Genuine and heartfelt thanks to Mary for being a super beta and to both Mary and Carrie for their friendship. Due to real life this will be the last update for a little while. My thanks also to those of you reading the story and for your uplifting comments; they mean the world to me.

~o~O~o~

Having received Sebastian's blessing, Fletcher, as well as those who had joined Sebastian, followed him through to the main chamber beneath the ground, where the preliminary forays into the Deep Roads would begin. When they arrived, Bartrand was busy issuing orders to the dwarves. The workers set off down various tunnels, all carrying equipment that appeared too heavy for them to bear, but they made no complaints. Fletcher and his little group set their belongings down and Fletcher approached the expedition leader.

"What do you want us to do, Bartrand?" he offered.

"Don't worry your pretty head over it, Snowflake," Bartrand muttered, turning away from his workers for a moment, and Fletcher sighed and rolled his eyes. "This is no kind of work for a human."

"Hawke's a strong lad," Varric defended, "and the rest of these guys are no slouches, either. Put 'em to work, Bartrand: I know you, and I won't have you refusing to split the money because the humans didn't do any of the dirty work."

The brothers scowled at each other for a minute, and Fletcher was surprised by the stubborn set of Varric's jaw. After a while, Bartrand seemed to relent. "All right; we'll be setting up camp here tonight, so you," he said, pointing to the human workers, "get tidying up and setting up bedrolls and stuff. They're all over there in the corner. Elf, you stand there and look pretty if you like-"

"Hey!" Fletcher growled when Fenris made no attempt to stand up for himself. "Don't you dare talk down to any of us, Bartrand! I know you wouldn't know pretty if it smacked you in the face, but-"

"Can he cook?" Bartrand asked Varric.

"I can speak for myself, you know!" Fletcher retorted angrily. "And yes, I can cook, but I don't see-"

"That's your job, then," Bartrand ordered, walking over to a stack of small wooden cages containing live nugs. "One of the humans that buggered off was meant to be our cook. The only dwarf here that knows how to cook is Thirin; he used to work in a tavern, but I need him in the tunnels."

"What? And you didn't think to say anything until now?" replied Fletcher incredulously. "What if none of us knew how to cook?"

Bartrand shrugged indifferently and opened one of the cages, grabbing a wriggling nug by the throat. "You know how to prepare these?"

"Well, no…"

Bartrand groaned and shook his head. "Thirin!" he yelled at the top of his voice, causing Fletcher and some of the others to jump. "Get your ass over here!"

A mean-looking, dirty-blond dwarf with a plaited beard dropped his tools and stomped over to them. "What?" he barked.

Bartrand shoved the nug into his hands and started to walk away, with Varric following close behind. "Show 'im how to make nug," he commanded. "The workers'll expect food when they come back."

"Show a human how to make nug?" Thirin questioned, but Bartrand ignored him. Thirin eyed Fletcher's group with disgust and shook his head. "Get a spit set up," he ordered gruffly.

"And how do we do that, serah?" Sebastian queried politely.

"Do I have to do everything?" barked the dwarf.

"I know how to make a spit," Anders announced. "I've done my share of camping out. Somebody give me a hand." He walked over to a pile of rubble and began to sort out suitable materials; Sebastian followed him to assist.

"Here," Thirin said, passing the nug to Fletcher and taking another out of the cage. "Six of 'em should be enough."

"Er…what do you want me to do with this?" Fletcher asked with wide eyes.

"Kill it, unless you like your food extra rare."

"B-but I've never-" Fletcher stammered faintly.

A sickening squeal sounded as Thirin twisted the head of the nug he was holding, breaking its neck. He then threw the unfortunate animal to the ground and removed another nug from the cage. "Well?" he growled.

Fletcher looked into the creature's eyes and it blinked at him before nuzzling its snout into his armpit. "I-I don't think I can," he protested weakly.

"Ancestors' tits! You'll eat it though, won't you?" Thirin yelled as he broke the neck of the other nug he was holding. "Sodding humans! Gimme that!" He snatched Fletcher's nug and quickly killed it, tossing it to the ground.

"Look, I could put them to sleep before you do that," Fletcher offered, breaking into a sweat as his stomach roiled. "It's a shame…"

"I'd rather eat my own crap than eat anything that had magic used on it," the dwarf snarled, and he quickly dispatched the remaining nugs amid horrendous squealing. "Any of you know how to butcher meat? Or do I have to do that as well?" he demanded.

"Yes," Fletcher answered quietly, looking down at the nugs, some of which were still twitching.

"So do I," Sheldon, one of the human workers, called over.

"Get on with it, then," Thirin ordered Sheldon. "I'll tell you how to make the sauce," he said to Fletcher, pointing over to another stack of crates atop a small wagon. "Onions, butter, flour, plums, tomatoes, nug blood, vinegar, sugar. Those small sacks at the front of the cart contain herb mix, ready-made."

"Wait…nug blood? Tomatoes?"

"Nug blood is an essential part of the sauce," Thirin informed him. "If you're too squeamish to eat it, then make you and the other humans some sauce without it. The nug blood comes from the nugs, by the way, not the sacks." Thirin jabbed the side of his head with his finger, indicating that Fletcher should think for himself.

"Fair enough," Fletcher answered, hoping to placate the belligerent dwarf. "But tomatoes? Aren't they poisonous? They're part of the nightshade family."

"One of your medical books tell you that, did they?" scoffed the dwarf as he walked over to the cart and ripped open a sack of small, round red fruits. He took one and bit into it, its juices running out of his mouth onto his beard. "One of the finest discoveries I made since coming to the surface," he confided in Fletcher, passing him a tomato, which Fletcher eyed warily. "We used to get 'em brought in to Orzammar, but they ain't the same; too cold in the Frostbacks. Ever tried one?"

"Well, no; I've always been led to believe they were poisonous. I use belladonna and mandrake in some of my crafting and they all come from the same family."

"You eat potatoes, don't you?" Thirin asked. "Which family d'you think they come from?"

"Well, you've got me there," laughed Fletcher, glancing at the tomato. "Really? You eat these?"

"Go on, take a bite," challenged the dwarf as he polished off his own tomato.

Fletcher gulped; he'd been warned ever since he was a child not to eat tomatoes, and that he could expect choking and violent stomach cramps at the very least if he did. Was that a fallacy, or were dwarves immune to the poison? His eyes wandered over to Anders, who was building the spit with Sebastian, and consoled himself that he had an excellent healer to hand should his throat close up. He then glanced over at Fenris, who was helping the humans to tidy up, and decided he'd better be quick before Fenris noticed what he was doing and stepped in.

Taking a deep breath, he raised the shiny fruit to his mouth, ignoring Thirin's rumbling laugh. He squeezed his eyes closed and bit into the soft flesh, doing his best to ignore the slimy, gelatinous texture as he swallowed his mouthful.

"Hey, you didn't spit the seeds out," Thirin observed approvingly.

"Was I supposed to?" asked Fletcher in a panic.

"No! It's just that most people do when they first try 'em. You gonna eat the rest of it?"

Fletcher sniffed the tomato and felt a fragrant, slightly acidic taste linger in his mouth. He took a second bite, this time cautiously chewing it. "That's…actually not too bad," he remarked.

"Thirin! Aren't you done, yet?" bawled Bartrand from the far end of the chamber.

"Keep your sodding hair on!" Thirin shouted back. "You got that, then?" he said to Hawke. "Make a sauce out of that lot."

"But what quantities do I use?"

"Twenty-seven people…let's say half a sack of tomatoes, a quarter sack of onions, a plum apiece – take the stones out first - a mug each of herb mix, vinegar and sugar; a fist of butter and enough flour to thicken it. As much blood as you can get out of the nugs. Make the sauce nice and thick, or you'll get it thrown back at you."

Fletcher repeated the instructions under his breath, committing them to memory. "But how do I-"

"I gotta go. You'll figure it out." Thirin walked off, leaving Fletcher scratching his head.

"Hey, Fenris," he called, beckoning the elf over. "Fancy giving me a hand with chopping some vegetables?"

"If you wish," said Fenris, dusting his hands off. Fletcher led him to the cart and together they gathered the required ingredients and found some utensils and a large pot.

"Well, at least they brought these," said Fletcher as they sat on the ground. "Guess what? I just impressed one of the dwarves," he boasted, puffing his chest out.

"Good for you," replied Fenris, examining one of the tomatoes. "What is this?"

"A tomato. Have you never seen one before? They're a dwarven delicacy. That's how I impressed Thirin: by eating one."

Fenris sniffed the fruit and placed it on a block of wood on the ground, where he began chopping. "The dwarf is easily pleased, it would seem."

"He is," laughed Fletcher. "I just have the rest of them to win over. What do you think my chances are?"

"Slim," smiled Fenris. "But if anyone can do it, you can. You're a very charming man."

Fletcher snorted quietly, feeling heat in his cheeks. "I don't think dwarves can be won over by charm. Shouting, bravery or reckless stupidity seems to impress them more than anything."

"Well, you have at least one of those qualities in abundance," the elf remarked dryly.

"Would you care to expand on that, partner?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," answered Fenris with a small smile.

"I see. And how would you like to take onion duty?"

"I cannot do that. Elves are allergic to onions."

Fletcher laid down his knife and folded his arms. "Well, that's funny. I distinctly remember Merrill eating onion soup at the Hanged Man a while back. She loves onion soup."

Fletcher looked askance at the elf as he wriggled slightly. "I meant…in their raw form," Fenris amended shiftily.

"She had raw onion on a salad."

"Well, she is Dalish," Fenris answered immediately, his hand stilled on his knife. "They are more attuned to nature, from what I hear."

"Oh, I see your logic," Fletcher answered seriously. "They're more attuned to nature, therefore they're more attuned to onions?"

"Something like that," Fenris mumbled, betrayed by a quiet snigger that escaped his mouth.

"Nice try, Elf." Fletcher plonked half a dozen onions in front of Fenris. "Now get chopping. You're becoming really sneaky lately, you know that?"

"And where do you suppose I learned that from?" asked Fenris cheekily.

"Hmm…you have a point there," mused Fletcher as Fenris passed three onions back to him.

"You are jointly responsible for my newfound sneakiness, so get chopping yourself," teased Fenris, smiling.

Fletcher returned his smile, and they set about their monotonous task. "Fenris…may I ask you something?" he enquired after a lull.

"Of course."

Fletcher set his knife down again and sighed. "Why didn't you defend yourself when Bartrand insulted you?"

"Did he insult me?" asked the elf, also laying his knife down. "His words meant nothing to me. I was not offended."

"Well, I think he did insult you," answered Fletcher, "and I was offended. I don't get it…if he'd said something similar to me, you would have been all over him."

"That is different," said Fenris quietly.

"How?"

Fenris shifted his weight onto his side and faced Fletcher. "His words did not injure me. I will not make a spectacle of myself over the likes of Bartrand."

"Or is it that you think you don't deserve to be defended?" ventured Fletcher. "Is that it what it is? Because you've defended me quite fiercely in the past, and yet when he said that to you, you just hung your head. I didn't like it," he said with anger in his voice. He glanced at Fenris, who was watching him apprehensively. "I didn't mean…I'm not angry with you. But I've seen it before…Anders has said a few things to you in the past, and Uncle Gamlen was quite rude to you on one particular occasion. I thought so, anyway."

"I was a guest in your Uncle's house, and it would not have been appropriate to talk back to him. Besides, it's my belief that he was concerned for you. He was quite right to question me; he knew nothing of me."

Fletcher sighed again. "I know, and appreciate, that you're very well-mannered; that's one of the reasons Mother likes you so much. But there's a difference between being respectful and being submissive. I hate seeing you just accepting it when someone insults you. What about that dwarf, Reijyr? He called you a knife ear. That's about the most insulting thing anyone can say to an elf. How can you accept that?"

Fenris was silent for a while as he considered Fletcher's words. "When I resided in Minrathous, it was required that I say nothing unless spoken to. And then, when I escaped, I lived among the Fog Warriors for a time." He paused, lowering his eyes, and Fletcher placed his hand on the elf's arm.

"Fenris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's fine. Who else can I talk to about this but my confidante?" He forced a smile for Fletcher's sake, but Fletcher, cursing himself for making Fenris re-live painful memories, couldn't return it.

"When I…parted company with the Fog Warriors, I went on the run. I became accustomed to not drawing attention to myself. It is a hard habit to break. And I have endured far greater hardships than mere name-calling."

"I know." Fletcher removed his hand from Fenris's arm and stared ahead. "I didn't mean to…I just…I care about you. When I see you react like that – or not react – it makes me so angry. It makes me think that that's how you used to be, all of the time. I-I can't bear it."

"I would not see you distraught," Fenris said softly, "but I cannot change the way I…react to things. It is the way I am. I could not change that any more than you could change being the emotional, passionate man that you are."

Hearing the word passionate from Fenris caused Fletcher's stomach to clench, and he shifted closer to him. "I wouldn't change you for anything…it's just sometimes I get a glimpse into what your life used to be like – how you used to feel about yourself - and…it just kills me, Fen. You're so much better than that."

Fenris smiled kindly at him and once again took up his knife, and began to peel an onion. "Do not be troubled on my account. It is true; there was a time when I had no dreams, no aspirations. There was simply no point. But that time is no more. The life I have now is more than I could ever have hoped for or imagined. I…have you to thank for that."

"No." Fletcher placed his hand over Fenris's, halting the elf's movements. "You made all the choices, Fen. You created this life for yourself. Take some credit for what you've achieved."

"I do," Fenris answered quietly, his eyes moving to Fletcher's. "But without someone to share this life with, it is meaningless. I know how much you care for me. I have…wasted so much time."

Fletcher's mouth slowly opened, and his breath rushed out, his heart beating wildly. "Do you mean…?" He saw Fenris's eyes move behind him, and the elf cleared his throat.

"First nug's on the spit," Sheldon declared proudly, and then, realising he'd interrupted something, he backed away. "Erm…sorry."

"Thanks, Sheldon," Fletcher said with a faint sigh, biting back his frustration as he released Fenris's hand. "I suppose we'd better get this sauce done. What was I saying about no privacy?"

As Sheldon beat a hasty retreat, Fletcher continued to chop tomatoes, and Fenris returned to onion duty. "We will finish this conversation later," the elf promised without looking up.

"Yes, we will," Fletcher avowed, also concentrating on his task, but he knew the other man was smiling, as was he.

~o~O~o~

"Bartrand! Hold up a minute!" Varric grabbed his brother by the arm, stopping him.

"What is it? We've got real work to do here. Are you gonna help out, or are you too busy holding the humans' hands?"

"Just put a sock in it, Brother, and listen," said Varric tetchily. "You need to lay off Hawke and the other humans. You're expected to be a leader. A leader doesn't piss off half of his workers before the damned expedition has begun!"

"I got work to do!" barked Bartrand. "I don't have time for the humans and their delicate sensibilities! You know as well as I do that they wouldn't get half the work of dwarves done. I can't employ them in the tunnels; they'd hold the whole thing up!"

"I know that, Brother, but just cut down on the whole rancorous bastard act! Okay…it's not an act, but you know some of this Orzammar crowd would cut your balls off for want of a sovereign, don't you? You may find yourself in need of allies before this expedition's through."

"I didn't arrange this expedition to make friends, Varric; I arranged it to make coin, and lots of it. I don't need these people to like me, I just need 'em to do what I say and to make me rich, so spare me the lovey-dovey crap. Now sod off, if you got nothing else to say."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Bartrand," Varric retorted. "And I do have something else to say. If you know what's good for you, don't insult Hawke or the elf again. Neither of 'em needs protecting by me, but if you're not careful, you'll push 'em too far." Varric stood toe-to-toe with his brother and stared him down. "And I won't have you disgracing our house by dying from a sword or a staff up your ass, because that's what you're headed for."

"Don't tell me what's good for our house, little brother. You've been hanging around with those humans for too long, and you've lost sight of what's important."

"No, Brother," Varric answered. "I've discovered what's important. I hope you and your gold will be very happy together when you're an old man, 'cos that's all you'll have."

"Yeah, I hope so. Now piss off." Bartrand turned on his heel and charged up one of the tunnels leading off the chamber, leaving Varric staring after him, shaking his head. Turning away, he felt a slight vibration beneath his feet and wondered for a second if someone had annoyed Hawke again. Instead of subsiding, however, as Hawke's spell had, the vibration became a rumbling, and, at the far end of the chamber, the humans stopped what they were doing and Hawke and Fenris leapt to their feet.

"What's that, Varric?" Anders called to the dwarf, who gave an exaggerated shrug and turned back in the direction of the tunnel, just in time to see a huge cloud of dust coming from it as a thunderous boom shook the tunnel, reverberating through the entire chamber.

"Bartrand?" Varric cried, running to the tunnel. "Bartrand!"

"Varric! He's trapped!" shouted one of the dwarven workers from the tunnel, which was blocked by a pile of rubble and numerous small boulders.

"Brother! Can you hear me?" Varric called out, coughing as dust filled his mouth.

"We're here, Varric," Bartrand answered from the other side of the rubble, though his voice was barely audible. "Two of 'em got caught. I don't think they're gonna make it!"

"Fuck!" muttered Varric, and he ran to the mouth of the tunnel. "Hawke! Blondie!" he yelled, although the mages were already running over, along with Fenris and the rest of the humans.

Fletcher and Anders arrived first, and, when apprised of the situation, Fletcher wasted no time. "Form a line, two deep," he ordered. "Humans at the front. Start from the top of the pile and pass the boulders down the line. Fenris, you're at the rear; there'll be a lot of casting going on. Quickly!"

He, Anders, Sebastian and the taller humans made up the front of the line, and, working together, they made a hole in the top of the pile of rocks. "How bad, Bartrand?" Fletcher shouted.

"We got some injuries, here, but two of the men are under the rocks," the dwarf told him quickly. "It's Vonim and Reijyr. I can see one of their legs sticking out…damnit!"

"What about the men with you? Are they all right?"

"They got the wind knocked out of 'em, and I think we got a couple of broken bones. But Vonim and Reijyr…hurry up!" he barked, panic in his voice.

"Right, double quick!" Fletcher commanded the men on his side of the collapse. The able men on Bartrand's side assisted, pushing against the heavier boulders to loosen them. After what seemed an age, Anders and Fletcher were finally able to climb over the rocks to tend to the injured men on the other side, leaving the rest of the workers to clear the remaining boulders.

As they completed their healing, the two trapped workers were pulled out of the rubble. "Somebody fetch us some lyrium potions!" Anders yelled, and, from the back of the line, Fenris nodded and ran over to the far side of the chamber to find Fletcher's supplies.

"I think we can save Vonim," Anders spluttered through the heavy cloud of dust, making a quick determination of the dwarves' conditions, "but I don't think there's much hope for Reijyr."

"Can you manage, Anders? We have to try," Fletcher urged, leaning over Reijyr.

"Yes, I'll let you know if I need any help. Everyone stand back! I need to restart his heart."

A blinding flash and an arc of lighting lit up the tunnel, followed by another, as Anders attempted to shock Vonim's heart into beating. "Got him!" Anders called out. "Where's that lyrium? How's Reijyr?"

"His throat's crushed," Fletcher answered, his voice shrill with panic. "It's collapsing faster than I can heal it! Come on! Come on, Reijyr!"

"Lyrium!" one of the humans called out, and four bottles were passed up the line to Hawke, who in turn passed two to Anders. Anders drank both of them and started to mend Vonim's broken bones. "Drink, Hawke! How's he doing?"

Fletcher downed one of the lyrium potions and wiped dust and sweat from his brow. "His skull and windpipe are crushed…multiple fractures…can't make him breathe…I don't know what to deal with first!"

"Is he bleeding?"

"No, not that I can see," answered Fletcher.

"Breathing first," Anders directed. "Just concentrate on that. I know you're doing your best, Hawke. Keep going! I'll be with you soon!"

Fletcher suspected it was hopeless, but he appreciated Anders's confidence and direction, and he continued relentlessly plugging away at the catastrophically-injured Reijyr.

A gasp was heard from Anders's location, and Anders called for water as Vonim came to. "What the hell?" shouted the confused dwarf. "Get your sodding hands off of me, Mage!"

"Lie the fuck down!" growled one of the other dwarves. "He just saved your life. You'd better do what he says."

"Anders! I need some help!" Fletcher called, his voice shaking with the strain of casting.

"Keep an eye on him, and give him a few sips of water," Anders directed one of the dwarves, shoving a borrowed waterskin into his hand. The dwarf immediately knelt down next to Vonim and did as Anders ordered.

Arriving next to Fletcher and Reijyr, Anders conducted his own examination of the stricken dwarf while Fletcher continued casting.

"Hawke…I don't think we can do anything for him," Anders said softly.

"No! I just saw his eye flicker!"

"It's just a reflex, Hawke. You know that."

"We can't just give up on him! Are you going to help, or not?"

"All right, Hawke, he's your patient." Anders rolled up his sleeves and continued to work, knowing it was hopeless.

"His heart's stopped," Fletcher told him breathlessly. "Can you shock him?"

"All right, Hawke," Anders said again, his tone soothing, knowing that the less-experienced healer was panicking. As the cloud of dust began to clear, those further down the line could see the outline of the two mages bent over Reijyr, and they covered their eyes as Anders sent electricity into the dwarf's moribund heart.

"You want to stop, Hawke?" Anders asked when his spell proved unsuccessful.

Fletcher continued casting, his brow creasing with concentration as sweat trickled down his temples. "No…there must be something more we can do."

Anders placed a hand on Fletcher's arm and sighed. "Hawke, you've done a great job of healing his fractures. But the man's dead. There's nothing more we can do for him. Come on, I think you know that."

"But…" Fletcher paused, his posture sagging as he finally admitted to himself that the dwarf was gone.

"It's time to stop," said Anders softly. "You've done your best. Sadly, sometimes it's not enough."

"Shit," Fletcher whispered, and he slumped against the wall, exhausted. "Shit!"

Anders moved next to Fletcher and sat against the wall beside him as Sebastian, who stood nearby, said a few words for the fallen dwarf.

"Andraste, guide this man's friends in the coming days. Though they are stout of heart and body, lend them your strength." He stopped short of commending Reijyr to the Maker, knowing that the dwarves had their own way of honouring their dead. None of the dwarves reacted to his words, which, to Sebastian, was a good thing.

"Here, Hawke, drink this," Anders offered, passing him the remaining lyrium potion.

"No, I don't want it." Fletcher pushed Anders's hand away, his eyes fixed on the expedition leader.

"How did this happen, Bartrand?" he accused, his voice quaking with frustration and anger. "This is one of the very tunnels you and your men were supposed to shore up! Would you care to explain how it collapsed?"

"What?" Torbal, and a few other dwarves stepped forward. "You told us this tunnel was safe, Bartrand!" spat Torbal, while the other dwarves folded their arms, their demeanours hostile.

"This mage thinks I'm some kind of sodding miracle worker!" Bartrand defended as the small gang of dwarves moved closer to him. "You expected us to get two days' work done in one night! Well, no, we didn't have time! Did you expect us to work through the night and all of the next day?"

"No! I expected you to manage your men and work in shifts! I offered to help you that day, and when we first arrived in here earlier, and you told us to sod off!" Fletcher blustered, spittle flying, as his depleted mana and the loss of his patient snapped his nerves. "And, if the tunnel wasn't finished, you never should have brought any men up here in the first place! Did this man have any family?" he demanded, pointing at Reijyr, and, when no one answered, his face reddened and he tried to push himself up, but was stopped by Anders. "Don't any of you know? What is this, a dwarven thing? What's wrong with you all?"

"He's got no mana," Anders explained.

"No, don't defend me, Anders! It's clear to me that gold and riches mean more to these men than their bloody lives! What the hell is wrong with you all?" he repeated.

Not easily offended, some of the dwarves stepped forward to pick up Reijyr's body. "Everyone out of this tunnel, now!" Torbal commanded with a black look at Bartrand. "You as well, humans." The sturdy dwarf assisted Anders in helping the weakened Fletcher to his feet, and eventually, the tunnel was cleared of personnel.

Fenris, who had heard the exchange from outside the tunnel, waited until Anders and Torbal had sat Fletcher against a wall before they went back to check on the injured men. "See if you can get him to drink this," Anders told Fenris, passing him a lyrium potion.

Fenris quietly walked over to Fletcher, who had been given some space by everyone on Anders's orders. Fenris sat upon the floor a few feet away from him, not knowing whether his company would be welcome or not, but he would offer it anyway. Knowing the kind of man Fletcher was, he suspected the mage would blame himself for the dwarf's death, and wanted to offer his counsel should Fletcher need it, even though Fenris didn't know what he could possibly say. And if Fletcher wanted to be silent, that was also fine, as Fenris himself felt a need to be next to him.

Although aware of Fenris's presence, Fletcher didn't speak to him for a while, and the elf waited patiently.

"Well, so much for not alienating the dwarves," Fletcher eventually mumbled.

"I don't think you did," Fenris answered.

"I more or less called them a load of greedy bastards while one of their men lay dead at my feet."

"They are probably aware of that fact, anyway," consoled the elf. "A dwarf would be the first to speak up, were they to disagree with someone."

"I suppose that's true," shrugged Fletcher.

"You fought valiantly to save his life. You should not censure yourself for an occurrence that was out of your control."

"He approved of the chalk," Fletcher said quietly, as if that explained his overwrought emotions.

"Yes, he did. Remember: were it not for your efforts in preparing for the expedition, many more would have perished. Perhaps not now, but at a later time. You should be proud of yourself. I am proud of you."

Fletcher turned his head and looked dully at Fenris, who smiled encouragingly and passed Fletcher the lyrium potion. "Drink this. Regain your strength. Do not punish yourself."

Fletcher sighed and uncorked the bottle, staring at the luminescent blue liquid. "It's just hard when…I have all of these so-called powers and I still couldn't save him." With another sigh, he drank the potion and placed the bottle on the ground.

"You are just a man, Fletcher." Fenris rose and placed a hand on the mage's shoulder. "I will continue preparing the vegetables. I will even take full onion duty," he joked as Fletcher forced a grim smile. "Life must go on," Fenris added quietly, and turned away.

"I'll…just give me a few minutes. I'll be with you soon," said Fletcher, and Fenris turned back and nodded. "You-you called me Fletcher."

"I did." Fenris held his gaze for a moment before he turned and walked away. Fletcher joined him shortly after.

~o~O~o~

With the vegetables chopped and the plums stoned, the ingredients were put into a huge pot over a fire. Fletcher had no idea how the sauce should be prepared, so he just threw the lot in and hoped for the best. While he and Fenris took turns to stir the sauce, Sebastian walked over.

"The dwarves are going to inter Reijyr here," he informed them. "They found a small cavity at the end of one of the tunnels large enough to receive him. I thought I'd let you know in case you wanted to pay your respects."

"Oh, yes, of course." Fletcher and Fenris rose, and Fletcher doused the fire with some water.

Led by Sebastian, they made their way down one of the safe tunnels where they found a crowd gathered around the small hollow where Reijyr's body had already been covered with stones, brought from adjoining chambers and tunnels. The dwarves had wasted no time, and two of the dwarven stonemasons hewed rough cuboid blocks out of rocks with their axes, while another prepared a mixture of stucco from lime, sand – brought through from one of the carts - and water.

Slowly and carefully, the opening of the cavity was bricked up by the stonemasons amid respectful silence. To his complete shock, Fletcher, who had battled to save Reijyr's life, was invited to lay the last brick. He didn't feel worthy of such an honour but didn't want to cause offence by refusing. When the small tomb was finally sealed up, Thirin – the next oldest dwarf after Reijyr – stood before it and folded his hands over his belly.

"Embrace the Stone, Brother. You enrich It by returning home."

Thirin walked away, followed by the rest of the dwarves. The humans, unsure of what they should do, also followed. "What happens now?" Fletcher asked Varric.

"Well, if it's anything like my granddaddy's funeral, everyone has an almighty booze-up to honour the fallen."

To Fletcher's dismay, the booze-up turned into a full-blown party with singing and wrestling challenges, and, after having a quiet drink to Reijyr, he stepped out.

Fenris, who had watched Fletcher leave, allowed him some time alone before going after him. He found him sitting in a recess off the main chamber, next to the egress from the Deep Roads. Fletcher pushed himself to his feet as the elf entered, carrying a book under his arm.

"I know, I know…I'm breaking my own rule by not telling my partner where I was. I was just planning on having a ten-minute sulk. I was going to come back out in a bit."

"Are you all right?" asked Fenris.

Fletcher shrugged. "Yeah. I know I'm being rude."

"No one has said that. They are all too busy honouring their comrade, and doing so with great relish, it has to be said," the elf remarked with a small smile.

"What have you got there? Fancy a reading lesson?" Fletcher asked with a glance at Fenris's book.

Fenris took the book from under his arm and looked at it. "Not exactly. I know that you feel…disquieted by the dwarf's death. I cannot claim to know how you feel, nor do I have the words…I thought that perhaps this would serve as a distraction." He passed the book over to Fletcher, who turned it over and read the cover.

"Medicine in the Dark Ages?" he asked, an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Your sister said you would enjoy something like that. If it is not suitable…"

"No! No…it's just the kind of thing I like! You-you bought this for me?"

"I originally purchased it as a naming day gift, but I thought perhaps you might appreciate receiving it now." Fenris took a deep breath and stepped closer, placing his hand on the book. "Bethany also said I should write something inside. I did…with a little assistance from her, of course."

His smile threatening to split his face, Fletcher opened the front cover. There, in the top-left corner, Fenris had written in his very best handwriting, From Fenris.

A lump came to Fletcher's throat and he closed the book, swallowing hard. "This-this is wonderful. Thank you."

"You are certain?"

"I'm certain." Fletcher closed the gap between the two of them, only the book separating them. "And you're wonderful, Fen." Fletcher bent slightly and placed a soft kiss on the elf's cheek.

As he drew back, Fenris kept his hands on the book and gently removed it from Fletcher's grasp. The mage, slightly confused, watched as Fenris carefully placed it on the ground before straightening up.

"I have attempted to convince myself that you are a bad person," Fenris quietly confessed. "That you are immoral, corrupt, weak. I have tried so hard to distance myself from you, but when I do I feel an ache that can only be assuaged when I am in your company. You have passed every ridiculous test I have set you. You have shown, time and time again, that there is nothing but goodness in you, and what happened earlier is only the latest example."

Fenris moved closer to the stunned Fletcher and dipped his head momentarily before looking up to meet Fletcher's eyes. "I can stay away from you no longer. I do not want to stay away from you. I have missed you. Will you still have me?"

"W-will I still…? Are you crazy?" Fletcher laughed as Fenris smiled shyly and placed his hands on the mage's arms.

"That sounds encouraging," Fenris also laughed, and, before he knew it, he was pulled into Fletcher's arms, his words stolen away by a deep, tender kiss.

Joy rose up inside of Fletcher as Fenris's arms wrapped around his back and he felt the elf lean into him. He was a blood mage. Fenris – who had more reason to distrust and shun blood mages than anyone – knew that.

Fenris accepted him. Maybe he even loved him.

As they broke the kiss, both of them laughing softly, Fenris was once again pulled against Fletcher as the mage enveloped him in a hug.

"I've missed you, too, Fen," he whispered against the elf's ear.