Hawke coaxed the smouldering tinder into small flames, then carefully added twigs, gradually feeding the fire. He glanced up as Varric reached to take over, raising an eyebrow quizzically at the dwarf who jerked his head in Anders' direction.

"You might want to go check on Blondie," Varric said quietly. Hawke glanced over at the apostate; Anders was sitting by himself a little way off from the rest of the party, hunched over as he sat on the ground. The point of his staff rested in the dirt a little way beyond his feet, the other end resting over his shoulder, both hands wrapped around the smooth wooden shaft, knuckles white. As Hawke straightened and got to his feet, Anders suddenly shook his head, frowning, lips moving silently.

As Hawke walked quietly towards the oblivious mage, he noted Fenris rising and doing likewise; they exchanged concerned looks as their paths converged on Anders' spot.

"Anders? Are you alright, love?" asked Hawke quietly. Anders froze, then slowly raised his eyes up to glance at them both.

"I'm fine," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hawke crouched down in front of Anders and laid a hand over the white fingers clenched around the staff. "Because you don't look fine," replied Hawke. "Something's bothering you."

Anders lowered his head. "It's the Deep Roads," he said quietly. "You have no idea what it's like... hearing, feeling darkspawn all around you... not near, but near enough,"

"I do," said Carver quietly, walking up to join them. Anders raised his head again as Carver added, "It's like a scratching inside your skull. You can't ignore it, even when you're asleep."

Anders nodded. "An unclean feeling inside. Like a bad taste you can't get rid of."

"I imagine it's worse for you," remarked Carver sympathetically. "You've been a Warden longer than I have. I've heard it gets worse, the closer you get to..."

"It does," agreed Anders. "But I can handle it. I'll be fine." He pushed himself up onto his feet, leaning on his staff. "I'll take first watch," he decided. "I won't be able to sleep for hours yet."

"I'll take it with you, if you don't mind?" asked Carver. Anders regarded him sombrely, then shrugged.

"As you wish," he said.

Hawke and Fenris watched the two Wardens walk back towards the fire which Varric now had burning merrily. Hawke let out a long, low whistle of surprise. "Well, well, well," he said quietly. "Looks like Carver's done some growing up after all."

"I dislike seeing the mage like this," said Fenris quietly. "You should not have brought him, Hawke. I fear he will grow worse the deeper we go."

"He insisted on coming," replied Hawke uneasily. "And he knows better than we just what we're likely to face down here."

Fenris shook his head stubbornly. "You should not have brought him," he repeated, as he followed the others back to the fire. Hawke sighed, tailing after him. "I really hope you're wrong," he muttered to himself.

They ate in silence; Anders' mood seemed to cast a pall over them all. He remained sitting by the fire, staring into the dying flames as the others turned in apart from Carver. The Warden sat down across the fire from the mage.

"Can you hear it?" Anders asked softly, the flames reflecting gold in his eyes.

"Hear what?" asked Carver curiously. Anders glanced up at him, then dropped his gaze back to the fire.

"Nothing," he said quietly. He drew his staff across his lap and rested his hands upon it, his expression dark.

"What's it like?" asked Carver. "Being closer to the Calling, I mean. You've been a Warden... how many years now?"

"Don't remind me," groaned Anders.

"Do you ever think about it? What's to come?" asked Carver.

"I try not to," replied Anders. "Apostates aren't exactly known for their longevity. And even without the Calling, a Warden's lot wouldn't be likely to be long anyway. Fighting darkspawn isn't exactly conducive to a long life. Most Wardens don't survive long enough to hear their Call."

"How did Garrett handle it when you told him?"

"I haven't," Anders admitted. Carver blinked, astonished.

"But... I thought..."

"Have you told him yet?" Anders demanded. Carver stared at him then dropped his gaze.

"No," he said quietly. "I didn't know how. And I thought... with you being a Warden..." He looked up again. "I thought you would have already told him."

Anders rose to his feet and moved away from the fire, walking away into the dark shadows. Carver glanced back at the sleeping form of his brother, then pushed himself to his feet and followed the mage.

Anders leaned on his staff, pressing his forehead against the smooth cool wood. "How do you do it?" he asked quietly as Carver stopped beside him, facing out into the shadowy reaches of the stone hallway. "How do you tell someone you love that you cannot give them everything – you can't even promise to share the rest of your life with them because of a bargain made before you ever laid eyes on them?" He turned to Carver, and the younger man could see the faint sheen of unshed tears over the soft brown eyes that regarded him with misery. "There is not a day that passes when I don't look upon them both and regret it. And yet..." He glanced away, shaking his head. "I'd likely be dead by now if I hadn't been conscripted into the Wardens. Sooner or later the templars would have decided to make an example of me instead of just dragging me back in chains."

He took a deep breath and straightened. "You've taken to life in the Wardens, Carver," he said, glancing out into the darkness. "I figured you for the type."

"I'm not the coward you are, if that's what you mean," bristled Carver. "You ran away. You couldn't even be honest with Garrett. Was the burden too great for you then?"

Anders glared at him. "The plight of every mage is my burden. You'd think with your lineage you'd understand."

"Your whining ranks a little lower than the end of the bloody world," sneered Carver. "But do go on. And on."

"And there's the Carver we all know and love," Anders said bitterly. "There was I beginning to think the Wardens had instilled some decency into you." He shook his head. "Is it wrong to want a world worth saving?"

"Is it wrong to want a little quiet?" interjected Hawke suddenly. "I want some peace and quiet, how about that?"

Both Anders and Carver froze. How much had Hawke heard? His face pale, Anders abruptly turned on his heel and stalked off into the dark.

Hawke sighed. "Way to go, brother," he muttered. "I thought you two were getting along, and then..." He shook his head.

"I don't understand him," replied Carver. "He was a Grey Warden. You can't just walk away from that. Did he honestly think he could? Is he really that much of a coward?"

"Anders is a far braver man than you'll even know," replied Hawke sombrely.

"Run as far as he can, he won't be able to outrun himself," replied Carver quietly. "Or his past."

"Worry about our past, Carver, and leave Anders to deal with his," suggested Hawke. "We're here to find out what Father did, and what it has to do with this... Corypheus."

Carver stared into the dark, his eyes searching for the mage. Then slowly he nodded, walking back towards the fire.

Hawke stared into the dark, his eyes troubled.