Merrill unslung Anders' staff from her back and passed it to him wordlessly before unslinging her own; he took it with a nod of thanks, glad to have it back in his hands once more. Both mages called up power into shimmering balls of fire that snaked around their upraised hands like sinuous, glowing things, flames dancing and flickering over the mages' skin, the air above them wavering with heat shimmer in the cool mountain air. Hawke stood between them, smiling sinisterly as he beckoned the hunters forward. Behind them, the dwarf stood sentinel over the unconscious elf.

The Dalish elves looked at each other uncertainly.

"What are you waiting for?" snarled Kuriel. "There are only four of them!"

"It's the Champion," murmured one of the others.

"He brought us Feynriel," argued another. "The lad's like a sister's son to me now, I can't go against his saviour!"

"He has the favour of Asha'bellanar," added a third, others nodding agreement.

Kuriel turned on them in fury. "Are you all spineless dogs, that you would cower before a mere shemlen?" he spat in disgust.

"Wise is he who keeps the friendship of one favoured by Asha'bellanar," said a soft lilting voice from behind the hunters, who parted and drew back as the Keeper Marethari approached, her gaze fixed upon Kuriel. "And foolish indeed is he who sets himself against superior forces. Kuriel, you would pledge yourself to a conflict you cannot hope to win."

The other hunters slowly began to back away as Kuriel turned to confront Marethari. "Keeper, they harbour a werewolf! Once more, that one-" he spun and jabbed an accusatory finger at Merrill, who gasped, "- would bring taint among us!"

"The Champion's companion is no threat to the Dalish," replied Marethari calmly. "He is certainly no cause for you to throw your life away over. We must mourn your brother Tolwen - must we also be lessened by your loss to this foolishness, Kuriel?"

"T-Tolwen?" stammered Kuriel, the colour draining from his face as the sword dropped from his hand. "Keeper, no, please -"

Her eyes held a world of sympathy for him as she regarded him in silence. Kuriel clutched his head and cried out, a wordless utterance of pain; gently, Marethari drew him to her and embraced him as he wept.

Forgotten behind him, Anders let the magic go, shaking off the last vestiges of the flames as he lowered his staff; Merrill had already dropped her spell at the sound of the Keeper's voice. Anders flinched visibly as Kuriel cried out his grief, then turned away. Varric patted him awkwardly on one feathered shoulder as he dropped to his knees beside Fenris. He reached out for the elf's hand and held it between his own, staring down at the silvery-white lines of lyrium branded into the skin.

"Anders?" murmured Hawke as he sheathed his blade.

"I'm fine," Anders responded dully.

Varric snorted. "Sure you are, Blondie; and I'm a nug's uncle."

"I can see the resemblance," he responded, though his heart wasn't really in the banter. He was cold, exhausted, hungry and he still had yet to deal with the rest of Fenris' wounds. He just wanted the day to be over, to curl up in a decent bed, to be warm, fed, safe, and able to sleep for once without fear of templars or mad Dalish hunters or wolves or anything else. Just for one night.

"Blondie." He realised Varric had been trying to attract his attention for some minutes, he raised his head and blinked; the Keeper Marethari was kneeling opposite him and looking at him sympathetically across Fenris' body.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. She gave him a sad smile.

"You have had a long, hard journey, young man. Come. I will treat and heal your friend, so you may go and rest. I will have food sent to the guest aravel for you all." She gestured to him to rise.

"No - I mean, thank you, I -" He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly all too acutely aware of how exhausted he was. "I can heal him, I-"

"Anders." Hawke laid a hand on his other shoulder, then bent down and hauled the mage to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. "You're nearly dead on your feet. Let the Keeper and her people heal Fenris. You've done enough for one day."

"I know," murmured Anders, thinking of Kuriel and his brother.

He did not argue further but instead let Hawke lead him away as the Keeper gestured to her assistants who gathered up the unconscious Fenris and bore him away. Anders watched until they had disappeared between the aravels, then let his gaze fall to the ground, trusting to Hawke to guide him.

He stumbled as he climbed the steps to the aravel, Hawke's hand instantly at his elbow to catch him. He grunted thanks, and made straight for the nearest bed, dropping his pack and Fenris' on the ground before leaning his staff against the wall before dropping onto the bed. It was a simple low cot; it had been built for an elf, and with his taller frame Anders' feet dangled over the end of the bed but he didn't care. It was soft, and clean, and it meant he didn't have to move any further.

He was asleep in minutes.

.

.

.

Fenris stirred. He could hear low voices, murmuring words he couldn't quite understand. There was a strange, metallic taste in his mouth; he recognised the lingering touch of magic, the familiar faint buzz in his skin, tingling and itching where the lyrium responded to its kiss. He lay still, trying to work out where he was. The magic felt... different, somehow; he knew on some innate level that it wasn't Anders' doing.

"Ah, so you have returned to us, child," lilted a soft gentle voice. The Keeper.He opened his eyes and glanced up at her as she leaned over him.

"Where -" he began, voice husky and rough.

"You are in the camp of our people upon Sundermount. Your companions and the Champion are nearby and resting, and when you are ready you may return to them," she answered placidly.

He levered himself up on his elbows and stared down at his body, lifting a hand to trace his fingers over where the first arrow had lodged in his lung, The skin was smooth, only a circular ripple in the skin betraying where it had been.

"You were gravely injured," remarked Marethari. "We feared for a little while that we might lose you, but your companion, the blond mage, is a talented healer and had dealt with the worst of your wounds."

"Where is he?" asked Fenris as he sat up and glanced around for his clothes. He could hardly go wandering off through the Dalish encampment in just his smallclothes.

"He is sleeping still," replied Marethari as a young male elf with his auburn hair in braids brought over his clothing, neatly folded, and presented it to the white-haired warrior. "Trevaryn here will show you to him when you are dressed. Food will be brought to you all shortly."

"I... thank you," replied Fenris quietly as he accepted his clothes with a nod.

The Keeper and her assistant left him to dress. When he emerged from behind the curtained door of the aravel shortly after, Trevaryn was waiting for him.

"This way," the auburn-haired elf indicated with a jerk of his head before setting off, not looking back to see if he was following. Fenris tagged along behind, glancing about himself curiously as they made their way between the aravels. He was aware of eyes watching him, whispers from doorways. He was aware of an undercurrent of tension around him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. He caught the sour scent of fear on the air, both from the elf leading him and from others.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked politely.

"Many think you should not have been allowed into the camp," replied Trevaryn, not glancing round.

"I thought the Champion was regarded as a friend to the Dalish?"

Trevaryn paused and glanced at him, a cold look in his grey eyes. "The Champion, yes. You however are another matter." He turned and walked on.

"Have I somehow caused offense to the Dalish?" asked Fenris cautiously, a chill running down his spine as he began to notice hostile stares being directed towards him. Trevaryn suddenly stopped and span on his heel to glare at him.

"Because of you, Tolwen is dead! The Keeper may welcome your kind, but you will find few other friends amongst the Dalish! You are accursed, werewolf, and the sooner you are gone from here the better!"

Fenris regarded him silently, his expression neutral. After a few minutes in which Trevaryn glared at him in open hostility, Fenris clenched his hands into fists and then deliberately relaxed them.

"I cannot help what I am," he said quietly. "Do you truly think I would choose this of my own free will?"

"You should not have come!" insisted Trevaryn. "You and all your kind are abominations that taint everything you touch! You would spread your filthy taint to our people!"

Fenris recoiled. "I... an abomination?" he whispered. "I... Itaint everything?" He was stunned. Had he not thrown those words at the mage on more than one occasion? Had he not used that very same tone of voice, dripping with venomous derision?

Had Anders felt this same empty void within himself as he sought for words to defend his very existence?

"I will find my own way from here," he murmured quietly as he walked past the Keeper's assistant.

He was even more acutely aware of the stares, more open now as elves came to the doors of their aravels or paused their conversations to turn and watch him silently as he passed. Some merely stared in open curiosity, whilst others were clearly hostile. He followed the scent of Hawke and the others to a smaller aravel on the outskirts of the camp and approached it thankfully.

He paused at the foot of the stairs leading up into the aravel. A dark-haired Dalish hunter sat waiting on the top step; his eyes were red-rimmed, and as Fenris glanced up at him he recognised him with a shock as being the elf who had shot him. Kuriel lifted his head and glared at him as he rose to his feet.

"You!" hissed the elf, stalking slowly down the steps towards him. "You are the reason my brother is dead!"

"Your brother was Tolwen," guessed Fenris. "I did not kill him. He tried to kill me."

"He is dead because of you!" insisted Kuriel. "Murderer!"

"I have no quarrel with you," rumbled Fenris, growing irritated. "I am here peaceably. I meant you no harm; it was you who made the first move."

"And I shall make the last, beast!" retorted Kuriel heatedly as the curtain covering the door was suddenly thrown aside and Hawke poked his head outside to see what all the noise was.

"Is there a problem, Fenris?" he asked, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword as Kuriel jerked around, eyes widening slightly before his expression darkened. He jabbed a finger towards Fenris.

"This is not over, abomination!" he hissed as he stalked away.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at Fenris, who shook his head as he mounted the steps. Hawke stepped aside and held the curtain open as the elf ducked inside, then followed him in.

Fenris glanced around the inside of the aravel. Varric and Merrill both looked up as he entered.

"Good to see you back on your feet, Elf!" greeted Varric, as Merrill gave him a cheerful smile.

"It is... good to be back on my feet," replied Fenris. He was interrupted by a quiet snore and glanced around.

"Blondie's still out for the count," explained Varric as Fenris approached the sleeping mage. Anders was sprawled on his stomach on one of the small cots, his feet dangling comically over the end of the mattress, his arms folded beneath the pillow his face was snuggled into. He was still fully dressed, and filthy dirty - his clothes still dusty from the talus slope, dried blood still flaking from the side of his face and caking in his loose hair which was scattered over his pillow and shoulders. Fenris leaned down and gently brushed the hair away from the sleeping man's face.

Hawke walked over to his side and stood beside the elf, looking down at the sleeping mage. "What's going on, Fenris?" he asked quietly.

"It is complicated," replied Fenris tersely. Hawke gave him a sidelong glance and lifted an eyebrow at him. Fenris returned his stare uncomfortably, then seated himself carefully on the edge of the small cot next to the unconscious Anders.

"It is difficult to spend several days in close company with someone and not have it affect how you... feel about someone," he remarked quietly. "I had been... re-examining some of my feelings regarding the mage. And circumstances have... forced a new perspective also."

"Oh boy, I just bet they have," remarked Varric. "You just know Rivaini's going to have a field day with this when we get back. I can see the friend fic already writing itself!"

Fenris turned and glared at the dwarf, who raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Hey, I'm only telling it like it is, Elf. You know how Isabela is."

"Anders said he was just grateful to you for saving his life," said Hawke. Fenris glanced down at the sleeping Anders.

"Grateful?" he mused. Hawke frowned. Was that a note of... disappointment in the white-haired elf's voice?

"He certainly seemed grateful," remarked Merrill. "If the lightning bolt and fireball he threw at Kuriel's brother was anything to go by. He seemed very angry. Especially when Kuriel wanted Hawke to hand you over so he could kill you and he thought Hawke was going to do it." Fenris' head jerked up and she coloured. "Oh. Um. I probably shouldn't have told you that bit. Pretend I didn't say anything."

Fenris stared up at Hawke.

"There was never any danger of us handing you over," Hawke reassured him. "I'd slaughter the whole clan before I'd let them take you. I rather got the impression Anders took the same view. What was it he said to Kuriel's brother when we found them, Varric?"

"I believe the precise words were, 'Over my dead body', Hawke," replied the dwarf, then chuckled. "Your face is a real picture, Elf."

Fenris coloured slightly and glanced away. "I believe the Keeper said she would have food sent to us," he said uncomfortably in an effort to change the subject.

"What are you going to tell him when he wakes up?" asked Varric as Hawke wandered over to the door to peer out.

"I don't see that that is any of your concern," he replied coolly.

"Well, you'd better work it out now, before he decides you're none of his. Blondie's not one to hang around forever waiting for a sign," remarked the dwarf, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. "Leave him guessing too long and he might just fall for some other big strong warrior type with a bigger sword." He winked then turned away.