Thank you, Mary, for de-stiltifying the chapter! And yes...I know exactly which word you were thinking of, you mucky pup :P

And my thanks also to all of you for reading, and for your inspirational reviews and PMs.

~o~O~o~

"This is bloody outrageous!" Bartrand stormed as he was pushed into the main chamber, hands bound at the wrists. "We were coming to warn you about that bastard Gaar!" he claimed with his best approximation of a pleading glance at the dour-looking group.

With a yelp, he was propelled forward by a slipper-clad foot to his backside. "See if the others offer you sympathy," growled Fenris, his sword at the dwarf's back. "You do not have mine. Sit."

"Who do you think you are? Telling me to sit like a dog? Does he talk to you like this?" he asked the rest of the expedition workers. "You gonna take this from a sodding elf?"

"Shut up and do what he says, you Stone-forsaken idiot!" Thirin called from where he and Sheldon were preparing supper. "You're damned lucky he hasn't sliced you up."

"Oh, yeah?" Bartrand asked with an arrogant tilt of his head. "This pretend guard can't kill me. He's been quoting me the law the whole time, so I guess he has to stick to it, don't he?"

"You are correct in your assumption that the law forbids me from dispensing capital punishment," Fenris said, moving closer to the dwarf. "I would have to explain such an action, and paperwork is not my strong suit. Wounds, however, can be explained far more easily."

"Wounds?" Bartrand asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"Wounds," Fenris reiterated, pushing Bartrand's face to the side with the tip of his sword. "Permit me to demonstrate."

Bartrand batted the sword away and almost fell over as he stumbled back. "You can't wound me, you illiterate goon! See all these people? They're called witnesses!"

Fenris glanced at the group and a dark smile stretched his lips as every single worker turned their back on them. "I see no witnesses, Dwarf. Now, sit down. My patience is at an end."

"Bunch of bastards!" Bartrand barked at the group.

"I said, sit down!" Fenris snarled, lunging forward.

Bartrand finally lost his footing and fell onto his backside, unable to right himself due to his bound hands. At the same moment, Varric and Angrim emerged from a side-tunnel and walked past, with Angrim smirking at Bartrand and Varric decidedly ignoring him.

"Hey, why aren't his hands tied up?" Bartrand demanded furiously, quickly shutting up when Fenris leaned over him, still brandishing his sword.

"Because his story was more plausible than yours," explained the elf. "However, you will both face the magistrate upon our return, and he will decide your fate. Do not give me cause to bind you in a similar fashion," he warned Angrim.

"Don't worry, Elf; I'm no criminal," Angrim said, looking at Bartrand as he spoke.

Bartrand wriggled and attempted vainly to stand up. "You're fucking dead, you double-crossing son of a bitch!"

"Not if I get to you first, you lying bastard!" Angrim retorted.

"There will be no reprisals," Fenris dictated, pointing behind him. "You. Over there," he commanded Angrim. "And you will be silent," he said to Bartrand. "Or I will silence you."

"There's no law against talking-" Bartrand began.

"I will have silence!" ordered Fenris, his sword biting into Bartrand's neck. Bartrand again defiantly pushed the sword away, but said no more, and glowered at Angrim instead.

"Varric." Fenris walked over to the dwarf and spoke quietly. "I realise that he is your brother. I would not want to-"

"Do what the hell you like with him," Varric muttered irascibly. "And if you need any help with those wounds, gimme a holler." He sighed. "You'd better go check on Hawke. Let me worry about Bartrand."

Fenris glanced over at Fletcher – who sat in a far corner of the chamber with Anders – and, catching a pair of fearful brown eyes looking back at him, he quickly turned back to Varric, his stomach roiling. "As you wish, but remember that you are not alone in your burden."

"Burden?" Varric slapped Fenris's arm unenthusiastically. "Oh, he's that all right, Broody. It's good to have you at my back, though. Now, go see Hawke. The guy's fretting his ass off over there."

Varric walked away – as far from Bartrand as he could get – and Fenris watched him, drawing a calming breath, with Fletcher and Anders in his peripheral vision. He turned and walked in their direction, and Anders stood up as he neared.

"He's had a sleep, but he's still low on mana," he warned the elf, but his tone was not hostile. As Fenris nodded at him, Anders whispered, "The lyrium's still affecting him; it's everywhere, even beneath our feet; we just can't see it. It's not his fault; he can't help it. He's a bit…fragile. He feels terrible about what happened."

"I understand," murmured Fenris quietly. Anders departed, and Fenris stood at Fletcher's feet; the mage sat against the rock wall, his legs stretched out.

"Nicely done, Guardsman," Fletcher said with a weak smile, nodding in Bartrand's direction. He then cautiously looked up at Fenris, before quickly lowering his eyes. "Will you…sit with me?"

Fenris nodded and slowly moved to Fletcher's side, where he sat upon the ground. Neither of them spoke for a short time.

"I must have really frightened you," uttered Fletcher, finally breaking the silence.

"I was…somewhat taken aback," admitted the elf.

"I wouldn't have hurt you, you know," Fletcher whispered.

"And yet you would have attacked Torbal," Fenris supplied in a reasonable tone.

"Yes." Fletcher sighed and drew his knees up to his chest. "The way I was thinking at the time – and I accept that the way I was thinking was completely abnormal – was that Torbal was trying to separate us, break us apart. I was trying to protect us. I know, I know…it sounds ridiculous," he said with a morose shrug, and he glanced at Fenris, whose expression was inscrutable. "You, in my mind, are in the category of someone who must never be hurt. You're family. I would never have…forced myself on you…Maker, even saying it…"

Fenris groaned softly, saddened, as tears welled up in Fletcher's eyes, but he did not touch the mage for fear of upsetting him further. Instead, he waited for Fletcher to compose himself.

"I'm not making any sense, am I?" Fletcher went on, his head bowed. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm desperately sorry I placed you in the position where you had to subjugate me. I'm glad you did that. But if you hadn't, I wouldn't have…if you'd rejected me, I probably would have burst into tears or had a tantrum or something," he laughed bitterly. "I would never have hurt you, I swear. I just don't have it in me to…you know."

Fletcher hesitantly moved his hand to cover Fenris's, but didn't grip it. "I know you might not believe what I'm saying…"

"I believe you." Fenris curled his fingers around Fletcher's hand. "You were not acting of your own volition."

"I-I know, but the fact is, I am capable of acting like that. Anders has been down the main tunnel with the dwarves and he said it's lined with raw lyrium. This is only going to get worse. I think…I think it's best that I'm restrained from now on," he uttered quietly, resignation in his voice. "For everyone's sake."

"Restrained?"

Fletcher nodded. "So I can't cast. As for my behaviour…I don't know what will happen. I'm sorry, Fen. This probably hasn't improved your opinion of mages in general."

"Not all mages are equal," Fenris murmured, his grip on Fletcher's hand tightening. "That is something I have learned since we met." Fletcher's eyes moved up to his, a faint, hopeful smile on his face. "Besides," the elf continued, "I am also affected by the lyrium." He held up his free arm, and Fletcher could see an indistinct glow radiating from the elf's markings. "I cannot help that any more than you can help your reaction to it," he reassured the mage.

"Thank you for understanding, Fen," Fletcher said with a loving gaze at the elf. "But I have to insist that my hands be tied. I won't risk anything like that happening again. I may very well act like a complete prat, but at least I won't be able to hurt anyone."

Fenris examined Fletcher's hands, considering his proposal. "Would binding your hands prevent you from casting?" he asked.

"Yes." Fletcher placed his hands together, as though he was praying, and meshed his fingers together. "If my palms are covered, I can't cast."

"I have seen other mages casting without using their hands, or a stave," Fenris contended. "I have seen men driven to madness with a mere look from a mage."

"That's dark magic; blood magic and whatever else they use in the Imperium. I'm just not that powerful. You'll all be safe if my hands are tied. And in case you're wondering, I can't summon my demon if my hands are bound, either."

"I did not wonder that." Fenris squeezed Fletcher's hand. "I do not wish to see you reduced to…is there no other way?"

"I would feel better, Fen. Please, I'm asking you."

Fenris took a deep breath and then sighed. "Very well. I will ask the pirate to do it; she is versed in several types of knot, and bound Bartrand's hands. She will not hurt you."

"I-I want to apologise to Torbal, first," Fletcher insisted, "while I can still shake his hand…if he'll shake mine, that is."

They looked over to where the rotund dwarf was holding court with some of the human workers, and his deep laugh echoed throughout the chamber.

"He appears to be quite unscathed," observed Fenris. "I am certain he will shake your hand."

Fletcher started to push himself up, but was stopped by Fenris's hand on his chest. "There is…something else," said the elf.

"Oh?" Fletcher asked nervously, sitting back down.

Fenris sighed again and didn't speak for a few moments. When he did, his voice was soft and quiet. "You…do not believe that I care for you?"

"No, I-I don't know why I said that," Fletcher answered hastily. "And I'm sorry I said it in front of Torbal. I wasn't in my right mind. I didn't mean it."

"But somewhere in your mind, you must have doubts," Fenris reasoned, a crease forming between his brows. "You would not have said it otherwise."

"No, I was just being stupid," Fletcher replied, feeling guilty that a small part of him still hoped Fenris would say those three little words.

"You must understand," Fenris began, "that I have never…shared myself with anyone before, not in the way I have shared myself with you. These…feelings are completely new to me, and I do not have anything with which to compare them. I do not know what it is that I feel. I would not dishonour you – or us –by speaking without conviction. Words are easily spoken, but if the meaning is not there, then they are empty. Do you understand?"

"I…I think so," Fletcher said, nodding slowly, his heart sinking.

Fenris once again took Fletcher's hand. "Consider this: when we first met, I was embittered, angry, and incapable of feeling anything other than hatred. I was barely a person at all due to my experiences with blood mages. You are a blood mage – albeit, I accept, a non-practising one – and yet I have shared my story with you, even the darkest episodes. I have given my affection to you, and I have given my body to you. Allow me time, and I will give my heart to you. And when I do, it will be freely, without conditions or caveats. Perhaps I already have…but I do not know for certain. I am damaged; but, with your help, I am healing. All I ask for is time, dear Fletcher."

Fletcher squeezed his eyes closed and nodded as a tear coursed down his cheek. Wiping it away, he released his breath in a shaky burst and nodded again. "S-sorry…it's the blasted lyrium." He wiped both of his eyes on his sleeve, sniffled and looked at the elf, who wore a fond smile. "I understand, Fen," he murmured. "Finally, I understand. Thank you."

Fenris, still smiling, held the mage's gaze for a moment before pushing himself up, and offering his hand to Fletcher. "Are you able to stand?"

"Let's find out." Fletcher took the elf's proffered hand, and, with much effort from Fenris, he stood on wobbly legs. Fenris led him to Torbal, who laughed off Fletcher's apology. They then sought out Isabela, whose eyes naturally lit up when asked to tie Fletcher up.

"I knew you'd come round," she teased, reaching for a length of rope from her pack. With a stern look from Fenris, however, she relented with a sigh. "Are you certain you want to do this, Hawke?" she asked.

"It's for everyone's safety," he answered, still feeling ashamed. "I don't know how I'm going to be when we head through that tunnel." He pressed his palms together and held his hands out to Isabela, who considered the type of knot to use.

"Allow him flexibility and comfort, but do not allow his palms to separate," instructed Fenris.

The pirate nodded. "I know just the thing. And I'll be much gentler with you than I was with that arse of a dwarf," she said with a nod to Bartrand, whose ears pricked up.

"Ha! Binding the mage now, are we?" he mocked, craning his head for a better look. "How the mighty have fallen!"

"Excuse me," Fenris rasped, his nose wrinkling.

Before Fenris could reach the dwarf, however, Vonim – who had been glaring daggers at Bartrand the whole time – stomped over and kicked him hard on the chest, sending him onto his back. "I'm getting real sick of hearing your stinkin' voice, Bartrand!" he raged. "Now, shut the hell up!"

Bartrand flailed on his back, eventually gaining purchase on an elbow and pushing himself onto his bottom. "Hey, guard!" he yelled at the approaching Fenris, "you can't allow this kind of treatment! I ain't been convicted of nothin', yet! What are you gonna do about this?"

"Have you not heard, Dwarf?" retorted Fenris. "I am no guard, but merely a pretend one. I have no power over the actions of these people."

"Yet you think you have power over me?" barked Bartrand, holding up his tied hands, not noticing a stocky figure to his side, who was winding a leather strap around his knuckles.

"You're special," sneered Fenris.

"And where's that no-good brother of mine?" Bartrand demanded. "I don't see him defending House Tethras! There's no family honour anymore, I tell you! Where is he?"

"Right here, Brother."

The last thing Bartrand saw was the leather-clad fist as it slammed into his nose. Pain stabbed at his eyes, and the sound of applause and cheering lulled him into unconsciousness.

"You're welcome," Varric said to his friends, flexing his hand and unwinding the leather cord.

"Varric," Isabela called over through the hubbub. "To lift Hawke's spirits, I've decided to treat him to a reading of my story. Care to join us? It should be good for a laugh, if nothing else."

"This oughta be good," replied the dwarf, his own tensions easing a little as the noise died down.

"Thank you for the peace and quiet," Fenris said as Varric walked away from his recumbent brother.

"Anytime, Broody." Varric bowed, and Fenris caught a cheeky glint in the dwarf's eye when he straightened.

Anders moved to Fenris's side and they both watched Varric walk over to Isabela and Fletcher, whose hands were now securely bound.

"I'm going to need your help, Fenris," Anders said quietly.

"You shall have it," answered Fenris with a small nod. "We must both be strong for him."

"I didn't want to say anything to Hawke, but I think the darkspawn have begun to sense my presence," Anders whispered. Fenris jerked his head, indicating that they move away from the others, and Anders followed without hesitation. "They've picked up their pace and are heading right for us," Anders continued, taking out his maps. "Remember this portion of the map that we arg-talked about? The 'uncharted' section?"

"I remember."

"Well, it looks like we're going to run into them there," whispered Anders. "Maker knows what else we're going to find there as it is."

"Could we not stay back? Ambush them?" suggested the elf.

"We could, but there are drawbacks to that plan," Anders answered. "First, the food situation is bad enough as it is without the addition of Angrim and Bartrand; we need to press on as quickly as possible. Second, I wouldn't fancy engaging the darkspawn in as small a chamber as this. They might have mages as well, and any encounter could quickly turn into a slaughter, not necessarilyin our favour."

"How long do we have?" Fenris asked, staring grimly ahead at the tunnel they would be heading down.

"If we make an early start tomorrow, we'll arrive at the uncharted section before they do, but only just. I'd prefer to reach the larger chamber up ahead before we bed down for the night, as well as making an early start, but it might not go down well with the others; they're preparing for supper."

"Then supper will have to be delayed. Our lives are at stake." Fenris stepped away from Anders and addressed the group, speaking clearly. "Gather your belongings," he instructed them. "We will make camp at the larger site ahead."

"But they're just about to serve supper!" moaned Marston, one of the human workers.

"And what about my story?" Isabela complained.

"Eat quickly, then," replied Fenris evenly. "Weare departing soon. We will wait for no one."

"Okay, you heard the elf!" Torbal shouted. "Everybody chow down and get ready! Double quick!"

Amid much grumbling, the expedition workers rushed to the huge pot of stew, plates at the ready. Varric and Isabela joined them, but Fletcher, hands bound in front of him, wandered over to Fenris and Anders.

"What's the rush?" he asked them.

"We thought we'd get that lyrium-lined tunnel out of the way, particularly as you're now tied up," Anders lied smoothly, and Fenris's head slowly turned toward him.

"Don't go to any trouble on my account," Fletcher said, his tone guarded as he noticed Fenris's reaction.

"It's no trouble," answered Anders. "Go and get your supper."

"I'm…not that hungry," Fletcher mumbled, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. "I'll go and pack. I'll need some help."

"I will be along shortly," Fenris assured him with a forced smile.

"Right." With a suspicious glance at the pair, Fletcher turned and headed over to his pack.

"Are you comfortable with hiding the truth from him?" Fenris demanded of Anders once Fletcher was out of earshot, "because I am not."

"I'm perfectly comfortable with it. Telling him about the darkspawn at the moment would do more harm than good."

"He is not stupid," Fenris hissed. "He knows that your explanation is fallacious. Did you not see the look in his eyes?"

"Look," Anders said irritably, "I know what he's going to face in that tunnel; I spent a lot of time in the Deep Roads as a warden, and I didn't have Justice's protection back then. Why do you think I didn't want to come back down here? It's not just the darkspawn; the Deep Roads is a very dangerous place for a mage. Raw lyrium can be lethal to mages; did you know that? But death may be preferable to the insanity that continued exposure can also cause."

Fenris's eyes widened, and he stared, horrified, at Anders. "Are you saying-"

"We need to get out of here as soon as possible," Anders interrupted. "He'll be a wreck when we go through that tunnel. I don't think he needs to know about the darkspawn, and have the memories of his brother come back to him, at the same time. Do you?"

Fenris exhaled through his nose, his mouth set in a hard line. "Your argument is logical," he conceded with reluctance, "but I will not lie to him."

"Then don't. If he asks you anything, send him to me. I'm supposed to be the authority on the Deep Roads, aren't I? Just keep your mouth shut, Fenris; that's all you need to do. He's going to need both of us when we go through that tunnel, and it would be better if we're not at each other's throats. Now, you'd better give him a hand before he becomes more suspicious."

Fenris looked across at Fletcher, who was watching them intently, before the mage averted his gaze. With a heavy heart, Fenris quickly walked over to Fletcher, where he began packing away their belongings.

~o~O~o~

Torches were not required during the journey through the mile-long tunnel; enough light was provided by the lyrium that was marbled throughout the tunnel walls, but some still chose to carry torches, preferring the wholesome, familiar and ordinary light cast by the orange flame to the unnatural, spectral luminescence that seemed to float away from the walls and insinuate itself into the top layer of the skin.

No one – mage or not – was completely at ease in the tunnel. Occasionally, a worker would turn around, frown and then shake their head, feeling foolish; others scratched at their neck or ears, plagued by imagined touches or half-heard whispers. Anders and Fenris seemed to fare better, as did the dwarves, and the mage and elf flanked Fletcher, with Torbal behind and Vonim ahead. Both dwarves had their axes drawn, at Fletcher's insistence. He'd also instructed each and every worker – with the exception of Bartrand - that they must not hesitate to disable him if he exhibited erratic behaviour.

Conversation was minimal, but Fletcher was unnaturally silent during the journey. Anders had attempted to make conversation with him, but Fletcher had merely looked at him blankly, giving no reply. Most of his attention was on Fenris, whose markings glowed as brightly as the blue veins along the walls; Fletcher hardly took his eyes off the elf, who felt faintly uncomfortable under the mage's intense scrutiny, but consoled himself that at least Fletcher was quiet, and not distressed.

A short break was taken for Thirin's sake, who, despite wearing his oxygen mask, grew short of breath three-quarters of the way through the tunnel. During this time, Fenris and Anders looked over the maps again, and they had another quiet conversation that Fletcher couldn't hear, although his eyes never left them.

When they returned to Fletcher's side, Fenris touched his arm in a show of reassurance, but Fletcher shrugged off the elf's hand and walked ahead, quickly followed by the dwarves.

"It's getting to him," Anders informed the elf. "Don't take it personally."

Fenris nodded, but his heart palpitated; he couldn't help feeling hurt, and apprehensive, despite Anders's reassurances.

Anders was similarly snubbed by Fletcher, and so Thirin and Varric moved to Fletcher's side, with Bartrand ahead of Vonim, where the warrior dwarf could keep an eye on him. Any smart comments from Bartrand were quickly met with a swift kick or a cuff about the head, and Bartrand eventually kept his thoughts to himself.

Anders and Fenris led the group, and Fenris turned around intermittently to check on Fletcher, only to receive a hostile glare in return. As they neared the end of the tunnel, Fenris stopped turning around.

"As soon as we get out of this tunnel, he'll be all right," said Anders, sensing Fenris's discomfort. "He's not Hawke at the moment. Whatever you see, remember it's not him."

"You sound as though you speak from experience," the elf replied, hoping to displace his anxiety with a conversation.

"I do. When we were in Kal'Hirol, we came across masses of raw lyrium, all in one chamber. In a very short time, I became convinced that the wardens had brought me there – almost three weeks' travel from the Keep – to kill me. Never mind the fact that they could easily have killed me at the Keep. No, I was completely convinced, and I wouldn't sleep or eat anything for fear that they'd poison me. Eventually, Nathaniel – the clever one out of us - saw that something was badly wrong and he stuffed a hankie in my mouth which was coated in something that knocked me out. When I woke up, I'd been carried away from the chamber and I was back to myself. I couldn't believe it, the way my mind had worked. It seemed so real to me."

"The lyrium made you paranoid," guessed Fenris, and Anders nodded. "Do you think Fletcher also believes that we mean to kill him?"

"It's possible. Who knows? He's obviously not happy with us for some reason. I heard that raw lyrium can amplify a mage's neuroses or insecurities. How was he when you were packing?"

"He did his best to conceal it, but I am certain he did not believe your story. Perhaps…perhaps he believes we are conspiring against him?"

Anders looked at Fenris seriously. "I hate to say it, but you could be dead right, there. Let's get a move on; the sooner we're out of this tunnel, the better. I'd guess we only have a few hundred metres to go."

"We are almost clear of the tunnel," Fenris called behind him. "Let us make haste. Thirin? Are you well?"

"We'll take our time, Fenris," Sebastian – who was supporting the elderly dwarf – called back. "Go ahead; we're fine," he added, understanding Fenris's need for expediency.

"Thank you, Sebastian." Fenris nodded ahead, and he and Anders moved quickly to reach the tunnel's end.

When the others caught up to them, however, they found the twosome standing at the entrance to the large chamber, with Anders shaking his head, cursing, and Fenris glowering at the scene before him.

"What? What is it?" Vonim demanded as Bartrand burst out laughing.

"Just look at that," Anders mumbled disconsolately.

The walls of the chamber ahead fairly shimmered with wide streaks of lyrium, the thickness of tree trunks, and the ceiling was studded with huge lyrium crystals, some larger than Thirin's cook pot.

"Bollocks!" Anders exclaimed, kicking a loose piece of rock across the chamber.

"I guess Creampuff's about to go doolally then, huh?" Bartrand cackled, his next remark dying on his lips as he was slammed, hard, against the wall.

"You are this close to death, caitiff!" Fenris snarled, his blade held horizontally across Bartrand's throat. "I no longer care for procedures or laws! I could gut you and leave you here, still alive, to slowly bleed to death! Who would know?"

"Or care," added Vonim, to several murmurs of agreement.

Bartrand's eyes flitted around, and, seeing that no one – not even Varric - had leapt to his defence, he gulped, Fenris's sword scraping his adam's apple as it bobbed.

"What will it be, wretch?" demanded Fenris, his eyes aflame with murderous rage.

"Just-just take it easy, okay?" Bartrand laughed nervously, finally realising that he'd pushed the elf too far. "I'm sorry, all right? Just lay off me and I-I'll lay off him. Just…put it down."

"Ask me nicely," Fenris hissed.

"P-please," stammered Bartrand, genuine fear in his eyes and voice.

Seeing Varric from the corner of his eye, Fenris relaxed his grip on his sword, and Bartrand exhaled in relief. Then, without warning, Fenris again shoved his sword against Bartrand's throat, and the dwarf gagged. "One more time, Dwarf. Just one more time."

Fenris released the dwarf and quickly turned away, heading into the chamber with Anders, while Bartrand rubbed the bloody welt on his throat left by Fenris's sword.

"You fucking coward," Varric berated, spitting at Bartrand's feet as he passed by. "You make me sick."

Fenris and Anders stood together, talking, as Fletcher was led into the chamber by Torbal and Vonim. "He can't stay here," Anders asserted, receiving no argument from Fenris, who nodded gravely. "This lyrium is slowly poisoning him; me, as well. I may have Justice's protection, but I don't know how far that goes. I'm more concerned about Hawke at the moment, though."

"I agree, but we cannot just keep going," said Fenris. "The others are starting to tire. Thirin needs his rest; he is not as young as the rest of us."

"We're about three miles away from the uncharted section of the map," Anders said, pointing in the direction they needed to go. "I recommend that we quickly scout those few tunnels, and, when we find a safe one, you and I take Hawke ahead in the hope we find somewhere with less lyrium. What do you think? The darkspawn won't be upon us until tomorrow; we could reconnoitre the area, come up with some strategies?"

"That makes sense," answered Fenris thoughtfully. "But…what if there is more lyrium? What then?"

"We don't have much choice, do we?" Anders replied with a weary shrug. "We have to try, and we can't go back; we'll only end up here again eventually."

"I will speak to Fletcher first, and ask his opinion," said Fenris.

"I doubt he'll agree."

"I…want him to feel involved," Fenris uttered quietly. Anders nodded and turned, walking to one of the tunnels leading in the direction of the uncharted section.

When Fenris reached Fletcher, Vonim and Torbal stepped aside, allowing them some privacy.

"Fletcher?" he asked gently.

The mage started and stared at Fenris, wide-eyed, and took a step back when Fenris neared. "Fletcher…Anders and I are going to take you away from here. Come with us. You will feel better."

"Anders and I? Us?" Fletcher spluttered, and Fenris noticed that his pupils were once again dilated. "Why are you asking me? You and Anders seem to be getting along just fine! Why don't you just go with him?"

"Fletcher…please, do not-"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" Fletcher whispered harshly. "Do you think I can't see what's going on right under my nose? You're determined to make a fool of me, aren't you? I bet the two of you are having a right laugh about me, aren't you? Well, you're welcome to each other!"

"Fletcher!" Fenris exclaimed, his voice breaking as the mage turned his back on him. Torbal and Vonim, having heard the conversation, nodded at each other and approached Fenris.

"Let's get him out of here, and quick," Torbal advised the distraught elf. "You make arrangements with Anders; we'll bring Hawke, kicking and screaming, if need be."

Fenris glanced over at Fletcher, whose eyes were darting back and forth as he gawked up at the ceiling. "Thank you," Fenris rasped with a small bow to the dwarves. "Thank you, sincerely."

Slowly, he walked over to Anders, who saw the sadness in Fenris's posture and eyes immediately.

"Let's get ready to go, then," he said to the elf.

"Yes," Fenris answered in a whisper. "Immediately."