Following their walk around the camp, Bethany and Varric sat beside the fire, where they chatted pleasantly with some of the Dalish. Although a few members of the clan were wary of their guests, the majority were polite at the very least, and a handful – notably the younger elves – were fascinated to see a human and a dwarf together, and bombarded the couple with questions.

Bethany had chosen her spot for a reason: she had a clear view of Fletcher's tent from where she and Varric sat, and had seen Fenris leave hurriedly only a few minutes earlier. She allowed a faint hope to enter her heart, though, when Fenris had remained in the camp. Although she felt desperately sad for both men, and longed to offer them her counsel, she thought it best to leave them alone for a while; a sentiment that was echoed by Varric, who had said very little on the matter so far, but Bethany knew he was keeping an eye on things.

Anders had fallen quiet earlier and now sat on his own, a distance away from the main group. Bethany also kept a close eye on him, although when she noticed him talking to himself, she stopped glancing in his direction, not wanting to draw attention to him.

The Dalish shared their supper with the couple, and, wanting to reciprocate, Bethany and Varric shared their dried rations among the group. Soon, another song was called for, and, while they didn't know the words, they smiled and clapped, although Bethany's smile was a little forced.

With supper over, Bethany assisted in cleaning up, while Varric attempted to widen his network by informing several Dalish of sure-fire investment opportunities that only he was privy to. After a good-natured but firm warning from Hahren Paival, he shrugged his shoulders and decided to take another walk around the camp, but was surprised when the Hahren called him back and took him aside.

"Your friend," the clan elder said quietly with a nod toward Anders, who seemed to be having a heated conversation with himself. "He appears…troubled. Is he well?"

Varric groaned and glanced over to Hawke's tent, shaking his head. "Youngsters these days…they seem to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Don't mind Blondie: he wouldn't hurt a fly. Best to leave him be; I'll keep an eye on him."

With a nod, Paival bade Varric goodnight, and the dwarf once again sat next to the fire while he waited for Bethany to return, ensuring he had a good view of Anders, Master Ilan's store and Hawke's tent.

~o~O~o~

"You have not only let yourself down, Anders, but you have disappointed me, also. I had thought you better than this."

"Look! He wanted to come down the mountain. I didn't force him!"

"I sensed your glee when it became apparent that Hawke would confess his status as a maleficar to the elf. From that point onward, your spirits brightened and you made no effort to dissuade Hawke, even though, as a healer, you knew a journey down the mountain would be perilous for him. You placed him in danger."

"Even his own sister said that he would have taken off on his own! How much danger do you think he would have been in, then?"

"Even now, you persist in lying to yourself. Do not presume that you can lie to me. I see into your heart, Anders. You placed the wellbeing of one who will someday be very important to us beneath that of your desire to gloat at the elf's distress. Do not forget, Anders, that Hawke is equally distressed."

"You can't blame me for that! They would have been distressed wherever it had happened! Hawke should have told him from the start, anyway. And it's hardly my fault that Fenris can't see past the end of his own nose, is it? Who was there for Hawke when he fell ill? When Fenris went off in a huff?"

"Even then, your motives were not as pure as you would delude yourself into believing. You took great pleasure in reminding the elf of that fact, and you offered him no sympathy whatsoever."

"Sympathy? You think I should have been sympathetic to Fenris after he dumped Hawke – who was critically injured, I'll remind you – to go off for a sulk?"

"The elf was not aware of the extent of Hawke's injuries. You are aware of this fact. I do not see why you continue to deceive yourself. You endangered Hawke by allowing your personal feelings to interfere. And yet, you knew you had done wrong. I felt it when the elf spoke to you not long ago. You continue to err, yet you learn nothing from your mistakes. You must be stronger, Anders. You are no longer the man I once knew and I fear for you."

"You-you fear for me?"

"This is the third similar conversation we have had and still you have no desire to rise above yourself, to be a better man. Soon, we will put what we have discussed into action. At that time, you must be stronger than all else who surround you, or you will surely fall, and everything we have worked for will fail."

Anders drew his knees up and rested his elbows against them, his chin on his hands. "All right. I can see what you're trying to say. What do you want me to do, then?"

"You must make amends to Hawke and the elf."

"And…how do you suggest I do that?"

"You will assist them in their time of need. Make them see that they function better as a unit than separately."

"Wait…you want me to help them get back together?"

"Your personal feelings do not enter into this. What you think of the elf is irrelevant; Hawke will not function well without him at his side. You must be seen to be gracious. To revel in their misfortune is beneath you. You must be a friend to both of them. Be the better man, Anders."

"I-I don't know if I can do that."

"You must. I will say no more on this matter. Do not continue to let yourself down, Anders."

"Let myself down, or disappoint you?" Anders asked, but no further answers were forthcoming from Justice. Feeling uneasy at the spirit's unusually-stern tone, he drew his knees closer to his chest and watched as the Dalish began to drift toward their tents for the night. Next, he looked over at Hawke's tent; the light within had cast a silhouette of his friend against one side of the tent, and Hawke hadn't moved at all since Fenris's hasty departure. He remained in the same position: sitting on the edge of the cot, his hands in his lap and his head bowed.

With a sigh, Anders pushed himself up and walked over to Hawke's tent. "I'll be a friend to both of them if I must, but I'm a friend to Hawke first."

Hawke glanced up, a brief hope in his eyes as Anders entered the tent, before the hope quickly waned and Hawke once again lowered his head, releasing a long sigh.

"If you've come to tell me I'm better off without him, don't bother," Hawke said, sounding angrier than he'd intended.

Anders slowly walked over to the stool, moved it a little further away from Hawke and sat down. "I wasn't. I just want you to know I'm here."

Hawke nodded, feeling a little guilty, but not so guilty he felt the need to apologise. Although he rarely put stock in anything Synia said to him, something in her warning about Anders had unnerved him, and he wondered if there was an ulterior motive for Anders's concern. "Is Fenris all right? Has anyone spoken to him?" he asked without looking up.

"He sodded off…I mean, he went behind the craftsman's store. I think we've all just left him to it."

"He didn't leave, then," Hawke whispered, a faraway look in his eyes.

"No, he didn't," replied Anders flatly.

"Surprised?" Hawke sniped, and Anders took a slow, deep breath, reining in his irritation. The last thing he'd expected Fenris to do was stay put.

"Well, if I'm honest, yes," he answered with a shrug. "After what happened with Hadriana…"

"You're not still harping on about that, are you?" Hawke's tone was frosty, accusatory, and Anders, remembering how prickly Hawke could be when upset, swallowed down his own hurt.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I'm not helping. I'm a bloke; we're not very good at stuff like this, are we?"

Hawke ran his hand through his hair and groaned. "No…I'm sorry, Anders. Look, I'm probably not the best company at the moment."

"That's all right, Hawke. Like I said, I'm here for you, bad company or not. Talk to me. Get it off your chest."

There was a soothing, gentle quality to Anders's voice. Hawke knew it well: it was a healer's voice, the same one he used with frightened or high-strung patients. Despite Hawke's misgivings about Anders, he began to relax a little, and, coupled with his need to confide in someone, he fairly blurted his words out. "Oh, Anders…I want to go to him, try and talk to him, but every time I go to get up, my legs won't work."

"Well, maybe that's telling you it may not be a good idea. Not yet, anyway. I think you'd both benefit from a bit of space at the moment," Anders counselled.

"I don't want space. I want to be with him. I want…Maker, Anders, I love him. I can't-I can't believe I've made such a mess of everything. I've hurt him, destroyed his trust. I would rather he left me than to have done that to him."

For a while, Anders said nothing. Hawke had been correct: Anders did believe that Hawke was better off without Fenris, and his declaration of love for the elf had stung him, but he recalled Justice's words and repeated them over and over in his head.

You must be seen to be gracious. Be the better man.

"If you love him, Hawke, then you can't give up on him," Anders said, barely able to believe what he was saying.

Hawke raised his head a little. "You think?"

Anders nodded, feeling a crushing weariness settle over him. "You need to make him see that the two of you are better as a unit than separate," he advised, repeating Justice's words. "And you need to make him understand that not all blood mages are inherently evil. He's gotten to know you, and I think deep down he realises that. He's just hurt at the moment. He'll come round, I think, but you need to help him."

Feeling awful for doubting Anders, Hawke sighed and reached for one of his hands, giving it a squeeze. "I-I didn't expect you to say something like that. You're a true friend."

The ugly feeling Anders had experienced earlier swelled inside him again, and he squeezed Hawke's hand back before gently releasing it. "You-you're welcome."

"Maybe tomorrow, when we're home," Hawke said quietly, a deep frown knotting his brow. "I don't think he'll want to talk to me just yet."

Anders nodded again, and they sat together, saying no more.

~o~O~o~

"Fenris?"

The elf looked up sharply and scrambled to his feet, uncertainty in his eyes as he took a step back.

"I hope I didn't startle you," said Bethany softly. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."

Fenris said nothing, not taking his eyes off Bethany once. She cautiously stepped closer and lifted her robe a little as she went to sit on the ground.

"Wait," Fenris instructed, and he looked around, his eyes settling on the large square of fabric that covered Master Ilen's counter. He removed it and warily passed it to Bethany. "The ground is damp," he told her.

"Thank you, Fenris," she said warmly, and, placing the fabric onto the wet grass, she sat down upon it. "You're a gentleman. Varric didn't think to do that."

Fenris nodded curtly and remained standing.

"Won't you sit with me?" she asked. "You're more than welcome to sit on this," she said, pointing at the cloth, "although…"

"I am fine where I am, but thank you," he replied, and slowly sat down on the ground, several feet away from her.

Bethany noticed the look in Fenris's eyes and was reminded of the way he'd looked at her when they'd first met. "In case you're wondering, Fenris, I'm not a blood mage. It's up to you whether you believe that or not."

"Your brother did not profess to being a blood mage, either," he replied tightly.

"You're right; he didn't. I know he kept the truth from you, but, if you'd asked him directly, he wouldn't have lied to you, Fenris."

"And you expect me to believe that?" he scoffed.

"Yes."

Fenris shook his head incredulously. "Your brother-"

"His name is Fletcher."

"Your brother kept the truth from me; you have just said as much. That is the same as lying. He knew my feelings about blood magic – blood mages – and he-he…he pursued me still; he led me to believe that…"

"That he loves you? Well, he does. So can you understand why it was so difficult for him to tell you?"

"Many things are difficult, Bethany. That does not mean we should avoid them. Being honourable is not easy but that does not mean-"

"You will not imply that Fletcher is a dishonourable man again, Fenris. I know you're hurt, but so is he. You have no idea how hard it was for him to tell you. You have no idea of the sacrifices he's made because of one stupid mistake. You have no idea what he did for my family when Father died. He was sixteen and he was suddenly the head of the family. He had to look after Mother, who fell apart, as well as Carver and I, and we weren't much better. He was strong for us. He's a good man and I owe him everything, and I will not sit here and listen to you besmirch his character!"

Bethany stopped and turned away slightly, shocked at how emotional she'd become. Fenris's eyes fell to the ground, and he found himself at a loss, never before having seen Bethany so riled.

"He's a good man," she reiterated in a softer tone, turning to face Fenris again. "All I want is for him to be happy; Maker knows he's been through the mill and he deserves it. He's the happiest I've ever seen him since he met you, Fenris. And I know he makes you happy, as well. I just don't want either of you to throw that away because of something that happened over eleven years ago; something that Fletcher had regretted every day of his life since. Shouldn't he be given a second chance? Don't we all deserve that?"

"I…meant no offence," mumbled Fenris, his eyes still fixed on the ground.

"I know," Bethany sighed. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I've just been worried about him…as have you. Did Fletcher tell you? How he acquired…?"

"No." Fenris shook his head, his expression hardening. "It does not matter how-"

"It does matter," insisted Bethany, "and I'm going to tell you."

"I do not wish-"

"You're going to hear it whether you want to or not," Bethany said firmly. "If I'm correct, your good manners prevent you from rising until I do. So we're both going to sit here, and you are going to listen to me."

"You are as stubborn as your brother," said Fenris shortly.

"I'm more stubborn," she proclaimed, and shifted into a more comfortable position. "In Lothering, our farm neighboured the Bradshaws' farm. Their parents were good friends with mine, and me, Fletcher and Carver played with their kids. We all grew up together."

She glanced at Fenris to make sure he was listening.

"It was a poorly-kept secret in the village that three apostates resided at our house," she went on, "but the Templars didn't have a clue; the other villagers knew us and didn't care, and the Bradshaws' farm was right on the edge of the village. Occasionally, the Templars would ride through, and one of the Bradshaw kids would be sent running over to warn us. It was usually Dalton; he was the fastest runner, and he was friends with my brothers, but was especially close to Fletcher."

Fenris's expression remained unchanged, but he did appear to be listening.

"Dalton used to get picked on by some of the older kids in the village," she continued. "He was a very shy boy and only really ever opened up to Fletcher. Fletcher even had suspicions at one point that Dalton was a mage, but Dalton always denied it. He was troubled by something, though; I can see that clearly now I'm older. At the time, though, it just seemed…normal.

"Fletcher and Carver used to chase the bullies off most of the time, but now and again Dalton would show up with fresh bruises and cuts. We all knew who the culprit was: Langston Harding," she recalled sourly. "He came from a rough family on the other side of the village. He really seemed to have it in for poor Dalton, but I think he did it to wind up Fletcher and Carver; I suspect he was jealous of their popularity."

Bethany shifted and sighed, again checking that Fenris was paying attention. "It was around that time that Fletcher confided in me. I…had an idea, anyway, that he preferred men over women, but he confirmed it when he told me that he had feelings for Dalton. He was very confused about it and felt it was wrong; Mother was always going on about how we'd all get married and give her loads of grandchildren. Fletcher felt that that was what he was supposed to do, and that he'd let Mother and Father down by having those kind of feelings."

Bethany noticed a frown form on Fenris's brow.

"Fletcher started avoiding Dalton, believing that if he didn't see him, then he'd forget about him, but, of course, he couldn't. One night, we heard yelling coming from Fletcher and Carver's bedroom. We all rushed in and found Fletcher huddled in a corner, and Carver was bent over him, fretting. Apparently, he'd had a terrible nightmare, but it wasn't until a long time after that I knew what it had been about."

Fenris straightened up and his eyes narrowed a little. "His demon had visited him?"

"A demon, yes," Bethany corrected. "She wasn't his yet, if you see what I mean. Well, what happened was…" She shook her head and closed her eyes for a second before opening them again. "She'd visited Fletcher in the Fade, having taken on Dalton's form. She…seduced him, Fenris. Fletcher thought it was a dream so he did nothing to stop it. It wasn't until afterwards that the demon showed itself. Fletcher was terrified. He'd been visited before – we both had – but Father had instructed us what to do. However, Fletcher had had no idea that demons could assume other people's forms.

"Apparently, she offered to teach him mind control, which would mean that he could persuade Dalton, or any other, to have sex with him; to do anything he wanted, in fact. Fletcher refused, Fenris. He absolutely refused. Fletcher would never use mind control on anyone."

"So…he accepted an alternative offer?"

Bethany's head fell back and she massaged the nape of her neck. "He didn't hear from the demon again until a few days later. There was a commotion outside, and we saw two men carrying a lad over to the Bradshaws'. Fletcher and I went out to see who it was."

"It was the boy?" asked Fenris.

Bethany nodded. "It was Dalton. It turned out that Langston had been insulting Fletcher and Dalton had stood up to him. The bastard beat him to a pulp. We ran inside to fetch Father, who told the two men to bring Dalton inside. Father and Fletcher worked on him while I was sent over to the Bradshaw farm to get his parents. Dalton was in a bad way."

"And…did he die?"

"No. Fletcher and Father saved him. Fletcher swore he'd get even, but, back then, Fletcher was a fifteen-year old mage and Langston was eighteen, and built like a brick shithouse. He was always threatening to run to the Templars, and he held that over Fletcher, so Fletcher knew he couldn't just turn up at his house and pick a fight."

"So, he sought out the demon."

"No, she sought him out. She told him that she could fix it so Langston would never harm Dalton or anyone ever again. Fletcher was so angry, and felt so helpless, and I'm certain she picked right up on that. This time, he accepted. He told her that he didn't want anyone killed, though, and that it would only be a one-time thing. She told him that her services didn't come without a price, though. Maker, Fletcher…"

Fenris sat bolt upright. "What was the price?"

"Fletcher."

"What do you mean?" Fenris demanded.

"She-she said she would come for him at a later time…on his fiftieth birthday, to be precise."

"She will come for him? Do you mean she will take possession of him?"

Bethany nodded sadly.

Fenris quickly pushed himself to his feet, turned his back to Bethany and dragged his fingers through his hair. Bethany could see the tension building in his shoulders and braced herself for a fierce reaction.

"Of all the irresponsible, reckless…!" Fenris slowly turned around and Bethany was dismayed at the look in his eyes: equal parts terror and fury. "Does he have no conception of what will…?" He blinked, realising he was raising his voice, and took a few breaths. Bethany could see that he was shaking and didn't know whether anger, fear or something else was causing it. "Does he not realise what he will become?" Fenris asked, although he knew that both Bethany and Fletcher must be painfully aware of the answer. "He will-will…an…abomination…" Fenris once again turned his back on Bethany and shook his head repeatedly. Slowly, she got to her feet but did not approach him.

"Fenris…Fletcher plans on taking his own life well before his fiftieth birthday."

She heard the rapid expulsion of air from his lungs and he leaned heavily against the counter, feeling like he'd taken a blow to the chest. "He-he…?"

"He's always known that's what he'll have to do," she replied, her voice wavering. "He has no intention of sticking to their deal, of letting her possess him. I suppose, in that respect, he is being dishonourable, but it's for an honourable reason."

Fenris stood in stunned silence, barely able to take it all in. Bethany watched him carefully and waited until his breathing had slowed.

"Do you see now, Fenris, that not all deals of this kind are made with the acquisition of power in mind?" she asked him, taking a few hesitant steps closer. "Fletcher made the deal because he wanted to protect someone who was dear to him. Yes, he was misguided. Yes, he was stupid. But he was fifteen, Fenris, and had fallen in love for the first time in his life. Don't underestimate how powerful that can be. He would have done anything to keep Dalton safe, even pay the ultimate price."

"Fifty?" Fenris whispered, and turned around to face Bethany. "Is there nothing that can be done?"

She shook her head. "The demon wasn't stupid. Fletcher's powers are suspended while he's in her domain. He can't touch her. And Maker knows I've tried to enter. She's made his life hell, and I'd love nothing more than to shut her up for good, but I can't get anywhere near her. Obviously, we can't go to the Circle or the Chantry. They'd either execute him or make him tranquil. He's stuck with her."

Feeling weary, Bethany sat back down and, after several minutes of silent pacing, Fenris joined her, this time sitting on the square of fabric, but still maintaining a distance of a few feet.

"This…demon…took advantage of him," Fenris said after a while. "Violated him."

"Yes, I suppose you could call it rape," she answered plainly, and then, seeing him flinch at her words, she recalled Hadriana's implication that Fenris and Danarius had been sexually involved. Realisation slammed into her, and she longed to comfort Fenris, but doing so would call attention to the fact that she knew, and so she remained quiet.

"What did the demon do to…Langston?" he asked, and saw Bethany shake her head from the corner of his eye. "I need to know everything, Bethany."

"All right, then." Bending her knees, she shifted slightly onto her side so she faced Fenris, and moved a little closer to him, noting with relief that he didn't move away from her. "Fletcher has only ever talked about this once, and he was distraught at the time, so some of the details are sketchy. He's refused to talk about it since."

"I understand," Fenris replied.

"The demon – Synia – told Fletcher how to summon her; he had to make a sacrifice of his own blood, enough to cause him severe pain-"

"I am aware of how blood magic works," Fenris interrupted, and immediately held a hand up in apology. "I…please continue."

"Well, to cut a long story short, Fletcher went looking for Langston one night and, when he found him, he summoned Synia. Fletcher thought…he thought she'd just scare him, or…oh, I don't know. But she did something to him. Something…to his mind. That's the part Fletcher won't talk about. Langston was never the same afterwards. He became a recluse and lost loads of weight. A few months after, he disappeared and his family moved out of Lothering shortly after. Rumour was, he was put in the madhouse.

"I don't know what Synia did to Langston, but Fletcher went missing for a few hours afterwards. Dalton eventually found him, crying his eyes out in the Bradshaws' barn. Fletcher told him what he'd done, expecting Dalton to run off, or for someone to fetch the Templars. That's what he felt he deserved. But Dalton didn't run off. He stayed with Fletcher, and he cried, too. They…Fletcher kissed him, and…well, you can guess the rest. Fletcher confessed all of this to me and my father when he came home. Everything just came pouring out. I think Fletcher expected…wanted to be punished."

"And how did your father react?"

"He was very calm," replied Bethany. "I could tell he was disappointed that Fletcher had been taken in by a demon, but Fletcher's distress was at the forefront of his mind, and he was gentle with him. Firstly, he told Fletcher that Mother was never to know; not about Fletcher's…proclivities, but about the deal and what had happened to Langston. Fletcher readily agreed with that; the last thing he wanted was for Mother to worry. Then, Father asked me to leave, and he and Fletcher had a private talk. I don't know what it was about, but they were in there for hours. Fletcher has never talked about that, either."

Bethany frowned, then, and glanced gravely at Fenris. "The worst is yet to come," she said very softly, and took a deep breath. "The following morning…" She placed a hand over her eyes and shook her head, and Fenris watched her with concern, waiting patiently for her to continue. "Well, details are unnecessary. Poor Dalton…he…he was found hanged."

The chirp of nocturnal insects could be heard rising above the sudden silence that fell over them. Fenris cleared his throat and cautiously asked, "Why? Why did he do such a thing?"

"We never found out," she answered, a tremor in her voice. "Fletcher-Fletcher always thought it was his fault. That Dalton was ashamed of what they'd done, or that he'd…been with a blood mage. Fletcher has always blamed himself."

"He was not to blame."

"I know that, but Fletcher was the last person to see him alive. His mother and father had gone to the town dance, and their kids were old enough to be left to see to their own suppers and to take themselves to bed. Poor, poor Mrs. Bradshaw. She was the one who found him. Her own son."

"How did…Fletcher react?" Fenris asked, and then felt foolish for asking such a stupid question. "I mean…how was he?"

"You called him Fletcher," Bethany said with a thin smile. Fenris averted his eyes and didn't answer. "He…well, he was a wreck for the first week or so. He wouldn't stop crying. It was very hard. Mother was beside herself with worry. It took him a while, but eventually he managed to pull himself together. I think he did it for Mother's sake more than anyone's. And then, only a few months later, a week after Fletcher's sixteenth birthday…F-Father died. That was a very bad time."

Fenris's eyes were wide as he watched Bethany rest her chin on her hands. He saw her lip wobble, but she composed herself, and Fenris admired her dignity.

"May I fetch you some water?" he offered.

"Thank you," she answered.

Fenris got up and walked into the centre of the camp, where he drew some rainwater from one of the barrels, and carried it over to Bethany, who was standing when he returned. She took the water with a grateful nod, and, when she'd drunk it, she placed the small cup down.

"How do you feel, Fenris?" she asked.

"I…" He shook his head, at a loss.

"Confused?"

He nodded slowly. "I am…glad you told me. It could not have been easy for you."

"I'm going to see Fletcher, now. Would you like to come with me?"

Fenris drew back a little and shook his head. "I would not know what to say. I-I need some time."

"You don't have to say anything, Fenris. It would mean a lot to him to know that you don't hate him…if that's the case."

"I-I can't. I…need to think. I'm sorry."

"It has been a lot for you to take in, Fenris, I understand," Bethany said kindly. "Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

Fenris drew a deep breath and glanced over to Hawke's tent, and then to his own, which was pitched a short distance away.

He took another deep breath and nodded. "Tell him…tell him…I don't hate him."

"I will," she said with a hopeful smile.

"Goodnight, Bethany."

"Goodnight, Fenris."

She watched him walk over to his tent and, once he'd gone inside, she walked over to Hawke's tent, and entered with a smile on her face.