Many thanks to my beta, Olndina, for prodding me to indulge my love of character development.

A few hours of journeying through Kal'Hirol and Anders felt like he'd finally come to understand the word "massive." Never had that word felt so apt as it did when trying to describe the enormity of Kal'Hirol. Their progress was slow, the dwarven fortress fairly swarming with droves of darkspawn. He welcomed the fights, though; they kept him from dwelling on how dark and . . . heavy . . . this place felt. As large as it was, Kal'Hirol was still underground, still dark, still stifling.

They rounded a corner, entering yet another section of the main hall, and Sigrun let out a loud gasp. "By the Stone . . ." There, in front of them, was a group of ghostly figures: dwarves and darkspawn fighting each other. The faint clashing of steel on steel echoed through the room, blending with the sounds of men grunting with the exertion of fighting.

"What in the Maker's name is that?" Nathaniel asked, his voice hushed. "Are they real?"

Anders shrugged. "As real as anything else from the Fade. The Veil must be thin here." He suppressed a shudder; this place was just getting better and better.

Further and further they pressed into the room, encountering more groups of dwarves and darkspawn locked in eternal battle. Unfortunately, there were still plenty of live darkspawn around for them to deal with as well.

They fought their way through to a large staircase and descended it. At the bottom was probably the strangest sight Anders had ever seen outside of the Fade: a group of about two dozen dwarven ghosts, all gathered around a platform on which stood a fully armored dwarf. As they neared, they could hear the warrior's speech. "For generations, they have told you that you were nothing," the warrior's voice echoed through the hall, "swept away like so much dust. Now you are the only thing standing between them and the darkspawn that threaten our empire. Show them that you are not nothing! Show them that you can be warriors! Let the Stone tremble with the thunder of your footsteps! Fight!"

The sound of two dozen voices roared through the hall as the ghosts cheered on the warrior. Anders turned his head to watch Sigrun standing in front of one of the cheering dwarves, a strange expression on her face. Anders moved beside her to try and see whatever it was on the ghost's face that had Sigrun's rapt attention. The only thing he could see that really stood out was the silvery-white lines on the right side of the man's face; a ghostly tattoo that resembled the one that Sigrun wore. "They were casteless," she whispered, surprise clear in her voice.

Anders looked at her questioningly. "Is that a big deal?"

Sigrun nodded her head, still staring at the ghost. "The casteless are the lowest of dwarves," her face twisted in anger. "Or at least, that's what the others say. We aren't allowed to take up arms or fight."

"You're fighting," Nathaniel pointed out.

"The Legion of the Dead is the only exception," Sigrun answered. "Once we become a part of the Legion, we go down into the Deep Roads, never to return. It's a death sentence, like I said. No one really cares if the dead bear arms, and it gets us lowlife casteless out of the real dwarves' way." Oghren gave a loud snort, and he looked as if he was going to say something until Sigrun glared at him. "Don't you start, either." Oghren grumbled a bit into his beard, but didn't say anything out loud. Anders had never really talked to him about his life in Orzammar, but the fact that he didn't have a tattoo on his face probably meant that he hadn't been casteless. Anders wondered if he was among the dwarves who thought the casteless were "lowlifes." If he was, it didn't seem to detract from his staring at Sigrun lecherously every time they had a break in killing darkspawn.

As they left the place where the ghosts were gathered, Nathaniel fell in step with Sigrun. Anders followed behind them, close enough to hear their conversation.

"Are the casteless really that reviled?" Nathaniel asked.

"In most dwarves' eyes, we're scum," Sigrun said matter-of-factly. "We're the lowest of the low. We can't be smiths, or warriors, or hold any other type of job. We're born with nothing and we die with even less. I grew up in Orzammar, in a place called Dust Town. It was filthy, and overrun with thieves and beggars. We had to fight to survive, to put food in our mouths."

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel said, his tone earnest. "I didn't realize . . ."

Sigrun let out a surprisingly cheerful laugh. "It's all right, I'm used to it." She turned her head and Anders could see her smile as she clapped Nathaniel on the back amicably. Anders couldn't help but reflect that due to Sigrun's shortness, if she'd gone any lower with her hand she would have been smacking Nathaniel's arse.

Gideon joined in on their conversation. "Given what we just saw, it looks like someone here thought the casteless were worth something. Judging from his armor, I'd say the one on the dais was a member of the warrior caste—and he was calling on them to take up arms against the darkspawn."

"Not all dwarves think the casteless are worthless." Oghren turned around from where he'd been walking ahead of everyone and winked slyly at Sigrun. Anders could have sworn he heard her make a small retching sound.

They continued onward, encountering small groups of ghosts here and there: a mother talking with her daughter about escaping; two men arguing about how they'd all been left to die, and why they should or should not help fight; a warrior arguing with a commoner, trying to convince him to help fight the darkspawn. It was eerie to watch these dwarves having what were most likely the last conversations of their lives, and the fact that the ghosts would disappear and reappear was not exactly helping.

As the Wardens advanced further through the hall, the light grew dimmer and the ceiling seemed to be slowly descending—or at least that was how it felt to Anders. The air was stale and close, not a breath of wind stirred, and without any windows in this damnable place there wasn't any chance of that changing. Nor was there any way for them to tell whether it was day or night, or how long they'd been underground. It felt to Anders like an eternity, and he found himself becoming more and more jumpy as time passed.

He tried hard to keep his fears to himself, not wanting the others (and by others, he meant Nathaniel) to think he was some sort of coward who was afraid of the dark. He did make a comment about how dark and heavy the place was, but he ended it with a laugh so as to appear to be joking. He caught Nathaniel glancing at him every once in awhile, and Anders wondered if the rogue was reading his mind once again.

Eventually they made it out of the large hall and into what was clearly the main living area of the fortress. They ran into a large group of darkspawn almost as soon as they entered, but curiously, none of them attacked the group. In fact, it almost seemed as if—

"They're fighting one another," Gideon said with surprise.

"Good," Oghren grunted. "Less work for us."

Anders shrugged; the dwarf had a point, though he could tell Gideon was more than a little interested in this turn of events. No matter, though: darkspawn were darkspawn—it couldn't be possible for any of them to be on the side of the Wardens.

It was worse in this quarter, even after they'd cut down the last of their enemies. It was darker, and the rooms they passed through were small and cramped. The air was no longer stale. It was completely gone. It felt as if someone was holding a heavy cloth over his nose, and Anders could feel himself struggling for breath. There was no air, no wind, they were all going to suffocate . . . they'd die down here in the dark and no one would know, their bones would just rot away—

"Are you all right?" A quiet voice startled him from his thoughts. Anders' eyes had been cast up at the ceiling, wishing fervently for a hole to magically appear in the rock to let in some air and light. He looked down to see Nathaniel walking beside him.

"I'm fine." He laughed shakily. "Why?"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "You're sweating, and you look like you can't breathe."

Anders inwardly winced—sometimes he really disliked how observant the other man could be. "I just . . . I have a little problem with enclosed spaces. I, uh, don't like them."

Nathaniel nodded his understanding. "I can't say I like the idea of there being several tons of rock right over our heads."

Anders shuddered. "Maker, don't remind me of that."

"Sorry." Nathaniel smiled at him apologetically. "I'm not very good at comforting others."

Anders chuckled weakly. "It's all right, I'm not that good at being comforted."

"We make a good pair, then." With those cryptic words, Nathaniel picked up his pace to speak with Gideon, leaving Anders to wonder whether or not that statement had a double meaning.

There was a loud shout from Oghren, beckoning them into one of the rooms on the east side of the district. Gideon and the others hurried forward, expecting trouble. All they found, however, was Oghren squatting down in front of a large stone tablet.

Gideon scowled, obviously irritated at the false alarm. "What is it?"

"Names," Oghren said. "A whole bunch of 'em."

Sigrun knelt down next to him, reading the legend carved at the top of the tablet: "'May the Stone remember the defenders of Kal'Hirol, who were born casteless and died warriors.' By the Ancestors . . ." She looked up at Gideon. "It's a list of names of the casteless—all the ones who took up arms here to fight the darkspawn. That warrior, Dailan, carved their names into the stone."

"Is that significant?" Nathaniel asked from where he was standing behind Gideon.

Sigrun nodded. "He wanted them to be remembered as members of the warrior caste. That's . . . unheard of. For a casteless to be promoted into a caste. I didn't even know it was possible."

She looked at Gideon imploringly. "We have to show this to someone. It needs to be recorded at the Shaperate in Orzammar."

Anders snorted. "Yeah, I don't think any of our packs are big enough . . ."

Gideon cast him a stern look before turning back to Sigrun. "Unfortunately, he's right. That thing's too heavy for us to carry out of here by ourselves."

Sigrun opened her mouth, most likely to protest, but the Commander cut her off. "I know how important this thing is, and we'll get it out of here, I promise. As soon as we get back to Vigil's Keep, I'll bring some guards out here with a cart to haul it back."

"Can't ask for better than that, lass," Oghren got to his feet. "The Commander'll stick to his word, no doubt about that."

Sigrun nodded as she stood up with him. "All right. I just hope the darkspawn don't do anything to it in the meantime."

"I think they've got more pressing things to concern themselves with," Gideon smiled wryly.

Oghren chuckled. "Aye, they're too busy fighting us and each other to worry about a piece of stone. It'll be safe enough here."

Sigrun nodded, clearly reluctant to leave it, but aware that they had no choice for the time being. "You'll make sure it gets back to Orzammar, right?"

Gideon nodded. "I promise."

oOoOo

The Commander decided to make camp on the other side of a short stone bridge. Anders really, really didn't like the idea of sleeping down there, but everyone was exhausted from hours of nearly non-stop fighting. None of them had any idea of what time it was, but it had been early afternoon when they'd gone into the fortress. It must be past nightfall by now.

Nathaniel constructed a small campfire, stating that he didn't want to make it too large, in case there were still darkspawn roaming around this area. Anders set his tent up as close to the fire as he possibly could, knowing that he'd take at least some comfort from the light that radiated from it.

"I'll take first watch," Gideon said, pulling some dried rations out of his pack. "We'll each take a two-hour shift, so Oghren will go after me, then Nathaniel, then Sigrun."

"What about me?" Anders asked. He hated being on watch, but he didn't feel right being the only one who would get a full night's sleep.

"I'd rather have my healer be fully rested," Gideon said reasonably. "I have a feeling that tomorrow's going to be even longer than today, and that we're going to be relying on your healing magic quite a bit."

Anders nodded reluctantly, it was a sound reason. "All right, but tomorrow night I'm taking first watch, no matter where we are."

Gideon smirked. "I doubt anyone will complain about that."

The five companions ate their meal in relative silence, the weight of this place bearing down on all of them. Nathaniel was the first to turn in, as he would only get a couple of hours of sleep before he had to take watch. Oghren and Sigrun turned in soon after, with Oghren making a hopeful, but misguided, offer to bunk with Sigrun. His reasoning of "sharing warmth" was faulty to say the least, seeing as how the air was growing warmer and warmer as they traveled further into the fortress.

Anders was reluctant to leave the comforting light of the fire, but total exhaustion won out over fear, and he retired to his tent as well, with a word of thanks to Gideon for allowing him to have a full night's sleep.

But sleep didn't come as easily as he'd hoped. He tossed and turned in his bedroll, unable to stop thinking about how stifling this place was. Old memories rose up, but he firmly shut them down. When sleep finally came, it was fitful.

oOoOo

Anders lay in the tiny cell, waiting. He could hear the heavy footsteps advancing towards him, clocking along the stone floor with measured persistence. He huddled into a ball, telling himself over and over that this time he would not scream.

It was a pointless thought, of course. He knew who this Templar was: Wulfric. The worst of a bad lot, he was one of the few Templars who had actually volunteered for duty in the Circle's basement cells. He loved the fact that they were far enough down that no one could hear the prisoners begging and screaming, and the fact that no mage would speak out against his actions…Who would believe a mage over a Templar?

A faint chink of light shone through as the cell door was slowly opened, and then blocked out again as the door slammed shut. Anders didn't speak, knowing that his punishment would be far worse if he did. Wulfric was convinced that Anders was a maleficar, and that any words he spoke were an attempt at enthralling the Templar.

The deep voice spoke slowly as the Templar advanced into the room, "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." Anders felt a hand clamp around his wrist before hurling him to his feet. He bit down hard on his lip as he felt the hard wooden cane smack against his bare back. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," the voice of the Templar rasped. "Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift, and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."

A resounding crack from the cane punctuated each sentence. Dizzy from the pain, Anders felt as though the cell closed in around him and the blackness pressed upon him like a heavy weight. The cane descended once again and Anders could feel the jagged scream being ripped from his throat—

oOoOo

Anders woke inside his tent, breathing harshly. His body was drenched in sweat, and he was shaking hard. It took him a few moments to realize that he wasn't inside his cell in the Circle Tower, but in Kal'Hirol instead. The thought didn't do much to relax him.

He crawled over to the tent flap and pulled it aside, looking out at his surroundings. The glowing fire that had earlier calmed him now felt ominous. Its dim light only served to deepen the shadows hugging the walls. He looked up and saw the jagged ceiling. Gideon had chosen a fairly small space for them to camp in, and the ceiling here wasn't nearly as high as it had been in the main hall.

This is where I'm going to die, Anders thought, as he looked around him. When I'm old and the Taint takes over, I'm going to go down to the Deep Roads to die. Panic welled up inside him, threatening to consume him. Grey Wardens knew when their end was near, Gideon had said. They went down to the Deep Roads, for one last stand against the darkspawn. And while Anders knew that this wasn't the Deep Roads—this was merely a dwarven thaig—it didn't help. He knew it would be similar to this place: no air, no sunlight, the thick stone walls seeming to slowly close in, and hordes of darkspawn descending on him, stealing the last few breaths from his lungs as they piled on top of his body.

Anders felt his gorge rising. He scrambled to his feet and staggered out of the tent and away from the campsite. He barely made it to a small crevice before he began retching, vomiting up his dinner. He flinched when he felt hands in his hair, pulling the loose strands from his face, but his stomach was convulsing too much for him to pull away.

His stomach finally emptied, he sat back on his heels and wiped a hand across his mouth. He looked behind him to see Nathaniel crouched next to him, his face full of worry.

"Are you all right?" Nathaniel asked, not for the first time that day.

Anders nodded. "Yeah." He tried for a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. "Bad dreams."

Nathaniel unhooked his waterskin from his belt and passed it to the mage. A small, but genuine, smile curved Anders' lips. "Thanks." He took a sip, swished the water around in his mouth for a few moments, and then spat it out, clearing his mouth of the foul taste. He took a couple more drinks of the water before handing the skin back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nathaniel asked quietly.

Anders shrugged. "Just a darkspawn dream, no big deal." He wasn't quite sure why he was lying to Nathaniel about his dream—he'd already told the man a little of what life was like in the Circle—but he couldn't bring himself to talk about it. Not down here in the dark, anyway.

Nathaniel got to his feet and held a hand out for Anders to take. "Come sit by the fire," he said, apparently reading Anders' mind again, knowing that Anders was in no hurry to try to sleep. Anders took the proffered hand and stood, following the other man to the campfire.

He was surprised when Nathaniel sat down next to him, rather than on the other side of the fire as Anders would have expected. Still, it wasn't as if he was going to complain. Anders' resolution of forgetting about the other man entirely was slowly being eroded; he only wished he knew what Nathaniel really thought of him.

The rogue didn't push conversation, merely offered his presence if conversation was desired. Anders was content to just sit there, though, watching the odd spark jump from the crackling fire. It felt peaceful to be in Nathaniel's company like this, and Anders didn't know how much time had passed when he finally broke the silence. "I wasn't dreaming about darkspawn," he admitted quietly, the desire to tell Nathaniel the truth overcoming his fear of the dark. "I was dreaming about the Circle, about my time in solitary." Nathaniel nodded, but didn't say anything, which prompted Anders to speak further. "The cells in the Circle were these tiny, enclosed rooms, maybe ten paces across at the widest end." He stared into the fire, remembering that room that he'd spent a year in. "There was no light at all, just complete darkness. And no one to talk to for weeks on end sometimes . . . Until one of the Templars got bored and decided to spend some time teaching me a lesson."

Anders started when Nathaniel reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He recognized it for what it was, though: a comforting gesture from one friend to another. He sighed quietly and leaned against the rogue, resting his head lightly on the other man's shoulder.

"I have nightmares about my father, sometimes," Nathaniel said quietly. "When I was younger, he used to sit me down and lecture me about all of my failings, for hours sometimes. He took great delight in telling me how much of a failure I was, how weak I was. I dream about those lectures . . ." His voice trailed off.

"If it's any consolation, your father was a complete idiot for thinking you were any of those things." Anders smiled up at the rogue.

Nathaniel returned the smile. "I could say the same about the Templars and how they thought you were evil just for being a mage."

That caught Anders by surprise. He lifted his head up to look at the other man more fully. "But I thought you said mages should be controlled."

A casual shrug from Nathaniel. "I was wrong."

"Oh." Anders rested his head against Nathaniel's shoulder again, his smile returning tenfold. "Good." He could feel the quiet chuckle rumbling in Nathaniel's chest and it sent another shiver through him.

They sat there together for a long time, a peaceful silence settling between them. As he absorbed Nathaniel's warmth, Anders felt himself relaxing for the first time since they'd arrived in Kal'Hirol. Soon enough, the sounds of the crackling fire and Nathaniel's quiet breathing lulled Anders to sleep.

oOoOo

The next day was worse than the last as they descended further into the fortress. The passageways were narrow, and the walls were covered in slime and had a strange green luminescence about them. There were also strange pulsing pods on the ground that spewed forth more of those oversized grubs.

The only good thing about the long trek through the narrow halls was Nathaniel. He seemed determined to distract Anders from his claustrophobia as much as possible, talking and even joking with him. Which was a great help when they started descending even further. "How far down does this place go, anyway?" Anders complained.

"All the way." Gideon turned to look at him. "We're not just in Kal'Hirol now. This is the Deep Roads."

Anders shuddered. "Lovely."

Nathaniel was walking close by him at the time, and Anders was surprised when the other man bumped shoulders with him. "Don't worry, Mage. It'll be fine." He smiled at Anders reassuringly. Anders found himself returning the smile, something that was becoming easier and easier to do.

The ground finally started evening out, and they arrived at a long corridor that seemed to stretch forever. With each step, Gideon grew tenser. "We're getting close, I can feel it."

"Gettin' close to what?" Oghren asked.

"Something nasty, I'd wager," Nathaniel commented dryly.

He was right, of course. They made their way down the corridor and into a large chamber at the end. When they arrived at the entryway, Gideon threw out his arm to hold everyone back. Anders craned his head to see what was going on, and the sight nearly caused him to wet himself.

Standing in the center of the room was an enormous fiery golem, but it wasn't alone. It had one of those disciples clenched in one of its large paws, while another disciple was on the ground watching. The disciple on the ground spoke. "The Architect sends many," it growled up at the caught disciple, "but he does not come himself. He is a coward. He knows that the Mother will tear him apart." It paced the floor casually. "The Mother will destroy all in her path, starting with you." He made a slashing motion with his hand, which must have been some sort of command to the golem. With no apparent effort, it grasped the disciple in its hold with both hands and tore it apart as if it were a Feast Day cracker.

"Maker's breath!" Anders exclaimed. He flinched away as the remaining disciple turned its attention on them. "I can smell you." Its focus seemed to be mostly on Gideon. "But you are no darkspawn." Anders groaned as he saw it grab the staff it had slung on its back. Maker, how he hated darkspawn spellcasters. "You do not serve the mother," the disciple rasped, "so you must be serving the Architect. The Mother would demand that you die!"

The battle was the most grueling thing that Anders had ever experienced, and there were several times when he was sure they were done for. Between the huge fireballs the disciple was throwing and the fire radiating from the golem, Gideon and Oghren stayed engulfed in flames nearly the entire time, leaving Anders struggling to keep them healed. Fortunately, Nathaniel and Sigrun were doing a good job of keeping out of the fray, at least, so all Anders had to do was cast the occasional shields on them just in case. Sigrun continued to impress Anders with her rogue skills, flitting in and out of the battle with her dual weapons, stabbing at the disciple from behind as often as she could.

When they were finally victorious, Anders sat down hard on the floor, completely exhausted. He waved away Nathaniel's look of concern, mumbling that he just needed to rest for a moment. His stock of lyrium potions was nearly depleted. He pulled out one of his last ones and, with a sigh, chugged it down.

"That thing was guarding the broodmothers," Sigrun said. "They're nearby, I know it."

Gideon nodded. "Just through there." He gestured to the doorway leading into the next room. "We need to finish this."

Everyone chimed their agreement as Anders got shakily to his feet. "Let's go," he said, with more confidence than he felt.

The next room wasn't actually that big—except for the large hole in the middle, of course. Anders stepped a little closer to the edge and looked down, much as he had at the chasm leading to this damnable place. What he saw below made him almost wish that he was back on that rickety bridge; that had been child's play compared to the terrifying sight below him. Though he'd never seen a broodmother before, he knew instinctively that that was what these were: four huge, slavering, slightly female figures, each with about a dozen nipples lining their flabby chests—perfect for nurturing hundreds of newly formed darkspawn. "Maker, those things are ugly," he exclaimed, his voice filled with disgust.

"We're not going to ask them out on a date," Gideon grunted. "We're going to kill them." He pointed up towards the ceiling. There, hanging from four huge chains was a giant spiked ball. Anders wasn't sure what it was exactly, but Gideon's intentions were clear enough as he pointed out the pillars each chain was attached to: break the chains and the ball would fall on the broodmothers, hopefully crushing them.

Just then, a huge tentacle burst up out of the floor, knocking Anders to the ground. He rolled aside instinctively, just as another burst up right where he'd been lying. Gideon and Oghren hacked them apart easily enough, but more kept rising up.

"Get to the chains!" Gideon bellowed. "Anders, watch our backs!" Anders nodded as he began hurling frost spells at the tentacles, freezing them. Each of the other party members made their way to the separate chains. At Gideon's command, they hacked away at the chains simultaneously, Anders desperately trying to keep the tentacles from attacking his companions.

A loud groan emanated from the ceiling, and then the enormous ball dropped. A huge crashing sound and a flare of light indicated it had landed on the floor far below. The broodmothers let out several hideous screeches before falling silent.

Oghren sidled over to the edge. "Flat as pancakes!" He let out a large bellow of laughter. Everyone else let out an audible, almost simultaneous sigh of relief.

Gideon removed his helmet and leaned against a nearby pillar. Everyone took that as a cue to rest and they all sat down, drinking from their waterskins and trying to get their breath back.

Gideon looked at Sigrun speculatively. "You're a damn good fighter."

Sigrun grinned at him. "Thanks. I'm just glad I got to help. After everyone else died, I was sure we'd failed." Her expression grew sad. "At least now, their deaths weren't in vain."

"What will you do now?" Gideon asked her.

She shrugged. "Disappear into the Deep Roads again . . . kill darkspawn and die alone and unnoticed." She didn't seem particularly disturbed by this grim fate.

"You should come with us."

Sigrun stared at Gideon, surprised. "What? Be a Grey Warden?" Gideon nodded. "Is that even possible?" she asked. "I'm a member of the Legion, I'm not sure if I can be a Warden, too."

Gideon chuckled. "You're a dead woman walking. I don't see why you should have to play by the rules. Besides, you'll still be fighting darkspawn, and you'll still get to die."

"True," Sigrun mused. She appeared to think for a few moments. "All right, I'll do it."

Gideon smiled at her. "Good. I have a feeling we'll need every Grey Warden we can get." He stood up again. "Those darkspawn were taking sides against each other." He frowned. "I think we're caught between two different factions of darkspawn, and I don't like that idea one bit. It means they're smarter than we thought."

"So what do we do?" Nathaniel asked, getting to his feet as well.

Gideon chuckled wryly. "We kill the sons of bitches."

Oghren bellowed laughter. "Sounds good to me!"

"Good. Then let's get going." Gideon set off towards a nearby passageway that led, mercifully, upwards. "We've got a lot more to do, I'd wager."

Anders wasn't entirely sure about the idea of having to face more stuff like this, but he was more than ready to leave this place. And by the looks of relief on the others' faces, they were, too. He stood up shakily, feeling a little sick; the near-constant use of magic in the last hour had completely drained him.

"You all right?" Nathaniel asked, his voice soft so that no one else could hear.

Anders grimaced. "Not really," he admitted, surprising himself with the honest answer. "It takes a lot out of you, using so much magic in such a short time."

Nathaniel nodded sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do?"

Anders nettled at the question, exhaustion making him a little irritable. "I'm not completely helpless, you know. I am capable of taking care of myself sometimes."

Nathaniel looked at him nonplussed. "I know that, Anders. I just . . . have a tendency to be protective of . . ." he seemed to falter for a moment, "my friends."

Anders stared at him in surprise, completely caught off guard; he had no idea how to respond to that. "Oh," he finally managed. "That's all right, then." Unsure of what else to do, he placed a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He turned and headed towards the exit before he could see the rogue's reaction to the impromptu gesture.