"What does it mean?" asked Hawke in a hushed voice.

"How in the name of Andraste's sweet flaming arse should I know?" exclaimed Anders. He was sat on a stone as the others clustered around him. Fenris was a strong, reassuring presence behind him as the elf stood by his shoulder, one hand gently carding through the distressed apostate's loose blond hair as though he could stroke away the fear and stress that lent an acid-sharp edge to Anders' voice.

Varric leaned over and patted Anders gently on the knee. Anders dropped his gaze to the ground.

Bethany was knelt near his feet, staring up at him anxiously, Hawke crouching next to her.

"Could it be... the lyrium? All the lyrium you've been taking - could it do this?" asked Bethany in a small voice.

"It is possible," rumbled Fenris quietly. "I overheard Danarius and some of his guests discuss a magister of their acquaintance. He had... taken too much lyrium over too long a period of time whilst engaged in some research; they talked of how he had changed. Mutated was the word they used; the lyrium had caused... strange changes to his physical form. But they did not talk of specifics before me."

"What's it like looking through it?" asked Hawke. "Can you see with it?"

Anders looked up slowly, his face drawn and pale. "Oh yes," he whispered. He closed his good eye, and the Fade sprang out, sharp and clear all around him. He could see the healing spirits that even now were clustered around him. He could see Hawke and the others by their living auras. It were as though the Veil had been stripped away entirely. As he opened his good eye, the living world reappeared, but he could still see parts of the Fade as though overlaid as a ghost image upon what his flesh-and-blood eye could see; their auras still shone bright, and he could still see the wispy forms of spirits as they flitted around him.

He found himself staring at Bethany. Something was wrong; something was very wrong with Hawke's sister. Her aura was laced through with black sinuous strands of something unclean and unnatural. He had no idea what it meant. He'd never been able to see auras before; some of the other mages back in Kinloch had claimed to be able to, but he'd never believed them. He'd thought it only the boasting of apprentices - good for a laugh, for a quick lay, but not to be taken seriously. But this? This was real, and outside his realm of experience, and it frightened him.

"Blondie?" prompted Varric.

"I can see the Fade," he whispered.

"Venhedis!" swore Fenris as he recoiled.

"I think Fenris speaks for all of us," said Hawke slowly.

The eyepatch had been sent flying when the demon had lashed out at Anders; though they hunted for it, it was lost amongst the detritus from their fight with the profane and the demon, likely buried under rubble and rock. Not that it would have helped much in any case; Anders soon found that no matter what he held in front of the strange silver eye, he could still see through it to the Fade - though simply closing that eye seemed to work. Still, he couldn't just walk around with one eye closed; after a while, the muscles around his eye would start to ache. In the end, he gave up and tried to get used to the strange halos and the wispy forms of spirits flitting around them all.

They carried on through the narrow passageway that the demon had stood in front of, reasoning that perhaps it may well have chosen to obstruct their only way out. To Anders' relief, the passageway opened out after a while, before leading up a rough-hewn set of stairs. It didn't look like dwarf work, but they had no idea what other denizens of the Deep Roads might have carved them; the profane seemed to lack the intelligence, as would darkspawn. Though Anders had slowly been feeling the itching that told him darkspawn were near for some time, it was too nebulous to tell him where or how far off - but these passageways seemed to lack the telltale black slick of corruption that inevitably accrued wherever darkspawn passed frequently, bringing their dark contagion with them to the very rocks themselves.

"What's this?" said Hawke as they emerged into a large chamber. It seemed carved and structured very similarly to the primeval thaig they'd left behind.

"This is the vault," said Varric. "The dwarves would have brought their..."

The clunking of moving rocks had them all turning; several large boulders and chunks of rock were drawing themselves together to take the form of another huge profane standing just behind them.

"Oh, that can't be good," said Varric.

"Another demon?" guessed Hawke.

Anders stared up at the creature; with his human eye he could see it's stone and fire form, but with the silver eye he could see the twisted form of what might once, millennia ago, have been a dwarf. "No," he said quietly. "It's a rock wraith. A very ancient one."

The rock wraith was mindless; there was no reasoning with a monster that had lost what remained of its mind so long ago that perhaps elves had still dwelt in Arlathan when first it stirred as rock instead of flesh and blood. All they could do was try to take it down as swiftly as they could. It was a hard fight; it called up profane with ease and had some kind of strange magic all its own in the form of pulses of crimson energy that seemed almost to suck the very life and energy from them even as they cried out in pain each time it struck them. Several times it vanished only to reappear again, but Anders found that by closing his human eye he could follow the creature's movement. The others soon learned to look to Anders each time it disappeared, leaping upon the wraith with renewed vigour as it reappeared.

Finally it was destroyed, the profane nothing more than piles of rubble. They were able to draw breath, staring at each other with looks of relief. Hawke couldn't quite repress a chuckle.

"Maker, that was close! Everyone alright?" he said. "Anders? How are you holding up?"

"Exhausted but alive," responded the mage. Fenris shot him a worried look but he shook his head. "I'll be OK," he said. "I ache all over, but I can carry on. Just as long as we don't run into any more of those things."

"The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends," said Varric, shaking his head. "They're not even supposed to be real!"

"Looked pretty real to me," said Hawke. "Everyone OK to move on?"

There were nods and sounds of assent from the others; they headed out into the vault.

"Legend or not, it doesn't matter," said Varric. "Look at what it was guarding!"

They came to a halt and stared at the chests of treasure piled up just inside the first chamber.

"Let's see if there's something that can get us out of here," said Hawke. "But take whatever you can grab as well."

They hunted through the chests, stuffing their pockets and packs with gold and gems - as much as they could carry.

"I can't help but feel this gold will make for a pretty poor stew if we don't find a way out of here soon, and we can't drink rubies and emeralds," Anders murmured to Fenris. The elf hummed in agreement.

"Hello, what's this?" said Hawke, straightening with a large and very old-looking key.

"Our way out perhaps?" suggested Varric.

"We can hope!" replied Hawke.

They were all tired after several fights in quick succession, both Anders and Bethany drained and low on mana; Anders' energy was flagging badly, and Bethany wasn't doing much better. They decided to set camp for the night, and carry on after a meal and sleep.

Anders' dreams that night were strange, lurid things that he could only vaguely recall upon wakening. His whole body ached in a way that was rapidly becoming familiar and almost normal now, his limbs stiff and his back painful. Strangely, his head throbbed less; he was grateful for one less source of pain however.

Even before he opened the strange, unnatural eye, he knew something was slightly different. When first he had opened that eye following the fight with the demon, he'd not been aware physically of anything being different about the eye socket; he'd felt nothing when blinking, for example, and it was only the proof visible in the mirror and the ability to see into the Fade that told him the lyrium eye was actually there. Now, with his eyes closed, he could feel it just as he could his flesh-and-blood eye. It didn't feel cold, like metal - like the liquid lyrium when he drank it; it felt... just like his real eye. When he lifted a hand to lightly press it through his closed, scarred eyelid, it felt firm, with a little give - just like a real, living eye. It was only when he opened his eyes that the supernatural nature of the eye became apparent again.

He pulled the little mirror out of his pocket; Bethany hadn't reclaimed it after he'd seen the eye for himself, so he'd tucked it away without really thinking about it. He stared at his reflection and frowned.

The eye looked less liquid, more solid now - less like a swirling ball of lyrium. It no longer seemed to glow, which was something of a relief. To the casual glance, it might be mistaken for a false eye made of silverite perhaps, or one of those shiny silvered glass marbles he'd seen once on a toymaker's stall in the market in Hightown. He blinked, and then his eyes widened slightly; he could see a sheen of moisture over the surface of the silver eye. He blinked rapidly and hard, and he felt both eyes water in response. The tears from his normal eye were just clear tears - but those from the silver eye glowed a very faint blue, like incredibly dilute liquid lyrium.

He shuddered and tucked the mirror away. He had no idea what these small, subtle changes meant.

Fenris glanced over as Anders sat up, and smiled before bringing him a cup of the elfroot and willowbark tea that was fast becoming as familiar as the ache in his joints and bones upon awakening. He'd never been much of a fan of the taste of elfroot, but it, too, was becoming very familiar and normal. Even the bitter aftertaste of the willowbark was almost comforting in its familiarity.

"I think we should press on soon," said Hawke. "Straight after breakfast, if we're all ready?"

Varric snorted at the mention of breakfast; of their own supplies, they were pretty much just down to dry hard tack biscuits. Anders dunked his into his tea; it didn't improve the tea's flavour any, but at least it made it easier to chew the biscuits and swallow them down.

They ate in silence, then they all got to their feet and got ready to head on.

The vault contained four chambers in all, most with some treasure in though the majority had been in the first chamber they'd come to. At the far end of the vault they found a large iron-bound door. Hawke produced the key he'd found, and to their relief the door swung open.

The other side of the door was a broad, paved passage that seemed vaguely familiar.

"Isn't this like the passages that were quite close to Bartrand's camp? The one where we found the rockfall and had to find the detour?" said Hawke.

"I think we just found our way back," agreed Varric.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Anders said, with a thankful sigh. "How long do you think it'll take us to get back?"

"If we're unlucky, maybe a week," said Varric.

"And if we're lucky?" asked Hawke.

"We stumble over Bartrand's corpse along the way," scowled Varric as he headed on down the long wide passage, his boots loud on the cracked paving stones.

It took only a day before they were back in familiar passages. Hawke looked around with a pleased grin as they stared around the empty cavern where they'd made camp with Bartrand what seemed another lifetime ago.

"And we're back where we started!" he said.

"Could we.. slow down?" asked Bethany, stumbling slightly. "I'm not feeling very well..."

As Hawke glanced back, Bethany's knees folded under her and she collapsed before Anders could catch her. He dropped to his knees next to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders as he stared down at her, and suddenly it hit him.

Why hadn't he seen it? The headaches, her paleness - the black winding through her aura now, thicker and darker than ever. He extended his healer's senses down into her body, but he knew what he would find even before he touched the contagion in her blood that matched his own.

"It's the Blight," he said, his voice faltering. "I can feel it." As she opened milky, Blighted eyes, he wondered how he had failed to see it sooner.

Hawke dropped to his knees next to his sister.

"I'll end up just like Wesley, won't I?" Bethany said weakly as Hawke took her hand in both of his, his eyes wide in shock and denial.

"Beth, no!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "There must be some other way!"

"I'm not going to last until the surface," Bethany said in a tone of dull resignation. "It's coming on faster."

"Anders - please, you've got to do something, surely - Maker, you're a healer!" cried Hawke. "Please, do something!"

"I'm good, but even I can't heal the Blight, Hawke," Anders said sombrely. "But there might be something we can do. My maps... I... stole them from a Grey Warden that had come to Kirkwall. I wanted to know if he was looking for me." He dropped his gaze for a moment, glancing away, then looked back up at Hawke. "He wasn't; the maps were for planning their own expedition into the Deep Roads."

"But you took those maps over a year ago," said Hawke. "Surely there won't be Grey Wardens here now?"

"They may be," said Anders. "It takes time to organise an expedition like that - particularly if the Ferelden Grey Wardens are still busy chasing down pockets of darkspawn left after the Blight. And I've been feeling something for the past few days... something familiar. I'm certain it's not darkspawn. If the Grey Wardens are here, then I know where. We could bring Bethany to them."

"And do what? Become a Grey Warden?" said Bethany slowly.

"Would that... be a cure?" asked Hawke slowly, hope dawning in his eyes.

"Yes, I... suppose it is," said Anders quietly. He dropped his gaze again, afraid that if he held Hawke's gaze too long that the other man might somehow read the truth in his eyes.

It wasn't a cure. The contagion was as much in his blood as it was, now, in Bethany's; the only difference was that in his case, it would kill him in maybe another ten years or so, if he was lucky. It would kill Bethany within a day or two at most. He would go out fighting - if he lived so long; she would die a painful, excruciating death on the stones of the Deep Roads, never seeing sunlight again unless they took this chance.

She might not even survive the Joining, he knew; not all did. He remembered Mhairi, so full of fire and life, who had wanted to be a Warden far more than he ever had. He and Oghren had survived whilst she gasped out her last, dead less than a minute after drinking from the same cup they had. He had often wondered what it was about her that she had died whilst he had not. The kind of thoughts that would have kept him awake at night - if he hadn't had far more and far worse to bring him nightmares and drive away sleep both before and after her death.

"It's not without a price," he heard himself saying. "And not everyone is willing to pay it."

"What price?" demanded Hawke; as Anders hesitated, he added, "Maker's breath, spit it out, man!"

"The process of becoming a Warden is... unpleasant," Anders said slowly. "And irreversible." He stared at Hawke. "And it also means you might never see your sister again. It's... not an easy life, trust me."

"What about you? You're not a Grey Warden anymore," said Hawke.

Anders laughed, hollowly. "You think I got away? Either they or the Circle will one day drag me back; I've got no illusions about that."

He felt Fenris crouch down behind him; one gauntleted hand came to rest upon his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly through the feathers. Anders turned and rested his cheek against the metal, warmed slightly by the fingers inside.

"We'd best not waste any more time then," said Hawke.

Anders led the way on. Fenris and Hawke carefully supported Bethany between them as they followed, Varric bringing up the rear. Anders was choosing the way as much based upon the scratching feeling in the back of his skull as upon the maps they'd followed to get down here. He led them off through side tunnels, the feeling becoming stronger as they went. As they got closer and closer, Anders began to realise he recognised the feeling of one of the Wardens they were homing in on.

"It can't be..." he murmured to himself as they rounded a corner into a cavern.

It was.

Three Wardens turned as they entered, one of them a very familiar figure indeed.

"Anders?"

"Nathaniel," said Anders, striding forward to greet his old friend.

"Maker, man, we all thought you were dead!" said the dark-haired archer as they clasped each other's arm. "And mercy, but what's happened to you? Your eye...!"

"A very long story, my friend, and one I really don't have time to share, I'm afraid," replied the blond apostate. "I... have a favour to ask."

"You don't need to ask, Anders," said Nathaniel quietly. "Whatever it is..."

"It's not for me," Anders said firmly, then turned to look pointedly at Bethany.

"The girl?" said Nathaniel, his eyes widening slightly. "You don't mean -" He took a step towards her, and then understanding filled his eyes. "Ah. You mean her as a recruit."

"Yes," replied Anders. "You and I both know it's her only chance."

"Anders..." said Nathaniel, shaking his head regretfully. "I can't just-"

"Nathaniel, please!" hissed Anders as he caught at Nathaniel's arm. "Look at her! Trust me, she'll be well worth your time. With the Blight over you can't honestly tell me you have recruits lining up."

Nathaniel stared at him, not saying a word.

"Nathaniel. Please. I'm begging you," Anders added softly. "For me."

The dark-haired archer returned his gaze steadily for long moments before his expression softened, and he slowly nodded. "Very well," he said quietly.

"Thank you," Anders breathed, grateful.

Nathaniel pulled him in for a brief hug. "Thank me if she lives," he murmured softly in the blond mage's ear before pulling away. He turned to Bethany and Hawke.

"If she comes, then she comes with us now, and you may not see her again," he warned the rogue quietly. "Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It's a calling."

Bethany glanced up at her brother. "Are you sure about this, Garrett?" she asked softly.

"If this is the only way you can live?" said Hawke, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'd rather never see you again but know you're still alive, than carry your corpse back to Mother. This will hurt her terribly - but you dying, after losing Carver - that would kill her, Beth. I've.. we've got no choice."

"Then... I guess this is it," said Bethany faintly. "Take care of Mother, Garrett."

Hawke took his sister into his arms for one last hug. "I'm going to miss you so much," he moaned softly. "I love you, Beth."

"Love you too, Gar," whispered Bethany.

They watched in silence as the three Grey Wardens headed off with Bethany, the slender young apostate supported by Nathaniel and one of the other Wardens, none of them looking back as they moved as swiftly as they could. No-one moved until after all four were gone from sight.

Hawke stood staring in the direction the Wardens had taken Bethany.

"Hawke?" said Varric quietly.

Slowly the rogue's shoulders began to shake, as he wept silently for his sister.