Mary, thank you sincerely for your beta. You've been missed.
Isabela's shanty is my own (with a little refinement from Mary), but Sebastian, Varric and Fenris's rhymes were taken from utterpants . co. uk and coolfunnypoems . com (and tweaked a little).
~o~O~o~
When Fletcher reluctantly opened his eyes, the quiet chatter he could hear from the main chamber told him that the new, smaller group was up and about. He stretched out an arm, finding an empty space next to him, and, hearing quiet movements to his left, he shifted beneath the blanket that had been placed over him, along with his robe.
Fenris, who was dressed and fully-armoured, knelt next to the fire, making two mugs of tea from a small cauldron of hot water. He was taking great care not to make any unnecessary noise and Fletcher smiled, knowing from the two mugs that Fenris was about to wake him anyway.
Cringing as the spoon slipped out of his fingers and clattered against one of the mugs, Fenris glanced anxiously over at Fletcher, and was greeted with a wave and a sleepy grin. Fenris nodded and quickly turned away, but not before Fletcher caught a glimpse of flushed cheeks and a toothy grin, which was quickly hidden as Fenris pressed his lips together.
Fletcher sat up, the lower part of his body still covered by the blanket and robe, and watched Fenris finish the tea, the elf's every movement precise and deliberate. Fenris then stood and carried the mugs over to him, placing one down next to Fletcher before kneeling in front of him.
"Tea," said the elf. "And…good morning."
"Good morning," Fletcher smiled, and picked up his mug, blowing on its contents. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, trying to catch Fenris's eye, but the elf's hair hung over his face, not quite obscuring his mouth, which curved upwards slightly at the edges.
Fenris nodded and took a sip of his tea. "I slept as well as I usually do; I awoke several times, but, when I did…you were there." Again, he sipped his drink, the veins in his hands bulging as he gripped the mug tightly, and he glanced at Fletcher briefly, the edges of his eyes crinkling.
"I'll always be there," Fletcher promised softly, scrutinising the elf for any signs of anxiety, tension, regret, and finding none; but that was no guarantee that Fenris did not feel them, and Fletcher prepared himself for that eventuality.
"I need not ask if you slept well," said Fenris, a smile in his voice as he set his mug down. "I don't believe you awoke once or changed position the entire night."
"I always sleep like that when I'm happy," answered the mage, inching closer to Fenris. "Are you happy, Fen? Was…everything all right last night?"
Silently, Fenris shuffled closer and, raising his head, he gave Fletcher a look so full of admiration and longing that the mage's breath caught. When Fenris's hands caressed Fletcher's cheeks and he leaned into him, their lips meeting, a quiet moan left the mage's mouth, growing louder when Fenris pulled back, leaving Fletcher bereft and hungry for more.
"Well…that answers that," Fletcher chuckled, his own cheeks flushing.
Fenris's eyes moved to the mouth of the tunnel and he listened to the various voices that came from outside. "Last night…you made me feel…" He lowered his head, his eyes hooded, and his fingers stilled against Fletcher's cheeks.
"Normal?" ventured the mage softly.
Fenris rested his forehead against Fletcher's. "Not just normal; much better than that. You…you made me feel…like a person. A living, breathing, person. It-it was…wonderful." He moved back slightly and looked over to the tunnel entrance again. "Perhaps…when we are alone again, you will permit me to…return the favour?" he murmured, a hitch in his breath.
Heat surged through Fletcher's core and he swallowed hard, running his hands up and down Fenris's arms. "Uh, well, we'll be going through the tunnel today, so there won't be much opportunity for privacy…will you be all right with that, by the way?" he blathered, cringing as something stirred beneath his blanket. "When-when we get to the next chamber, though, I'll find us somewhere to go…I-I mean, not just for…that, but just to talk or to be alone, you know. Um…"
Fenris looked on with amusement, his head cocked to one side, as the mage stuttered his answer. "Shall I take that as a 'yes', then?" asked the elf mischievously, tickled by Fletcher's bumbling.
"Oh, yes…I…" Fletcher started to laugh, amazed that, as someone who used to be able to stroll into a brothel and ask quite plainly for what he wanted, he was now reduced to a gibbering fool by a quiet, unassuming elf. "I mean…well, that would be lovely. Nice. I mean…oh, bloody hell, what's wrong with me?"
Fenris, also laughing, brought his hands to rest on Fletcher's shoulders as the mage pulled him close. "Nothing," Fenris uttered quietly, kissing the top of Fletcher's head, his hands sliding down the mage's bare shoulder blades, feeling Fletcher's warm lips brush against his throat. "There is nothing wrong at all." Fenris then abruptly released Fletcher and stood up. "I-I think you should clothe yourself," he advised, snatching their mugs and hurrying over to the fire. "You will catch cold."
"Cold, eh?" Fletcher grinned, trying to glimpse Fenris's front, but the shrewd elf had his back to him. "Yes, good idea, Fen," he said, slipping his robe over his head. "Before we both catch cold."
The elf gave no reply, save a low chuckle, almost – but not completely - dismissed by the clearing of his throat.
~o~O~o~
When they emerged, breakfast had been started by Thirin and Sheldon, and Vonim and Torbal had already started on the grog, which had been deemed fit to drink by the dwarves.
"Isn't it a little early for that?" Fletcher laughed as an overflowing mug was thrust into his hand.
"You humans and your sodding etiquette!" Vonim scoffed. "You gotta have a bracer with breakfast! We're late by Orzammar standards; we've already wasted a couple of hours of good drinkin' time! Now, get it down you, Mage!" A further mug was passed to Fenris, who sniffed at the contents and frowned.
"After you," Fenris invited, an eyebrow twitching. "You are our leader, after all."
With a sour look at the elf, Fletcher raised the mug to his mouth and screwed his eyes closed as he took a gulp of the cloudy, grey-brown liquid.
"Nyeargh!" He shuddered, the spray that burst from his mouth narrowly missing Fenris. "My-my throat feels like it's on fire!" he gasped, rubbing his windpipe, and then his eyes moved to Fenris, whose smug smile rapidly melted away. "Your turn, Elf," Fletcher rasped.
With a quiet sigh and a solemn nod, Fenris brought the mug to his lips, suddenly aware that several pairs of eyes were on him. As he took the noxious-smelling liquid into his mouth, his expression stayed impassive, and Vonim, who'd expected Fenris to react as Fletcher had, laughed and nodded his approval, impressed by the elf's stoicism.
"Interesting flavour," Fenris calmly commented before knocking back the remainder of the mug's contents.
"Interesting? It tastes like bloody lava!" Fletcher croaked, his voice cracking.
"I rather like it," Fenris replied with a small smile, holding his mug out for a refill.
"The elf approves!" Vonim loudly announced, and a small queue formed next to the bathtub; the only other ones not partaking were Anders and Sebastian, who joined Fletcher and Fenris.
"At least have something to eat, first!" Anders warned the workers, his advice falling on deaf ears. "Hawke, we have a lot do to, today; we've got to get the equipment and food into the tunnel," he said to Fletcher.
"Ah, let them have a bit of fun," Fletcher answered with a wave of his hand. "I'd rather have relaxed workers than quarrelsome or tense ones. So long as a few of us stay in control," he said with a sly look at Fenris, who was finishing his second mug. Wiping his mouth, Fenris smiled blearily at Fletcher, who grabbed the mug from him and pointed over to where Thirin was frying sausages. "No more for you until you've lined your stomach."
"Fine, Master of the Grog," the elf grumbled with a surly glare, but Fletcher, who by now knew the difference between serious-surly Fenris and pretend-surly Fenris, laughed after the elf as he stalked away.
"Not drinking, fellas?" Varric queried, walking over to them with Isabela.
"Have you actually tasted it, Varric?" Fletcher asked, and the dwarf answered by raising his mug to the mage before knocking the contents back. Fletcher shook his head. "You're all insane," he accused.
Isabela stepped forward, having brought two mugs with her. "Anders? Sebastian? Can I tempt you?"
Anders briefly looked up from his maps and quickly shook his head before turning away. Sebastian, however, was more courteous. "Alas, madam, I do not partake of alcoholic beverages," he said with a warm smile.
"Ah well," she said to Varric, "more for you and me, I guess. And will you stop calling me bloody madam?" she scolded Sebastian. "I'm not an old maid yet, you know!"
"Forgive me; how should I address you?" asked the archer, and Isabela's eyes lit up.
"Now there's an invitation. Call me whatever you like, handsome. I…could give you a few suggestions, if you'd like?"
"Careful, Sebastian," warned Fletcher. "She used to call me handsome."
"That was before I knew about you and Fenris," she laughed, glancing over at the elf, who was filling two plates for him and Fletcher. "I wouldn't dare encroach on his territory…not unless you two feel like experimenting?" she added with a wink.
"We don't, but thanks all the same," Fletcher replied good-naturedly, while Anders shook his head and walked away, still engrossed in his maps. Fletcher caught a fleeting look of irritation in Isabela's eyes before her smirk returned and she sidled closer to Sebastian.
"Call me anything you like, Blue Eyes," she invited. "Peaches, Sweetcheeks, anything along those lines."
"How about 'Isabela'?" Sebastian suggested with a laugh.
"You could call me that at a pinch, I suppose," she answered with a mock-pout, shoving the mugs of grog into Fletcher's hands and crooking her arm. "How would you like to escort me over to Thirin for some breakfast?"
Sebastian bowed and took her arm and they walked away, with Isabela shooting another wink over her shoulder at Fletcher. "What am I supposed to do with these?" he complained, holding up the mugs.
"I will trade you one for a plate of food," offered Fenris, who had snuck up behind Fletcher. Fletcher turned around, seeing that pretend-surly Fenris now wore a crafty smile.
"Deal," answered the mage. "But you're not drinking it until you've eaten."
"Yes, Father," Fenris joked as they exchanged plate and mug, and Fletcher burst out laughing.
"Now, now, don't get having a domestic," Varric teased. "Guess I'd better get myself some grub before there's none left. Later," he said with a nod, and went over to Thirin, alone. Fletcher watched him walk away, feeling a sudden pang of sadness as it occurred to him that Varric was without his Sunshine, and he wondered how the dwarf was feeling about that.
"Fen, I'll be over in a bit," he told the elf. "I just need to speak to Varric for a minute."
Fenris went over to his and Fletcher's spot just outside tunnel two, while Fletcher moved over to the dwarf and stood next to him as he piled his plate with bacon, bread and dried fruits.
"Don't tell me you've eaten that already, Hawke," said Varric, cocking an eyebrow when he noticed that Fletcher's plate was still full.
"Oh, no, not really," Fletcher mumbled casually. "I was just thinking about Mother and Beth, wondering how they were getting on, you know."
Varric grinned up at his friend. "Feeling homesick, Hawke?"
Fletcher shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought; we've been so busy, but now things have settled down a bit, I have been thinking about them. How about you?"
Realising what Fletcher was doing, Varric chuckled to himself. "Well, sure, I've been thinking about Sunshine, but I won't get maudlin, Hawke; just remember why we're down here in the first place: to give her and your ma a better life. Just imagine their faces when you buy them that mansion and those fancy clothes," he smiled.
Fletcher returned his smile, before his expression turned pensive. "Do you really think there are fabulous riches to be had down here, Varric? Honestly?"
"Hard to say, Hawke. So far, all we've encountered are dusty chambers, but we're not far in, yet. I guess if nothing turns up I could claim ownership of the caves and rent them out? What do you think?"
"You didn't have much luck doing that with Petrice's safehouse, did you?" Fletcher teased.
"Hey, we just had a little setback with that, Hawke, that's all. Aveline said she'd hold off the Chantry until we return, so I'm still optimistic."
"Varric, the property tycoon," Fletcher laughed.
"Oh, I'm not greedy, Hawke; I'll settle for owning just half of Kirkwall," replied the dwarf. "With you as my agent, of course."
"I'll certainly consider it, if we don't all become stinking rich."
"There's one thing I wanna find down here, though, and I won't leave without it," Varric vowed.
"Oh? And what's that?"
"I'll tell you when I find it," said the dwarf mysteriously, and he began to walk away from Hawke.
"Wait! Tell me what it is, and I'll keep an eye out!" Fletcher offered, intrigued by Varric's reticence, but the dwarf shook his head and refused to elaborate, despite Fletcher's threats to incessantly pester him.
~o~O~o~
After a leisurely breakfast - and at Anders's insistence - Fletcher rallied the workers into action, although progress was slow as their wits had been somewhat dulled by the grog. Eventually, the group moved into the tunnel, each worker further slowed by the tools and provisions they carried. After a few hours of foot-slogging, the workers started to tire – as well as sober up – and Fletcher called a halt for a break.
Tea was brewed up, and the remainder of the booze – which most of the workers had filled their waterskins with – was imbibed. A lackadaisical mood settled over the group which, to Anders's irritation, Fletcher did nothing to discourage.
"We need to get going, Hawke," he urged as he paced back and forth.
"Why? What's the hurry? Why are you so on edge?" Fletcher asked, taking him aside.
"I don't know…just a feeling. I feel…uncomfortable."
Fletcher glanced back at the group and lowered his voice. "Are you sensing darkspawn, Anders?"
Anders sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. It's been a long time and I'm not sure what it is I can feel. I just…I need to get out of this tunnel. Please."
"All right, Anders." Fletcher laid a hand on Anders's shoulder and turned back to the group. "Come on; we've had long enough to rest. Let's get going."
Amid a few groans, the workers got to their feet.
"This reminds me of the grog my boys used to brew up on the Siren's Call," Isabela said with a wistfulness Fletcher hadn't heard before as she drank the last of her booze.
"Ah…that was your ship?" Fletcher asked from behind her.
"Yes," she sighed, wriggling as she struggled with her heavy pack. "We had some good times aboard her."
"May I carry that for you?" Sebastian offered, reaching for her pack, and she startled, sending it to the ground with a loud thump.
"What have you got in there?" Fletcher asked, moving next to her.
"Oh, nothing!" she exclaimed with a nervous laugh, hastily grabbing the pack and hefting it over her shoulder; Fletcher caught sight of a large, square-shaped object bulging through it.
"Isabela, if you have anything unnecessary in there, you need to leave it behind," Fletcher said sternly. "We have enough stuff to carry as it is."
"It-it's a book," she stammered, her cheeks reddening. "A very old book of sea shanties. It's the only thing I managed to salvage from the shipwreck and I won't part with it. I'll manage, Hawke," she said with determination.
"All right," he sighed. "But if you're having trouble with it, let someone else carry it."
"I'll be fine, Hawke, but thanks for the offer," she replied, keeping a tight grip of the straps of the pack. "Well!" she chirped, eager to change the subject. "How about I sing you all a shanty, put a spring in our steps, eh?"
Receiving an enthusiastic response from the group, she glanced through her lashes at Sebastian. "Might want to cover your ears for this one, my handsome Chantry lad."
"I'm sure it contains nothing I haven't heard before," he answered with an easy grin.
"Is that so?" She winked at him and cleared her throat as the group got underway. "This is called 'Ode to sweet Fanny'."
"Ode to someone's sweet ass?" Torbal shouted up the tunnel.
"'Fanny' has quite a different meaning where I come from," said Fletcher, wiggling his eyebrows, and some of the humans sniggered.
"No, you dolts! Not that kind of fanny! It's a woman's name!" Isabela groaned, rolling her eyes. "Now, pay attention!" She cleared her throat again.
"There once was a sailor named Jack 'Woody' Naylor
And how did he come by his nickname, asks thee?
I'll tell thee a story t'in parts be quite gory
And serves as a warning to them's new to the sea.
Bein' on his last voyage, then home to the missus,
Ol' Jack was a-wishin they'd about turn and flee
'Cause his wifey awaitin' had him damn near to faintin'
Bein' cold as a blizzard and cruel as the sea.
Too many long years he'd steered that ol' tugboat
With her crow's nest unkempt and as sour as a pickle
Her riggin' had slackened and had long headed southward
An' her waters had dried to nary a trickle."
Some of the workers laughed and those whose hands were free, clapped along with Isabela's singing.
"…Ol' Jack knew he'd be needin' to please 'er
Upon his return to the marital home
With his heart in his boots, he sat on the poop
An' took out his last ration o' sweet golden foam.
He chugged at the nectar 'til long after sundown
And, loaded to the gills, he lurched to his feet
He took a last stroll to the bow o' the vessel
Where he met with a sight that he'd not soon forget.
For there was a maiden as fair as the mornin'
Her hair was a curtain o' gleamin' spun silver
Her futtocks were trim an' her bridge, pert and fulsome
An' her fender was round and had Jack all-a-quiver.
Jack soon got the horn in the face o' this beauty
An' asked her by what name she 'ferred to be called
With a wink and a leer, she beckoned him near
An' told him that Fanny left no man blue-balled.
'I love thee, sweet Fanny!' ol' Jack did declare
His trousers, amidships, pulled down to his knees
With a tug of his pants, his beam at half-mast
Ran aground, finding naught but the tangy sea breeze.
'You've no bloody hatch, wench!' Jack dourly exclaimed
An' reached into his pocket, pullin' out his pen knife
With which he did scuttle, and carved out a niche
Then he took his young Fanny as a man would his wife."
"The dirty bastard!" Fletcher laughed, and Sebastian shook his head, but was smiling.
"…With the deed done, ol' Jack fell, groggy and spent
His seamen all scattered, an officer's mess
His satisfied slumber was gi'en the heave-ho
When the Cap'n demanded that ol' Jack confess:
'What have ye done to our masthead?' cried he
Then spotted that somethin' 'bout Jack was amiss
Though angered, he called for the doctor then warned,
'After treatment, ol' Jack, ye'll be keel-hauled fer this!'
But the Cap'n took pity when apprised o' Jack's fate
'Cause the poor man was splintered from bulkhead to balls
And with medicine harsh, and a ruined half-mast
Ol' Jack bore the unkindest cut of 'em all!"
Isabela laughed as several members of the group winced, but was glad to see that her ditty had been well-received. "Well?" she asked Sebastian, surprised that he didn't look as outraged, or embarrassed, as she'd expected.
"Very amusing, Isabela. It might surprise you to learn that I know a few bawdy limericks, myself. Would you care to hear one?"
"This oughta be good," Varric muttered to Fletcher.
Isabela halted and folded her arms, a cheeky grin on her face. "Please."
"The sea captain's tender young bride
Fell into the bay at low tide.
One could tell by her squeals,
That some of the eels
Had discovered a good place to hide."
Silence and stunned stares accompanied the end of Sebastian's limerick, before a few quiet chuckles turned into guffaws. Soon, everyone was laughing, some in disbelief.
"Sebastian! Wherever did those eels hide?" Isabela asked saucily.
"Why, in her petticoats, of course," he answered, feigning innocence. "Where else?"
"Choirboy," Varric walked over to Sebastian, extending his hand. "Very few things leave me speechless, but that was one of them. Put it there." Sebastian shook his hand and laughed. "Hey, Choirboy. Do you know the one about the elven sailor from the Dales? The one with the jar?"
"Aye; I heard that one on the way over here from Starkhaven. Although…I couldn't possibly recite it in front of a lady."
"Do you see any ladies here?" an indignant Isabela challenged, hands on hips.
For a moment, Sebastian looked about to relent, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry; I can't," he chuckled.
"I'll tell it, then," Varric volunteered. "Hey, listen up, Broody! You might like this one," he called, and Fenris, who was further up the tunnel, stopped and listened to the dwarf.
"There was an old cove from the Dales,
An expert at pissing in gales;
From the top gallant spar, he'd piss in a jar,
Without ever wetting the sails.
"Whaddy'a think, Elf? You like that one?"
"And why would I, in particular, enjoy a tale about a man whose only talent was urinating into a jar?"
"Well, because he was an elf, Elf! And an elf with a special talent, at that!"
"I would rather not be known for a 'talent' like that," Fenris scoffed.
"How about an elf with a talent for rhymes, then?" Varric asked as Fenris's eyes narrowed slightly. "No? Ah, such a shame. I guess it was too much to ask." Varric sighed dramatically, hanging his head for good measure as he walked ahead.
"One moment, Dwarf," Fenris spoke in a commanding voice, and his eyes moved to his side as he thought for a minute. He then walked over to Varric and stopped in front of him. "'I am a dog, and you are a flower. I raise my leg, and give you a shower'. Does that please you? Am I…'talented', now?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed back to join Fletcher, who was doubled up with laughter.
"You asked for that, Varric!" Fletcher chortled, and the stunned dwarf could only gawk and nod in agreement.
Now in high spirits, the group made good time through the tunnel, and after another, longer break for a meal, they reached the next chamber just as the sun would be setting up on the surface.
The new chamber was huge, with no fewer than fourteen tunnels running off it, as well as several small antechambers and recesses. "Hey, Fen," Fletcher whispered as they looked around. "We'll have to go exploring later on, find that little quiet place for us, yes?"
Fenris nodded and smiled up at Fletcher. "I will begin now, while you and Anders prepare the fires."
"Eager, aren't you?" Fletcher teased with a nudge to his arm.
"Actually," the elf whispered, "I need to 'water the flowers'. Quite urgently."
"Fair enough!" sniggered Fletcher. "Do you need a jar? You could impress Varric with your accuracy."
"If you keep me talking, there won't be a jar large enough," Fenris replied impatiently, fidgeting on the spot, and he passed Fletcher his torch. "Excuse me."
Fletcher beamed as he watched the elf scurry away towards a small tunnel, overjoyed to see his sense of humour breaking through. "Don't go too far in!" he warned the elf. "We don't know if it's safe, yet."
"That is no longer a consideration," Fenris called back, his voice strained as he halted at the tunnel entrance and fumbled with his breeches, frowning over his shoulder. "Shoo!"
"I'm going!" Fletcher walked away, laughing, hearing the hiss of water hitting rock, and a long, relieved groan from behind him.
~o~O~o~
Once the fires had been lit, and the equipment and provisions stored, the workers started to prepare supper and find their sleeping spots for the night. Fenris had found a small, L-shaped antechamber that he judged suitable for their purposes, offering adequate privacy for undressing, if not for returning of favours. While he moved his and Fletcher's belongings into it, Fletcher sought out Anders, who was reconnoitring the various exits from the chamber.
"How are you feeling now?" he quietly asked his fellow healer.
Anders considered his answer for a moment before sighing. "I still don't feel right, Hawke. I can't even explain it; I just…I feel like something bad's going to happen."
Alarmed, Fletcher steered Anders further away from the group. "How do you mean? Something bad? Like what?"
"I'm sorry, Hawke, I just don't know." He looked up to the ceiling of the chamber and his posture slumped. "I feel…trapped. I keep getting urges to just run out of here up to the surface." He fidgeted and scratched the back of his neck. "Don't worry, though; it's a fleeting thing. I'm not going to crack up on you or anything," he added with a hollow laugh that Fletcher didn't return.
"Have you had feelings like this before, Anders? Could you be claustrophobic?"
Anders's eyes flitted over to the main body of the group, who paid them no attention. "The only other time I felt like this was when I was in solitary," he whispered.
Fletcher nodded calmly, although his stomach dropped. "And what about Justice? Have you been…communicating with him?"
Anders shook his head. "Justice has been unusually quiet since we came down here…it's a strange feeling, but I suppose nothing has happened to stir him."
"Are you going to be all right?" Fletcher asked him, a nervous flutter in his stomach.
"I might just be tired. You and I discussed the possibility that some of us might get the jitters when we're deep underground, and, according to the maps, we're about half a mile below ground level. All that solid rock above us…not really the stuff of bedtime stories, is it?"
"No." Fletcher placed a hand on Anders's shoulder. "Do you and Varric sleep close together? Fenris and I were going to go over there," he said, pointing to where the elf was puttering outside the antechamber, "but we can sit with you tonight, if you'd like some company. Fenris won't mind."
"No, that won't be necessary, Hawke," he replied, forcing a smile. "Varric will be close by. Maybe…maybe I need an early night. Think I'll turn in after supper. I appreciate your concern, though. Do you want to give me a hand with the wards?"
"I will in a minute, Anders," replied Fletcher, looking at Varric, who, as usual, had found something else to do when the rest of the group was hard at work: he was polishing Bianca in a corner, discreetly observing the others. "I'm just going to have a word with Varric."
"You don't need to tell him to look after me, Hawke," Anders said with a genuine smile.
"Who said anything about that? I'm going to consult with my fellow investor, that's all," replied Fletcher, also smiling as he walked over to the dwarf.
"How are things, Varric?" Fletcher asked, squatting down next to the dwarf, who nodded at the group.
"The Rivaini. Does she seem a little…skittish to you, Hawke?"
Fletcher frowned and glanced over at Isabela, who was also avoiding doing any real work by entertaining the workers with tales of her life at sea. "Skittish? What do you mean?"
"Well, since she dropped her pack and said something about that book; I know her a little better than you do, Hawke, and that wasn't a normal reaction for her at all. She's as smooth as a mage's bottom when explaining her way out of things, and she was about as smooth as a dwarf's hairy ass when asked about her book."
"What's that brain of yours up to?" Fletcher laughed.
"I wanna get a look at that book. I hear she's writing a story about a certain mage and a certain elf and I want to check out my competition. When she's asleep, I'll take a peek."
"And does that mean I'll get a peek at this story you're writing about me, Fenris and Anders? The love triangle?"
Varric's eyes slowly moved over to his young mage friend, and one edge of his mouth twitched. "Sunshine?"
"Sunshine."
"I'll have to have a little talk with Sunshine when we get back," Varric muttered humorously.
"Don't change the subject, Dwarf. Are you going to let me read it, or not?"
Varric sighed and idly rubbed his jaw. "Okay, but…I wouldn't advise letting the elf read it."
"Don't tell me you've put him and Anders together. Please don't tell me that. Do you know what he'd do to you if he found out?"
"Look, Hawke; if you're not gonna like the contents, don't read it," teased the dwarf.
"Luckily for you, I promised Fenris I wouldn't keep any more secrets from him, so I guess I'll give it a miss." Fletcher pushed himself up as his knees were aching, and stretched his arms. "Listen; will you do me a favour, Varric? Keep an eye on Anders for me. I think he's feeling a little twitchy down here. I'm going to watch him as well, but if you spot anything untoward, will you let me know?"
"Count on it, Hawke," promised Varric, also pushing up to his feet. "Well, I'd better do my share and help out with supper."
"Very generous of you, considering it's almost done." Fletcher shook his head, feigning disapproval, but couldn't help smiling.
"Didn't see you helping out, Hawke," Varric answered with a winsome grin as they walked over to the giant pot of stew that had been prepared.
"I'm seeing to everyone's wellbeing, which is just as important as cooking…and polishing Bianca, apparently. Again."
"Polishing Bianca is of vital import to our mission," claimed the dwarf. "You wanna be the one facing down one of those blackspawn thingies when Bianca decides to lock up because she hasn't been getting the proper attention? You want me help out with the cooking at the expense of Bianca's upkeep? Fine. Your funeral, Mage."
"You're nothing but a knave and a cad, you know that?"
"Why, thank you, my friend," Varric replied with a sweeping bow, and they moved into line for their supper, still chuckling.
~o~O~o~
Full and sleepy after supper, most of the expedition workers settled down for the night, though a small group stayed up, sitting around the fire in the main chamber. Anders showed no sign of relaxing; in fact, he'd appeared to become more tense, but Varric assured the concerned Fletcher that he'd do his best to settle Anders, and would stay awake until Anders fell asleep.
Fletcher and Fenris bedded down in their little antechamber, and, after talking for a while, and a fair amount of petting – which Fenris called a halt to when Fletcher let out an involuntary moan loud enough to be heard outside – they wrapped arms and blankets around each other and drifted off to sleep.
"Hawke! Hawke! Wake up! Quickly! You too, Elf!"
"Uh? Whassat?" Fletcher blinked several times, rubbing his eyes to focus his vision, finding an agitated-looking Varric leaning over him, who wore nothing but a pair of braies. Fenris moved rather more quickly, and was up on his feet, sword at the ready, before Fletcher managed to sit up.
"It's Blondie! Come quickly! There's something wrong with him!" Varric ran out of the chamber, and, after pulling Fletcher up by his arm, Fenris – already clothed in shirt and leggings - quickly followed.
Woozy from the rush of blood to his head, Fletcher hurriedly threw his robe on and jogged to where Varric and Fenris stood over Anders, who was shouting out in his sleep. A small crowd of awakened workers gathered round, making way for Fletcher as he arrived.
"I can't wake him, Hawke!" Varric hissed, grabbing Anders by the shoulder and shaking him. "Blondie! Blondie! Can you do anything, Hawke?"
"Leave him alone, you bastards!" Anders wailed as he thrashed around.
"Get rid of them, Varric," Fletcher muttered, crouching down next to his stricken friend. "Fen, I'm going to cast; move back, please."
Fenris paused for a moment before nodding and retreating to the antechamber, realising that Fletcher and Anders would want some privacy, but he watched closely from a distance.
"Okay, everyone; nothing to see here," Varric announced confidently. "Kid's having a bad dream, that's all. Back to bed. Off you go." Slowly at first, the small crowd dispersed, hastened by Fletcher's stern, protective glance at them.
"Anders," he whispered, placing his hands on Anders's brow, and he recited a reverse sleep spell, murmuring soothing words as Anders stopped moving and slumped in his arms. Anders's eyelids twitched a few times and then flew open, and he shot up into a sitting position, grabbing Fletcher roughly by the shoulders.
"Ruben!" he cried, pulling Fletcher against him and holding onto him for dear life. "I'm so, so sorry! Please, don't ever leave me again! I won't let them hurt you, I swear!"
"Anders…it's me, Fletcher," the mage whispered, frowning deeply as Anders wept against his shoulder. "Shh. It's all right; you had a nightmare. You're safe."
Although gravely concerned, Varric backed away and walked over to stand beside Fenris. They exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to the mages; most of the other members of the group were also watching, but did so from their beds. Sebastian, who had slept in the mouth of a tunnel, stood there but kept out of sight of the mages, not wanting to intrude.
"H-Hawke?" Anders pulled away, wiping his eyes, and caught his breath before his eyes widened again and he started to pant. "They're here, Hawke!" he cried, and Fletcher placed a finger to his own lips, stroking Anders's hair with his other hand.
"Who, Anders? The darkspawn?" he whispered.
Anders nodded quickly, taking several deep breaths.
"Where? How far?"
"I-I need to…" Still panting, Anders scrambled for his maps and glanced around the chamber, his eyes eventually settling on a wall facing in a south-westerly direction. "That way," he said, and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Shit…I didn't think…so soon…I-I can't…"
"Anders," Fletcher said firmly, grabbing him by the arms. "How far?"
Anders gulped and attempted to focus on the maps, and, after a minute, he sighed and his head fell back. "We're all right…but they're heading in the direction of Bartrand's party. I don't know how far in they are, but the darkspawn will have reached the chamber they're heading for by morning."
"How many, Anders?"
"I don't know. I-I'm not a veteran warden…maybe twenty of them? But that's just a guess."
"Well done, Anders," Fletcher said, assisting him to his feet. "I need your help. Do you feel up to it?"
Anders quickly nodded and grabbed his staff. Fletcher then led him over to where Varric and Fenris stood.
"Darkspawn," Fletcher said quietly to the dwarf. "They're heading for Bartrand's party; we need to warn them, and fast."
"Oh, crap," Varric grumbled, slapping his forehead. "They already have a day's head start on us, you know. Will we get to them in time?"
"We have until morning, according to Anders," Fletcher replied. "We won't be carrying any equipment and they will hopefully have stopped once they reached the chamber on the map. With any luck, it'll take us no longer than four or five hours to reach them. It'll be tight, but we have to try."
"We'll need everyone who is able to fight," Anders added. "I'll do my best to protect them from the taint, but they must be warned about it; I won't force anyone to come."
"I will see to that," Fenris offered, walking over to Sebastian's tunnel.
"I'll go and rustle up some dried food and stuff," said Varric, and he moved away from the mages.
"I'm sorry about that, Hawke," Anders said with a weary sigh.
"Don't be silly. You warned me about this. I'm very grateful you're here, Anders; don't apologise for potentially saving our lives, or the lives of Bartrand's party."
Anders nodded and hung his head. "I just hope we're in time; I know Bartrand's an arse, but I wouldn't wish the taint on anyone."
Fletcher patted Anders's back. "Are you all right now?"
"Yes," answered Anders, though the look in his eyes told Fletcher he was still troubled.
"Anders…I hope you don't mind me asking, but…who's Ruben?"
The colour drained from Anders's face and for a moment a look of panic gripped him. "No one," he answered briskly, clearing his throat. "I…I'd better get my clothes on." He walked away from Fletcher in a daze, and Fletcher was snapped out of his reverie by a nudge to his arm.
"Crewman Isabela reporting for duty, Cap'n!" the pirate, who had quickly dressed, cheerfully announced with a salute. "Ooh…can I be your first mate? Oh, go on. Please."
Fletcher shook his head and laughed, in spite of himself. "I think Fenris will designate himself first mate, but you can be my best boy if you like, or best girl."
She grabbed Fletcher's arm and squeezed it. "I like the sound of that…Hawke's Best Girl. I still haven't entirely given up on you, you know. Even if you no longer have a beard. Did I ever tell you I like beards?"
"Sebastian has a beard, and so does Anders," he reminded her, and she grinned. "Do you know any more amusing sea shanties, Isabela? I have a feeling we're going to need to be cheered up before the night is out."
"I know plenty, don't you worry." She slipped her arm through Fletcher's and led him over to the antechamber where he and Fenris had slept. "Need a hand putting your boots on?" she offered.
"No, but they need a hand over there," he said, pointing to where Fenris and Sebastian were rousing some of the workers. "Sebastian's there, and he has a beard."
"So he does! All right, then, off I go. I'll be back to check on you if you take too long," she promised, and turned around with a flourish, heading over to the men.
"Whose bright idea was it to split the fucking group up? You idiot!" Fletcher berated himself, before shaking his head and going in search of his boots.
~o~O~o~
After a small team was assembled, Fletcher, along with Fenris, Anders, Varric, Sebastian, Isabela, Vonim - and two of the humans who had encountered darkspawn before, Bartley and Marston – set off down tunnel two, this time unimpeded by equipment. Thirin and Torbal were left in charge, having been assured by Anders that no darkspawn were headed in their direction.
They made fast progress, and, after stopping for a five-minute toilet and drink break, Anders guessed that they were nearing the entrance. Fenris and Vonim scouted ahead, their weapons drawn, even though Anders had assured them that they were in no immediate danger.
"What the fuck?" Vonim growled from up ahead, and Fletcher's group halted for a split second before quickening their paces.
"Fletcher!" Fenris called, and, as they rounded a corner in the tunnel, the group halted again, their mouths gaping open as one.
Their exit from the tunnel was completely blocked by countless boulders, and dust rose from the pile, which reached all the way up to the ceiling.
"This can't be!" Varric cried, charging over to the collapse. "Blondie and I scouted this tunnel with two of the dwarves! They said it was completely safe!"
"Get back," Fletcher warned, striding over to Fenris, but Vonim ignored him and carefully examined the pile.
"This happened recently," the dwarf determined, his expression grim. "I remember Bartrand discussing this tunnel; said it was the safest of the lot. This shouldn't have happened."
"Can we get around it? Through it?" Fletcher asked.
Vonim slowly shook his head. "These rocks have been packed together. If we try and move 'em, the whole lot could come down on our heads."
"What do you mean, packed together?" Fenris demanded. "You almost make it sound deliberate."
"I'm not almost anything, Elf," Vonim replied, his nostrils flaring. "If this collapse had occurred naturally, there would have been a lot more loose debris. These rocks have been placed here, and the ceiling brought down on top of 'em."
"Are you saying this was done deliberately?" exclaimed Fletcher.
"No doubt about it, son," Vonim groaned. "Whoever did this – and you wouldn't need to be a genius to figure out who – didn't want us to leave this tunnel."
"Fuck!" shouted Varric as the rest of the group stood in appalled silence. "Fuck!"