As an impromptu treasure hunter at heart, nothing piqued Garrett's interest quite like a room full of dusty wardrobes in the Amell cellars. With seven hundred years of history in the foundation of the estate, the thought of what he could uncover drew him right in to investigate. There was one wardrobe that immediately caught his eye, hidden in the darkest corner with its doors latched shut with a lock. That could only mean one thing: Something of great value was inside.

Setting his torch on the hook on the wall, Garrett went to examine the wardrobe, the lock old and rusting. He was no rogue, but there was more than one way to open a locked door, Garrett taking a few steps back. Then, with a high kick that would have made Isabela jealous, he slammed the heel of his boot into the lock. It snapped as easy as a sword cleaving a frayed rope, but brought on a cloud of dust that sent him into a hacking fit. The pain was worth it for, as it cleared, the bounty inside was revealed. Garrett whistled in disbelief, smirking as he reached inside. "Well, well, well, ancestor Amells. What were we trying to hide?"

The staff was made of oak and red steel, an ornamental design of gold feathers wound around the length. At the base, captured in the hold of wooden bars, was some sort of enchanted red gem. Garrett could hear the enchantment's hum when he twirled the staff around, finding the weapon sturdy after Maker-only-knew-how-many years in hiding. It wasn't that old though — the enchantment would have degraded over several decades and lost its power — but whomever the staff was meant for, the wardrobe's contents wouldn't reveal.

That only made Garrett's curiosity grow. Mother had told him the Amell line had always had magic in its blood, a shame they had tried to bury away. But the staff's colors — the golden feathers, the gleaming red of the enchantment — were too similar to the colors of the Amell crest. Whomever had made this weapon had done so with love too: it was well-crafted, well-balanced. A mage couldn't ask for a better staff.

Had this been made for an Amell mage? Garrett wondered.

Feeling playful, Garrett spun the staff around again to grasp it beneath the head, and then launched at a nonexistent foe. As if the staff were a sword, he jabbed, parried, thrust and struck, before relaxing and sliding his hand down to hold the wood at the center. There was just a hint of magic lingering inside the steel and wood; the lyrium in his blood sang to it, Garrett smiling at the sensation.

He sucked in a deep breath then, feet shifting into their proper place as he moved the staff into a new position. The heel rested between his shoulder blades, his hand tightening around the center. The staff merely channels your power, Garrett recited under his breath, before swinging the weapon forward. It hit air, but in Garrett's mind he could see the wave of energy that would have burst from the gem. His other hand slapped down alongside its twin as he spun again, snapping the staff's heel forward. There was another imaginary blast when he twisted on his feet, staff at his back now, before he pirouetted again. He whirled the staff over his head once, and then slammed the heel into the ground with a satisfying crack. While the wave of energy that ripped through the air was only in his imagination, Garrett swore he could feel and hear the crack and ripple of magic in the air. It had him grinning ear to ear, equal parts pleased and proud.

He still had the art form down pact.

"Garrett?"

Garrett's heart leapt as he looked in the direction of the voice. Anders was home early — Garrett hadn't expected to see him until suppertime.

"Love, where are you?" Anders called again, voice echoing from the level above.

"Downstairs!" Garrett answered, moving toward the entrance of the room. As the ceiling creaked, Anders heading for the stairs, Garrett stopped in the doorway. He set aside the staff, and used the torchlight to look himself over, patting dust away and smoothing out his clothes. The ceiling creaked again, Anders' calling out to him once more.

"What are you doing down here?"

Garrett grinned, pushing a hand through his hair. "Treasure hunting!" he quipped, and could almost hear Anders' faint snort. Or perhaps they knew each other so well, he knew Anders would snort at that. He relished those: Anders' amused huffs, his eyerolls, the way he finally gave in and let out one of his soft laughs. If Garrett happened to seek those out, he couldn't be blamed. Those laughs were treasures all onto themselves.

"Your incessant need to explore dark, cave-like holes for treasure is beyond me, Love," Anders sighed as he came down the stairwell. Garrett smirked, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms. It was no secret between them that Anders didn't like the dark — a somewhat hilarious irony for a man who could see in it perfectly due to his Warden blood, had used to battle darkspawn and worked in a place called Darktown. Garrett loved to tease him about it too.

"Come now, Darling. I know how much you love searching for treasure in dark holes. Sometimes three times a night."

He knew Anders would roll his eyes at that. "So you're saying it's a madness I caught from you?" he asked, coming onto the landing. Garrett smirked again.

"The best kind."

Anders walked into the torchlight, blond hair loose and drying on the damp towel around his shoulders, green robes tied with a gold sash at his waist. Tiny puffs of dust followed in the wake of fuzzy slippers. Anders squinted with the curiosity so like the cats he loved. "Did you find a fire enchantment?" he asked as he drew near, his eyes on the spot where the staff lay on the other side of the wall. "No, that isn't quite it… Did you find a staff?"

Garrett's fingers sought Anders out when he was close enough, gently hooking into fold of his robe near his chest. He could feel the cool metal of Anders' Tevinter Chantry amulet, Garrett breathing in the scent of soap and perfumed oils that floated off Anders invitingly. "Indeed I did," he purred contentedly in answer to Anders' question before he asked one of his own. "Slow day?"

"Chantry soup day. Most of Darktown was there," Anders replied, still squinting at the wall. "Where did you find a staff? More importantly, what is a staff doing in your cellars?"

Garrett hummed, reaching for the staff to show Anders. "I found it in the wardrobe here. A well-kept Amell secret it seems. Either there was a mage in the family who used it, or — and this is my theory — it was meant for one of the Amells in the Circle, but never was delivered."

"Your cousin's children, correct?" Anders asked, taking the staff from him. Garrett nodded, and Anders' face fell as he traced a delicate etching of a golden feather with his finger. "The Warden-Commander's mother."

Garrett's eye was drawn to Anders' hands when they started to glow. "Did she ever speak about her mother?" he asked.

"No, but none of us ever really talked about our families. In the Circle, I mean. It was just too..." Anders trailed off, lips twisting bitterly. He took a deep breath before he continued. "You would only share such things with someone you trusted. If you could even remember your family, beyond a few snippets or the mementos the Templars let you keep. But for many, I imagine, it was better to forget."

Or bury those memories away, Garrett thought, glancing at the cellar around them. Would they preferred those memories stay forgotten, even if they couldn't quite throw them away themselves? he wondered. Or did they hope whomever found their most-treasured valuables would find meaning in them in ways they couldn't?

Garrett huffed. That was oddly profound, coming from him. The thought made him uncomfortable however — treasures like that deserved more than just Garrett's curiosity. But he grew more uncomfortable for Anders' sad expression and the fact that he had put it there. He needed to fix that, and he knew just how to do it.

He knew Anders would get a kick out of it, too.

"Here, let me show you a trick," he said with a grin, taking the staff from Anders. His lover frowned, watching as Garrett began to back away, putting distance between the two of them.

"Garrett, what are you... Garrett, you're not going to play around with the Commander's staff," he protested. Garrett snorted.

"Darling," he teased, throwing him a wink. "You know I only play with my staff when you're around. And it's not her staff. Now shush and watch."

Anders' eyebrows lifted and his nose wrinkled, an expression only seen when he trying his damndest not to laugh. But his face fell when Garrett spun the staff into position, moving his feet into place.

The form came to him effortlessly, enchantment humming as it arched through the air, Garrett moving with the same fluidity. A thrust forward, a twist backward, another spin on his feet and then the finale: spinning the staff twice before slamming the heel into the floor with a loud clap. Anders jumped in surprise, eyebrows shooting for the sky. Garrett bit his lip to hide his grin, relaxing into a normal position, bobbing the staff up and down loosely in his hand.

"It's a new dance I invented," he said, mock-innocent, relishing in Anders' ever shifting facial expressions. "It'd be just perfect for our next party, wouldn't you say—"

"Garrett!" Anders cried, striding toward him. "Garrett, did you just—? You just— Garrett, how do you know a mage combat form?!"

Garrett, having far too much fun, lifted his eyebrows high. "That was a mage combat form?" He gasped playfully. "And to think I would have taught nobles it! The scandal I could have caused..."

"It doesn't make sense, how do you know a mage combat form?" Anders continued without listening, but Garrett didn't mind. He fought a grin — it was really too much fun to see Anders completely flabbergasted. "Maker, you did it perfectly too. When did you learn to do that, Garrett? Where did you learn to do that?"

"Oh, here and there," Garrett drawled, hooking his fingers under Anders' sash. Anders stared at him, Garrett grinning. "Got bored one day and thought, why not learn a mage combat form..."

"I don't know whether to believe you or not," Anders muttered, shaking his head. He frowned then. "Did you actually get bored and teach yourself the form? One that most mages don't even learn, because there are easier ones?"

"Well, yes and no. I mean, I wasn't bored per say," Garrett said, but trailed off as soon as he began. In hindsight, he should have known Anders would want to know how he knew a mage combat form. The thought of telling him however, made Garrett feel shy. He looked away, wondering how best to explain without sounding foolish or overly sentimental. (There was always a chance he could laugh the whole thing off too; lie and say he really had been bored...)

"Did your father teach you?" Anders asked, still guessing away. Garrett looked back at him, knowing Anders probably would keep on asking until he was told the story. With a sigh, Garrett decided to take pity on him... Or at least that was what he told himself when he had to look away again, embarrassed.

"Not at first," he said. "We did pick it up from watching him, but... We — Carver and I, I mean — we learned it for Bethany."

He caught a glimpse of Anders' confusion when he murmured "For Bethany?", so Garrett went on. "When she was first learning the form, she couldn't quite get the steps down. She... She hated feeling like she was disappointing Father, so we both decided to learn it too. That way, we could practice together."

He found himself smiling, remembering how unsure how Bethany had been by the idea. She had already started to feel like she was a burden, no matter how much Garrett had tried to convince her she wasn't. But she warmed up to the idea once Garrett explained how they were all going to learn. "We made a dance out of it. We called it the Circle Dance."

"The Circle Dance?" Anders looked a little unnerved by that, Garrett quick to realize why. He laughed softly, touching Anders arm to reassure him.

"Not after the actual Circle. It was all circling in the form." Garrett twisted his hand back and forth to mimic the movements. "It reminded us of the dances Mother had taught us when we were little. It became fun when we thought about it like that — easier to learn too. And we all did learn something from it. All that twisting and weaving around — an enemy never expects that from a swordsman."

"Unconventional, but I can see it," Anders agreed with a smile, but his expression grew worried. "It's a good thing that you were never caught practicing. A Templar might have recognized the form."

"Very much so," Garrett admitted, biting his lower lip. Now that he had started to tell the story, he was beginning to remember the funnier parts. Like how the wooden parts of the pitchfork and shovel he and Carver had used as staves weren't built for constantly being slammed into the ground. Or how Carver had always tripped over his own feet on every quick twist, and often fell flat on his face. But the funniest part was one he couldn't resist when it came to telling Anders, even though he knew his lover probably wouldn't appreciate the humor. (At least not right away.) "Considering we were lying to our parents about what we were doing, and sneaking out to the forest to practice. I suppose it was worse when we thought we almost set the forest on fire."

"What!" Anders cried. Garrett smiled as he tugged Anders back when he pulled away in his surprise. As he predicted, Anders did not find it funny as he did terrifying. "Garrett, why are you laughing? You almost set the forest on fire?!"

"We thought we did, we thought we did," he reassured, but Anders clearly didn't see the difference. When it came to stories about mage child accidentally setting things on fire, Anders had a hard time not immediately thinking of the worst-scenario. (Not that Garrett blamed him — Anders had accidentally set a barn when he was a child and that hadn't gone over well for him.) "We didn't actually set the forest on fire — no, no, trust me, Darling, it all turned out alright. It's funny. So there we were—"

"This isn't one of Varric's stories," Anders interrupted. Garrett huffed — now was there really a need to point out who was the better storyteller of the group? "Garrett, you could have been hurt. You could have been found out. If someone had seen you, if a Templar had seen you—"

"We didn't, we weren't. It's alright, Darling, let me explain what happened," Garrett said to Anders' annoyed glare. But he calmed down, and Garrett continued his story. "So there we were, after weeks of practicing finally having mastered the form. We were doing it together, in perfect time when we slammed down, and Bethany's lets off the biggest fireball. That was when several bushes around us caught on fire..."

Anders looked pained, Garrett quick to dissuade it with a grin. "Maker's breath, Anders, you should have seen us: we were running around kicking dirt and water everywhere. We told Dog to piss on the flames, and Carver decided that was a brilliant idea too—"

Anders' lips twitched at that, which egged Garrett on. "So we're all in the middle of putting the flames out in our own special ways, when suddenly they all disappear. Like in a blink of an eye. Like magic. Turn around, and there's our father, looking at us like we've all gone mad. And we might as well have, because that's when we all noticed that Bethany had, at most, singed a few leaves on the bushes. All the panicking for just a few small leaves..."

"He wasn't angry with you?" Anders asked, sounding surprised, and Garrett paused at that. Had Father been angry? Garrett could remember all them standing in the clearing — Dog wagging his tail, thinking they were still playing; Carver with his smalls undone; Bethany hiding behind Garrett — and Father staring out at them. Garrett had been convinced that he was going to kill them (and if not Father, Mother would), and he would have had every right, too. Bethany wasn't supposed to use magic outside of lessons, and her brothers were definitely not supposed to be sneaking off to encourage her too. Even if it had been an accident, it was still dangerous. But...

"No," Garrett murmured to Anders, shaking his head. "He just kind of looked at us like... Like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing." That was the best way to describe the expression on his father's face. Anders frowned at that, glancing away. "And then he just started laughing."

And with Father laughing, they had started to too: for singed leaves, for Carver's smalls, for Dog bounding around them, barking happily. Then Father was asking them how they had learned the form, before encouraging them to do it again — "Without the magic this time," he had hastily added. He had been smiling too, one of those smiles that they had rarely ever seen and all had instinctively sought out without realizing it. They had been eager to show off then, hurrying into the proper position, lifting real and fake staves alike. And in that moment, when Garrett had looked to each twin to see if they were ready, they had all been together. A family, all working toward one goal.

Garrett had forgotten that feeling.

Still, there was Anders' unanswered question. "Why didn't he get mad at us?" he wondered out loud, and then frowned when Anders laughed. He looked to his love, who was smiling right back at him with the same smile his father had had all those years ago.

"He saw something every mage dreams of seeing," Anders explained, reaching up to cup Garrett's cheek. Garrett tensed a little, unsure what to do with Anders' smile or the sheer love in his eyes. "Children unafraid of magic. Children treating magic like they were learning swordplay, like they were learning a dance. Children having fun with magic. How could your father be mad?"

Garrett felt his cheeks warm. He had never thought about it that way, and he instinctively wanted to laugh it off. They had just been having fun, he wanted to point out (so it wasn't anything important), before realizing that was Anders' point. Garrett frowned, feeling the hum of the staff in his hand as he looked around the room of chests and wardrobes. Weren't all of them were full of treasures, of memories, left over in hopes that whoever found them would find meaning in ways they could never?

That thought was profound in ways he probably would have scoffed at normally. But he was with Anders, who was letting out one of those laughs that were treasures unto themselves. "One day, all mages will have that," Anders declared, smiling. "We'll build a world where all mages can learn magic as it were any combat form, with a family unafraid, even willing to learn with them too."

Garrett had to look away again, feeling foolish and sentimental and a little unsure. Anders was the healer, the hero, the Grey Warden, and Garrett always wondered where he fit into his grand vision. But in that moment, he could see it — even if it was his teenage self with his family, working toward one goal — in a story that showed Anders it could be done. It was something they could work toward to, together.

Garrett liked that feeling.

"Those families can help put out their mage's accidental fires, in any case," Garrett joked, Anders letting out another soft laugh. Garrett laughed too, but still couldn't quite look at Anders. Who knew what he would say if he did, or what Anders would see. Anders didn't seem to mind though, tracing Garrett's cheek with his thumb.

"You know," he said after a moment. There was something in his voice that made Garrett glance over, seeing the mischievous twinkle in Anders' eye. "You're very lucky to have learned the easier forms first. You should have seen the one I had to learn."

"Oh?" Garrett said. Anders' flashed his teeth, lifting his eyebrows in the way that meant he was going to say something Garrett really, really liked.

"The one I learned had you bracing on your feet and repeatedly thrusting your staff forward," Anders drawled, his lips sliding into a wicked smirk. "It takes lots and lots of practice to master that form."

Garrett had to fight off a snort, but was unable to stop a grin. He looked over Anders' smirk, wondering what stories it had to tell. "Really," he said, following after Anders as he started to head back for the house. "You're going to have to teach me that one..."

Notes: Special thanks to Flutiebear, who helped make this story wonderful.