Thank you, Mary, over and over and OVER again! ;-)

With the introduction of Danarius and Vionet in the last chapter, I've started a supplement to the main story entitled 'Memoratus in Aeternum', meaning 'Never Forgotten'. Have a read if you'd like some back story and history to Leto, Danarius and Vionet.

~o~O~o~

"Will you be all right, Fen?" Fletcher asked the elf as they peered around a corner into the main chamber. "They're all up and they'll all be looking at us when we enter. Or, they'll be pointedly not looking at us. There might be a few comments, as well. Do you think…you'll be okay with that?"

Fenris's hair fell over his eye as he tilted his head slightly, looking at Isabela and Varric in particular. "If they have nothing better to discuss than us, then let them talk. Some of us have fuller lives than they do."

Fletcher's head slowly turned towards him, a bewildered smile forming. "I…wasn't expecting you to say that."

Fenris sighed quietly and tossed his hair out of his eye, looking at the wall. "You and I…we are…together, now." He quickly faced Fletcher and a faint smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. "Truly together. We will face whatever they have in store for us together." He took Fletcher's hand, and the mage's stomach quivered. "Last night…and this morning," he said with a serene smile, "it-it was the best night of my entire life."

"So far," Fletcher added softly.

"So far." Fenris released Fletcher's hand, moving his own hand to Fletcher's cheek. "I feel…something is different. Something has changed, within me, and yet I am the same. I cannot explain it."

"You've fallen in love," whispered Fletcher, wrapping his arms around Fenris's waist. "I hope," he added with a grin.

"Is that how it feels?" asked the elf quietly, resting his elbows on Fletcher's shoulders. "As though…?" He shook his head, unable to sufficiently verbalise his feelings.

"As though you're invincible?"

A grin brightened the elf's face, and he nodded. "Yes. I feel that I could face any trial, any hardship, as long as you are at my side."

"I'll always be at your side, Fen. I love you." Lowering his lips to Fenris's, he pulled the elf close, and moaned quietly as he felt Fenris melt into him

His smile still on his lips, Fenris gently pulled away, his eyes moving to the side as he stroked Fletcher's arm. "Come, then; let us see what awaits us."

An unpleasant churning in Fletcher's stomach held him in place as Fenris turned and walked around the corner. He'd hoped that this time Fenris would requite his words, his feelings; he suspected that such words would not come easily to the elf, but still, Fletcher could not help feeling a little deflated.

But hadn't Fenris said, in not so many words, that he loved Fletcher? That he would always be at his side? That he could face anything so long as Fletcher was with him? Was it so important that he actually say those three words?

"Fletcher," Fenris called from around the corner, a nose and a flash of white hair just visible. "We are together, are we not?"

Fenris hadn't requested that they enter the chamber separately, nor had he quailed at the thought of enduring the banter that they were bound to be subjected to.

"Coming, Fen. I'm just being an idiot." Fletcher joined the elf, and, both smiling, they entered the main chamber. Together.

Almost as soon as they appeared, Tufty, who had been lying next to Anders, jumped up and trotted over to the twosome, oinking excitedly. Fenris rolled his eyes and spoke to the nug sternly, but it didn't escape Fletcher's notice that when Fenris looked over at Sprinkles – who, as usual, ignored the elf – his frown deepened.

"Hey! Elf!" Varric shouted as they walked over, and Fletcher braced himself. "Your hair's all mussed up! Yeah, right there at the back!"

"I believe you are in error," answered Fenris calmly without looking at Varric, or touching his hair.

"That's nothin'!" Torbal exclaimed loudly and mischievously. "Hawke, you got boot prints on the back of your robe!"

Laughter, mingled with disapproving – or nervous - jeers, filled the cavern, and Fletcher and Fenris continued to walk, heads held high, through the braying throng. "You are mistaken, Dwarf," Fenris countered. "I do not wear boots. Perhaps if you refrained from…certain activities, your eyesight would improve."

This time, the laughter was loud and raucous, and even Anders managed a wry snort. "Ha! Maybe I should! Good comeback!" Torbal boomed, and he walked over to Fenris, offering the elf his hand. Fenris looked at it, and then at Fletcher, who was still laughing, and shook his head, declining the dwarf's offer. Torbal guffawed again before slapping Fenris's shoulder and walking away.

"Fenris," Fletcher choked, wiping his eyes and sighing, "that was perfect! I'm so glad you're not offended. It'll die down when they see you're not bothered."

"It will die down when I say it dies down," murmured the elf, and Fletcher again burst out laughing, joy springing up inside him. "I believe I will…water the flowers before breakfast," Fenris whispered to Fletcher, and he walked away wearing a hint of a smile.

"I'll get breakfast, then," Fletcher called after him, "and when you come back, I'll fertilise them."

Fenris paused briefly to shake his head, before continuing, with Fletcher's dopey gaze following him.

"Snap out of it, you!" Isabela chided with a none-too-gentle thump to Fletcher's arm. Fletcher turned his head and cast the pirate a long-suffering look.

"Isabela?"

"So," she began without preamble, "any new material for my story? Anything shocking? Disgusting? Illegal? All contributions are welcome."

"Well, I don't know," answered Fletcher casually. "Why don't I take a look at this story of yours and get the lie of the land?" He started walking quickly over to Isabela's bedroll, and the pirate moved in front of him, laughing.

"What's the rush?" she asked with a slightly manic smile. "How about later on, when we're all settled?"

"We're settled now," he replied, his eyes glinting. "What's the matter, Isabela? I thought you wanted me to read your story."

"Oh, I do! I'd just rather that Fenris was around to read it as well, and according to Torbal, we're all setting off immediately after breakfast. Later, I promise."

"Fenris isn't reading a word of that book until I've reviewed it," Fletcher insisted as Isabela moved to her pack, slinging it over her shoulder. "Let me have a quick look; he'll be back in a minute."

"No, it's all right; I have everything packed up, now. Later," she chirped, and winked at Fletcher before turning away.

"Why, Isabela, anyone would think you have something to hide."

"Who, me?" She quickly turned around, batting her eyelashes, a split-second frown forming, and then disappearing when Fletcher didn't return her smile. "I'm an open book, sweetheart."

"Unlike your books, then?"

"Those who speak in riddles, erm…" she trailed off as Fenris, having returned, appeared beside Fletcher. "Well, it looks like this conversation is over; Fenris is back, so you can't look at it, can you?"

"Have I missed something?" Fenris demanded.

"Actually, I've changed my mind," Fletcher said. "I think Fenris would like to look at it. Let's all look at it."

Isabela's head whipped around and she held a hand up to her ear. "Oh! I think I hear…Sebastian calling me," she blustered, quickly gathering her pack up as it slid off her shoulder. "Later, like I said!" she twittered, quickly moving away from them.

"Sebastian is praying," Fenris observed with a look at the supplicant archer.

"She's definitely nervous about that book," said Fletcher. "Let's try and get another look at it later."

"Agreed," whispered Fenris, his eyes moving to Fletcher's hands. "Where is my breakfast, Mage?"

Fletcher folded his arms. "Look, while you were killing the flowers or whatever, I was investigating and unnerving the suspect." At Fenris's arched eyebrow, he leaned closer. "You've changed," he joked. "There's confident, and there's cocky, Fenris."

"There is no need to be vulgar," the elf deadpanned.

"And you're just as pure as freshly-fallen snow, aren't you?" Fletcher teased, and Fenris finally cracked, his laughter gusting out of him.

"You have me there," admitted the elf, and he nodded at the tunnel where he'd passed water. "Go and do what you must; I will fetch breakfast." Fletcher grinned and squeezed his arm, and headed to the tunnel, but stopped when he heard Fenris quietly clearing his throat. "Perhaps tomorrow…you will provide…breakfast?"

Fletcher's mouth fell open and he goggled at the elf's back as Fenris slowly sauntered over to where Thirin and Sheldon were serving porridge with dried fruits. "What have I created?" Fletcher whispered to himself, beaming widely, his stomach burning. Then, remembering that he was surrounded by lots of other people, he hastily cleared his throat and affected a solemn expression, before going to the tunnel, his entire body tingling.

~o~O~o~

Knight-Captain Cullen sat at his small desk in one of the draughty corridors of Templar Hall, hastily amending the duty roster. Luckily for him, Ser Radley – the templar usually responsible for the roster – had gone to the infirmary with a stomach complaint. Instead of delegating the task, Cullen had taken it on himself.

He'd already sent Ser Karras back to the coast to co-ordinate the renewed search for apostates, and, in accordance with Meredith's orders, he'd reluctantly assigned Ser Cody – a knight of equable temperament – to discreetly observe Ser Thrask. All he had to do now was find a suitable man to keep watch over Hawke's house.

Scanning the list, he decided on one of the templars who'd recently transferred over from Starkhaven; after the fire that had ravaged the Circle Tower there, some of the templars had requested, and been granted, reassignment. Such a templar would not yet have been influenced by the internal politics of the Gallows, and was therefore suitable for Cullen's purposes. Closing the book, he checked his pocket to ensure his letter was safely tucked away and made his way to the training yard.

Not wishing to disturb the round of sword training that was currently underway, he waited for it to finish and then approached the head trainer, asking for his charge. He was led to a small group of recent inductees, some of whom spoke with a strong Starkhaven accent, while others did not.

"Ser Ruben?" he asked, and a tall, athletic-looking man stood stiffly to attention.

"Knight-Captain!" he answered with no discernible accent, recognising Cullen's insignia.

"As you were," said Cullen, and Ser Ruben relaxed a little and nodded. "You have completed your training for today?"

"Yes, ser. I'm due to start my duty in the Great Hall at two bells, ser."

"You have been re-assigned. You will accompany me." Cullen beckoned the knight, who stepped into line beside him.

As they walked through the halls, Cullen glanced at Ser Ruben and frowned. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

"Um…I don't think so, ser," Ruben answered. "Were you ever posted to Starkhaven, ser?"

"No…were you ever posted to Kinloch Hold?"

"Kinloch Hold?" a small gasp came from Ruben, and he quickly attempted to compose himself, but not before Cullen had noticed his reaction. "Er, no, ser. Were-were you?"

Cullen halted, and his charge stopped next to him. "Yes, I was there until approximately eighteen months ago. You've heard about what happened there, I take it?"

Ruben nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "Yes, ser. I heard that the losses were grievous."

Cullen said nothing, and continued walking.

"Begging your pardon, ser, but I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn, or brought back unhappy memories for you."

"No," Cullen mumbled quietly. "You didn't. The memories are always with me. You were fortunate to have been posted to Starkhaven."

"Actually, ser, I originally applied to Kinloch Hold, but was told that it was overstaffed at the time, and was sent to Starkhaven."

"Then you had a lucky escape," Cullen answered, bitterness entering his voice.

"Yes, ser." Ruben didn't consider what had happened at Starkhaven to be lucky in any way, but kept his thoughts to himself.

They walked on in silence until they reached the outer gates, where they were waved through. Cullen could tell by Ruben's demeanour that he was desperate to speak, and, when they had embarked on the small rowing boat, his subordinate could no longer contain himself.

"Ser," he began nervously. "I'm sorry to keep on, but…did you know anyone at Kinloch Hold?"

"I knew several people," Cullen answered impatiently, wanting to move the conversation along.

"Of-of course, ser; what a stupid question. I'm sorry, ser."

Cullen sighed. He knew what it was like to be a nervous recruit in a strange, new place. Although Ruben was no raw trainee, Cullen felt some empathy for the man and what he'd been through, and his irritation waned. "What would you like to ask of me?"

"Oh, nothing in particular, ser," Ruben said warily. "I just remember, as a child, that apostates from my neck of the woods were always sent to Kinloch Hold or Nevarra. It never made any sense to me that they were sent across the sea, when there were Circle Towers throughout the Free Marches."

"I think it was a matter of space," answered the knight-captain. "The towers in the Free Marches were always overcrowded, or so I'm told. I can't imagine the journey from the Anderfels or Antiva to Ferelden was pleasant; it would have taken months. Where are you from?"

"The Anderfels, ser."

"And you applied to Kinloch Hold?" asked Cullen, astonished. "Why in the world would you want to be posted so far from home?"

"I have family in Ferelden, ser."

Cullen nodded before huffing and shaking his head. "One of the mages at Kinloch Hold, Anders, hails from the Anderfels. He is now at large in the Free Marches."

"I…don't recognise the name, ser," said Ruben with a deep frown.

"I'm not surprised. He refused to give the templars his real name, and so 'Anders' was given to him, as we had to call him something. He looks a bit like you, come to think of it; perhaps that's why I thought I knew you. You Anders all have golden hair and olive skin, don't you? Tall, as well."

"Mostly, yes, ser, though there are exceptions. How old is he?"

"I couldn't tell you for certain; maybe in his mid-twenties. Anyway," he went on, moving the subject away from Kinloch Hold, "Ser Karras will need a few more men along the coast when we're done in Lowtown. I've assigned you there permanently from tomorrow; it should be more interesting than standing around in the Great Hall, no?" Receiving no answer, he raised his voice a little. "Ser Ruben?"

"Oh! Forgive me, ser; I-I was momentarily distracted," stammered Ruben, his face reddening. "Yes, ser; permanently assigned to the coast. I will serve in whatever way I can."

"A word of warning, Ser Ruben," Cullen said sternly. "Do not become momentarily distracted should you find yourself addressing the Knight-Commander."

"I won't, ser, and I appreciate the advice," replied Ruben with a dip of his head.

"And don't let Karras give you all the menial tasks," Cullen counselled, his voice softer. "You are of equal rank to him. Do not allow him to push you around. Should you have any problems, come to me."

"Thank you very much, ser," Ruben said with a hesitant smile, and the two men continued the rest of their trip to the mainland in thoughtful silence.

~o~O~o~

After several hours' trek through the next tunnel – during which Fletcher noticed that they had considerably fewer provisions to carry - the group finally reached the point on Anders's map where the tunnel forked.

"Who wants to come take a look at tunnel seven with me?" Varric asked. "There must be something down there worth screwing over your own brother for," he muttered in an aside to himself. "You going to carry on, Hawke?"

"Yes, we'll keep going on down the tunnel and find somewhere suitable to camp," Fletcher answered. "Whoever wants to go with Varric, take some dried rations with you; you'll be gone for a few hours, at least."

Unsurprisingly, Isabela immediately volunteered. While Fletcher reminded her that he hadn't forgotten about her story, a few of the humans also stepped forward, as did Sebastian and Anders.

"I want a proper dwarf going with you," Fletcher teased, concerned at how quiet and serious Varric had been lately. Varric nodded and rolled his eyes, forcing a grim smile for Fletcher's sake.

"Proper dwarf, right here," announced Vonim, striding to the front of Varric's small group. "Think you can keep up, Short Stuff?" he asked Varric, who was approximately an inch shorter than him.

"Quit standing on tiptoes, you bloody cheat," was Varric's rejoinder, and Fletcher smiled to himself, glad to see a little of Varric's humour. "Let's get this over with, then. See you later, guys."

"I'll catch up," Anders called over, and Varric nodded at him as he and the others departed.

"What is it?" Fletcher asked him quietly.

Anders took Fletcher away from the others and Fenris watched them carefully, although he knew that Fletcher would apprise him of what had been said.

"I don't want to alarm you, Hawke," Anders whispered, "but I've been getting…something." He tapped his temple, and Fletcher quickly glanced at the group behind them before turning back to Anders.

"You're sensing something?"

"I think so. It's the same feeling I had before; I can't quite pinpoint anything, yet, but it's there. It's difficult to explain to a non-warden, Hawke."

Fletcher nodded and moved close to Anders. "Could it be the darkspawn that Bartrand's group encountered?"

Anders shook his head. "I can still sense them, Hawke, but they can't reach us now; they're heading in the wrong direction. No, I'm sensing something…ahead of us. Where we need to go."

"Great," Fletcher muttered, his heart suddenly leaping in his chest. "And you can't be any more specific than that?"

"I'm sorry, no. We're not in any danger yet, but I'd advise you not to go too far." Anders took out his maps and showed Fletcher where they were. "Make your way to this junction, about half a mile ahead, and stay there until we return. There's a chamber about a mile ahead of that where we can make camp later. While you're at the junction, have a look in the adjoining tunnels for some lyrium in a form we can use. I've been feeling it lately; have you?"

"Yes. Fenris and I found a little bit last night, but we couldn't reach it," answered Fletcher.

Anders dropped his voice lower. "I don't know about you, Hawke, but I'm running low."

"Shit!" Fletcher hissed. "I was going to ask you how your supplies were…bloody hell, there's a whole sack of lyrium potions in the first chamber that we can't get to!"

"I know," Anders said angrily, before sighing. "Just see what you can find. We're in no state to take on darkspawn with what we currently have. Ooh, if I could get my hands on that Bartrand…"

Fletcher laid a hand on Anders's shoulder. "I'll see what I can find. You'd better go."

Anders sighed and nodded. "All right. Remember what I said: don't go too far."

As Anders walked into the tunnel, Fenris moved to Fletcher's side. "Is something amiss?" he asked, concerned.

Fletcher slowly nodded, his gaze cast downward. "Anders thinks there are darkspawn ahead. Right in front of us. We won't be able to avoid them this time."

"How far away? How many?" Fenris queried, immediately formulating strategies in his mind. "Fletcher?" he prodded softly when the mage didn't reply.

"Sorry. I'm just…" Fletcher sighed and closed his eyes.

"You are thinking of your brother." A small hand came to rest on Fletcher's elbow, and he looked at the elf, his eyes moist.

"Fenris…promise me you won't do anything stupid, like throwing yourself at them or…and-and if there's an ogre, just stay back, all right? Promise me. Please, Fen…I-I couldn't bear it if…"

Fenris quickly steered Fletcher to a shadowy recess, and, with a hard look at the group – just in case they were watching, which they mostly weren't – he turned back to the mage, dismayed to see him wiping his eyes.

"Maker, I'm sorry, Fen. I don't know where this has come from," he uttered, shaking his head in self-remonstration. "Ha! I thought Anders would be the first one to crack, really I did," he sniffed, forcing a brittle laugh.

"You are strong," Fenris consoled. "Do not doubt that. This time, the darkspawn will not prevail."

"Promise me," urged Fletcher.

"I will be cautious-"

"I said, promise me."

Fenris looked into Fletcher's eyes and waited until he'd taken a few deep breaths. "I promise I will be cautious. I cannot promise anything else, as we do not yet know what awaits us. I would not break my word to you."

Fletcher nodded and glanced over at the group, unable to meet Fenris's eyes.

"I would not needlessly throw my life away," the elf promised. "I give you my word on that. I have too much to live for. Now." With a gentle smile, he reached for Fletcher's fur collar and straightened it. "Trust me."

"I do, Fen…"

"And you may bestow me with whatever protective magic you feel is necessary."

"You-you'd let me? But…it causes you discomfort, Fen. I wouldn't want to-"

"Any discomfort I experience will be a trifle compared to that of seeing you distraught," the elf murmured. "Just…warn me first?"

Fletcher bit his lip as tears formed anew in his eyes, touched that Fenris would endure pain to set his mind at ease.

"Enough of this," Fenris gently chided. "Take a deep breath…release it," he instructed, remembering Anders's directions when they were at the Dalish camp. "Are you all right now?" he asked when Fletcher had calmed himself, and the mage nodded with a wan smile. "I will take some of the burden from your shoulders."

Walking over to the rest of the group, Fenris called Torbal over to him. "Ser Dwarf, will you walk beside me?"

With a laugh, Torbal bowed and straightened up. "Well, sure, Ser Elf. Will you shake my hand?"

"Certainly not," Fenris answered with a quirk of his lips, and Torbal chuckled heartily. "Follow us," he instructed the group, leaving Fletcher at the rear of the group with the space and solitude Fenris knew he needed.

Fenris looked back for a moment and caught Fletcher's eye, who silently mouthed, "I love you." He was rewarded with a warm smile and a nod from the elf, the fondness in Fenris's eyes all the answer he would ever need.

~o~O~o~

"Have you visited Lowtown before?" Cullen asked Ruben as they made their way through the bustling market at its centre.

"Only briefly, ser; since arriving here, most of my time has been taken up with training and drills."

Cullen nodded, remembering how he'd also thrown himself into training after the incident at Kinloch Hold. He laid a hand on Ruben's back, mustering a sympathetic half-smile. "I have a personal errand to attend to while we're here; take a look around the markets, and meet me at the slums when you're ready." He gave directions to Ruben.

"Thank you, ser!" Ruben said brightly, warming to the knight-captain who wasn't as severe as he'd first appeared to be. "I won't be long."

"Take your time," said Cullen. "Let's call it an hour."

Ruben bowed to his captain and thanked him again, and Cullen left him, once again checking that his letter was safely in his pocket.

Upon reaching the slums, Cullen sought out the templar on duty. Since the breakout at the Gallows, a templar had been posted in each precinct of Lowtown; what the residents of the slums did not know was that this particular templar was also keeping an eye on the Hawke household.

"Has there been any activity?" Cullen asked the templar.

"The lady of the household arrived home not long ago," he told Cullen. "The gentleman appears to work shifts and I would guess that he will come home at approximately five bells. Apart from that, nothing of note."

Cullen nodded. "I relieve you. Your replacement will be here shortly; I will stand in his stead until his arrival. You are dismissed."

The templars folded their arms across their chests and bowed in salute. Cullen waited until his counterpart had left, and then he glanced over at the small dwelling at the top of the steps. With his heart quickening, he strolled over and ascended the steps, arriving at the door. He rapped firmly upon it and waited.

A twitch of a curtain caught his eye, and then he heard muffled voices, both female. His brow creased; he was only aware of one female residing in the Hawke house, although he supposed the other one could be a guest. After a few minutes, the door was opened by a lady in her fifties, and Cullen immediately spotted the family resemblance to Hawke.

"Good afternoon to you, madam," he said with a respectful bow. "Am I addressing the mother of Messere Fletcher Hawke?"

The look of anxiety on Leandra's face answered his question. "Is…everything all right, Ser Knight?" she asked, before she remembered where her son was, and who she was speaking to. Too late, she stopped herself, realising that she'd given herself away.

"I have not seen your son recently," Cullen said quietly, glancing behind him, "as I understand that he is currently in the Deep Roads. I am here to deliver a letter to him."

"What do you want with him?" Leandra demanded, her tone uncharacteristically fierce. "If you think I'm going to assist you in his capture, you have another think coming. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, ser."

"You misunderstand me, madam." Cullen passed the letter to her, and she took it, her eyes never leaving his. "This letter is addressed to your son and to his friend, Anders. I would ask that you give it to them as soon as they return home; before if possible. It is for their benefit."

As he released the letter, Cullen's hand brushed against Leandra's, and his body hummed as an echo of mana resonated within him. She was not a mage, he was certain, but she had been in contact with a mage, and recently.

"If I might ask, madam, has your son returned from the Deep Roads?"

"You people seem to know where he is, so perhaps you could answer that for me?" Leandra retorted, not meaning to be rude to the polite man, but the appearance of any templar instantly set her nerves on edge, and she felt especially worried for Bethany now that Fletcher was gone.

"To the best of my knowledge, madam, he has not yet returned. Please…give the letter to him when you can. I am certain you will also want to read it, and I assure you, you will find nothing sinister within. I am sorry to have disturbed you."

With another bow, he departed, leaving Leandra staring at the letter. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he heard the door close and the bolt slide across. With heaviness on his brow, he walked to the spot where he'd relieved the templar earlier, and waited for Ser Ruben to arrive.

Ruben was punctual, and met Cullen almost an hour after they'd parted. After exchanging pleasantries about Ruben's trip to the market, Cullen turned to business and explained Ruben's duties to him. What he failed to mention was that he strongly suspected that Hawke's mother was harbouring – or at least knew – another apostate, but he couldn't act on those suspicions as he'd had no business taking a letter to her in the first place.

"Your shift will end at eleven bells, Ser Ruben, when you will be escorted back to the Gallows for prayers and sleep. Ser Graham will relieve you at eight bells for a toilet and supper break; most of us go to the Hanged Man. Don't get drunk," he warned. Ser Ruben nodded solemnly, but relaxed when he detected a ghost of a smile from Cullen.

"Observation is not the most exciting of duties," Cullen went on, "but it's relatively safe. Crime does occur here, but only the truly idiotic would engage a templar. And, from what I hear, Ser Ruben, you are skilled with a sword. I doubt you will need to use it, though. And I'm certain one of the city guards will find his way here to keep you company later on; they get just as bored as we do. Now, I must return. Maker watch over you."

"And you, ser; and thank you," Ruben replied. They once again saluted each other, and Cullen departed.

When he'd gone, Ruben exhaled and leaned against a wall, his heart pounding. Was the man that Cullen had spoken of – Anders – the man he'd been seeking for the past twelve years? The man he'd feared was dead following the disaster at Kinloch Hold? The man who was the very reason he'd joined the Templar Order in the first place?

He would have to be careful; he'd almost given himself away with his questions. Straightening up, he began a slow walk around the perimeter of the slums, keeping one eye on the Hawke residence.

He would just have to wait a little while longer.

~o~O~o~

By the time Fenris and his group had found the junction, Fletcher's mood had brightened, and he was back to cracking jokes and discreetly flirting with Fenris when the chance arose. Fenris knew that Fletcher wasn't completely himself, but he was glad to see him smiling at least.

They stopped for a break, and Fenris was once again forced to fend off Tufty's attentions and corral Sprinkles when he wandered off, although the stubborn nug still refused to follow directions. Fletcher suspected that Fenris was quite proud of the fact that Tufty now responded when Fenris called his name; he also suspected that Fenris was annoyed that Sprinkles did not. It was, in fact, a sentiment shared by the entire group, although not one of them was brave enough to say it out loud.

"Shall I round him up again?" Fenris groused to Fletcher when Sprinkles decided to take off down a small tunnel at considerable speed.

"I'll come with you," offered Fletcher, relishing the chance to be alone with Fenris, even for a few minutes. "I'm having kissing withdrawals," he whispered to the elf, who quickly followed the nug into the tunnel, but, just before he disappeared, he turned back and locked eyes with Fletcher. The mage forced down an idiotic grin and went after him.

"Come back!" Fenris ordered, breaking into a run as the nug charged through the tunnel. Rounding a bend, Fenris felt his markings flare into life, and he stopped dead, his mouth hanging open at the sight that met him.

"I can feel it…I'm coming," Fletcher called from further back in the tunnel, an odd note in his voice. He entered the small chamber seemingly in a trance and slowly walked over to the far end, barely noticing when Fenris moved in front of him.

"Do not touch it," Fenris warned, pushing Fletcher with his hands, but Fletcher pushed back, irresistibly drawn to the thick, azure blue veins that snaked along the cavern walls, ghostly fronds branching off them, lulling, calling, beckoning Fletcher closer.

"Let me just…let me just get a bit closer, Fen," Fletcher breathed. "I just want to touch it…just a little bit…it-it's whispering to me…can't you hear it?"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Fenris barked, and Fletcher blinked, his eyes, pupils dilated, moving down to the elf, whose markings had reacted with the lyrium veins and glowed softly.

"You-you're beautiful," gasped Fletcher, awestruck. "Maker, you're beautiful…just look at you." His fingers brushed along the elf's cheeks, his neck, and then moved to his hair. "Wow," Fletcher uttered, his voice trembling, "you-you're my beautiful lyrium prince. You're so...Maker…look at you…"

As tears of joy slipped down Fletcher's face, the appalled elf pulled away and drew his sword, pointing it at Fletcher. "Torbal! Thirin!" he shouted.

"No, don't do that," Fletcher murmured, again moving close to Fenris and pushing his sword aside. "Fen…let's make love. Right here. It'll be mind-blowing. You, me, and-and…this…" He waved his hand toward the cavern walls, and Fenris took a further step back, pressing his sword against Fletcher's chest.

"Fen? W-what are you doing?"

"Move away from the wall. You are not yourself."

"I've never felt more like myself!" Fletcher protested, hurt in his voice. "What's the matter? Why are you being like this?"

"You would never behave in this manner under normal circumstances," Fenris replied, breathing a sigh of relief as Torbal arrived at the entrance.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed the dwarf. "What have you found here?"

"I am in need of your assistance," said Fenris, and Torbal, noticing that Fenris's sword was pointing at Fletcher, nodded in understanding.

"Hawke," he said in a deep, gruff voice. "You'd better come with me."

"No!" Fletcher snapped, angry at the intrusion. "You have no right to come in here and tell us what to do! You all had a good laugh this morning, didn't you? We're just a joke to you, aren't we? Well you need to understand that we're in love," he spun around and glared at the elf, "although Fenris would never admit that, would you? We're staying here, until I make Fenris see!"

Alarmed at the madness in Fletcher's eyes, Torbal slowly unsheathed his axe. "Let's not do this, Hawke," he said calmly as Fenris moved behind the mage. "Now, we're all gonna walk out of here, together, nice and easy."

"We are not going anywhere!" Fletcher raised his hands, and, just as they started to glow with flame, his breath was knocked out of him as Fenris and Torbal took him down, all three of them landing in an unceremonious heap.

"I'm sorry, Fletcher," Fenris grunted, twisting Fletcher's arms behind his back, his knee pinning the mage in place.

"Let-me-go!" Fletcher yelled as Thirin arrived, panting, at the entrance.

"What the fuck is going on here?" exclaimed the elderly dwarf.

"'Bout time you got here. Get some sodding rope!" Torbal ordered.

~o~O~o~

Fletcher awoke, sometime later, to find Anders crouching over him. He went to move, but his limbs failed him, and he slumped, as limp as a rag doll that had lost some of its stuffing.

"Can you see me?" Anders asked, snapping his fingers in front of Fletcher's eyes.

"Yes…what am I doing here? What-what's going on, Anders?" He looked up at the high ceiling of the chamber, but was unable to focus, and closed his eyes, feeling giddy.

"You found a lyrium vein," Anders told him with a wry smile. "When I told you to look for lyrium, Hawke, I didn't mean raw lyrium!"

Fletcher's eyes slowly opened and his brow creased as hazy blue images meandered through his mind, and then he gasped as everything came crashing back, and he once again attempted to get up, but Anders pushed him back. "Fenris! Shit! Shit! Where is he? Maker! I-I…is he all right?"

"Fenris is…busy at the moment. He's fine, Hawke; worried about you, but he's okay. He told me that you'd been a bit emotional earlier today. Maybe you'd been sensing it on some level…it seems that Sprinkles did, as well. The dwarves have taken him down a few of the tunnels, and he's sniffed out some lyrium we can use. Everything's going to be fine, Hawke. No harm done."

"What's Fenris doing? Is Torbal okay? I nearly…and how come you didn't sense it, Anders? Why weren't you affected by it? Have you drained my mana? Anders?"

"One question at a time!" Anders laughed. "Just calm down." He sat on the ground next to Fletcher and helped him to sit up, but Fletcher had to lean against him. "First of all, yes, I did drain your mana. I had to; you were all but frothing at the mouth. As to why I wasn't affected, well, it's a guess, but maybe Justice gives me a little protection from it. And Torbal said you cast like a girl."

"Huh." Fletcher managed a small laugh, and looked around, wondering where everyone had gone. "And…what's Fenris doing? Please tell me he's all right, Anders; Maker, the way I was behaving…"

"He's fine, honestly. Listen," Anders said seriously. "We didn't find any treasure in tunnel seven. We did find…Bartrand, however."

"What?" Fletcher spluttered.

"He and Angrim were together, both filthy and stumbling around in the dark; they said they hadn't eaten for two days and nights. I tell you, Hawke, Bartrand's lucky he made it back here alive; Varric and I went for him as soon as we set eyes on him. If it hadn't been for Sebastian's intervention…"

"The bastard!" Fletcher tried to scramble to his feet, but this time Anders didn't need to hold him back, as his legs gave way and he plopped onto his bottom with a thud.

"We don't know what happened yet," Anders told him. "He's claiming that Gaar collapsed both tunnels, trapping both groups. Angrim, on the other hand, is asserting that it was Bartrand's idea to collapse our tunnel, and that Gaar double-crossed Bartrand. They were both quite willing to betray each other once we waved some food under their noses, and we had to pull them apart. Poor Varric doesn't know what to bloody think."

"And what do you think?" Fletcher asked him.

"Personally, I think Bartrand's lying through his teeth, but it's not up to me. We'll see what Fenris decides."

"Fenris? What do you mean? What does he have to do with it?"

Anders shook his head and laughed. "Fenris has gone into full guard mode; he told both of them that, as he wears the uniform of the Kirkwall Guard, he is the Kirkwall Guard down here. He's interrogating them both, and is not in the mood for any crap. He's pretty impressive, actually."

"I must be hallucinating or something," Fletcher drawled, blinking several times to clear his hazy vision. "I could swear you just called Fenris impressive."

"You probably did imagine it," Anders joked, settling Fletcher against the rock. "Now, you're going to get some sleep; you need to regenerate."

"No, Anders, I'm fine, really-"

"No arguments," insisted Anders, pushing up to his feet. "Besides, I want to see what's going on with Bartrand, and now you're awake, I'm not going to risk you wandering off into that tunnel again. I have Fenris's permission."

"Anders, don't…"

With a wave of Anders's hand, Fletcher's eyes fluttered closed and his head drooped on his shoulder.

"Yes, I know you're going to kill me when you wake up," Anders said with a smile, shaking his head as he left Fletcher to his sleep.