lay the bodies of the porters, torn limb from limb. "They didn't know how to fight," she sighed, staring sadly at what was left of them. "They were hired to carry crates, not weapons."

Hawke heard her small voice, but the only way he could think of to help her was to get them all out of there before any more darkspawn attacked. "Come on. We should be moving. It isn't a good idea to hang around dead bodies, remember? Especially in the Deep Roads. Where's your pack?"

"What?" she asked, a little dazedly. "Oh, right, you'll be needing healing, once we find a place to rest for the night. Are any of the others hurt, too?" She searched within the small camp, trying her best to ignore the bodies. She had work to do; like she and Varric once talked about, don't think about the mess, focus on the task at hand. But it was hard to ignore the mess when it coated every surface of the area an inch thick!

"Here you are, Mistress," Bodahn came up to her, Sandal tagging along and holding her pack. He shyly lifted it up towards her. "All your potions and salves, all intact. Sandal kept them safe for you."

She brought her eyes up from the bodies to look at the simple yet enigmatic dwarf. He was bouncing from foot to foot, his hands gripping each other tightly, his expression hopeful. "Enchantment?"

It was a nice distraction, focusing on what was alive, what was good, rather than what was dead. She smiled, already feeling better, and said, "Thank you, Sandal, your enchantments saved our lives."

As he had obviously been hoping, she kissed his cheek again, making him blush.

"Should I be jealous?"

Hrodwynn turned to see Carver walking up to them, Varric and Fenris at his sides, overstuffed packs in their hands. "Carver!" she cried, rushing into his arms. He dropped the two packs he carried in favor of holding her youthful and much softer form. She shook, trembling like a candle flame in a spring breeze, her hands locked around his shoulders. "I thought I'd never see you again."

She had jumped into his arms with a force he hadn't been expecting, nearly sending him staggering backwards. He winced, his head pounding, his throat scratchy, his stomach in knots, the cut on his arm feeling like it was on fire… but he didn't push her away. If anything he held her tighter, "I feared the same."

"You found my scarf," she pulled back a little and sniffed, giving the fabric around his neck a gentle tug. "I left it behind, at last night's camp, thinking if you got out of the thaig, you might be looking for us, and I wanted you to know we were heading back to Kirkwall…"

"That's what we figured," he tried to stem the flow of words babbling from her lips.

"I didn't want to leave you, but when we found the door locked, and no sign of you, and then darkspawn came pouring out of the tunnel, we couldn't stay there, we had to leave you…"

"Shh," he pressed her face to his chest, finally silencing her, as much to ease the sharp pains slicing into his temples as it was to lend her comfort.

"We shouldn't linger, Hawke," Aveline reminded them all as she came striding up, wiping the last of the darkspawn gore from her blade. "Death attracts death. The more distance we can put between us and this place before we stop for the night, the better." She slid the cleaned blade home into its sheath with a sharp and determined sound.

"Couldn't agree more, my dear Guard Captain. You're the least injured; would you mind scouting ahead, pick out someplace defendable for the night?"

Aveline nodded, taking orders as effortlessly as she gave them. She immediately turned to lope ahead down the road, and was soon swallowed by the dim light and the distance.

"So, what happened to you guys?" Varric asked, voicing the question on everyone's lips. He was carrying two packs as well as his crossbow, seeing as Carver had one arm around Hrodwynn and didn't look like he'd ever let go again. He nodded his thanks when Sandal came up beside him, pushing an empty cart. It was the one he and Bodahn had hidden beneath earlier, one of the few salvageable carts the darkspawn hadn't destroyed in their frenzied fight. Varric dumped his sacks in, along with as many others as he thought he could handle, before he began trundling down the road.

"It's… well…" Hrodwynn muttered, her mind befuddled as if she was within a dream. It certainly felt that way, with Carver's warm body beside her once more, something that even an hour ago she'd believed she had no right to ever expect again. It made having him near all the more precious.

"Hard to find the words?" Varric supplied. "Try this: my brother—my own flesh-and-blood brother—locked me inside a prehistoric thaig full of treasure, all so he could run off with one little statue. Stupid son of a bitch! Again, sorry, mother."

She'd never seen Varric so mad that he had to spit, but he did so now, his normally jovial and easy-going face twisted into hate and righteous vengeance… all to try to hide the pain.

"That basically sums up what happened to us," Hawke added, pushing his own heavy cart. He didn't seem adverse to the labor, now that there were no porters to do the menial tasks for them. And with Aveline ranging ahead, Fenris and Carver injured, and Hrodwynn obviously needing to be held, the second cart fell to him. "Luckily we found another way out of the thaig, though we had to cut our way through a host of shades and profanes. Oh, there was that hunger demon. He wanted to make a deal with us, offered to show us the way out." He scoffed, "As if we'd make deals with demons."

"Don't forget the ancient rock wraith," Varric said, looking like he was back in control of his emotions again. "Yeah, that was fun. Makes me wonder why my ancestors ever thought that living underground was such a good idea."

"All of this at once?" she asked, incredulous.

"Of course not, Button. Here, let me start at the beginning…"

The next part of the journey passed pleasantly enough, as pleasantly as possible considering the ambiance, as Varric told what had happened to them over the past few days. Next it was Hrodwynn's turn to tell them what Bartrand had said, how he'd disappeared, and the decision she had to make to not go after them. Carver squeezed her shoulder a little tighter through it all, as if silently accepting her judgment, letting her know it was alright, she had done the right thing, and they were all together again and would get out of the Deep Roads alive and well.

It had probably taken them hours, but with the exchange of tales it didn't seem quite so long before they caught up with Aveline. She had found a nice little pile of rubble, which she had already started to shift into a defendable campsite. Fenris, who had been silent up to this point, made to help her but Hawke stopped him before he could get started. "Alright! Everyone with injuries, gather round Hrodwynn for tending. That means you, Fenris, and you, Carver. Bodahn, if you're not hurt, could you and Sandal handle making somewhat to eat? Aveline, Varric and I will work on the fortifications. Until Hrodwynn's seen to the others; then you can look at my leg," he added this last to her, stopping her protest before it could leave her lips. Not wanting to let him off completely without comment, she stuck her tongue out at him, purely out of principle.

Even though it was under Hawke's orders, it felt good to be doing something, something familiar and normal, and something she was good at. She reluctantly slipped out of Carver's embrace and set her pack down on a handy boulder. "Well, then, Carver, do you have anything else besides that cut on your arm?" She didn't look up, rummaging in her pack for what she thought she would need. Her tone was all business, putting aside her emotions and slipping into the role of healer.

He shook his head, feeling the world spin now that Hrodwynn wasn't there to hold him up. "No, I… it's only… a scratch."

"That's not so bad," she agreed, not quite registering the exhausted sound of his voice. "What about you, Fenris?"

When he didn't answer right away, she looked up at him. He was standing stiffly a few feet away, his hand pressed against the opposite side, his eyes shifting away as if he was trying to think of a lie. Seeing that she had noticed his odd stance and already deduced his injury, he decided to be honest. "I took a blow to the ribs when we were fighting the rock wraith. A few may have been cracked."

"May have been?" she repeated, clearly not convinced. She sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. "And yet you still had to fight off a score of darkspawn single-handedly, swinging that greatsword around like a hobby horse. Men! Why do you always downplay your battle wounds?"

"We don't like… to complain…" Carver panted, his lungs laboring to breathe. He didn't like the way he was sweating, or the headache that was hammering as if his brains would beat their way out of his skull. He knew—Maker's breath!—he knew what was wrong. He had known for some time, he simply didn't want to deal with it. Not yet. Not until they found Wynnie alive and well. Not until they got her to safety.

But his time was up. He knew he'd never make Kirkwall. He pulled the scarf from his neck to wipe at the sweat. "Garret…?"

Hawke nearly dropped the stone he was holding. It was his little brother's voice, not the man Carver had grown into, but the younger boy who had always been chasing after him, wanting to do the same things Hawke did even if he wasn't old enough for them yet. He heard that lost and pleading tone, of that little boy who didn't want to be left behind, and he knew something was very, very wrong. He managed to set the rock down without dropping it on his foot. "Carver?"

Carver stood a moment longer, looking at the bright yellow scarf stained with sweat and grime. There was a larger boulder off to the side, and he leaned in that direction, intending to sit down on it, but his world upended…

"Carver!"

It was Hrodwynn's voice that shouted, but it was Hawke's arms that caught him. Still, both faces filled his vision, one to either side, Hrodwynn's hair falling forwards, the ends just long enough to tickle her cheeks. He reached a shaky hand up to brush the dark red tresses behind an ear. "Sorry. I'm so sorry, Wynnie…"

"Let me see his arm. Did it get infected?" She was all business, placing his hand firmly though tenderly at his side before leaning across to undo the bandage around the other arm.

"You stupid arse," Hawke chided, his tone gentle. "You should have said something earlier. Letting a wound fester like this until you came down with a fever…" He broke off as she removed the last of the stained dressings.

Carver's smile was more a grimace, not for any physical pain, but for the pain of the truth. "It's not infected. Not a normal infection, anyway." He swallowed painfully, feeling the poison spreading faster and faster through his body, making him moan. "It's the taint, isn't it."

Hawke wanted to shake him. He wanted to scold him for scaring him like this, for acting like a hypochondriac and overplaying his illness. One look at Hrodwynn's face, however, and he knew Carver was right.

"Just like… ah… just like that templar, Aveline's husband, Wesley."

There was a sound behind them, something soft and quickly choked into silence. Hrodwynn didn't bother to look, didn't bother to think too much about what he was saying. She was wracking her brain, trying to think, trying to figure out how to save him. But her answer was: nothing.

"Fuck," Varric sighed. "We're still days from Kirkwall. We'll never make it… he'll… never make it. I'm sorry." In a dark, barely heard undertone he finished, "Yet another thing my brother needs to answer for…"

No, no, no, nononono… began circling through Hrodwynn's thoughts. Everything else led to pain, to death, to the end. She didn't want that. She didn't want to lose Carver, not after just getting him back again. It wasn't fair! She wanted to rage, she wanted to scream, she wanted to throw things… but none of that would help Carver now. Or Hawke.

Or herself.

"Wynnie," Carver sighed, reaching out for her face again. She gripped his hand, holding it fast to her cheek, kissing his wrist. "I'm sorry, Wynnie. I wanted…" he paused to grimace, the pain increasing, as if finally acknowledging the inevitable had caused the process to speed up. "Argh… I wanted to take you to Ferelden. I really did. So badly…"

She could see how much it hurt him, emotionally and physically, to admit he was dying. She nodded against his palm, burying her pain deep inside. For him she would be strong. For him she would smile. For him she would hide her tears—until after. "I would've liked to have gone there with you."

She was rewarded with a smile.

"Maker!" he suddenly gasped, feeling his insides twist and knot. He tried to curl in on himself, but Hawke and Hrodwynn were in the way, even if he could have found the strength. He waited for the pain to ebb, never leaving fully, but dulling enough for him to breathe again. "Garret?"

"I'm here," Hawke answered, worried that he was already too far gone to see him.

"I can feel it," Carver said, a strange sort of detachment in his voice, "I can feel it spreading through me, killing me. I can feel it attacking my mind. I don't want to die like that. Please, Garret, I want to die as a man, not a drooling lunatic."

"Carver…"

"Please," he insisted, his other hand coming up to grip Hawke's shoulder. "It isn't going to make any difference, whether I die today, or tomorrow—except to me. It makes a difference to me. Please, do this one last thing for me."

Hawke was shaking with the effort of holding himself in control. He could barely keep the trembling from his voice as he answered, "Damn it, Carver, you always did ask for the world, you spoiled brat." The words were without heat, spoken more like a nickname than an insult.

Carver smiled, that knowing-little-brother-I'm-going-to-tattle-on-you smile. "You always gave it. If I turned out so spoiled, you have no one to blame but yourself."

Hawke didn't answer, his thoughts refusing to form words. All those things he wanted to say, all those things he'd never get the chance… Manfully he strove to take a steadying breath, before reaching for the dagger at his waist.

"Wait," Carver gasped, suddenly realizing Hrodwynn was still there. "Wynnie, Wynnie, my love, you don't want to watch. You don't want to see this. Go stand over there, with the others. Go. I love you, Wynnie. Please, go."

The protest was on her lips, flashed across her face, simmered in her eyes, but he was so sincere she couldn't give it voice. She looked to Hawke for guidance, for an ally, for someone to tell her she could stay. But he nodded, gesturing with his head for her to go.

She took one final look at Carver, kissed again the hand she held next to her face, and quietly gave in. She slowly gained her feet, holding his hand for as long as she could until the reach was too great and it fell away. Then she turned and walked back to her pack beside Fenris.

"Make it quick and clean," Carver asked, "Right through the heart."

Hrodwynn tried to close her ears, to focus on what was around her to keep from knowing what was happening behind her. Immediately she could feel the nearness of the elf, the heat boiling off his body like an open oven. She yearned for that heat, for that closeness with somebody—anybody—just then, but she had no right to ask him for comfort.

Carver grunted as Hawke started on the fastenings of his armor, intending to move it out of the way so he would have a clear shot at his heart.

A hand touched Hrodwynn's shoulder, making her jump. She opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them, and lifted green orbs, glittering like emeralds through unshed tears, to see Fenris leaning towards her. He had taken off his gauntlets, that heat she sensed earlier seeping through her tunic, lending her encouragement. His normally dull eyes were heavy with unknowable pain and empathy. His pale lips parted, his gravely voice carrying only as far as her ears, "Be strong. For his sake."

For Carver's sake, she wondered. Hadn't she already been strong? Hadn't she refused to shed a tear where he could see? He had sent her away. What more was she supposed to do? She curled her hands into fists, wanting to lash out at Fenris and demand an explanation.

Her hands were on her pack, the mouth open, the case of concentrated potions lying on top. Her fingers had scraped the lid, a splinter catching beneath a fingernail, but more importantly gaining her attention. Her vials…

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the trouble Hawke was having, fumbling with Carver's armor. Maybe it wasn't Carver she had to be strong for, but Hawke. She remembered the conversation they had at the bottom of the mine, after fighting the dragon, regarding Hawke's fears of losing his baby brother. And he was losing Carver; worse, he had to do the deed himself.

She looked back at Fenris, comprehension in her eyes. He understood and stepped away, letting his hand slip off her shoulder.

There wasn't much time. Quickly she tore off the lid, not caring if it made noise, and grabbed the dark red, almost black vial. She dug a little deep and found the cup she used for dosing. Next she pulled out the stopper and dumped the entire contents into the cup, adding a little water from her canteen to make it appear as if she had used only the proper dosage.

"Wait!" she called, turning around carefully with the cup. "Wait," she repeated, walking back to them.

"Wynnie, please, it was hard enough…"

"No, Carver, drink this. For me." She knelt down next to him again, holding out the cup with one hand while trying to hide the vial with the other. She should have left it back with her pack, but she wanted to reach them before Hawke had to…

Hawke's hand came out to grab her wrist, stopping the cup's progression. She looked up at his face, trying her hardest not to look guilty. "Please, Hawke, let me give him this. It'll take the pain away, make it so he won't feel a thing. Please."

"What is it?" Carver asked, panting through another wave of pain.

Hrodwynn smiled and showed him the bottle, trying to keep her heart from racing. She was going to do it. She was going to kill the man who loved her, just to spare his brother the pain of having to do it. She saw Carver nod, recognizing the vial and accepting it was only medicine. Maker, this was too easy. She set the vial on the ground, one hand lifting his head to help him drink.

"No," Hawke said, taking the cup from her. She looked up at him, shocked, almost panicky as she tried to think of a way to tell him it was alright, she could do this, all without words lest Carver catch on. Instead he signaled to her, nodding his head to where she had set the vial down. It had fallen onto its side, obviously empty as nothing spilled out of the unstoppered top. She looked back up at Hawke, but he only smiled. "I'll give it to him."

Yes, he understood what was in the cup, what it would do, and he was willing and able to do the act. She would have liked to say she was relieved not to have to kill Carver herself, but such an admittance seemed… evil… deranged… she didn't know, and would probably never try very hard to figure it out.

"Wynnie, you really shouldn't…"

"I'll stay, Carver," she affirmed, holding his head while Hawke dosed him with the potion turned poison. "Just until the pain is gone. Then I'll go. You'll let me stay that long, won't you?"

He couldn't argue, not with Garret forcing the cup against his lips. It was painful to swallow, his throat feeling like it was packed with shards of glass, but the potion began to take affect very quickly. By the end of the cup, he could swallow with only minimal discomfort. "Thank you," he said, his voice beginning to slur. "That was thoughtful of you, Wynnie. So kind. So pretty. I'm lucky I met you, that I had the chance to know you." He tried to touch her cheek again, but his hand only made it partway, too weak to reach that far. She caught it up in hers and finished the movement, brushing the backs of his fingers against her skin.

"Garret…?" Carver swung his head to the other side, his neck feeling boneless. "Don't let mother… blame you… I wanted… wanted to come… would've come… no matter… no matter…" He swallowed again and had to cough, almost choking on his tongue. "…would've climbed out… the window… followed you…"

"…Like you did when you were five," Hawke finished for him, remembering the start of some childhood mischief. He must have picked the right memory, because Carver smiled in answer.

"It's time…" he sighed, his voice barely a breath. "There's no pain… you should… go…"

"Just a moment longer," Hrodwynn held his hand tight, but she might as well have tried to hold on to the wind.

Carver was looking at his brother when his lips stopped moving. There was no dramatic sigh as his lungs deflated for the last time. No jerk or spasm as his heart ceased to beat. He simply took one breath, exhaled, and never took another.

Somewhere in the distance was the sound of water dripping. Hrodwynn hadn't noticed it before, and in the back of her mind she wondered why it was so loud now. Then there was a breath of wind, not something she felt but something she heard, distant and close at the same time, the sound awkward in the cavernous Deep Roads. It took a moment for the sound to penetrate her ears, to form into syllables, and for those syllables to form into coherent words.

"…I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost…"*

She lifted her eyes to look at Hawke when his voice faltered, his lips continuing to move but the sound choked into silence. She wanted to help him, she wanted to take up the recitation, figuring it was part of the Canticle, but she had never been religious. She had never felt faith in anyone or anything, except her own self and skills. But for Hawke's sake—for Carver's sake—she wanted to take up his burden, finish the verse where he couldn't, put his brother to rest.

"Draw your last breath, my friends, cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven."*

It was Fenris' voice that carried the final lines of the stanza, drifting out of the void behind them to fall like a blanket over Carver's still form. Hawke nodded his thanks without turning around, before his fingertips gently closed Carver's eyes.

The movement brought Hrodwynn out of her shock. Not out of her pain, certainly, but there would be time later for mourning. Just then she had other things she could do, things to keep herself busy, keep herself moving, remind herself that she was still alive. She laid Carver's hand down, straightening his arm to lie comfortably at his side. She refastened the clasps of his armor, not wanting him to appear half-dressed, though she knew it didn't matter to him. She finger-combed his sweat matted hair away from his face, pausing to ease his features into a more peaceful, slumbering pose.

At last her hands fell away without another task to keep them busy, dropping to her sides. She came into contact with something soft, and looked down to where her hand rested beside her ankle. Her bright yellow scarf lay there, wrinkled after being knotted and stained with grime and sweat. She picked it up, remembering the elation she felt just a few short hours before, when she saw that scarf again, tied around Carver's neck. Impulsively she tied it around his wrist, a final favor for her fallen knight.

"We, ah, that is," Varric's hesitant voice made her look up, but his eyes were on Hawke. "Aveline found a spot, a little ways back, off to the side, nice and peaceful like. We could put him there, build a cairn over him. He'll be able to rest undisturbed."

If Hawke heard, he made no sign of acknowledgment.

"Ah, right, well," Varric hedged, unsure if it was his place to do or say anything. It had been his brother who betrayed them, his brother who caused the death of Hawke's brother. Wasn't it natural for him to feel the guilt Bartrand should be suffering? "I'll get one of the carts to move him."

"No," Hawke spoke, his voice strong again. "I'll do it. I'll carry Carver." Tenderly, like one would move around a young child, Hawke leaned over and gathered his brother into his arms one final time, lifted him effortlessly, and fell into step behind Varric.

The site wasn't too far away, just a few minutes walk from their camp. Fenris was already there, standing with the others. He had no words for Hawke as he approached, his brother in his arms; anything he said would sound cliche and empty. He could have no idea what Hawke was feeling, as he could remember no brother or other family member to have lost. He had no comfort to give, as there was nothing that would ease the pain or give Carver's death meaning—if death ever held meaning. All he could do was stand there, silent and still, and witness the brothers' last moments together.

No one spoke, the silence vocal enough for all of them. Hawke eased Carver's body onto the blanket, crossing his arms over his chest and straightening his legs. He folded the edges around the body, tucking him in as if he was merely asleep. His hand shook only minimally when he draped the last corner over Carver's face. Then he leaned back to stand up.

Aveline and the dwarves began piling stones, building the cairn, while Hawke stood there and watched, wearing his grief like a mantle. Fenris came forward to help, though he had already been warned by Aveline not to lift anything larger than his fist. He moved carefully, his side still on fire, his injury understandably forgotten in the face of the tragedy. Hrodwynn came up next to him after a few moments, helping him with the smaller stones, wedging them into the cracks and crevices around the larger ones to keep everything from collapsing. He didn't know what to make of that, whether to think she was helping him because she remembered he was hurt, or if she was helping him because she wasn't strong enough to help with the heavier stones. Stealing a glance at her face gave him no clue, her eyes dull and her expression empty.

Her numbness was as deeply painful as Hawke's stillness. He had seen the flash of yellow on Carver's wrist, had known it was her favorite scarf that she had gotten from Anders, tied there as a parting memento. She must have cared for the boy deeply if she left such a treasured item with his remains. He had heard Carver's profession of love to her, and had seen them kiss often enough these past few weeks, though she hadn't been as vocal as Carver about her feelings. Yet she didn't shed a tear now, her face void of emotion, as the cairn was finished and they began moving away.

Again the exception was Hawke, who remained standing and staring at the chest-high pile of rocks.

"Never figured you for a choir-boy," Varric's statement came suddenly into the cavernous roadway, even though spoken softly.

Fenris wasn't sure to whom he had been speaking, but when he glanced over he found Varric's eyes on him, waiting for a comment. "I beg your pardon?"

"Back when Junior…" he broke off his words and cleared his throat before trying again, "When Hawke was reciting a part of the Chant of Light, can't remember which Canticle, but you were able to finish it for him. I was only wondering how you came about knowing it. Didn't think they taught slaves in Tevinter about the Andrastian faith."

"Of course they don't," he agreed, "Wouldn't want to give us slaves something that would inspire us to do anything other than serve our masters."

"So…?" When Fenris merely returned his gaze, Varric made a disgusting noise and repeated, "How did you learn that verse?"

Fenris lifted his chin and admitted, "I've had a few occasions to go inside the Chantry, jobs I've taken for other employers—Hawke isn't the only one I work for. I must have heard it then."

Varric looked at him incredulously.

"What?"

"You heard an obscure verse—what—once, maybe twice, and you're able to recite it word for word?"

"I have an excellent memory," he deadpanned.

The banter was mild, half-hearted, but it was a bit of 'normal' and helped on some level to restore their equilibrium, and lasted until they returned to the campsite. Quietly they went back to what they had been doing before, Bodahn and Sandal cooking supper, Aveline and Varric strengthening the fortifications. Fenris meant to help them, but Hrodwynn's gentle hand on his arm came as a deterrence. A flicker of elation caught in his chest; despite the events of the past few hours, she hadn't forgotten about his injuries. Just as quickly he tried to deny her offer, as a form of repentance for his selfishness.

"You don't have to…"

She started speaking as well, their voices colliding into an unintelligible mess in the echoing tunnel. They both stopped and looked at each other, embarrassed and awkward. She cleared her throat before attempting to speak again. "I should check your ribs."

"Just give me a healing potion," again he tried to dissuade her, feeling unworthy of her care and concern. "I'll be fine by morning."

"The bruise will still hurt until you heal."

Venhedis, but she always had to do just a little bit more than necessary, care a little bit more, give a little too much. "I can handle it," he ground out between his teeth.

"I have a salve…"

She wouldn't stop, wouldn't rest, wouldn't leave matters be, and in an effort to get her to hear him, he tried, "Wynnie…"

"Don't call me that!" Her reprimand was harsh though whispered, sounding like nothing more than a hiss of sympathy to the others, though he was close enough to hear the words. And close enough to see the tears in her eyes.

He was wrong, when he thought her empty of emotion. She was feeling Carver's loss keenly. It was there, in the unshed moisture that made her eyes glitter like emeralds. It was there, in her darkened lips quivering with denied sobs. It was there, in fingers moving endlessly to try to hide the shaking.

"Please," she whispered again, "Please, I have to do something, I have to keep moving, please, let me do this. I couldn't… I couldn't do anything for him, please, I need to do something for someone."

Vishante kaffas, but he found himself unable to say no to her, not when she looked like that, bereft and useless and unwanted. A tear escaped from a waterlogged eye, and he reached up hesitantly to wipe the moisture away with the pad of his thumb.

He acquiesced with a single, curt nod. He sat where she indicated near her satchel, still and straight, his shoulders back, as if there was no pain either from the broken ribs or her incessant tugging at his armor. He made to help her, thinking he could do it faster, but she swatted his hand away. Again he understood the message, though there were no words spoken between them: SHE needed to do this.

He tried not to feel apprehension as his torso was exposed for everyone to see. As a slave he hadn't been allowed modesty, his whole person the property of his master, not himself. Now as a free man, he knew his body belonged to himself, and that included the lyrium markings, all of which he guarded jealously. He waited for the comments to start, for the others to stare, but other than one or two curious glances, he was left alone. These people did not look at him with the envy and lust as Danarius' fellow magisters had once done.

These people were his friends.

Hrodwynn, too. Though she had seen the markings before, her focus remained on the bluish-purple mark, not the bluish-white. She made a sympathetic sound, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her reach out to touch it. He wanted to flinch away out of habit, being touched on normal occasions was uncomfortable, but he kept himself impassive.

For once he was actually glad he had done so. Her fingers were cool across his heated skin, light against the swelling flush with darkened blood. She didn't speak, but knelt beside him and picked up her jar of numbing salve. He remembered the first time she tended him, cleaning out a festering wound and using the salve to numb the edges before stitching it closed. Her touch now was as tender and gentle as before, and the numbing salve such a welcomed relief he nearly sighed.

It was over all too soon. She stood up, and though he tried to meet her gaze, she could only lift up her eyes as far as his knees. "I, ah, healing potion. You'll need one." She turned to bury herself up to her elbows in her pack, rummaging for her box of distilled elixirs. He watched her hands shake as she dosed three drops into a clean cup. He watched the water slosh out of the water skin and nearly spill over her hand. The salve had done its job, taking away his pain, so he stood and approached her from behind.

He had intended to take hold of the cup before she could make a mess. When his arm reached out, when his hand covered hers over the cup, she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Excuse me," he said, his deep voice soft, "I didn't mean to startle you, but you looked like you were having trouble."

Having trouble, she thought to herself. Why would she be having trouble? The man who loved her just died. By her hand. Yes, he had been dying already, but she killed him early, with poison. It had been her knowledge that murdered him, her wits that tricked him. Now she was dosing out another potion, and even though it was only a mild one, she couldn't get the image out of her head of Carver, trusting, drinking the full cup, unknowingly dying…

All these words flying through her head, all these thoughts, all these emotions, and all of it imprisoned inside her. They rattled and raged with each other, pressing against her skull, trying to climb over each other in their desperation to escape, and in doing so only managed to bottleneck and trap themselves all the more.

Fenris saw the signs. Quickly he downed the potion and set the cup aside. With a hand on either shoulder, he held Hrodwynn so she couldn't get away and said, "Talk to me."

So much… too much… what to say… what to do… could she trust him…? And the first words out of her mouth were, "Am I a monster?"

He could admit it; he hadn't expected that. "What?" he blinked, trying to get his bearings. He knew he should find out why she thought so ill of herself and reassure her, but she continued before he could offer any sort of comfort.

"I didn't love him. He loved me, he told me so lots of times, but I never said those words back because didn't feel the same way. I liked him, sure, but it had never been love. And I let him die, believing that lie. I'm a terrible person." Her words squeezed to a halt, her chest tightening so painfully she thought she might have spontaneously broken a few ribs.

He felt her shatter and break, at last giving in to the excruciating feelings. Fenris told himself it was only for her comfort, to allow her the chance to shed healing tears, that caused him to pull her close. Stoically he absorbed her shuddering sobs, her arms clenched too tight around his chest, her hot and bitter tears scalding his skin. He told himself she needed this, the chance to let out her emotions before they festered—and he relished the chance to hold her near. "You are not a terrible person," he assured her. "Carver died peacefully, believing you loved him. Whether it was the truth or a lie, it gave him comfort when he needed it most. That doesn't make you a monster; it makes you a wonderful, caring, compassionate person." Venhedis, but it hurt to hold her. It hurt to let her go, too.

Hawke chose that moment to return to camp, his beard still damp but his eyes clear, clear enough to see Fenris and Hrodwynn in what looked like an intimate embrace. Damn it, wasn't the little chit supposed to be in love with Carver? And wasn't Fenris supposed to want to discourage Hrodwynn? Yet there they stood, arms around each other, the elf already half-undressed…

Hrodwynn heard his steps. She lifted her tear-streaked face to see Hawke approach. Her eyes were too clouded to see his expression, which was probably for the best. She immediately let go of Fenris in favor of Hawke, Carver's brother, someone who undoubtedly needed as much if not more comfort than she did at that moment. She buried her face in his chest, squeezed him tight, and sobbed into his coat.

That's when Hawke saw the bruise on Fenris' side, and felt like a heel. Of course, his shirt had been removed so she could tend to his broken ribs. And she hadn't been seeking anything more from him than comfort. Neither had Fenris, dismissing her now that someone else was there for her to cling to, turning away from them to put his tunic back on.

"I'm sorry," words spilled from beneath the red mop of hair tucked under his chin. "You don't need me crying on your shoulder…"

"It's alright, Hrodwynn," he sighed. "We both loved him, didn't we?"

Confessing to Fenris had been hard enough, she couldn't confess to Hawke, too. Instead she sniffed and fought to get her feelings back under control. "Your leg. It still needs mending."

He felt tired. Tired and sore and defeated and uncaring. "Just give me a potion, something strong enough to make me sleep through the night. I don't want to dream."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, her hands shaking again as she dosed out the elixir.


Seven tired and footsore adventurers entered Kirkwall late one evening, the setting sun casting their shadows long across the street. Seven, where there should have been twelve. Four of the missing were dead, and the fifth would pay for the others' fates.

Varric took one last look at Hawke's dull brown eyes, and once again swore to himself that Bartrand would pay dearly.