Anders stalked off through the shadows, scowling to himself. After a bare handful of footsteps he naturally fell into the near-silent way of walking that had become second nature during his time with the Wardens. Strange how quickly he fell back into old habits once back in the familiar environs of the Deep Roads. Maker knew, he hated it; and yet it had its own comforts. Down here, he didn't have to be on his guard constantly against templars, for a start; he could use his magic without fear of who might be watching.
The crawling feeling in the back of his skull, like something unwholesome skittering just out of sight... he didn't think he'd ever really get used to that. But even that was preferable to the whispers.
He couldn't remember when first he started hearing them, but it had been a constant presence in his head for several hours now. He could almost make out words here and there; his footsteps faltered as he frowned, focusing within as he tried to hear what the voice was saying. He almost felt on the verge of understanding...
No. You will not listen. We will not obey!
Anders reeled under Justice's unexpected onslaught as the spirit rose up in fury within his mind. He could feel the spirit's rage uncoiling and lashing out, though he was only dimly aware of what it was that Justice seemed to be trying to protect him from. Justice's anger seemed to beat against Anders' mind like a physical blow, and he sank to his knees with a groan, dropping his staff as he clutched at his head.
Ignore him! He will not have you! I WILL NOT PERMIT IT!
"Stop... please..." moaned Anders. "I can't think straight..."
But I must protect us!
"Not like this!" he muttered, putting out a hand and fumbling blindly for his staff; all he could see was the fierce blue-white of Justice, and he knew he must be glowing with spirit energy. "Justice, you have to stop. We'll draw trouble. Every darkspawn for miles must be able to see us right now..."
I...did not mean to harm you or endanger you...The spirit's voice sounded abashed.
"I know, but you have to stop. Please." He clutched his staff and breathed a sigh of relief as the glow faded and he could see once more. He slowly pulled himself up to his feet and glanced back to where he could faintly see the dying embers of the fire. He took a step back towards the camp, then stopped as a familiar feeling of nausea washed over him, the skittering inside his skull suddenly almost deafening.
"Oh Maker, no," he groaned as he stared back into the darkness, calling up a globe of light and twirling his staff round to a defensive stance. The magelight gleamed off slick skin and dead eyes as he turned slowly around, holding the staff before him.
Darkspawn.
"Hawke!" he screamed, as they attacked.
Carver and Hawke both turned as one as light suddenly flared at the far end of the hallway. Anders' scream carried faintly to them, and Hawke kicked at Varric's feet as he unsheathed his blade. "Fenris!" he yelled as he sprinted towards the embattled mage; Carver was already ahead of him.
The elf was already rolling out of his bedroll even as Varric threw back his blanket and sat up. Fenris sprinted lightning-fast across the cracked stones, eyes on the slender figure of the mage as he swung his staff, blasting fire from his outstretched hand even as the darkspawn closed around him. Then the magelight flickered and died as Anders screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that cut off abruptly even as Carver swung his blade, hacking into the darkspawn with fierce viciousness.
Fenris leapt forward, phasing his body into glowing translucence in mid-air as he passed through the darkspawn to stand over Anders' prone body, his greatsword singing as it sliced through the air and bit into hurlock flesh. Black ichor flew as the blade slashed through grey flesh and the glowing elf ripped hearts from bodies with his other taloned hand. He bared his teeth in a snarl as he slashed, ripped and tore, scattering blood, guts and flesh around him. His bare feet skidded in the gore as he spun to strike down another of the foul brood that attempted to strike Hawke down from behind.
He was aware of Varric's bolts striking down more darkspawn behind him as he stood over Anders, destroying any and all darkspawn that sought to reach the unconscious man. Carver and Hawke fought alongside him. He lost track of time, caught up in the intensity of battle; and yet it could only have been a short while later that the last darkspawn fell, and silence punctuated only by their ragged breathing was all that was left.
Fenris looked down at the sticky black blood that covered his arms to the elbows, and pulled a face. "Disgusting," he muttered. Laying his sword down, he knelt beside Anders, gently rolling him over.
"How is he?" asked Hawke, dropping to one knee.
"I can't tell," replied the elf. "We'd best get him into the light." He gathered Anders up carefully in his arms as Hawke took his sword, and he carried him back towards the camp.
Carver stared at the elf carrying the mage, then back at Hawke. "Am I missing something here?" he asked, nonplussed.
"Only the bloody obvious beneath your nose, Junior," replied Varric as he followed Fenris. Hawke smirked mirthlessly.
Fenris gently laid the unconscious mage down on his own bedroll. He reached out to stroke the blond hair but stopped, eyeing the darkspawn blood on his gauntlets with distaste. He stripped them off and wiped off his hands as best he could on the edge of his blanket, then carefully brushed Anders' hair away from the side of his face before starting to unfasten the mage's jacket and tunic. He drew in his breath sharply; the side of the mage's throat was torn and bloody, deep bite-marks sunk into the flesh just above his collarbone, and deep claw wounds along his right-hand-side, scoring across the ribs and reopening the sword wound.
"Oh Maker..." breathed Hawke as he reached for Anders' backpack and began hunting through it for the healing kit. Varric was already pulling out healing potions and passing them to Fenris.
"Carver, can you-" Hawke looked up at his brother, his hands full of bandages. Carver nodded.
"Warden training," he agreed. "Out of my way."
Fenris gently prised open Anders' slack lips and then carefully poured the first healing potion into Anders' mouth as Carver wadded up clean cloth, pressing it firmly against the gaping wound in the mage's side. "Hold that there," he ordered his brother as he reached for the elfroot powder.
Fenris massaged Anders' throat until he swallowed reflexively, then poured in another mouthful. Carver glanced briefly at Anders' white face as he readied the poultice and pressed it into place against the wounds on the apostate's shoulder and throat.
Varric shook his head, exchanging looks with Hawke. "Blondie's beginning to make a habit of this," the dwarf muttered.
"You mean, you make a habit of getting your healer damned near killed?" said Carver as he bound the poultice in place as Fenris held the unconscious man upright, cradling his head gently with one hand.
"He wouldn't have walked off if you hadn't been such an arse, Carver," replied Hawke tersely.
"Oh that's right, blame me," muttered Carver as he wound bandages firmly around Anders' ribs.
"Will you two shut up?" hissed Fenris as he laid Anders down again, his slender fingers tugging Anders' bloodstained shirt down over the bandages and smoothing it down.
Carver stared at Fenris as the elf tenderly stroked Anders' bloodless cheek.
"Are you... in love with him?" he asked slowly.
"Finally the cub gets it!" cried Varric, throwing his hands up.
"But... Garrett and Anders..." Carver looked to his brother. Hawke nodded slowly. "But then... you and Fenris?"
"Maker, no!" laughed Hawke, whilst Fenris shook his head vehemently.
"Fasta Vass – no, human!" the elf snapped.
"But – I don't get it," said Carver, hopelessly confused.
"It's simple, kiddo," said Varric. "Hawke loves Anders. Anders loves Hawke. Blondie also loves the elf, who in return loves him. Simple as that."
"And Carver's head explodes," chuckled Hawke.
"And... you're both fine with this?" Carver went on, gesturing to them both.
"I wouldn't say fine, exactly," said Hawke, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. "I don't think it's what any of us would have chosen. But... we make it work."
"For his sake," agreed Fenris.
Carver rose to his feet, shaking his head. "I don't get it." He gestured to the still figure of the apostate. "He's a mage!"
"I do not need to explain myself to you, human," growled Fenris. Carver looked back to Hawke.
"But he- you-"
"Enough, Carver," said Hawke.
"But-" Hawke glared, and Carver subsided, slouching down on the far side of the camp fire, still looking hopelessly confused.
Varric chuckled, shaking his head. "If only Blondie could have seen that!"
Hawke sat himself down beside the prone form of his lover, gently taking a pale limp hand in his. He glanced across to Fenris; they shared a troubled glance before settling into a silent vigil together over the mage.
It would be a long night.