Someone is listening, at least, and Anders hadn't expected it to be Narcisse. He's not sure he'll ever be able to express how grateful he is for the butler's response when he winds up merely cut by the cleaver and not incapacitated. Anders finds his feet, finally, arm pressed to his side as he tries to breathe shallowly, to ignore what he can of the increasing-by-the-moment pain. He can't do anything about that just yet. Smites are pains in the ass. But he can yank his dagger out of his boot and slash at the Bear's throat, flanking Bear on the opposite side of Milady as the dog goes for another bite.

"Thank you," he groans. It had been meant to be a yell, but he can't manage it. Hopefully Narcisse hears him as well as the dog. Later Anders will make sure, if there's a later. For now the mage needs to pull it together and fight. And kill, again, but at least this is no innocent.