It was only a couple of hours before a group of three Templars caught up with Anders. The renegade team spotted Anders' distinctive silhouette in the distance and followed its journey at a safe distance. They halted several times to mute their clanking progress in response to Anders stopping briefly before starting madly off again. Each time, Anders was too busy talking to himself to hear them. Finally, they saw an opportunity to cut through a clearing. They waited in ambush among hawthorn bushes along the dark path. When Anders grew near, still unaware of their presence, all but the eldest ran loudly at him.
Anders made a horizontal motion with his hands as two attackers approached from ahead. It was a perfect call, under the circumstances. A stunning blast of telekinetic waves centered on his body stretched around in all directions. The Templars ahead staggered backwards, momentarily stunned. The leaves of the bushes rustled all around the mage. However, his reprieve was short lived. As he rushed past the two men in his way, he was pushed forward and ended up catching his weight on his wrists and hands. A debilitating headache took hold. He shook his head to clear it. A Templar behind Anders had cast a staggering smite in his direction. "Fuck," Anders cursed under his breath, breaking his mantra.
Anders scrabbled up to his feet, buying time by backing off while throwing basic attacks from his staff. He ended up backing toward the clearing the Templars had just tramped through. Though Anders' trusty staff twirled and swung in wide arcs, it only spawned magic twice before pushing uselessly at the air. Then impotent sparks pushed sudden pains into Anders' chest. Each subsequent attempt increased the throbbing ache further. Finally Anders bent over, reeling with light headed convulsions. The Templar who had emerged last from hiding strode near, casting a lingering silence as the other two recovered.
The strategically late Templar laughed lightly, shaking his head in mirth. He was apparently pleased to have encountered resistance and overcome it. Another, a blonde with thick sideburns grown forward into an unattractive beard, cocked his head sideways. He snarled with sarcastic disdain. "Now what do we have here?" The metal armor clanked as he strode forward and turned Anders' face toward him. The Templar's nose, smushed flat from repeated breaks, gave him a haughty appearance. Dull eyes under thick eyebrows belied a crass sense of humor, a single glint forming as he stared at the mage intently. Anders stared back, sizing up his enemies. His eyes opened wider as he recognized the bearded one.
"Not so miraculous now, is he, Ser Karras?" said the youngest Templar, a barely graduated brunette with an unfashionably large moustache. Neither Templar looked like they'd seen a barber for months. The brunette jabbed his sword threateningly towards Anders as if he warded off a wild beast. "I'm telling you it was some kind of trick. Probably tied some of them Qunari grenades to a Fereldan dog and threw a stick at the Chantry. Told him to go fetch. Is that was you did, dog lord? Did you kill your best bitch?"
"Are you daft?" Anders managed to wheeze out under a furrowed brow. "Or just simple minded?" Anders coughed, breathing hard in an attempt to gather his second wind. Taking advantage of the temporary weakness, Karras kicked Anders behind the knees, efficiently forcing him to the ground.
"Who's talking, heretic?" Karras spat. "You calling Paxley daft, eh? Mark my words. I'll make you regret every life you took today." Ser Karras circled around Anders, making a show of enjoying the mage's position on his knees. As sick as the attention made him, Anders took heart that they had not simply killed him already. Anders let his arm slide limply toward the ground, his face a mask of defeat, as he surreptitiously positioned his staff to make it easier to use the pointy end on the bottom as a pike.
"I wonder if he's even a mage?" mused Ser Paxley. "Other than a light show, he don't do much just now. No more than a tenth year in the Circle can do. Maybe he's a poser with some kinda sick hero complex."
"Don't you worry, Paxley. He's a proper mage all right," interjected the older Templar with close cropped blonde hair and baggy wrinkles around his brow. "I'd never believe it if I didn't see it with my own two eyes. We're both a bit worse for wear these days, aren't we, Anders?" The oldest Templar stepped forward with a rope in his hands, having apparently come prepared for a prolonged capture.
Anders chose this moment to grab his staff and push it toward the apparent ringleader, Karras. He landed a single blow, the full weight of his muscles barely strong enough to push the spike into the gap at the Templar's armored waist. The cloth sash ripped open, blood joining darker red on crimson cloth.
Karras howled, screwing on an affronted scowl. He pulled his gauntleted hand back and swung it at full strength towards Anders' face. With a sickening crunch, Anders' nose broke under the blow. His face swung to the side. Karras yanked the staff from Anders and threw it aside. Then he yanked the mage's head back by his ponytail and glared closely at him. "How dare you?" Karras bent low and licked the blood now flowing from Anders' nose. "You think you can hurt me as easily as you killed the rest?" Karras' tongue followed the blood trail, dipping into Anders' mouth as the wound at his waist closed.
The middle aged blonde made tsking sounds, all while using the pause in Anders' attempt to rebel to secure the rope around his wrists. "Now, now, Karras," he soothed. "No need to ruin his looks, is there? We'll need to have him identified if we want to take credit for capturing him, now won't we?"
Anders shifted his chin, pulling his mouth from Karras' ostensibly to look up at the older Templar. "Wait, I remember you," Anders struggled to recall. "The docks on the far side of Lake Calenhad. Ser… Kelvin?"
"Ser Caroll, you insubordinate lout," the aging Templar corrected. "I forgot near half my life. But I never forget the face of a Circle runaway from Kinloch Hold. Especially not a repeat offender like you."
"Oh, Maker's balls," Anders lamented, his head drooping back towards the ground. He suddenly felt incredibly tired. "Not this again." He steeled himself for the lecture he knew would be coming next.
"Had quite the reputation, did our Anders here. I caught him twice myself," the elder Templar elaborated. "The second time, he was soaking wet from swimming right across the lake from the hold to the docks. Fool apostate had the nugs to peel his robe off and offer me a ride to let him go free."
"Did he now?" Karras rubbed his offhand against the chin beneath his beard in thought. "Bah, you're lying. He's a sacrilegious bastard, I'll warrant, but look at him. He ain't got a seductive bone in his body." He gestured at Anders, whose malnourished figure and wan defeated face looked as sorry as indicated.
"It's the Maker's truth, or I'm the high priestess of Orlais," Caroll said, brushing a hand reverently up the sword emblem on his own armor. Paxley looked down at his own armor at the sword emblazoned there.
"If you mean to tell me you turned him down," Karras said with a laugh, "I won't know whether to commend you for your judgment or pity your failure to take him down a peg when he needed it most."
"Don't talk that way to the clergy," Caroll admonished with a grin. Then he clarified, "Now, don't get me wrong. It got a little lonely out there on the docks. But I prefer more feminine company, if you get my drift. The bounty was more than enough to spend the weekend with my sweet lady in Wutherford."
"So what do you say, Anders? You want me to wet you in the river first?" Caroll winked at the disheartened mage. "Or should we just jump ahead to the part where you drop your robes and beg for your freedom? Knowing Karras here, you may get your wish this time. You would be wise to cooperate."
"Go to the Void," Anders responded, his shoulders straight in a puffed up response despite his position.
"I don't know about this," worried Ser Paxley. "We already disobeyed orders by leaving the city limits. You're not trying to turn him in… soiled, are you? Maybe we should just kill him and be done with it." Anders tried to not react, though he felt nauseous at the irony of wanting to live through such a trauma.
"Ser Caroll, go have a talk with our young Knight, would you?" Karras pointed at the edge of the clearing by the black path, where they had met up with Anders. "I'll give you my share of the reward. You can go talk to Lusine at the Blooming Rose. Just ask for the 'special service' and tell her I sent you."
Ser Caroll crooked an eyebrow in interest. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours?" Caroll cracked a boyish grin despite his age. "Come on, Paxley, my lad." Caroll put a gentle hand on Ser Paxley's shoulder and led him to the edge of the clearing, leaving Karras to the shadows. "You have to help me make a decision. Who do we turn this rebel scum over to when we get him back to the Gallows, hmm?"
"Well," Paxley answered, attaching instantly to the distraction. "I assumed the Knight Commander. Obviously." Paxley's tone belied his eagerness to turn his back on a potentially graphic scene. The two took a leisurely stroll to the path, looking towards fires blazing along Kirkwall's Gallows in the distance.
"Right, right," Ser Caroll agreed. "But which Knight Commander?" Paxley's eyes showed his confusion, so Caroll clarified in a conspiratorial tone. "If you ask me, Meredith's already washed up at this point."
Meanwhile, Karras' lack of company combined with Anders' bound hands to embolden the Templar's tone. "Look, I can have my fun now, or I can have it later. Every minute with me is one more minute before you're made Tranquil. Only reason I'm offering is because you won't feel it later. Now, open up."
From the edge of the clearing, Caroll talked loudly. "Right of Annulment? Short of a demon infestation or a full out mutiny, the Divine's going to ask questions. Cullen's next in line, right? Don't you want to get in good with the future man in charge?" Paxley made a show of considering his options carefully.
Metal rustled behind them during this conversation, followed by the clap of a metal gauntlet on an unprotected skull. "Lips over your teeth, you cur," Karras ordered. The sound of gagging was interspersed with short pauses as Karras renewed the cleansing and silence spells necessary for solid control. "Get us good and wet, won't you? You'll just make it worse for yourself if you don't."
The sound of grunting from a throat struggling for air followed. The older mage spoke over his shoulder. "Does he have to snort like a pig?" Caroll asked. "We can hardly hear ourselves talk over here!"
Paxley looked momentarily concerned. As an aside, he asked, "You do want him to breath, don't you?"
"Not particularly," Ser Karras answered. A strangled sound made it clear that Ser Karras was intent to prove that Anders' breathing was not, in fact, a prerequisite for a good time as far as he was concerned.
"Bloody pig," Caroll interjected. "Sometimes I don't know which is worse, the mages or Karras."
Ser Paxley, looking uncomfortable, returned irritably to their earlier conversation. "Don't you think Cullen might want us to follow protocol? Meredith may be mad, but he's determined to stay loyal."
Karras seemed determined to talk his way through his fun, sounding proud at his unwilling conquest. "Thatta boy. Damn the Maker, I knew that filthy mouth was good for something." The others ignored it.
"If Cullen says, we take him to Meredith without another word," Caroll agreed. He gave it like a sales pitch. "I'm just looking out for you, boy. You want to be on the fast track to Knight Captain, don't you?"
"Well, I suppose," Paxley considered. He tilted his head, smoothing down his moustache in thought. Then a slow grin broke over his face. "Knight-Captain Paxley does have a certain ring to it."
"Of course it does. Helps to be the hero of the day," Caroll said assuringly. "If I had your kind of luck, I'd be Knight Commander of Kinloch Hold instead of ferried off to Kirkwall where I forget my own birthday. You don't want to end up like me, do you? Haha, don't answer that. Leave me my pride, will you?"
Ser Karras' voice rang out from the clearing. "Enough stalling, boy! You're a slut, not a blushing maiden."
"How's it going over there?" Caroll inquired. The older Templar threw a smite over for good measure.
"Fine, fine," Karras grunted. A thumping sound rang out. "Hey! Put your blasted leg down, you ass!" Ser Karras reeled back, clutching a gauntlet to his face, his voice gaining a nasal tone. "Fuck, my nose!"
"Maybe it'll improve things," Caroll joked to Paxley. The elder Templar pointed to his own nose, and the youngster chuckled nervously. Caroll's expression deepened again. "Fucking Anders. The bastard can never just let things be, can he? On the boat across Lake Calenhad, he flirted with the ferryman just as brazen as you please. Later he's getting interrogated, and he has the gall to brag that he'd never been beaten or raped. Yet. Ha! No need for beating or raping when've got what you want already, eh?"
Paxley gave a confirmative hum, mildly distressed at the sound of clothes rustling, metal armor shifting. The younger Templar crossed his arms across his chest, the metal scraping covering the sounds behind.
Karras called back to the pair at the edge of the clearing. "Come on, help me with his trousers." Karras paused to cast a couple more spells, the staff whirring past in the air as Karras tossed it further aside.
"Forget it," Caroll declined. "I'm not asking you to strip my whore down, am I? Handle it yourself." He gave an entitled huff, crossing his arms at being asked to assist directly, an unconscious mirror of Paxley.
The sound of scuffling could be heard nearby as Karras and Anders struggled for dominance. Caroll pushed another silence their direction in absent minded support of Karras. After a moment of anguished wailing, the rustling stopped. The two mages walked a bit further down the road, obscuring their view of the clearing with a large tree, pretending to watch the road like a pair of conscientious lookouts.
"Over the years, I kept hearing stories," Caroll said more quietly as if blissfully unaware of the sounds behind them. "Some of the Templars liked to make an offer to those about to take their Harrowing. You know, real shame if one was to go out without ever experiencing the carnal pleasures life has to offer." Caroll rolled his eyes in mockery. "Mage Valiant over there would run interference, give the little ones a chance to escape while he applied his silver tongue, offered himself as recompense to keep the peace."
"What's wrong, blasphemer?" Karras mocked. "Not going to consent this time? Oh, what a shame." A ripping sound was followed by a harsh laugh, one muffled and then unmuffled again in quick order.
There was a renewed tussle, during which Anders managed to scrabble away. He made it halfway to the road before Paxley jumped to the side, startled by the half-naked figure crawling with a noticeable limp towards them. "Help," croaked Anders, reaching a hand out toward the skittish youngest Templar. Anders looked unkempt, hair wild, clothes in disarray, dark circles twitching under haunted eyes.
"Don't mind him," Caroll advised. "If anybody asks, you're not even here, technically. Pardon me a moment," Caroll excused himself politely. He took a few steps to close the gap with Anders and then stomped his heavy sabaton over Anders' right hand. With that, Karras caught up to Anders. Long fingers dug deep scratches into the moist earth as the mage was pulled back into the grass clearing.
"Sorry 'bout that," Caroll said, returning to Paxley. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. It didn't take long for word to get round. For a good time, contact Anders, yes? He'll do anything you ask. Good with the men. Sweet on the ladies. Happy to watch or be watched. Like being rough? Lucky you, he's a healer. Just bring a lyrium potion along and he'll cover your tracks. Cheeky bastard liked it, or so I heard."
Karras laughed from the clearing. "Still does, boys. He still does. Don't you, Anders?" Anders sounded indignant as he tried to reply, but the words came out muffled and ended with a yelp of pain.
"As I recall," Caroll rambled mindlessly, "there were fewer expelled Templars in those days. Fewer bodies too, from the mages jumping off the tower." Caroll took Paxley by the shoulder to confide an unpopular opinion. "Most protected people in all of Thedas, and they go and off themselves out of spite. Bunch of spoiled ingrates if you ask me. If I had to hear one more pampered mage apprentice going on about Anders this, Anders that, I'd have barfed up my sack lunch on their dainty silk slippers. Bastards."
As if on cue, the sound of vomiting was audible from the clearing. Caroll awkwardly cleared his throat.
"Yes, well," he said, throwing up his hands. "Disgusting man, Anders. Always was. He should be grateful for attention in his old age. By the maker's red satin bed sheets, I'm starting to see it now. Anders outside the Gallows, hearing all the nasty stories about Alrik, unable to help the little ones. Getting older and less charming every year. No wonder he felt obligated to pull a terror strike out of his pants. Making Karras here pull one out of his, eh?" Carroll let out a guffaw. Paxley tried to laugh nervously and failed.
Anders' voice rang out, furious as he cast a deep freeze with his last ounce of mana, slowing his own heart and Karras' together. Carroll cast another lingering silence to counter Anders, halting the spell just before it reached critical mass and froze both bodies solid. Feeling the chill air, Caroll turned back and walked over to look despite his desire to avoid involvement. "Really, Anders?" Carroll admonished. "That's just cold. You of all people know that men have needs. Have you no love for your fellow man?"
Half shielding his eyes in embarrassment, Paxley looked back at the clearing. Two half disrobed men in a tangled heap were covered in frost, Karras holding Anders down in a wrestling hold. Paxley dropped his hand, shocked. His moustache trembled slightly in concern and disgust. "How did I get myself into this?"
Carroll shot him a big reassuring grin. "It's for a good cause, you moron. Gotta make sure we make a lesson of him, don't we? Between that mage underground and the blasted manifesto, I'll bet those poor mageling bastards prayed more to Anders than the Maker. If that's not sacrilege, I don't know what is!"
I WILL TEACH THEM THE MEANING OF SACRILEGE.
None of the Templars responded. They clearly could neither see nor hear the shimmering figure in the distance, even though the voice sounded as if it came from only a few feet away. Anders, however, heard the clarion call and responded with a mixture of fear and relief. "Justice! Is that you?" The Templars ignored what they presumed to be mad babbling on Anders' part. The apparition strode beside Caroll and Paxley, blue armor semitranslucent against the sun. The ghostly figure shimmered.
JOIN ME IF YOU WISH TO LIVE. I WILL NEVER LET ANOTHER TOUCH YOU AGAIN. THEY WILL ALL PAY.
"No, there must be another way." Anders looked up, eyes spilling tears that crystallized instantly. The spirit's face was covered, the helmet's faceguard lowered. Hard red eyes burned behind a narrow gap.
Ser Karras assumed Anders was speaking to him. "You'll do it my way, and you'll like it, heathen."
THE ONLY ALTERNATIVE IS DEATH. COME, ANDERS. LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME NO.
"I… I can't!" Justice glowed brighter as Anders' life force ebbed. The mage whispered, "I want to live."
YOU ARE WEAK. AND NOW, YOU ARE MINE.
The first thing Anders felt when Justice reentered his body was a blissful muting of his senses, including and especially the debilitating pain and rampant disgust. The second thing he felt was a roaring sense of triumph, the muting of outward stimuli serving to amplify the internal feedback of Justice's anger joining with his own. The last thing he felt was remorse, the images of Justice's violent plans for immediate retribution causing him to reel back, horrified. Then Anders lost the battle of wills and felt nothing at all.