By unspoken agreement, the others left Anders to sleep through until morning. When it was Fenris' turn on watch, Hawke gently slipped into the elf's bedroll to spoon up against Anders, holding him close.

Anders drifted slowly into waking, snuggled against Hawke's side with his head nestled into the side of the warrior's neck. He stirred with a faint sigh, then smiled as Hawke lightly trailed his fingers down the side of his face. His eyes slowly flickered open to regard Hawke dreamily.

"Did I oversleep?" he murmured drowsily, stretching slightly, his spine arching as he pressed himself against Hawke. Then he blinked as memory returned and a shadow stole over his face, and he groaned faintly. "We're still in the Deep Roads," he sighed.

"I'm afraid so," Hawke said quietly. "How do you feel?"

"You didn't wake me for my watch," said Anders with a frown, pushing himself up into a sitting position then winced, wrapping his arms around his thin body as he hunched over a little, rubbing his arms through the thin linen of his shirt.

"Love?" asked Hawke, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"Just a bit achey," he replied. He looked down at his wrists and twitched suddenly with a brief, wordless cry as he stared at them.

"Anders, what-"

"Nothing, it's nothing," said Anders hastily as he reached for his tunic and jacket and thrust himself up to his feet. He tugged on the tunic then hurriedly pulled on the jacket, walking away with his head lowered as he tugged at the bandages and leather bracer, tightening them over his wrists.

He didn't want anyone to see what lay beneath; the thin red lines where the lyrium chains had bound him in the Fade.

It wasn't just a dream. He had feared as much, but the physical evidence proved it. He wasn't safe; not even in sleep. Corypheus had found him through the Fade. He should have known it was possible, but...

Why hadn't Justice protected him? He didn't understand it. The spirit had seemed somehow bound itself. He stopped, resting a hand against a nearby wall as he reached within.

Justice?

There was no answer. The Fade spirit was strangely silent, though he got a sense of resentment emanating from it – not directed against him however.

"Anders? Are you alright?" Carver regarded him warily as he approached.

"What? Oh. Fine. I'm fine," snapped Anders tersely. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well-"

Anders brushed past him. "I'm perfectly fine," he growled as he walked back to the camp. He snatched up his bedroll and hastily stuffed it into his backpack before slinging it and his staff onto his back. He paused and glanced round, aware of the others' eyes upon him.

"What, did I grow an extra head during the night or something?" he tried to joke.

"We're just worried about you, love," said Hawke quietly.

"That's good; I'm worried about me too," replied Anders, smiling thinly. "Let's get this over with whilst I still have a mind to lose, hmm?"

They continued down through the level until they found themselves in the labyrinth of passages at the bottom of the pit, near the base of the tower. The area seemed to be infested with deepstalkers; the small scurrying things by themselves were more a nuisance than an actual threat, but in sufficient numbers they were troublesome. After a while of working their way through the passages, they came upon the remains of a dwarf. Varric stared down at the corpse and frowned.

"That looks like Legion of the Dead armour," he said in faint surprise. "It's an Orzamaar thing. No matter your crime if you join the Legion and vow to die fighting darkspawn, your name is cleared."

Anders stared down at the corpse. "I had a friend from the Legion once. A girl named Sigrun. Not nearly as dour as you'd expect."

"What's this?" said Varric, reaching down and plucking an old, folded piece of parchment from a fold of the corpse's cloak. He unfolded it and scanned it. "The Legion of the Dead... sent after Paragon Garen's heir. Why does that sound familiar?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger. "I think Garen was sometime in the early Exalted Age. Hundreds of years ago."

"Do you think they found him?" wondered Hawke.

"Who knows?" shrugged Varric. They stared down at the body in silence, then shaking his head slowly, Varric turned away, deep in thought, and they followed him on.

After a while, Varric suddenly snapped his fingers. "That's where I know the name! Tethras Garen should have been the heir to the Garen clan. But he was accused of killing his sister and sent into the Deep Roads to die. When the real murderer was caught, they tried to find him. They never could. Instead, every Garen heir from that time on took the name Tethras in his honour." He ran a hand over his chin, frowning. "One of them became Paragon in his own right and founded my clan."

"So this was one of your ancestors?" asked Hawke.

"Not directly," Varric shrugged uncomfortably, "But... a little closer than I like to come to my past, you know." He stared down at the ground then still frowning, started to walk on.

"Varric, look out!" warned Anders, his head suddenly snapping up as his eyes narrowed.

"I see 'em, Blondie," Varric nodded as a group of darkspawn suddenly lurched out from behind a pile of rocks. He unslung Bianca, face grim, and started picking the creatures off as Anders started encasing them in ice whilst Carver, Fenris and Hawke ran forward to engage the enemy in melee. Varric eyed the nearby detritus of fallen walls and rubble, muttering, "I hope nothing's going to jump out of that stuff." He paused to reload as Anders turned and aimed an ice blast at a hurlock that had leapt out behind Carver.

"Hey, how about some sympathy for the one who's closest to the ground here?" cried Varric as three hurlocks leapt out from behind a fallen wall. Anders spun round, brandishing his staff, his eyes blazing with fire. "Down, dwarf!"

Varric didn't need to be told twice. He hit the floor as a fan of white flame shot out from Anders' spread hand, incinerating the creatures. "Nice one, Justice!" he called back.

The mage stared and gave him a single nod before diving into the fray.

"Nice to know he's on our side," Varric remarked to himself. "You can still tell friend from foe Blondie; I'd say you're doing just fine." He blasted at a genlock that looked his way; it was obliterated in one shot. "Bianca, you minx, that was beautiful!" he crowed. He planted a big kiss on the smooth carved wood of the crossbow's stock and looked around for another target.

As they gathered together after the last creature had fallen, Varric eyed the mage carefully, but Anders' eyes had returned to their normal shade of brown. He nodded approvingly. "Doing good, Blondie," he said quietly. "We'll get out of this mess just fine, you'll see."

Anders nodded. He stared down at the ground as his next footstep squelched in something that wasn't, for once, blood or a dead darkspawn. "Ugh. This is much... wetter... than I remember the Deep Roads being. What is this, some sort of swamp down here?"

Carver pulled a face as he stared into a pool of stagnant water. "It smells pretty much the way I'd expect a swamp in the Deep Roads to smell. You know. If the Deep Roads had swamps. Which this one obviously does."

"Merrill's not here, Carver; you can stop babbling," remarked Hawke drily. Carver shot him a look and looked as though he were about to retort, then thought better of it.

Varric, Fenris and Anders were staring at the stone walls that rose ahead of them, lit by the strange glowing moss that clustered here and there about the caverns and the glowing veins of lyrium visible in places, weaving through the stone walls.

"What are those structures?" wondered Anders, leaning on his staff as he stared up at them. "They're not dwarven, are they?"

"Not any work I've ever seen," replied Varric. He eyed the lyrium veins. "How are those making you feel, Blondie?" he asked curiously.

"Distracting," Anders replied. "A bit like the darkspawn, only... different."

Fenris glanced at him. "Do they pose a danger to you or us?"

"Only if you try licking them," he said with a faint smile. "I wouldn't particularly recommend it. Raw lyrium burns." He shuddered suddenly.

"You've been... burned by it before?" asked Fenris.

"In a manner of speaking," replied Anders quietly, staring down at his hand upon the staff as the other hand crept up to rub uneasily at his throat. "It's not an experience I'd care to repeat."

"The stone plaque said they bound Malvernis in lyrium chains with the blood of a hundred warriors," remarked Varric.

"Painful, I should imagine," remarked Fenris. He glanced down at his lyrium brands. "I can... almost sympathise."

They have bound you in lies as surely as they have bound me in chains. Only here am I free; in truth, every wound you suffer from those chains is a burden and a torment I have endured for so long...

"...Anders? Anders?"

He blinked and came back to himself. "You OK, Blondie?" asked Varric, frowning.

Anders shook himself. "Just lost in thought," he replied. "I'm trying to imagine the kind of sheer raw power needed for blood magic like that. It's... unnerving."

"Seductive, I should imagine," replied Fenris, eyeing him thoughtfully. Anders shuddered.

"Not to me," he said firmly.

Varric stared up at the silvery-green glow of the lyrium veins that twinkled enticingly through the gloom. "That much lyrium could go to a man's head."

"Indeed," replied Fenris. "It would be hard to resist such a temptation, for one desirous of power." He glanced at Anders thoughtfully.

"You still don't trust me?" Anders' voice sounded small and hurt, his brown eyes wounded.

"You, I trust, beloved," the elf replied gently, "The spirit inside you?" He shook his head, reaching out to lay a hand gently over the white hand that still rested against Anders' throat. "I fear for you, mi Amatus," he added gently.

"I can-" began Anders heatedly.

"- Control it?" finished Fenris for him, raising an eyebrow. Anders fell silent and glanced away.

"I know you think I'm weak," he said slowly.

"Beloved-" began Fenris; Anders pulled his hand away and raised it, forestalling him.

"Let me finish," he said quietly, looking back at him. "Compared to you, to Hawke, to Carver – yes, I seem weak. You are all warriors; battle-hardened, strong. But I'm not a child or some sick weakling, an invalid. I'm just a man, Fenris. An ordinary human. My magic sets me above other men, perhaps, but without my magic I don't suddenly become less than a man." He frowned at the elf, who stood silent, thoughtful. "Don't you see? I'm not weak. I just seem it when compared to the rest of you – but any other man in Thedas would seem the same." He stepped closer. "But mentally? Fenris, you have no idea of the discipline I am capable of. I was raised in the Circle. I faced and survived my Harrowing. Don't you understand what that means?"

Fenris shook his head slowly. "I... am not familiar with the ways of mages," he said slowly. "In Tevinter, my...master – Danarius – he was already an accomplished mage. I was not privy to the... methods he used to train his apprentices."

"When they deemed I was ready, they took me to a room in the Tower," said Anders slowly. "I was fifteen. The senior mages summoned a demon, and I was made to drink lyrium. Then I faced the demon in the Fade." He stared steadily into Fenris' eyes. "Alone."

"You faced...?"

"I had to defeat it," he explained quietly. "If I had fallen to it, or the templars thought I was taking too long, they would have killed me on the spot." He shrugged and smiled slightly. "I'm still alive. That should tell you something. And I've been joined with Justice for nearly five years now without losing my sanity. Which should tell you something else."

He turned and started to walk back towards Hawke, but looked back over his shoulder at Fenris. "You may be stronger than I physically, love. But up here?" He tapped his temple slowly. "I stand a better chance than any of you." His face hardened. "I am not weak." He turned and glared at Carver, who was staring at him. "Or a coward," he spat.

He strode slowly away towards Hawke. After a little while, the others followed him silently.