AN: Well. I really shouldn't have started this. But I did. Brontide started it off, I swear. This is looking to be a two novelette kinda thing, Similar to Yarn it will (eventually) have a sequel. Cause I want to write happy!Anders. Yes. Darian is my first Origins character, and the only one I actually got to Awakenings with. But yeah. Won't say pairings, because being honest, it could go any way with Darian. The amount of accidental romances I managed to trap him in, by the end it was just everyone sat around an awkward campfire. It's probably obvious anyway. But just in case! It might (probably (definitely?)) end up M/M, so be careful if you aren't in that party-boat! Probably nothing explicit, and if there is, I'll always give the heads up first so you can skip if hot-dogs aren't your thing. Happy Reading!

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The Dealing with Surana Rule Book, A Collection By Team Warden

Rule One: If you have an opinion, be prepared to be shot down, laughed at, and ultimately ignored.

It was an old truth, older than even the teachings that the Master Crows handed down from their own masters. Never judge a wine by its bottle. Never judge a blade by its scabbard. Never judge a mage by his dress. It was something that Zevran lived by, a truth in a world of lies. Something to cling to when he doubted his work, his blades, his livelihood. He even doubted the Warden in the beginning. Join me. It was another man trying to buy him. I'll free you, but only to put you on a leash. It was something that he used to loathe, but he stayed. Because somehow, he never felt a collar around his throat, like he had with the Crows. Darian had never collared him, broken him and made him into another sword against the blight. The Warden kept him to his oath, but it never felt anything like his oath to his guild.

It felt like a chance.

A chance to start again, put a newly-booted foot forwards, into the life he had never dared to dream up for himself. People like him didn't get second chances. They got thrown out of windows, broke necks by accident after some steamy sex in a carriage. They got their comrades killed. They slaughtered their lovers in fits of arrogance and pride. Darian never looked at him differently, even knowing all he did. He looked at him the same way he did at Morigan, Lelianna or Alistair. He never slammed down the mallet, announcing a lifetime in jail for all mistakes and all wrongdoings.

A year ago, Zevran would have jumped at the chance of being free of his oath.

Funny how Fate liked to kick him in the balls every once in a while.

Cauthrien's blade was jolted aside, stopping the kill-blow mid-swing. The dead thing clawed at her, dragging her to the grey stones beneath them, howling and scratching. The archers hesitated, and that was enough. Morrigan was a burst of hornets in an instant, already out of the window. Leliana spared a glance before cupping a hand to her wounded stomach and pulling her own disappearing act. Zevran had guessed his warden was already unconscious, but the cheeky thing was glowing with the residual magic of a lifeguard, hands spread and eyes dark. "Zevran, upon the oath which binds you to me, I order you to run."

What?

"Run now, and do what you're best at. Kill the fuckers later."

There was a smirk there somewhere, but Darian was already slipping away, leaving the Warden in his place. The Warden was different from the red-head that had managed to worm his way into Zevran's waking thoughts; he was what had gotten them this far. He wasn't the bubbling pot of "let's save the kittens" and "let's get a giant spider as a pet" and "who put all these elfroots in a locked box?" in this moment. He was Warden Surana, battlemage Surana, the Monster of Kinloch Hold Surana.

Zevran never thought he would hate the boy's irrational mind more when a well-placed repulsion glyph sent him flying out the window and into the moat beneath.

xxx

It all started one sunny day, nearly a year ago now.

Zevran was nearly blinded when he was turned over, the sunlight harsh to his eyes. He was barely awake, he knew that. He definitely couldn't fight anymore. That cheeky little fucker had hit him hard in the head with some kind of spell that knocked him clean out. The others were dead, scattered all around like ugly flowers. Heh. Nobody told him you got poetic before you died. Usually it was the 'life flashes before thy eyes' shtick. Within a few moments, maybe even an eternity, the boy was there, shadow giving Zevran a short reprieve from the sunlight.

It was a long conversation, most of which the Crow couldn't remember. But there was something that stuck with him, even to the point where he wondered if Darian always had that uncanny ability to read him like an old tome. The boy had crouched by him, near the end of the interrogation, after Alistair had thrown in all sorts of objections, and Morrigan had basically berated all notions of recruiting an assassin.

It was his eyes that did it.

They were scary, at first. Bright blue, and piercing. Hard, cutting in, weighing the contents. But they were better, after that. They didn't soften, but they did grow. They turned curious, then became shuttered, and simply looked. Zevran almost got whiplash when the boy stood up suddenly.

"He's coming with us."

"WHAT?!"

xxx

The first few days were hilarious, by anyone's standards. "Team Warden" only consisted of two baby-wardens, a Qunari, a bard, a witch and a dog. Nearly all of them looked at him as if he was an asp in their chicken coop, except the crazy elven mage. The same one that had collared him. They all expected a knife in the back, a poison in their tea. But he wasn't stupid. He kept a few men on the very edges of the trees, told them to keep low. He knew they didn't get involved in the fight; none of them were stupid enough to jump into a massacre like that. It was also likely they knew he was alive, that he had been recruited. They were probably on the way back to Antiva right now, or at least finding the closest Master. He was probably already on the kill list. Slicing up the wardens now would be stupid. He was a dead man if he went back. At least here, he was alive.

At least here-

"Tell me a story."

"A story? Warden?"

"Yes, a story. You're an assassin right? You must have had a lot of adventures."

Zevran almost laughed. Darian was a kid, barely an adult. Asking for bedtime stories. One of the milder ones couldn't hurt. Any of the other ones, well they could wait until the rest of the camp stopped glaring at the back of his head.

"Well. There was this one time…"

xxx

"Uh, do you think that perhaps there are magical beasts swimming in the lake, guarding their magic tower?"

"If only the place was that interesting, Zevran."

The elf fell in behind Leliana and Alistair, already following Surana through the double doors. The dog was pattering along at his heels, nipping here and there. He never really expected much from a prison on principle, but the place was darker inside than he would have preffered. Only a few torches were still lit, barely illuminating the rather small entrance chamber. The Templars were either lying dead, groaning in injury or running around like headless chickens. Only one, growling to a shaking underling it seemed, was still.

Zevran expected the Warden to offer assistance; this place was a kind of home to the boy.

But the Warden was a walking contradiction.

A wildcard that could always be relied on to do something completely insane and unpredictable. It was his first step into the Tower that cemented that belief in Zevran, as he watched the other elf practically skip into a place that had kept in imprisoned for the better part of ten years. "Why Gregoir, isn't this a surprise? Mages raising hell again. Almost brings a tear to the eye."

The knight-commander turned, eyes not bothering with hiding the contempt broiling under the surface. "And here I had dared to hope the darkspawn had eaten you, Surana."

The elf made a show of looking the greying human over, before nearly making even Alistair take a step back in shock. "Oh, Knight Commander. My apologies, I have grown a habit of talking aloud to my dog. I found him in the woods. Isn't he a beast!" the mabari trotted over from the door, rubbing a huge head against a robed knee. "He just loves adventures."

"You named your dog after me…?"

"Yes. Loyal, understanding. Brave. Brave enough to shut the doors on a tower full of men in dresses. Brave enough to leave his men to die at the hands of the abominations he swore to slay, on pain of death," the Warden stepped forwards, "Sound familiar?"

"I see Carroll has filled you in on the state of Kinloch Hold." The older man frowned. "Freeing a Blood mage into the open pastures; free and able to poison a notable Arl and cause a rift in the veil large enough to allow an entire battalion of dead to torture and haunt an entire arling. Sound familiar?"

Darian smiled, "And during the seven years he spent under the watchful eye of the Templar Order, he was only recently tagged as a real danger. I am but a poor, naïve mage, ser. My only punishable offence was having faith in the Makers children. But alas, I have not the time to exchange pleasantries with an old friend. I have a Circle to rescue."

"Making jabs at my age was a new one. Usually you are more tactful than that."

The elf shrugged, "It's been a long day. Gregoir. Point the way and I'll clean up this mess for you. Consider it an apology in Jowans stead. You know how jittery the robes can be."

"Indeed. If you truly wish to save the Circle, then you will destroy everything from here to the Harrowing Chamber."

The silent glare the elf returned spoke volumes. "They are people, you know. I'm sure that a few mages have survived the demons, Commander."

Gregoir frowned even more, "From what Intel we have managed to gather, Blood mages have summoned the demons. Whatever is beyond that door is either too far gone or dead already. We were waiting for the Chantry of Denerim to approve the Right of Annulment."

"So when all else fails, kill it with fire? Where is all your faith, Chantry-Boy?"

"This is not a matter of faith. It's a matter of duty. The mages are either dead or soon will be. Annulment is the only answer."

"Not really. I'll send back any mages I find alive and kill the rest. I'll even note down a few pointers, so you can do your job the right way next time."

"And the ignorance of your youth shines through again, Surana. Very well. If you get back before the messenger then the right of Annulment will be unnecessary. But I will only take Irving's word on the matter. If he doesn't return, then we will have to-"

"Done."

xxx

"One of the older Templars came to get me. Old fart he was, almost crazy with all the lyrium he had taken over the years. He sang while we walked, stupid old songs that made the kids laugh. When one of the other Templars called him on it, he just replied, 'I'd sing for you, but we both know you don't appreciate anything that makes others smile.'" Darian shook his head, "the old fart was killed on the job a few years later by a blood thrall. Singing all the while. Some of the others were nice, but no Templar looked at a mage the same way after that. Relations got better for a little while, after the mages held a wake for him. Only Templar to ever get that, I tell you. He had brought hundreds of mage children to the tower, and many had actually considered him a fatherly figure. Whenever one of the nastier ones hit us or tried to… well. He had his own little posse. He never let anything like that happen. He was always vigilant. Funny, he spent more time stamping out depraved fellows than actually culling mages."

The mage himself frowned, "It wasn't until after that did everything get squiffy. Mages became more distant, the Templar recruits were brought up under Templars without any restrictions. The same way a blood mage can go on under the radar, a cruel man or woman can thrive under Templar doctrine. All you gotta do is hide under the right banner. Use the right rules, twist the right arm. I've never met a Templar that I would rather have at my side, in case I did turn."

"Aw shucks, Darian. You always know the right things to say."

The red-head looked to Alistair and laughed, "You might have learnt the words, Ali, but you aren't a Templar. You're a Warden. Remember?"

"I can't imagine someone able to cull you, Surana," Morrigan growled from the edges of their makeshift camp. She was barely visible in the firelight, sharp line of her back a pale streak in the dark. "You'd set them on fire, as per the regular dog and pony show."

Darian let out a low snort, "I was an apprentice, but no. Most of them kept a wary distance from me. They had the strangest idea that I had been behind a misfortunate tumble one of the nastier ones took out of a window. As if they would let an apprentice into the Templar training area. Funny rumours like that always circulate the tower. Ever heard of The Werecat of the Circle? Apparently one of the cats in the Tower had been possessed and attacked several Templars before it got put down."

Wynne lifted her head from her book, "Mr Wiggums? God that was around when I was still teaching Primal magic. Like three, four years ago? And as for that 'accident,' well. Lets just say it took a lot for Irving to keep Gregoir from isolating you like he did Anders."

"As if he would do that. He wouldn't be able to see my lovely mug every day."

"Anders?" Zevran pressed, eyes flickering between the two.

"A crazy guy, but always a good laugh. He got put into seclusion after the millionth time he tried to escape the tower. Tried to swim across LakeCalenhad. A part of me wishes he didn't get caught. You'd think they'd have applauded and just let him go after all the harebrained schemes he came up with."

"Like what? Making a parachute out of goat hair and beeswax?"

"No, the first one he dressed up like a Templar and nearly walked out. If the door guards hadn't spotted how out of breath he was, he might've actually pulled it off. The second time was the parachute."

"This is why on Par Vollen we sew our mages' mouths shut and cut out their tongues."

"And that is why I am the boss and you are not. Imagine how hard it would be for me to talk us out of the shitheap with my tongue cut out?"

"It might stop you from walking us into the shitheap."

"Ha-ha. This is why I let you stay, Sten. Your humour is as always, impeccable."

"As if such a tiny thing like you could live without me, Kadan. You are like a bird. Or that slovenly child by the road, stuffing its face with -what did you call them?- Cookies?"

"Short, stumpy and torturing you with baked goods?"

"Ever wonder why I allowed the other mage her knitting needles? They are much better at silencing a loud Sarebas. Unfortunately also lot messier."

"And here I thought Wynne was giving you knitting lessons. Looks like you can teach an old dog new tricks!"

"Morrigan did teach me a new spell, Warden. She said that it would painfully turn something inside out. This old dog could show you, if you persist as such."

"Hey now, Alistair called you old first. I'm just an impressionable young mage, poor little flower that I am."

"Hey! Don't drag me into your mess! What have I ever done to you?"

"Goldana."

"I knew that'd bite me in the ass."