Dragon Age and all characters and concepts associated with it belong to BioWare and EA games, as well as their respective trademarks.

Please take note that this story, as are many I post here, is in a simple rough draft format and hasn't been edited. It is a requested story and intended simply for the requester to enjoy... I'm posting it here in case others might enjoy it, too. I do so love to hear when people enjoy it, and I thrill with every time someone takes their time to post a review. But for other reviews please keep in mind that it's the roughest of rough drafts, lol.

Part 1: The Enchanted Templar

Andrew Drass had always been a Templar. He had probably popped out of the womb in heavy plate armor. Raised by the Chantry, it had just been normal for the orphaned Drass to become a Templar. That was the way it went, and it was that simple. Raised by the Chantry meant becoming a Templar—suited or not.

The other Templars took their duties very seriously. They believed they were saving the world, and they were unflinchingly pious. They were willing and almost eager to go to their deaths in the "calling" of protecting the world from mages.

Ser Drass, however, didn't see things that way. Not at all.

But he knew the truth. You either made yourself suited to be a Templar, or you were killed off through the simple expedience of using you as fodder in blood mage hunts.

But he couldn't help it. He couldn't hide that he hated it with his whole heart.

He was, in short, a glorified jailor. And although he didn't know what he did want, he knew that he didn't want to be doing this. He had taken vows, and now he would never know the touch of a woman. He had taken vows and now he had to keep young, innocent children prisoner in a cold stone castle.

All for the "greater good."

He stood in his armor, the chill seeping through it and into his very bones. Soon, he would be chasing hedge mages through the Bannorn, he knew. His attitude of not wanting to hold people hostage—even for their own good—was highly inappropriate and unwelcome.

He shifted. He was thirty years old, and he was put in charge of the young women's wing of the tower. Was Gregoior an idiot? Did he not see these girls? It was foolishness to put men who could still function as men into this place as guards. Jailors.

Especially given that Miranne was here. That was the third time that she'd walked past. She was what, twenty? Maybe twenty-one. She was slender and willowy, and she was his prisoner.

He hated it. He hated seeing her timid, shy form walk past all day. She had grown up in this place, here almost as long as he had been. She'd gone from being a shy, terrified child to being a shy, terrified woman.

And he wasn't supposed to look at her. He was supposed to look forward. He was supposed to look straight ahead, never flinch, never question.

Never ogle. Definitely, for sure, never ogle!