Written in response to a prompt on BSN. This time it's "cheeky." Set some time before Awakening.
Cheeky
A pair of birds were singing their joy to the morning. A light breeze swept through the trees and brought with it the crisp smell of pine needles. The gentle warmth of the early sun warmed Anders' cheek. The mage registered all of these things through the lingering haze of sleep.
Freedom. The sounds and smells of the open world enveloped him. It was enough to bring a smile to his face, even as he continued to doze. That is, until a hard metal boot replaced the gentle touch of the son.
"Andraste's tits!" he shouted as he sat bolt upright.
A gauntlet hit his other cheek. He was wide awake now. That brought it all rushing back. He became aware once more of the binding around his wrists. No. Not free. Not any more.
"Watch your mouth, mage," the Templar growled.
Anders worked his jaw, trying to ease the pain. He wanted to stand up so he could face the Templar on equal ground. His head was swimming, though, from the rude awakening. If he tried to get to his feet just now, he'd likely fall right on his face. The last thing he needed at the moment was more head trauma. So instead he settled for looking his captor in the eyes. Or at least looking the man in what he assumed were his eyes. Wicked points of light just barely visible through the visor.
Maker he hated those helmets. The boots and the gloves and all the other little pointy bits he could take. Not being able to see the face of his tormentor, though, drove him mad. Then he went all the madder because he knew that was the point. It was just one more thing that was supposed to crush his spirit. He wouldn't allow it though. They could take away his magic. They could take his freedom. He wouldn't let them take away who he was. He wouldn't allow them that one victory. He would fight back in what way he could.
Once the stars had finally faded from his vision, he got to his feet. He kept his eyes locked on the Templar's the whole time.
"Sorry," he sighed. "I'll try to remember my manners the next time I take a boot to the head first thing in the morning. What was I thinking?"
The Templar backhanded him hard enough to knock him straight off his feet. The back of his head banged into the tree he'd been sleeping under. Without the free use of his hands, he couldn't ease the rough fall that followed, nor pull himself back to his feet.
"Andraste's hairy, sagging, nug scented-"
Another blow came and this time Anders coughed blood.
"You just don't learn, do you?" the Templar growled.
Anders laughed to himself. He knew the Templar was right. He knew he should just keep his mouth shut. If he was silent, his life would be easier. Life in the Circle could be so much easier if he stopped talking back, stopped trying to escape, stopped being who he was. But then, when had he ever taken the easy way out? Maybe it didn't win him much in the end, but if all he did was annoy one Templar, he would take what he could get.
Thinking Anders was defeated, the Templar collected the rest of the supplies from their camp. Once Anders was sure he'd been forgotten, he stretched and contorted so that his bound wrists were in front of him. He lifted his hands and pressed them to himself. Healing magic undid everything the Templar had just done. The flow of magic was enough for the Templar to finally notice what Anders was doing. He lunged and dragged the mage to his feet.
"Why you-"
"Well, what are we just standing around for?" Anders interjected with a wide smile. "I bet poor Irving is just frantic about me being gone."
The Templar gave up. Grumbling to himself, he shoved Anders forward and they continued their long march back to the Circle Tower. Anders continued to smile.
Right, he thought, Bucket Head 0. Smart Mouth 1.