Thank you to Mary for your beta, and to those of you still reviewing the story.

~o~O~o~

"That bastard! I should have known he'd pull a stunt like this!" Varric covered his face with his hands, shook his head and turned away from the group, which was staring, open-mouthed, at the collapse.

"But…he's your brother! Surely even he wouldn't do a thing like that? Not to you?" Fletcher asked in disbelief, feeling his heart drop into his boots.

"I'm precisely the one he's done it to, Hawke," Varric replied quietly, a slight waver in his voice as he turned back to his friend. "Damn, I'm sorry. All of you. I never should have involved you all in our stupid rivalry! I never should have brought you down here!" He shook his head again, and Sebastian moved to his side, placing a consoling hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself, Varric; I was the one who split the parties up," Fletcher murmured, standing apart from the others.

Vonim stomped forward and waved a chunky finger. "Hey, no one is to blame but that stone-humper Bartrand!"

"Quite right," agreed Fenris as he glowered at the pile of rocks. Then, seeing Fletcher's dejected posture, he decided that action needed to be taken, and he walked over to Anders, who was staring into space. "We have the maps, do we not?"

"Anders!" he barked when the mage didn't reply.

Anders jumped and blinked several times before fumbling through his pockets and producing the maps, which had started to tear under his constant handling. He looked at them in a daze, and, with an impatient huff, Fenris snatched them from him and examined them.

"We are here," he said, pointing to their current location and moving his finger along several paths leading from the main chamber from where they'd come. "What does this say?" he asked Anders, pointing at a blank section.

"Um…'uncharted'," mumbled Anders with a quick glance at the map.

"'Uncharted'? How can that be? There is another section here," he said, pointing further up the map, "which seems to be attached to where we are. Why has no one documented the missing part?"

"I don't know, do I? I didn't draw the bloody thing!"

"Well, is there a blockage, or a crevasse, or some other reason we cannot pass?" demanded Fenris.

"I told you, I don't know!" Anders snapped as Fletcher moved beside the elf.

"What are you thinking, Fen?" he asked.

Fenris squatted down and placed the maps on the ground, fitting them together like pieces of a jigsaw. "The section we're in is linked to the other section by way of this tunnel," he said, pointing it out. "It ultimately leads to another Deep Roads entrance." He then glanced up at Anders. "At least, I assume that is what this symbol denotes, as it matches the one at the place through which we entered?" Anders sighed and also crouched down, confirming Fenris's hypothesis with a nod. Fenris traced a route with his finger. "This appears to be our likeliest means of escape. What does this say? Where is this?" he asked Anders, indicating the other Deep Roads entrance.

"That entrance is at the edge of the Planasene Forest, not far from Cumberland," Anders answered.

"Where's that? How long would it take us to get there?" Fletcher asked Anders, who shrugged dejectedly.

A sigh came from Varric. "At least six weeks above ground, Hawke, and probably longer down here; that is, if we don't run into any more problems along the way."

"So, you do not know what this is?" Fenris asked Anders again, pointing to the blank section of map.

"How many more times?" Anders exclaimed angrily. "I don't know! Do you? Why should I know the answer to everything?"

"Gentlemen," Sebastian chided, "this is solving nothing. If that way is indeed our best chance, we should take it without delay. We're all shocked and not thinking straight. While we're quarrelling, we are still in this predicament, and going nowhere."

"All right, we'll go that way," Fletcher sighed, resigned, as he perused the map. "All other routes lead to dead ends or they're also uncharted, anyway. We have no choice; this is the only way that leads to the surface. We'll have to deal with the uncharted section of the map when we reach it. Are we all agreed?"

Slowly, the demoralised workers nodded or mumbled their assent.

"I hate to be the fly in the ointment," Isabela purred, "but how much food do we have? We didn't plan to be here for six weeks, did we?"

"We have plenty," Fletcher answered immediately, avoiding Sheldon – the main cook's – concerned frown. "There'll be no more cooked breakfasts, though; we'll have to economise, but we will manage."

"Let's get goin', then," grunted Vonim. "We need to wake the others and make as much progress as we can. You humans up to it?" he challenged, and the human workers, now feeling more determined with the assurance that there was enough food, followed him as he disappeared around a bend. Gradually, Fletcher's friends went after them, leaving him alone with Fenris.

The elf quietly walked over to Fletcher, who was looking at the collapse and shaking his head. "Do we really have sufficient food?" he asked the mage as he stood at his side.

Fletcher shook his head again. "Not nearly enough. Don't tell anyone," he said quickly, his head snapping round to face the elf, and then his shoulders slumped. "I know…I know you won't say anything. There's no point in causing a panic, is there? Maybe…maybe we'll think of something. I can make water, at least."

"As can I," Fenris told him with a straight face, "though I doubt anyone would drink it."

A tiny smile tugged at Fletcher's mouth, his breath rushing out in a hollow laugh. "That depends on how desperate we become." He eyed one of Fenris's leather-clad thighs and licked his lips, hoping to lighten the mood. "That's a prime piece of meat you have there," he joked, giving one of the elf's buttocks a quick squeeze.

"Kindly desist from groping me," Fenris said drily, deftly evading his grasp with a twist of his hips. "Must I keep one eye open when I sleep now, lest you decide to gnaw upon me?"

"Not only when you sleep," threatened Fletcher, snapping his teeth together in a biting motion.

"You are not without merit, yourself," Fenris said, patting Fletcher's belly. "I claim this for my own; the fat should crackle quite nicely, plus, any tallow by-product would be useful when lighting our torches."

Forgetting their situation for a moment, Fletcher crossed his arms and glared at Fenris. "Just try claiming my fatty belly with one leg, Elf. Or none."

"I have arms." Fenris folded them behind his back, an impish glint in his eyes.

"For now."

Losing the battle to subdue their smiles, both men laughed and Fletcher pulled Fenris against his chest, kissing the elf's forehead. "You make everything seem all right, Fen," he softly murmured.

"We will manage," said Fenris, gazing up at him. "We are led by Fletcher Hawke."

"Right. What can possibly go wrong?" he mumbled wryly.

Fenris laid a hand on Fletcher's back and steered him away from the collapse. "This is probably not the best time to mention this, but…it is after midnight. Happy Naming Day."

Fletcher's eyes widened and he halted, as did Fenris. "It's today? Huh…I'd completely forgotten."

"I had not. Today is 13 Drakonis."

Fletcher forced a wan smile and draped his arm around Fenris's shoulders, sighing. "It hasn't gone well so far, has it?"

"On the contrary. This could be your finest Naming Day yet; the day on which your successful journey through the Deep Roads begins. The day on which you lead your friends to riches and glory."

"I appreciate your faith in me, Fen, but forgive me if I'm not as optimistic as you. Without enough food, we won't have the strength to carry all of our riches."

"We will not starve," Fenris said confidently with a mild smile. "I have an idea. Worry no longer."

"Honestly? What?" Fletcher asked, the elf's confidence giving him hope.

"I will explain on the way." Fenris resumed his walk, with Fletcher following.

"If this idea of yours doesn't work, may I still nibble your leg?" Fletcher asked hopefully. "I'll let you munch on my belly," he offered as recompense.

"Perhaps later," the elf said quietly, knowing that flirting with Fletcher was usually guaranteed to raise a smile. Relieved to hear Fletcher's laughter, he grinned lopsidedly and began to explain his plan.

~o~O~o~

"We need to what?" Sheldon exclaimed once the group was back in the main chamber and they'd been apprised of Fenris's plan.

"We have to start breeding the nugs, as soon as possible," Fletcher reiterated.

"You do know that they're prolific breeders, don't you? And that they're sexually mature about a week after they're born?" asked the cook.

"That's what we're counting on," said Fletcher. "We have no fresh meat left besides the nugs, and the dried and salted meats are running low."

Sheldon, with Thirin at his side, took Fletcher and Fenris away from the group. "I knew we didn't have enough food," said the human. "It's a good idea, but there's one problem: the nugs will also need to be fed."

"What do they eat?" asked Fenris.

"Anything," Thirin interposed. "We can feed 'em on leftovers, and just keep two pairs for breedin'. I haven't had nuglet for bloody ages," he said with a wistful sigh.

"Nuglet? You mean…baby nug?" asked Fletcher, his nose twitching.

"Aye; don't even need to butcher 'em. You just hold 'em like this," he held his hands out as though holding a corn on the cob, "and tuck in. Delicious. The bones are nice and soft." He threw his head back and laughed when Fletcher gulped.

"Like this?" asked Fenris, mimicking Thirin's hand movements and pretending to chomp down on invisible nug. His eyes moved to Fletcher's face and the mage's look of dismay made him chuckle softly. "At least this way, my legs and your belly are safe."

"I don't think I have an appetite for legs now, elf, nug or otherwise," Fletcher answered, looking over at a small group that had formed around the nugs, which were housed in a temporary pen made from broken-up crates.

"Hey, Hawke!" Isabela called over. "We're taking bets on which nugs will cop off first. Care to take a punt?"

"In a minute," he called back, noticing that Varric had snuck away from the group and was heading towards Isabela's pack, which lay out of sight of the nug-watchers. "Fen, I'll see you in a bit. I'm going to see if Varric's all right."

"Of course." Fenris watched the mage go, before he felt a hand wrap around his arm and he was being tugged toward the nugs by a grinning pirate.

"Varric," Fletcher whispered when he arrived at the dwarf's side.

Varric held a hand up. "Keep a lookout for me, Hawke; I wanna get a look at this friend fiction of the Rivaini's."

"Why don't you just ask her?"

"Nuh-uh. Us authors guard our creations jealously. She wouldn't let me within a mile of this thing. Now, keep watch!"

"All right…keeping watch," Fletcher sighed, looking around. At the far end of the chamber, he could see Anders, who was adding salt to a large crater full of water. Sebastian stood next to him, and they were talking quietly. Returning his attention to the main group, Fletcher turned his head back slightly. "Varric…are you all right? I mean with-"

"That bastard deserves everything he gets."

"But he's your brother, Varric. I know he's a shit, but I lost my own brother before I got the chance to-"

"Can we not do this now, Hawke?" Varric said sharply, making it clear that his question was not a request.

Fletcher sighed, feeling concerned for his friend but not wanting to push him. "Sorry, Varric."

An exasperated groan was heard from behind him, followed by a pause. "Hawke…I'm sorry about your brother, truly I am. Just…not now, okay?"

"Have you found the book?" Fletcher asked, changing the subject.

"I've found a book…but I'm darned if I'd write friend fiction in something like this. This thing must be worth a fortune! Quickly, look!"

With a glance around to ensure Isabela couldn't see them, he turned around, laying eyes on a huge, leather-bound book; the cover was intricately detailed, with red and blue mother-of-pearl inlays, and the edge of each page was trimmed with gold leaf. A huge, red gem was set in the centre of the cover. As Varric opened the book, a tiny cloud of dust billowed upward.

"If she's written in this lately, then I'm a son of a nug," said Varric, blowing the dust away while Fletcher once again checked that no one was watching. "What the hell? Hey, Hawke! What kind of language is this?"

Fletcher crouched down and cocked his head, frowning at the nonsensical words within the book. "Do the Rivaini have their own language?" he asked the dwarf.

"Beats me, Hawke, but she didn't write this, that's for sure. I wonder who did? This looks old, Hawke. Real old."

"I bet Fenris would know." Fletcher stood up and looked over at the group.

"But he can't read, can he?" asked Varric. "Well, I know you're teaching him and all that, but I'm guessing he's not an expert just yet."

"No, but he does know three languages; that I know of, anyway. He's encountered several races since his escape. We can try to read some of it to him, if we can pronounce it."

Varric stood up and pushed the book into Fletcher's hands. "You stay here; I'll go distract her and send the elf over."

"All right, but be quick!" Fletcher intoned urgently. "I don't want to be caught snooping in a lady's pack!"

"You didn't, Hawke; I did. I'll take the rap if she finds out. Relax."

"He tells me to relax," Fletcher muttered to himself, and waited for what seemed like ages before Fenris started walking over to him.

"You wanted me?" asked the elf.

"Come here." Fletcher turned his back on the group and opened the book, waiting for Fenris.

"What have you there?" Fenris asked, looking over Fletcher's shoulder.

"I need you to tell me if you know this language," explained Fletcher.

"What is it?"

"It's Isabela's. Varric wanted to take a peek; he thought it contained stories. But, look." He flipped the cover closed. "She's pinched this from somewhere; she told me, before she sneaked into the expedition, that she needed to disappear for a while. She's in trouble of some kind, and I don't fancy meeting the owner of this book once we leave the Deep Roads. We need to know what it is."

"Wait…" Fenris's finger settled on a triangular symbol on the book's spine. "Open it," he said gravely. "Read some of it to me."

Fletcher quickly glanced at the elf, and, concerned by Fenris's expression, he squinted to read the small script. "Um…it doesn't make any sense…oh, hold on…here's a word I recognise: Arishok. Hey! Isn't that the name of the Qunari leader in Kirkwall?"

"Indeed," Fenris said sourly. "Go on."

"Uh, well, 'Arishok' is repeated several times, as is…Ari-Ariqun?"

"And Arigena?" guessed Fenris.

"Yes…" Fletcher's face dropped and he closed the book, looking at Fenris. "You know what this is, don't you?"

"Arishok, Ariqun and Arigena comprise the Triumvirate, the three pillars of Qunari society. This book may be of great significance to the Qunari people. The pirate should not have it in her possession. Even you and I are not worthy of handling it, if it is what I think it is."

Fletcher quickly bent down and carefully stowed the book in Isabela's pack, before leading Fenris away from it. "Are you saying this is some kind of Qunari Chant of Light?"

"Possibly." Fenris's eyes flitted over to the nug-watching group, and frowned as a shrill squeal was heard, followed by a huge cheer. "It may be sacred to the Qunari people."

"The Qunari! Of all the bloody races, she had to steal their holy book!" Fletcher clapped a hand over his eyes, and Fenris touched his arm.

"Do not trouble yourself over it today. According to the dwarf, we have at least six weeks before we reach the surface. I will take a closer look at the book when the opportunity arises. If it is indeed the Tome of Koslun, it must be returned to the Arishok. Do nothing for now; we must go about this with caution. It could be a forgery."

"And if it's not?"

"Then our duty is clear."

"But…they'll probably kill her, won't they?"

"There is no probably about it. But that will only happen if they know who took it. Being a fool does not warrant death; she may not realise the tome's importance. We may yet convince her of the error of her ways."

"Oh, Isabela…" Fletcher groaned, and Fenris tapped his arm, nodding behind Fletcher.

"There you are!" Isabela exclaimed, grabbing Fletcher's arm, causing him to start. "What's the matter with you? You look all hot and bothered…oh, wait…I didn't disturb anything, did I? Well, don't mind me; just carry on and pretend I'm not here."

"What do you want?" Fenris asked impatiently.

"My horse came in!" she laughed, oblivious to the men's irritation. "We're betting on the next two, now. Come on! And, oh! You must see this: it's so cute. You two will love it. Come on, then!"

Isabela placed herself between the two men and, linking arms with them, she dragged them over to the pen, where Isabela's 'horses' were merrily humping away, while the other nugs sniffed and played with each other.

"Just look at those two." She pointed out a pair of nugs that were trying, without success, to mate.

"He's got the wrong hole," Fletcher observed, and Fenris tilted his head, taking a closer look.

"He has the wrong sex," Fenris determined, and Fletcher gaped, craning his neck, before he burst out laughing.

"They're for the pot, then," Thirin decided. "They're no good to us if they can't mate."

"No! No…it's a shame," protested Fletcher. "Look at them; they're adorable!" The hapless male nugs had abandoned their attempts at mating, and were chasing each other around the pen.

"I told you!" chirped Isabela, and, as one, Torbal, Thirin and Vonim rolled their eyes and groaned.

"You humans!" Vonim grunted. "What do you suggest we do with 'em, then?"

Seeing an opportunity to boost morale, Fletcher snapped his fingers and grinned. "They could be our mascots! Yes…the expedition mascots, to bring us luck!"

"Two queer nugs as our mascots. That just about sums up this whole sodding expedition, don't it?" Vonim grumbled, walking away and muttering under his breath.

"Don't," Fletcher said to Fenris. "I can feel you looking at me," and he noticed the elf shaking his head from the corner of his eye, though he remained silent.

"Let's give them names!" Isabela suggested. "Any ideas, Hawke?"

Glad that someone else shared his enthusiasm, he forgot his annoyance with Isabela for the time being and considered the frolicking couple. "I think that one should be called 'Tufty'. Just look at his little patch of hair!"

"Oh, good name, Hawke! Hmm…the other one is all covered in bits of mud and stuff. How about 'Sprinkles'?"

"Yes! Everyone, this is Tufty and Sprinkles, our new mascots. They are not to be eaten," Fletcher announced, and a few groans, as well as some laughter, were heard. "What do you think, Fen?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"It's my naming day, remember," he reminded the elf. "You have to be nice to me."

With a world-weary sigh, Fenris folded his arms and looked morosely at Fletcher. "Those names are perfect. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I knew you'd love them! Go on, pet them," he urged.

"Do not push your luck," Fenris warned, but Fletcher's ebullience meant that a smile lurked not far from the surface.

"I think Tufty likes you," said Fletcher, reaching down to scratch the nug's head as it sniffed at Fenris through the fence. "Do you wike Fen-Fen? Do you? Yes, you do!" he said in a child-like voice.

"Ugh. Do mages regress with each year that passes?" Fenris wondered to himself.

"Nope; just me." Fletcher winked at Fenris, who rolled his eyes. "Thanks for putting up with me," he whispered with a discreet nudge to Fenris's arm.

"Someone has to," answered the elf, turning away from Fletcher before the mage saw his smile, but Fletcher already knew.

~o~O~o~

Later that night, Fenris and Fletcher retreated to their antechamber, where they had a reading lesson. Fletcher had decided to postpone his naming day celebration – not deeming it appropriate considering the situation they were in – although Varric had remembered, and had given Fletcher his greetings, as well as a present.

"I wanted to ask you something, Fen," said Fletcher once their lesson had ended. "Earlier, when you and Anders were bickering over the maps…you did that on purpose, didn't you? You deliberately riled him. He'd already given you an answer, but you kept on at him. I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just wondering why. You obviously had a reason."

Fenris nodded slowly with a wry smile. "Anders was shaken and had lost his focus. I gave it back to him…he is now committed to perceiving me as the irksome elf once again. He is a vital member of this expedition and it will not do for him to lose sight of that."

"I knew it was something like that," Fletcher replied. "Well, Anders may not appreciate it, but I do. Thank you."

Fenris dipped his head. "What did the dwarf give you?" he asked.

"Hm?" Fletcher busied himself with tidying up the books, heat prickling at his cheeks.

"I saw him give you a book shortly after supper. Was it a gift?"

"Er…yeah," mumbled Fletcher. "Just a token, you know."

"You have stacked those books five times, now," Fenris commented, his eyebrow quirking with amusement at Fletcher's reddening cheeks. "Are you…hiding something from me?"

Fletcher grimaced and sat heavily next to the elf. "Sometimes, Fen, it's good to hide things."

"What is it?" the elf prodded.

"All right…maybe it would be better if I read an excerpt to you, which would be preferable to showing you the illustrations." Fletcher reached beneath his robes and removed a small book that he'd had tucked inside his shirt. "Then you can decide if you want to hear any more of it." Fletcher cleared his throat and leafed through the small book. "With the increase in popularity of sea travel, the ingress of many different races into the Free Marches has meant that couplings between humans and non-humans are inevitable."

Fenris's other eyebrow rose, and he shuffled closer to Fletcher, indicating with a glance that he should continue.

Sighing, Fletcher went on, "Of course, as many of the new races are either considerably shorter in stature – or conversely, much larger – than humans, this can result in problems in the boudoir. This informative book provides advice and illustrations for those couples who find the logistics of the sexual act difficult due to such differences." Fletcher closed the book. "It's a book of sexual positions, Fen. For couples with height differences."

"That was a thoughtful gift," remarked the elf evenly.

"It-it was." Fletcher dissolved into sudden laughter, mostly at Fenris's calm reaction.

"What is the book called?" Fenris asked.

"'We're All The Same Lying Down'."

A deep, quiet chuckle emanated from the elf, and Fletcher again laughed, highly relieved that he'd seen the funny side. "And have you learned anything from this book?" Fenris queried.

"Well, like the book says, we're all the same lying down. There are a few interesting things in there, but nothing I didn't already know," answered Fletcher with a shrug.

"You are…quite experienced, then?"

Fletcher looked warily at Fenris, unsure how his answer would be received.

"I am not judging you," said Fenris. "I am merely curious. If the question was inappropriate, then forgive me. I do not require an answer."

"Oh no, it's not that." Fletcher snaked an arm around Fenris's shoulders and exhaled. "It's just that most of my sexual experiences haven't really been…well, see what you think. When I was a teenager, there were a few fumbles with the local girls, while I was trying to convince myself that I liked girls. Turns out, I didn't. Then, there was Dalton."

Fenris touched his arm. "You do not need to…"

"No, it's all right. Well, after him, I knew, you know? But because of what happened, I lost interest. I was celibate for a good…five, six years. Then, a bawdy house was opened outside the village." Fletcher smiled ruefully. "I went along out of curiosity, and ended up spending a week's wages."

He laughed, and Fenris looked at him, his expression soft. "Go on," he prompted.

"Well, that's how I became experienced. Don't get me wrong; I wasn't in there every night, but now and again I treated myself. I became friends with a few of the men there, but there was never any love involved. It was the same when we arrived here. I went to the Rose, had a few nights there…I also heard that casual encounters could be had at a stretch of the Wounded Coast on a Tuesday night, but that wasn't for me. I like to at least see who I'm with."

Fletcher sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I may be experienced, but I've never…it's different with someone you care about, Fen. With you…well, I know that we haven't, you know, properly…but even when you kiss me, I feel something deep inside." He laid his hand over his heart. "Something I've never felt before."

His eyes still on Fletcher, Fenris laid his hand over the mage's. "I feel it, also."

"Do you…do you want to talk about anything, Fen?" offered Fletcher, and Fenris shook his head.

"You are aware of…my experiences," he said quietly, without anger. "If there was anyone before, I do not remember."

"I'm sorry, Fen."

"There is no need." Fenris sat up straight and kissed Fletcher's cheek, still clasping his hand. "This is a new start for us both."

"A new start." Fletcher turned his head and kissed Fenris on the lips, before sighing. "If we ever get out of here to enjoy that new start."

"Whatever fate awaits us, I will remain at your side always," Fenris said with conviction. "We will face it together."

"You know, that actually makes me feel better." Fletcher pulled Fenris closer, resting his cheek against the elf's silken hair. "Tomorrow, we'll find a suitable tunnel and we'll make a dent in that six weeks. I feel a bit more positive about it now, thanks to you."

"And we will find that place of yours where we can be alone," Fenris breathed.

"Yes, we'll find somewhere." Fletcher cleared his throat and sat up straight. "You never know, we might like it so much we'll decide to live there, and dine on nug for the rest of our lives."

Shaking his head, Fenris snorted softly. "But not Tufty or Sprinkles, presumably?"

"Not on your life." Feeling a stirring in his belly at the thought of being truly alone with Fenris, Fletcher reached for his pack, knowing that Fenris would not welcome any amorous advances as, although they were hidden, they were within earshot of the others. "Beth also bought me a book; a sensible one. It's not about sex or magic or medical curiosities. It's about Ferelden."

"Your home?" Fenris asked with interest.

"My former home," Fletcher shrugged, and Fenris squeezed his arm.

"Read it to me?"

"We'll read it together," said Fletcher. "You're ready to move beyond children's books. It'll be difficult, but we'll just take one word at a time. I'll help you with the longer ones. Would you like that?"

Fenris smiled and nodded, and Fletcher opened the book, placing it on Fenris's lap.

~o~O~o~

"Let's get these bagged up, and then get outta here. We don't have the maps, so we don't know where this tunnel leads, and I don't wanna know. This lot'll bring us a pretty penny."

Angrim, Bartrand's partner, crouched down, bringing his torch closer to the cluster of clear gems that studded the walls of tunnel seven. "I still feel kinda bad about Varric, Bartrand. What if they all get trapped down there?"

"That brother of mine always rises to the top, like scum," Bartrand seethed. "This expedition was my idea, and he and his friends decided they didn't like the way I ran it. Maybe he's re-thinking that right about now."

"He doesn't deserve to die, Bartrand," protested his partner.

"What did I just say, idiot? They have the maps. They'll find a way out; Varric always did have all the luck. By the time they do, we'll be long gone. Now, get harvesting!" He took out his knife and began chipping away at the stones.

"Uh, Bartrand? Did Gaar say that the diamonds were here?"

"Are you retarded or something? There's the sodding marker! Now, get on with it!" barked the ex-leader of the expedition.

"Bartrand…these are not diamonds. This is quartz."

"Quartz, my ass! Gaar is an authority on precious stones! Why do you think I brought him along? He's an expert on explosives, as well. That's why I had him collapse tunnel two." Bartrand jabbed at his temple. "You see that ugly head of yours? Use it!"

Angrim stood up straight and grunted. "Yes, he is an authority on stones. He would have known this was worthless. Any schoolboy can identify quartz, Bartrand! Look! The striations and formations of the crystals are completely wrong for diamonds!"

"What?" Bartrand brought his face next to the crystalline cluster and frowned heavily, fury welling up inside him as he realised he'd been had. "That son of a bitch! I'll bet he's found something really valuable in tunnel eight! Quick!" He stomped up the tunnel, and Angrim, sighing, slowly followed.

When they'd gone a quarter of a mile or so, they hit a dead end.

"Did you take a wrong turn?" Angrim demanded.

"No…" Bartrand looked at the ground, where he'd scored a marker into the rock. "This is where we entered," he said, his confusion evident. "That…that piss-swilling nug-fucker! Hey, Gaar! You collapsed the wrong tunnel, you freaking idiot! Gaar!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

"Hey! Is anyone there?" yelled Angrim, expecting one of the other dwarves to be waiting at the entrance to the tunnel.

"Where the hell is everyone?" Bartrand growled. "Hey, Gaar! Gaaaaar!"