A/N: This is an exercise for the DA2 Anders prompt group. More such chapters possibly to follow, eventually, maybe.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or Anders. More's the pity.

Prompt 1: Misguided

"Good Luck"

"Are you sure you've been here before?"

"Well, I never said that. I just said I knew how to get there."

"We're lost, aren't we?"

"No, of course not! I mean, maybe. Probably. Definitely a little bit. I should probably shut up now."

"Now I know why Varric wished me 'good luck,'" Anders sighed, running a hand down his face. The plan, of course, had been to collect more herbs for his clinic. When the healer had mentioned what he needed to Varric the other day, it just so happened that Merrill had been in the room and claimed to know exactly what he was talking about and where to find it. To her credit, she was actually familiar with the herbs he needed, so something of her Keeper's wisdom must have sunk in over all these years. Unfortunately, for some reason this brought him to the conclusion that the other part of her assertion also had merit.

As the two mages wandered around listlessly in some random cave near Sundermount, it finally occurred to Anders how utterly wrong he had been.

"He always wishes me good luck. I thought he did it to be nice," the bubbly raven-haired elf piped from his side.

"Let me guess," Anders hazarded, "he tells you that every time you leave the Hanged Man to go home in the evening?"

Merrill's eyes went wide, their green irises catching and reflecting the light from his conjured spell wisp, making them seem all the more otherworldly, "How did you know?"

Anders rolled his eyes, "I must be psychic."

"Well, if you're psychic, why did you come with me, if you knew this was going to happen?" a hint of skepticism crept into her voice.

Anders dramatically placed his wrist to his forehead and intoned, "Oh, such a gift and a curse! One cannot turn on the second sight like a candle! To know the future at all times would drive a man mad!"

"Well, what about a woman?" Merrill asked guilelessly.

The blonde mage dropped his hand and resumed walking with a scowl, "It's called sarcasm, Merrill. You'd think you'd have learned the definition by now."

"Oh," the elf seemed to process this for a second, "So you can't really see the future, then?"

Anders sighed, "No."

"It's a shame, that," she mused, "It would have saved us both so much trouble, today."

"You're telling me."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

Anders was never sure if she was completely honest when she took such phrases literally, or if she was just that good at mocking him. He strongly supposed it was the former, considering to what pains Varric went to explain simple colloquialisms to her. Anders was ever so thankful for the genial dwarf's endless patience when it came to Merrill and equally regretful, now, that he hadn't come along. To save himself more embarrassment, Anders shut his mouth and just kept walking.

It felt like they'd been walking in circles for the last few hours. All the walls in this dim, dank cave looked the same to Anders, the only light source the spell wisp floating above his shoulder. The darkness and silence weren't helping his claustrophobia much. If it wasn't for the fact he actually had company, and distractingly annoying company at that, he honestly doubted he would have made it twenty feet past the entrance. It seemed that every other cave in this part of the world had some sort of natural opening to let in light every few meters, but this one suspiciously had none to speak of. Therefore, it came as a surprise when they turned a corner just like all the rest to find torchlight in the distance.

Merrill squeaked in delight, "Oh, do you suppose it's a way out? What I wouldn't give for fresh air again!"

A twist in Anders' gut echoed the sentiment as the sprightly elf hared off to investigate the light more closely. "Hey, wait!" he called, picking his way as fast as he could in the dim light along the uneven floor, silently cursing how Merrill could be so surefooted in a situation like this. He guessed it must be an elf thing.

He finally caught up to her to witness her examining a doorway flanked on either side by a glowing torch. He sensed no magic at work, so surmised the construction was of dwarven make, to last so long in such an utterly abandoned passageway.

"Who do you suppose lives here?" Merril wondered aloud.

"Considering where we are, probably no one," Anders answered, "Unless this is another one of those slaver holding cells Fenris complains about." He ran a hand along the door, kicking up a thick layer of dust. "Anyway, it doesn't look like anyone's used it in quite awhile."

"Do you think it leads out, though?" the Dalish girl asked hopefully.

"Since going back the way we came hasn't done us any good, there's only one way to find out," he said, reaching for the hidden latch in its usual place for dwarven doors. The door ground open with mild protest, revealing a branching hallway which included a straight path to an open doorway framing what was unmistakably daylight.

"Oh, finally!" Merrill bubbled, starting to dash forward.

In his similar relief, it didn't occur to Anders until after he heard the pressure plate scraping underneath Merrill's bare foot that these sorts of places were usually trapped.

Heavily.

"Get down!" Anders shouted as he dove, knocking Merril to the floor to avoid a volley of wicked crossbow bolts strategically angled in a crossed pattern to skewer anyone who dared approach the door. When it became apparent that the bolts wouldn't stop any time soon, he urged the shaken elf to follow him as he crawled further down the passage.

They finally stood when they left the range of the crossbow trap and heaved a sigh of relief. "So, let's be a little more careful from now on, shall we?" Anders admonished as Merrill nodded dutifully.

"So we should watch our feet, then, so we don't trip that next—" Anders felt a tiny bit of pressure against the ankle of his boot, and it briefly occurred to him for the second time that day how much he wished Varric was here.

"Trap," Merrill finished, her voice suddenly smaller than normal as the statues to either side of the hallway began to move in a deliberate fashion, as if they were stretching, flexing long-disused stone muscles.

"Merrill, remember what I said about being careful?"

"Yes?"

"Well, forget it. Run!"

They both sprinted for the exit, the grinding sounds of activated pressure plates and angry golems hot on their heels. Impossibly, Anders' long legs and years of practice carried him to the exit faster than the lanky elf, where he attempted to screech to a halt, grabbing a protruding tree root to steady himself against the side of the opening. Before him, where he expected there to be a ledge or something yawned only empty space, allowing a breathtaking view of the descending side of a mountain, but not much to break his fall, should he decide to get any closer.

Unfortunately, the choice wasn't up to him, as Merrill barreled clumsily into his back, knocking them both off the edge and out of the way of an incoming fireball.

Anders let out the most unmanly scream he'd ever made in his life as the two mages careened down the mountainside, taking the brunt of the impact for them when they finally hit the muddy slope and started rolling. They rolled for Maker knew how long before they finally stopped, battered and bruised at the bottom of the local gulley, every inch covered in mud.

As he tried desperately not to think of all the uncomfortable places the mud had progressed to and instead focused on how lucky he felt to be alive right now, his mind briefly flitted to his companion. "Merrill?" he asked, to see if the prone figure next to him was still alive.

Merrill moaned in response. Good, at least there was that.

"I'm never following your directions again."