"You don't have to be so rough! I'm not exactly resisting here!" Anders cried as two Templars whisked him down the hall, their gauntleted fingers digging into his biceps.
After his latest successful escape – he was pretty sure it was his sixth, but he'd long since lost count considering his successes were vastly outnumbered by his failures – he'd made it all the way to Denerim before the Templars caught up with him. After spending Maker only knows how many nights at The Pearl and running out of the money he'd managed to scrounge up, he'd decided to go one more round with that pirate girl he'd met there. That had been a mistake, obviously, since the Templars showed up just as he was about to put his robes back on. Boy, had that been something to see though. The Templars had come in expecting a fight, but instead found him shocked and naked, with an equally shocked and naked woman in the bed next to him. If he had more shame, he probably would've been embarrassed, but it wasn't as if it was the first time he'd been caught in such circumstances.
"Shut up, mage!" the Templar on his left snapped.
Anders only rolled his eyes. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to this by now. He was pretty sure he'd even done this routine with that Templar before. The one on his right seemed new though. All the new recruits had the same unsure, stiff gait when they were doing anything other than staring at the mages. From the sway of their hips, they could've even been a woman. That was good for him. If he had the opportunity to try, his charms just might work then. He'd tried it on the men too, but for some reason all the male Templars seemed immune, which was always disappointing. There seemed to more men than women who entered the Order, after all.
To his surprise, they arrived at the common quarters for the mages. He was sure they were going to take him to the dungeons. However, the quarters were empty. There were always mages here, reading, studying, or talking in hushed tones. The Templar on his right, the new one, released him and closed the door. For a moment, fear washed over the mage. The Templar still holding his arm like a vice handed him a folded shirt and trousers before releasing his grip.
"Get changed." he said, crossing his arms.
Anders paused before realizing his captor wasn't going to leave. He'd learned young that situations like these often ended badly, so he took a moment to assess the threat. The second guard remained by the door, making a point of not looking in their direction. The Templar close to him hadn't turned away, but his eyes were fixed on the far wall instead of the mage before him. The years of experience Anders had in avoiding Templar abuses told him to relax, as these two clearly weren't interested. Concluding he was safe, he decided to ensure the nearby Templar was at least as uncomfortable as he was.
"Oh, so you like to watch? Shall I put on a show, then?" Anders purred as he raised an eyebrow, trying to sound seductive.
"Oh, just get on with it." the Templar groaned, sounding exasperated.
That was the reaction he'd been hoping for. Anders shrugged, satisfied his comment had worked, and changed quickly, the rough material turning out to be much less comfortable than his soft robes. Why they were forcing him to change for a routine stint in the dungeons, he didn't know, but he knew better than to outwardly refuse. It was much safer and more effective to simply annoy the Templars.
After he was changed, the other Templar returned to his side, and they resumed their death grip on his arms while leading him in the direction of the dungeons.
"Again, you don't need to be so rough. I have the route memorized by now." Anders protested, but it was just as effective as the first time he'd said it.
After virtually every escape attempt, whether he'd actually pulled it off or not, he would be placed in the dungeons. They'd keep him there for a few days, never so long as a week, before releasing him and giving him a lecture about the necessity of the Circle, and how he didn't want to become an apostate, and a bunch of other things he didn't give a shit about. Locking him up may have sounded like a relatively light punishment, but that depended entirely on who was in charge of him during it. Some of the Templars would deny him meals, or try to make him beg for food. He never did, and eventually they'd give up, but not until after a few nights on an empty stomach. Others would just use more force than necessary. Not so much that it'd be considered a beating, but enough that he'd end up with bruises and scrapes conveniently hidden by his robes. Despite this, none of his imprisonments had managed to tamper with his desire for freedom, and this one would be no different.
They reached the cell, and after one of the Templars unlocked it, he was unceremoniously thrown onto the cold, stone floor. He turned to glare at his captors just as they shut the heavy metal door. Anders pouted as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There were no windows to the outside, and the door was solid iron. The only source of light came from the edges of the small access window on the door. It was covered with another sheet of metal, but light from the outside hall peaked in from the edges around it. The sheet of metal slid, but it could only be done from the outside; he knew because he'd tried to open it more than once, and failed every time. Besides, even if he could get it open, it was only large enough for meals to be placed inside. Maybe he could get his arm through but then what was he to do? Wave at the Templars? Yeah, that'd be effective.
He began the ritual he always did whenever he was locked up: figure out what went wrong with his most recent escape, and make a note never to do that again. When he was confined to the tower, part of him thought he'd never actually succeed. They'd always find him again using his phylactery. Anders tried hard to crush those doubts, but it got tougher each time he ended up back in Kinloch Hold. When he was free, though, that was an entirely different story. It was as if he had the whole world at his disposal, and he felt as though he'd never be caught. That was probably what kept going wrong. He'd get far too excited about his freedom, embracing things he never knew, and end up staying too long in one place. That seemed to be how they found him.
It was so hard not to get caught up in it, though. He remembered so vividly each breath of fresh air, each sun beam warming his skin. The first time he escaped, it had been during a rain storm. He remembered standing on the shores of Lake Calenhad with his arms outstretched, eyes closed, face to the sky, and just letting the rain wash over him. He'd forgotten just how good it felt to feel the wet on his skin. And the smell – Maker, the smell – of the rain on the fresh earth and grass around him. Surely he'd have looked a fool to anyone who might have been out in that weather, but it was a moment he would always remember. It's amazing how quickly one could forget what it feels like just to be outside, with no walls or roof between them and the world. It was that feeling he'd keep chasing no matter how many damned times they locked him up.
As for analyzing his previous escape, Anders quickly concluded that spending three consecutive nights at the brothel in one of Ferelden's largest cities had definitely been his mistake. Next time, if he ended up in Denerim, he'd only spend one night before moving on. Besides, running out of what little money he could get was something he desperately needed to avoid, given his complete lack of experience in the wilderness beyond a few shivering nights he'd rather not experience again. Still, even those were better than a warm, comfortable night in the prison they called the Circle.
He thought of his notebook, the one he kept hidden from the Templars despite trying to disguise it as study notes. Most times when he was supposed to be studying magical theory, he would look through whatever history books he could find, preferably ones with illustrations. From there, he'd make a note of all the locations that piqued his interest in his notebook, entering them in code. Then, later on, he would read it over and over again, committing each one to memory. All of those places were ones he planned to visit when he was finally free. Some were in Ferelden, and he'd even managed to see a few of those. The rest were spread all across Thedas, from Orlais to Nevarra to Rivain to everywhere else. Anders recited the list in his head, smiling softly at how easily it came to him.
A sudden wave of exhaustion began to overwhelm him and interrupted his recitation. It had been late when he and his escort had arrived at the tower, and his body was calling for sleep. He lay down on the thin piece of cloth that passed for a cot and continued to recite his list as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.