My heartfelt thanks, as always, to Mary for her invaluable beta skills, as well as to all of you who leave reviews, favourite/alert and send me PMs.

By now, some of you may have guessed that I'm not sticking to canon in the Deep Roads section of the story. Just so you know: there will be no lyrium idol, and therefore no lyrium sword. There will be alternate story lines to compensate for this. Also, there will be no mention of Bodahn or Sandal; I can see why they were necessary ingame, but they're not necessary to this story, and I just can't see Fletcher having servants of any kind, especially as he's with Fenris.

~o~O~o~

Fenris awoke alone the following morning. Fletcher's bedroll was cold and the fire at the rear of the cave was guttering. Fenris pulled his blanket around his shoulders and pushed himself up, bracing his hands against his back and pushing his hips forward; the hard stone floor did his back no favours, though he'd had an adequate amount of sleep, as he always seemed to when Fletcher was with him.

He padded over to the entrance of the tunnel and looked around. The hour was obviously quite early as several loud snores assailed his ears: most of the workers were still asleep. His eyes moved to a small fire at the far end of the cavern, where Anders and Fletcher were seated, talking. Fenris paused, uncertain whether he should disturb them, but just as he was about to turn back, Fletcher spotted him and beckoned him over.

As Fenris approached, Fletcher poured some tea for him and handed him the mug as he sat down next to Fletcher.

"Anders couldn't sleep," Fletcher explained, and Anders glanced up at Fenris briefly before looking at the ground. "We've had a talk." Fletcher pushed himself back a little so that Fenris and Anders could see each other clearly, and he went on, speaking to both of them: "Anders, you're my friend, and Fenris, you're the man I love. I want both of you in my life, and I don't want to feel guilty about that. The two of you might never be best friends, but we're all stuck down here together and I think we'd all feel better if we were civil to each other. Anders has agreed to make more of an effort."

Fletcher glanced at Fenris, who looked back at him. Fenris didn't know how to feel about Anders; the only thing he was certain of was that he didn't trust him. Then again, he hadn't trusted Fletcher at first, and now Fletcher was the man he trusted more than anyone else. Fenris had felt a fleeting kinship with Anders, however, when he'd heard his claims of being abused by the Templars, and was curious to learn more. That wasn't likely to happen, though, unless he was more amenable toward Anders.

Additionally, there was Fletcher to consider. He had enough to worry about, with the safety and care of the expedition workers – which Bartrand clearly had no interest in – as well as Bartrand himself. Fletcher didn't need any more strife.

Furthermore, Fletcher had just told Anders that Fenris was the man he loved. He'd said it openly and casually, maybe not realising the significance his words held for Fenris. Or maybe he did? Hadn't Fenris caught a hint of a smile from Fletcher when he'd said it?

"Anders." Fenris leaned forward, holding his hand out. Anders, who had been staring at the fire, blinked and looked at Fenris's hand for a moment. Fletcher's expression remained impassive as Anders reached over and shook it.

"Anders has been telling me about his family," Fletcher said to Fenris, before turning back to his fellow mage. "Why don't you tell Fenris, Anders?"

"I'm…not sure Fenris would be interested," Anders mumbled, examining his boots.

"If you tell me, I will listen," Fenris said, catching Fletcher's grin from the corner of his eye.

Anders sat up straight and sighed, looking uncertainly at Fletcher, who nodded and smiled his encouragement. "Well, it's not very interesting," Anders began, and, seeing that Fenris and Fletcher were waiting for him to continue, he sighed again.

"I was twelve when the Templars came for me. I'd kept my abilities secret from my family; they were very superstitious and feared magic. They always said that they were relieved my brother and I had not been mages."

Fenris frowned and sat forward, clasping his hands together. "But…that sounds like…"

"Dalton?" Fletcher asked, and Fenris nodded.

"Quite a few mages in the Tower came from families which despised magic," Anders resumed. "My situation wasn't uncommon. Not all of us were as lucky as Hawke." He looked nervously at Fletcher. "That…wasn't a dig, by the way."

"I know," Fletcher answered with a nod.

"My own parents reported me to the Templars," Anders said quickly, noting Fenris's heavy frown. "We had a quarrel one night, over something stupid. I became angry and couldn't control…" He held up his hands and stared at them. "My hands started crackling with energy. Mother and Father almost fell over themselves as they ran out of the room. They wouldn't talk to me – they wouldn't even look at me. The following day, I was taken away."

The three men sat in silence for a few minutes as some of the expedition workers began to stir. Fletcher scowled and rolled his eyes as a loud fart and a curse came from Bartrand's bedroll, before returning his attention to Anders and Fenris.

"Tell him about your brother, Anders," Fletcher prompted.

A faraway look came into Anders's eyes, followed by a glimmer of sadness. "He…he didn't care about my magic. He sat up with me that night, just as Hawke did last night. When the Templars came, he was so calm…he told me not to worry, and that I'd see him again. He promised. He seemed so certain," he said wistfully, hanging his head and drawing a long breath. "I…never did see him again."

"Does he live?" Fenris asked.

"I don't know," Anders replied softly, and he shook his head, lowering his voice. "I mean…I hope so. You know, it's ironic," he said, looking up at Fenris, "you may well have passed through my village at some point: it's not far from Minrathous."

Fenris tilted his head, looking confused. "From where do you hail?"

"Tallo, in the Anderfels."

"I have heard of it," Fenris said, raising his eyebrows. "It is a fishing village on the shore of the Colean Sea, is it not?"

"That's right."

"Then, you were named for the place of your birth?" asked Fenris, genuinely interested. They all looked up, then, as Sebastian rose from his bedroll and nodded over to them.

"Do you need some water, Sebastian?" Fletcher called over to him, knowing that he used water in a cleansing ritual before prayer.

"My drinking water will suffice, Hawke, but thank you," answered Sebastian, and he doffed a small bow before crouching down and uncorking his waterskin, taking a drink.

Sebastian first purified his hands with water, and stripped to the waist before splashing water over his chest to symbolically cleanse his heart; he then poured the rest of the water over his head to cleanse his mind. Slicking his hair off his face, he dropped to one knee, and Anders continued, but spoke quietly while Sebastian prayed a short distance away.

"Anders isn't my real name," he told a surprised Fenris. "It was given to me by the Templars. I never told them my real name, and no matter what they did to me, I didn't crack. My name was the one thing those bastards couldn't take from me."

Fletcher's eyes moved between the two men, pleased that they were having a civil conversation, even if the content was heavy.

"Fenris is also not my given name," the elf confided. "It, too, was a 'gift', from my former master. I do not know what my real name is…was."

"Do you know what your real name is, Anders?" Fletcher asked.

Anders's eyes moved to the fire, and he didn't answer immediately. "Yes, I do," he said quietly, "but I'd prefer to keep it to myself. It's the only part of me that's truly mine, if you can understand that."

Fletcher nodded, his eyes moving to Bartrand, who had started to noisily rouse the other workers. "How long were you held against your will in the Tower, Anders?" he asked. By now, both Anders and Fenris knew what he was trying to do – highlight the similarities between the two of them – but they went along with it. "Actually, I need to speak to Bartrand," Fletcher said with a sigh, and he pushed to his feet. "You two carry on without me; I'll be back shortly."

He walked away, hoping that the two of them wouldn't suddenly find excuses for not talking to each other. As he neared Bartrand, he glanced back, and smiled as Fenris appeared to be speaking while Anders nodded. They leaned away from each other, and their postures were awkward, but they were talking, at least.

"What do you want, Cream Puff?" Bartrand asked gruffly, and Fletcher - happy that Fenris and Anders were talking, and feeling mischievous – refused to rise to Bartrand's bait.

"Well, hello there, Ducky!" he chirped in his most effeminate-sounding voice, and, ignoring Bartrand's furious glare, he placed his hands on his hips and grinned. "You know, 'Cream Puff' is Fenris's pet name for me," he lied, and bit back his laugh as Bartrand's face dropped. "It warms the cockles of my heart to hear that name spoken in that…dulcet voice of yours. I never knew you felt that way, Bartrand. Unfortunately for you, I'm taken. Such a shame."

"Yeah, laugh it up, Mage," Bartrand growled, backing away a few steps, not taking his eyes off Fletcher.

"I thought we could discuss the scouting of the tunnels today?" Fletcher asked.

"I don't need you to remind me of that," snapped the dwarf.

"Are you sure? Because I heard you'd planned to spend most of today setting up a still," Fletcher commented lightly, and raised an eyebrow as Bartrand frowned. "I also noticed that a third bathtub has been brought through from the first chamber, plus several sacks of corn meal and sugar. Oh, yeast, as well. Maybe I've got it wrong, though. Have I got it wrong, Bartrand?"

"Look! It only takes two men to set up a still," Bartrand sniped, vexed that the mage was on to him.

"There are nine tunnels leading off this chamber, Bartrand, and it'll take at least all of today to scout them out. We need everyone, and we need them sober."

"No," Bartrand grunted, folding his arms. "We can spare two of 'em. When the men come back, they'll wanna relax. We're running out of booze, and we need to get some made. You gonna be the one to tell 'em they can't have a drink after a day's hard work?"

"I wouldn't begrudge them a drink, Bartrand, but the last time you and your men had a drink, you all fell asleep, remember? And I don't need to remind you of how disastrous that was to poor Reijyr. No one is having a drink, or setting up a still, until those tunnels are scouted out."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" shouted Bartrand, drawing the attention of some of the workers. "I'm the leader of this expedition, not you!"

"You're not fit to lead this expedition," Fletcher whispered harshly. "You couldn't give a shit about the safety of your workers, or about their morale, for that matter."

"These men aren't concerned with fucking morale!" Bartrand laughed, throwing his hands into the air. "If you humans want to sing campfire songs and bond, then be my guest. The rest of us wanna make some money! Go ahead, Mage, tell 'em all how rich your morale will make them!"

"I'll do that," Fletcher declared, and he walked away from Bartrand, clearing his throat. "Good morning, everyone!" he said loudly to the expedition workers, all of whom were now awake. "After breakfast, we're going to start scouting out these tunnels. We'll all have bacon and eggs today, yes? Give us plenty of ballast." He patted his belly and grinned.

A drowsy cheer rose up from the workers, who were growing pretty sick of porridge every morning. "I understand that some of you plan to set up a still today. Well, as soon as the tunnels have been scouted, you can get right on that."

"Hey!" shouted Angrim, the dwarf unfortunate enough to have been partnered with Bartrand. "We were gonna do that before we set out! Bartrand told us to do it!"

"There's been a change of plan," said Fletcher, amid a few discontented groans, and, worried that the workers would berate him, his stomach flipped. "The thing is, I have no idea how to make a still, and, I suspect, neither do the rest of my human friends. We need you dwarves to disabuse us of our ignorance in the art of making grog, and the best time to do that would be when all the hard work is out of the way. There simply isn't time now. What do you say?" he asked with his most charming smile.

Some of the dwarves frowned and blinked as they repeated Fletcher's words in their heads, trying to make sense of what he'd said.

"Later?" Angrim asked.

"Later," agreed Fletcher, not giving him a chance to argue. "Now, I'm going to get the bacon started. Anyone care to give me a hand?"

A few humans volunteered, and, to Fletcher's delight, so did a couple of dwarves, though they probably did so to expedite breakfast, and consequently the scouting of the tunnels and the making of the grog. "That's how you manage people," he said in a quiet aside to Bartrand.

"Well, thanks for the psychology lesson," Bartrand spat sarcastically. "How about I give you a heads up on the psychology of dwarves? You keep 'em away from their booze and their gold for long, and they'll turn on you. I have twenty-seven people to watch over, and I'm trying to keep them all happy. You need to get that into your head, Human."

"Keep them happy? You could have fooled me," Fletcher scoffed, "and it's twenty-six, now, in case you'd forgotten. I'm going to make sure twenty-six people leave here. Get that into your head, Dwarf."

Bartrand threw his arms up again and stomped away. "Angrim!" he barked. "Get over here. You're scouting with me, quick as we can."

"Actually, I think I'll join you both," Fletcher interrupted, not relishing the prospect of spending any time with the belligerent dwarf, but wanting to keep an eye on him. "This is not going to be a rush job. We'll leave after breakfast." With that, Fletcher went to assist the others to prepare the morning meal, feeling Bartrand's eyes drilling holes into his back.

~o~O~o~

Over breakfast, Fletcher encouraged Anders to tell the group – which now consisted of the two mages, Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Torbal and Thirin – of his escape attempts from the Tower in Ferelden. Several of the human workers and a few dwarves sat nearby, and also listened. Although Anders told his story confidently and with enthusiasm, when he reached his fifth escape attempt he appeared eager to change the subject, and asked Fenris how he escaped from Danarius.

Fenris answered succinctly, leaving some details out, and didn't mention the Fog Warriors at all, but he related the salient details.

"You're obviously better at escaping than I am," Anders commented through a mouthful of toast. "You escaped once, and stayed escaped."

Fenris shook his head and replied quietly, "No. It was nothing but serendipity that allowed me to escape. Had I been re-captured, I doubt I would have made another attempt." He felt Fletcher's hand on his back. "I applaud your tenacity," he said to Anders.

Anders also shook his head, and gesticulated animatedly. "You must never give up. My incarceration was an affront to decency and civilisation, as was yours. Planning my escapes and actually going through with them were the only things that gave my life any purpose at the time. All the other mages at the Tower convinced themselves they were happy with the way things were, but that was because they weren't brave enough to take a stand. Sometimes one person has to step forward and take risks to change things. And now, in the Free Marches, I have a chance to do the same. Things are happening here; the first step has already been taken. That fire at the Tower in Starkhaven was no accident. Someone decided they'd had enough of the status quo, and they took a stand."

"Are you saying that fire was started deliberately?" Sebastian asked, dismayed. "I hear that many lives were lost."

"Yes, but several mages also escaped," Anders argued, and a few glances were exchanged among the group. "That is what will be remembered."

"How do you know this, Anders?" Fletcher asked.

"I visited the Gallows and spoke to some of the mages that had been captured – that day at the coast, remember, Hawke?"

"You went to the Gallows on your own?" asked Fletcher in surprise.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Anders asked, and Fletcher stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "That blood mage, what was his name?"

"Decimus," Fletcher supplied.

"Right. He started the fire. I know he turned out to be a lunatic, but he took a stand; he has to be admired for that, if nothing else. It can't end there."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, before Sebastian laid down his plate and sat forward. "Admired? Anders, how can you-"

"Blondie," Varric interjected, clapping Anders's shoulder, "You've made your own stand, and a lot of people admire you for that; the elf said so, didn't he? You're a free man; why not kick back a little, smell the roses? You deserve it. Don't get mixed up with people like that."

"Haven't you been listening to me, Varric?" Anders demanded, and Fletcher fidgeted, fearing the temporary truce was about to turn into a justice-and-freedom-for-mages rant. "Decimus's methods were questionable, but he did what nobody else dared to in order to secure the freedom of his brothers and sisters," he stated, prodding his thigh with his finger. "The other mages that were too cowardly to stand up with him ended up dead, or are still locked up in Starkhaven-"

"Are you saying those mages deserved to die, Anders?" Sebastian asked indignantly.

"No, of course not! All I'm saying is, those who sit around and do nothing must be prepared to face the consequences of their inaction."

Anders stopped abruptly as Fletcher grabbed his arm hard, digging his fingers in. "Well, I think we should get ourselves ready; we have a lot of tunnels to scout," he announced, forcing a lightness he didn't feel into his voice as he tried to pull Anders up.

Anders shrugged Fletcher's hand off and, taking his plate, he stood up without assistance. "Changing the subject won't alter the fact that things are happening in Kirkwall. The arrival of those Starkhaven mages at the Gallows is the best thing that could have happened. They won't take their situation lying down, and neither will I."

"Anders, you don't have a situation!" Fletcher protested, but Anders was already walking away.

"That is a very troubled man," Fenris stated quietly with a grave glance at Fletcher.

"No fucking shit, Elf," muttered Varric, pushing to his feet.

~o~O~o~

"Who put you in charge, Human?" Rasel heckled as Fletcher tried to place the workers into groups after breakfast. "Last time I looked, Bartrand was in charge!"

"Nobody needed to put him in charge," Varric answered, receiving a grateful look from Fletcher. "He's an investor, as am I. He was just telling me how excited he is about getting the still set up, and he wants us to set off as quickly as possible. Now, are you all gonna stand around here arguing, or are we gonna get to work? Hawke wants his booze as much as you lot do!"

"Shut up then, Varric, and let the human speak!" One of the dwarves called from the back.

"Thank you," said Fletcher, doing his best not to laugh, and also doing his best to avoid the decidedly frosty look Bartrand was giving him and Varric. "Bartrand, Angrim and I will be together-"

"With me," Fenris piped up, his insistent tone of voice not to be argued with.

"Fine," Fletcher replied with a small smile. "Um, I know you've all made friends and formed your own little groups, but I want at least one human and one dwarf in each group; that way, us unsophisticated humans might actually learn something," he cajoled, and a small laugh rose up around the group. "You just might not end up with your first choice of friends, that's all."

"You get to take your boyfriend, though, don't you?" accused Bartrand.

"Well, I wouldn't argue with him; would you?" Fletcher joked.

"I invite you to try," Fenris sneered, and Bartrand's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

After a few more mini-debates, the workers drifted into groups.

"I'm with Blondie," Varric insisted, moving to the mage's side. "There's your dwarf and human."

"I meant proper dwarves, Varric," teased Fletcher. "Not soft surfacers like you."

"Well, at least we'll have fun, Hawke," said Varric. "Can't say I'd be in your shoes, with Bartrand and Broody for company."

Fletcher folded his arms, an impish glint in his eye. "Well, we can't have you having too much fun; you won't be able to concentrate properly. I'll send Rasel and Sutton over to you."

"Sutton? Is that the one who doesn't speak?" Anders whined.

"Yes, but don't worry, Anders; you'll be too busy fending off Rasel's complaints to notice," answered Fletcher, ignoring his friends' scowls as he took off to find their unwelcome companions.

Finally, the workers set off. Sebastian had remained with his partner, Torbal, and they'd teamed up with Thirin and Alum, one of the human workers. Not all of the tunnels would be scouted in one go, but Fletcher had insisted on at least four people in each group, with one person staying close to the entrance, so they could raise the alarm in case of trouble. Angrim volunteered for this task in Fletcher's group, not fancying accompanying the simpering mage and elf, and not having a great deal of love for Bartrand, either.

While he stayed behind, Bartrand walked well ahead of Fenris and Fletcher, and prodded at the roof of the tunnel occasionally with a large stick, holding his torch in his other hand.

"It's quite dusty in here, isn't it, Fenris?" Fletcher murmured quietly to the elf as they walked along. "Think I'll need rather a long bath when we get back."

Fenris's mouth curved upward slightly and the blush that Fletcher loved to see crept into his cheeks. "That would be advisable," he counselled, keeping his eyes dead ahead, a quiet, staccato snort escaping through his nose.

"And afterwards, I'm going to get to work on those balms of yours," Fletcher went on. "I was discussing them with Anders, actually; he has some good ideas for the Mystical Magic Repelling Balm, you know."

Fenris nodded, his smile fading slightly. "If I can be of assistance, please let me know."

"I wanted to say I appreciate you making an effort with Anders," Fletcher said, touching the elf's arm. "I know he's…well, troubled, as you said. But he needs people around him, Fen, to keep him grounded; he needs friends. I've argued with him several times in the past and I'm sure I will again, but I won't walk away from him. I think he needs me, even though he might not know it, if that makes sense."

"It does," said the elf. "You are a man of honour, Fletcher, and that you would stay at his side does you credit. Just…" Fenris paused and came to a halt.

"Just what?" asked Fletcher, sensing his hesitancy. "Say what you think, Fen. Partners and confidants, remember?"

"Keep up, you two!" Bartrand shouted from up ahead. "We ain't got time for sweet nothings!"

Ignoring him, Fenris frowned and lowered his voice. "Just…promise me you will not involve yourself too heavily in his affairs. He hints at sedition and subversion, a path that can only end poorly for him, and I would not see you walk the same path. While I suspect that he has endured much, his assertion that all mages must be liberated is both indiscriminate and irresponsible. Some mages should be contained; surely even you can see that?"

Fletcher clasped his chin and looked at Fenris thoughtfully.

"All sections of society contain undesirable elements," the elf elaborated. "There are humans, dwarves and elves who should not live among others, because they are criminals, or are immoral or insane. To declare that one section of society should be liberated simply because of who they are is erroneous; dangerous, even. Anders would have all mages freed because they are mages, irrespective of their misdemeanours or unsavoury proclivities. In fact, you insisted that the blood mages at the coast be relinquished to the Templars because they were criminals. It was then I began to see the differences between you and Anders: you are prepared to judge a situation on its merits, while he is not."

Fletcher considered Fenris's words, nodding slowly. "I can't argue with that, Fen."

Fenris exhaled softly, and cleared his throat. "I know that you and Anders will be working together at the clinic after the expedition, and I am glad of that; you will be more contented if you are able to care for people. All I ask is that you…keep yourself separate from him, keep his interests apart from your own. If…that makes sense?"

"It does," smiled Fletcher, stroking Fenris's arm. "Thanks for looking out for me. What you say makes a lot of sense, and I'll remember it."

"See that you do," joked the elf, relieved that Fletcher had not taken issue with his concerns.

"Bartrand!"

Fletcher and Fenris's heads snapped in the direction of the tunnel entrance. "Where's that coming from? Is that Anders?" Fletcher asked.

"Bartrand! Where is he, Ang-oh, bloody hell, I can't remember your name. Where's Bartrand? Is he in here?"

Fletcher and Fenris quickly walked back to the tunnel entrance, where an irate-looking Anders was badgering Angrim, with an out-of-breath Varric arriving behind him.

"Where's that no-good brother of mine?" the dwarf demanded.

"He's further up the tunnel," Fletcher answered. "What's this about?"

"Come over here," Anders ordered someone Fletcher couldn't see. "And wipe that bloody smirk off your face!"

Fletcher's look of bemusement quickly transformed into a glower as the mystery person stepped forward.

"I told you I had something up my sleeve, didn't I, Hawke?" Isabela laughed. "Why, hello, Fenris," she greeted the elf in a flirtatious tone; Fenris shook his head without answering.

"I don't believe this!" Fletcher exclaimed, covering his face with his hands.

"I'd like you all to meet Sutton," Anders blurted. "Now we know why he-she always wore a hood and never spoke! It's lucky Varric noticed she had big tits for a man!"

"Now, come on, Blondie; I didn't actually say that. I believe the word I used was 'knockers'."

"Never mind which word you used!" Anders snapped, pushing past the rest of them. "Where is that bastard?"

"He knew about this?" demanded Fletcher.

"Well, I should think so," said Isabela as Anders charged up the tunnel. "I had to pay the twister ten bloody sovereigns to participate in this…expedition," she said, brushing dust off her shirt and breeches.

Fletcher stared at her morosely for a minute before he turned and followed Anders up the tunnel.

"Do you have no concept of your workers' safety?" he heard Anders shouting from up ahead. "Haven't you heard about the broodmothers? There was a reason I insisted on no women on the expedition! What is wrong with you?"

"Of course he knows about the broodmothers!" Fletcher said as he joined them. "He's a bloody dwarf, isn't he? Don't they all know?"

"The broodmothers are a sodding myth!" Bartrand growled.

"Oh? Then I must have imagined it when I killed one of the fuckers at Drake's Fall!" Anders yelled. "And you knew about them? That makes it even worse!"

"Both of us told you, no women, Bartrand," Fletcher said angrily as Varric and Fenris caught up and stood at his side. "You really do care more about money than your workers, don't you?"

"Do you mind?" Isabela called from behind them, and they all turned around to see the pirate standing with her hands on her hips. "Believe it or not, I am a grown woman and I can make my own decisions. While I would love nothing more than to see five strong men fighting over me, I really have to-"

"She's going back up to the surface, right now!" Anders ordered Bartrand.

"She is going nowhere!" Isabela argued. "Unless, that is, you tie me up and throw me over your shoulder, which, in principle, I'd have no problem with, but this isn't really the time. Now, let's get this straight: I've paid good money to be down here, and down here's where I'm staying. I'm glad this is all out, to be honest; it was becoming a chore having to constantly fart and scratch my non-existent balls to look like a bloke. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to unstrap my boobs; they bloody hurt, you know, not to mention itch, but I expect you mages will have a cream for that. Care to give me a hand, Fenris?"

The elf blanched, and Fletcher walked over to Isabela, stopping in front of her. "Just so there's no confusion, Isabela: Fenris is with me."

"Beat me to the punch, eh?" laughed the pirate. "You lucky sod." She looked Fenris and Fletcher up and down and frowned slightly. "How do you overcome the height difference?" she pondered. "I expect you have a position for that, though…you'll have to fill me in," she said with a wink.

"Don't you have boobs to unstrap?" Fletcher asked irritably.

"Oh, yes, all right. I'll do that and then I'll go and keep poor Rasel company; remember him? We do have work to do when you lot have finished your pettifoggery." With that, she tossed her hair over her shoulders, turned and sauntered out of the tunnel, massaging her crushed breasts.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Bartrand," Fletcher bristled.

"I don't need to explain nothing to you, Mage!" he bit back. "I'm the sodding leader of this expedition, and I've had it with you and your queer friends throwing your weight about!"

"No, you're not, Bartrand," Varric said in a hard tone. "We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Hawke, and it genuinely frightens me to think that you, alone, are responsible for our safety. Give Blondie his maps back. From now on, he and Hawke are leading the expedition. You're out, Bartrand."

"You forget your place, little brother," snarled Bartrand. "You're getting in a twist because of some tart being in on the expedition? What do you care?"

"I couldn't give a rat's ass about her coming along; like she said, she's a big girl…in more ways than one," Varric quipped, and, noticing that the others weren't smiling, he moved on. "Hawke and Blondie are my friends, and you've disrespected them, and the elf, every opportunity you get. And if it wasn't for them, we would have lost a hell of a lot more than just Reijyr."

Varric stepped in front of Bartrand and stared him down. "You're a black mark on our house, Bartrand. Give Blondie the damned maps or I'll tie you up and leave the deep stalkers to feed on you. Quick as you like; we got work to do."

Bartrand's eyes moved over the three irate men and the elf, who had said nothing but was staring daggers at him. He slowly reached into a pocket and produced the Deep Roads maps Anders had provided him with. "Here are your sodding maps," he spat, thrusting them into Anders's hand. "You're making a mistake, Varric. A big mistake; all of you," he threatened in a calm voice.

"Quit your bellyaching," Varric ordered his brother with a disgusted expression. "I suggest we all check on the Rivaini and then get back to work. You can stay here and pout, if you like," he said to Bartrand, and the four men turned and headed back for the main chamber, with Bartrand watching them.

"A very big mistake," he muttered to himself. "The last one you'll ever make, Brother."