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"What is he doing?" Anders stood next to Aedan in front of a statue of Andraste. He had just gotten done telling Aedan all about how Andraste was quite a looker, when he had seen someone he hadn't been expecting in his periphery.

"Blacksmithing?" Aedan offered.

"I vote being a pain in the ass." The mage's eyes narrowed. A man that Anders had last seen in the armor of the templars, lifted his hammer and brought it down again with a rhythmic clang. Sparks flew and fizzled on his leather apron. He seemed familiar to Anders, but templars tended to look alike, what with the armor, and the 'I only hold a sword to your neck for your own good' look in their eyes. "Do you think if he hits it hard enough, a spark will fly up and set his beard on fire? I mean, it is grand, is it not? What a weak chin he must be hiding."

Aedan asked despite himself. "Do you think he should mimic you and only shave once a week? How do you keep your beard looking on just this side of growth, anyway?"

"Practice," Anders assured him as he rubbed at his jaw. "And I've a certain reputation to uphold. Clean shaven makes people think I'm respectable, while a beard just reeks of insane apostate leaping out at the innocent from bushes. I chose the middle ground and haven't regretted it."

Aedan snorted in laughter. "I'm sure you haven't. The ladies must love you."

"And the men," Anders couldn't help but point out. "I'm only a rebel mage to impress. Why else would I go through all the trouble?"

"To piss off the templars?" Aedan guessed.

"Well, that's just a bonus," the mage admitted

Which brought them back to the templar that was currently working in Wade's smithy, pounding out… something. Anders didn't know the intricacies of a blacksmith's craft. All he had ever needed to know, was that they created the armor and weapons used by the kind folks that stood between Anders and whatever was currently trying to kill him. Maker, bless them and may they live forever.

"He's not a very good spy, is he?" Anders mused. "I mean, he's what? Ten steps from the front of the keep-in plain view? If all templars were this subtle, I wouldn't have ever been caught."

Aedan sighed and ran his fingers through his short, black hair. "Well, he's been here for two weeks now, and he hasn't done much more than what work Wade sets him to. I gather that he's been making sword blanks for days now. Wade would never allow him to do any of the finishing work."

To be fair, Anders had no reason to ever go to the smithy, much less look that way. Still, it rankled that there had been a templar this close, and he hadn't known it.

And that Aedan had, and hadn't deigned to tell him.

"You know, commander," Anders stressed the title. "I'd have thought that if there was a templar on the premises, you would have told me. Instead of you know, allowing it!"

Aedan folded his massive arms—back to the sword wielding thing, and Anders appreciated it, really he did—and tilted his head at Anders. "We know where he is. If I get rid of him then they'll just send another, and maybe next time we won't see him coming."

"And maybe I haven't made myself clear on the many times I've talked about it-I hate the templars. What do you think he's going to do? Just happily spend the rest of his life making swords for you? He's here to either kill me or drag me back to the circle, where they will kill me. Either way I'll be dead. They can't be trusted. Here I was under the impression you want me to die by darkspawn."

Stepping between Anders and the smithy, Aedan blocked his view of the templar. "I understand that, but you don't have the whole story. I've met him before, do you want to know where?"

That caught Anders off guard. He hated to be caught off guard. "No."

Aedan's lips quirked in a smile and ruined his stern expression. "Well I'm going to tell you anyway. His name is Ser Garrett Hawke. He is one of two templars that survived their stay in the circle tower on Lake Calenhad when blood mages took over. I helped free them and restore the tower."

Don't ask, Anders thought. Don't as—"So why tell me?" he mentally kicked himself.

"Because my best friend was once going to be a templar. He was just about to take his vows when the wardens conscripted him. I think it saved his life-funny enough. Not all templars are men who spend their lives wallowing in the power they have over mages. Some of them actually care about what happens to mages." Anders snorted and Aedan forged on as if he hadn't heard him. "Garrett's a good man, and in another time, I would have tried to conscript him." He gave Anders a wry smile. "If at the time I had known how to do the Joining. But he wouldn't have gone anyway."

Anders didn't like where this was heading, so he said the first thing that popped into his mind. "Why? He would have missed all the lyrium and easy prey?"

The look Aedan gave him was a little disappointed. "No. Because his sister is a mage, he wouldn't have wanted to leave her."

Anders reared back in surprise, and more than a little anger. "So? Am I supposed to just go along with him being here because he had a hard time in the tower and his sister is a mage? Not happening, Aedan." A thought occurred to him and he gave Aedan a suspicious look. "You still want to conscript him, don't you? That's why you haven't sent him packing yet. Are you insane? He's a lyrium addict. Have you seen what happens when they don't get their daily dose? I have. Talking darkspawn are more coherent."

"Have you seen him fight?" Aedan countered. "I have. I wouldn't mind having someone like that by my side."

Anders eyed Aedan carefully, like he was a lunatic and he had to pick his words with caution, or set him off babbling on a tangent about the Maker.

Of course, carefully for Anders was never careful enough when it came to choosing words. "You sound like you want to sleep with him." At Aedan's dumbfounded look, Anders held up a finger. "First of all, I know you miss your elf. What was his name? Zebrum. Xenon?" He waved his other hand in dismissal. "Whatever." Another finger joined the first. "Second, he's a templar. If he wanted to become a warden, then he would have presented himself to you instead of hiding—not too successfully I might add." He held three fingers up and waved them in Aedan's face. "Third of all, eww. Just eww. The thought makes me feel sick."

Anders had always felt bad for the poor bastards in the tower that would sleep with a templar. Some of them thought they would be treated better if they did. Others—the more delusional—thought that the templar in question actually cared about them.

"His name is Zevran and I don't want to sleep with Ser Hawke." Aedan shook his head in exasperation. "He stays right where he is for the time being until I can figure out what to do with him."

"By all means, add a templar to our little group. An apostate, a perpetually drunk dwarf, and a disgraced noble-one who told you to your face he wants to kill you-doesn't seem to be enough. We must have a templar! That'll round things out beautifully. I can see why you're the commander. Well done."

"Are you quite finished?" Aedan asked.

The light that had been in Anders' eyes died as his smile dropped from his face. "No. Either he goes or I do. You might think you know him, but you really don't. I don't care how brave he is, or how competent he is with a sword. Do you know how he became such a good fighter? Practicing on his charges in the tower, that's how.

"Do you know what a Harrowing is?" Aedan nodded and Anders continued on. "Ask him how many he's stood witness for. Ask him how many necks he's held his sword to. Ask him how many times he's beheaded a mage, just for the crime of taking too blighted long in the Fade. Ask him. Then come back to me and tell me that you still want him around."

Without another word, Anders turned and strode back to the keep. He had thought—foolishly it seemed—that the wardens would be better than being an apostate. But in the end it was no different, was it? He couldn't escape the blasted templars, no matter where he ran. Maybe next time he would do what he had been meaning to do for years and escape to Tevinter. At least there the templars wouldn't drag him off for showing his face in the light of day.

Okay, yes, there were blood mages in Tevinter. But at least templar involvement was minimal, and there were blood mages in Ferelden too.

Baby steps.

But he liked the wardens. Aedan allowed him more freedom than he'd ever had before. He got to shoot lightening at fools and get called a hero for his trouble. That was the problem, wasn't it? He was letting it get to his head and had grown complacent. In Vigil's Keep, he could forget that the rest of Thedas wanted to lock him up just for being born. He even liked the ragtag little group Aedan had put together. Bantering with Oghren and Howe was more fun than Anders had had in years.

Except for that time in the Pearl, couldn't forget that bit of excitement.

The more pragmatic side of him—yes he had one—knew that Aedan was going to try his damnedest to conscript the templar. Anders either had to roll with it, or leave. Leaving had never been a problem for him before-he'd done it his whole life. It was just… for the first time he had really thought he was going to be able to stay in one spot.

He had almost made it to the steps when he heard Aedan call after him. "Ask him yourself."

Garrett eyed the lumpy piece of metal and dropped it into the scrap bin. If he was lucky, Wade would never find it. Of course, that was wishful thinking. Wade was quick to point out and bemoan any little mistake Garrett made. If it wasn't for Herren and the man's good business sense, Garrett would never have gotten hired in the first place.

In Lothering he had done odd jobs to make some gold for his family. He had become a jack of all trades, but a master of none. He knew how to do the menial work, but no further. He could bring in crops, but did not know how to grow them. He could build barrels, but had no understanding how to make the ale that went inside them.

He could make rudimentary weapons and armor, but lacked the skill to create the works of art Wade did.

If anyone needed help it was Wade and Herren. From what Garrett could gather, Herren had been paid a handsome sum by the crown to come to Vigil's Keep and outfit the wardens and soldiers. That was all well and good, but Wade-being the perfectionist that he was-lacked the speed needed for such an undertaking. Wade was good, very good. But when it came to putting out sword after sword in reliable time, he faltered.

That's where Garrett came in.

Garrett would make the blanks needed, and Wade would refine them to his heart's content. He didn't know how Herren had done it, but he had talked Wade into hiring Garrett. After his initial explosion and storming off, he had come back and demanded that Garrett show him what he could do.

That had not gone… too badly. But it had been enough for Wade to throw up his hands and sigh dramatically, conceding to Herren's wisdom.

Garrett would never be the craftsman that Wade was, but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was repetitive, mundane tasks. It was how he'd kept his family fed after his father had died.

A spot between his shoulder blades itched, and Garrett resisted the urge to look behind him. He knew that Anders and Cousland were watching. He had tried to hear what they were talking about—him more likely—but the pause he had taken with his hammer had been his first mistake. Blacksmithing required even and rhythmic blows, and Garrett found himself being everything but rhythmic. He could have sworn he had caught his name once, and he had missed the red hot iron completely. He'd been lucky that Wade had not been in earshot, or else the man would have come running when he heard the dissonant clang.

He needed to get out of Vigil's Keep and to the City of Amaranthine as soon as possible. Cullen was about to be transferred to Kirkwall, and Garrett needed to send a missive to him before he left. If Cullen knew that Ser Rylock was trying to interfere with the wardens, maybe he could stop her where Garrett couldn't.

Ser Rylock was becoming impatient with Garrett. He met her every three days outside of the keep to give his report. His lack of progress didn't make her happy, and she always sent him back, telling him to do better.

What was she looking for him to say?

That he'd heard Anders telling everyone in the keep exactly how he'd murdered those templars? He didn't do it-Garrett felt it in the fiber of his bones. Anders was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer. If he'd had it in him, he would have killed to get out of the tower long ago, instead of enacting dangerous and foolhardy escape plans.

Seven times he had escaped and been caught. It had only been the last that his captors had fallen. Why would he wait until then to kill them? Why not any of the other times?

"You know, if you don't want Wade to see that, you could give it to me. I'm sure he looks through the scraps every night to make sure you're doing your job properly."

His hammer slipped from fingers suddenly gone numb, and Garrett just barely missed hitting his knee. He whirled around to see Aedan Cousland leaning against the entry to the smithy, his legs crossed at the ankle. Garrett's eyes shot to the table were Herren could usually be found, but his spot was empty.

"Sent him out," Aedan said, correctly reading Garrett's expression. "Just you and me."

Garrett's hand darted to the table next to him, reaching for another hammer. He froze when Aedan clicked his tongue. "I'm just here for a chat, Ser Hawke."

A yawning pit opened up inside of Garrett, one that grew as Aedan spoke. "You're looking better than when I last saw you. I hope you didn't scar too badly."

Garrett forced himself to look Aedan in the eyes, and not flinch away from his words and the memories they brought up. The man was trying to throw him off balance. Well, Garrett could return the favor. "I did."

Aedan took a step forward. "I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping Wynne would mitigate the damage. But you seem to be doing well now."

"As well as can be expected." Garrett kept his tone neutral. Anyone hearing them would think they were old friends, chatting on a sunny afternoon.

And not two people who had seen what kind of nightmare desperate men could create.

"Let's cut the shit." Aedan stopped in front of Garrett and crossed his arms. "What in the Void are you doing, Ser Hawke? Why aren't you with your sister?"

Garrett's face set in hard lines. "It's none of your business where Bethany is."

"You're right," Aedan conceded. "It isn't. But you can forgive me for being a bit surprised that you're here, stalking one of my wardens, and away from her side. She was all you talked about when I first met you, and I—"

"Don't. Don't act like you know me, Cousland." He had not anticipated how hard it would be to see Aedan day in and day out. Garrett's nightmares had returned, and he was no longer sleeping well. He wasn't cut out for this. Point him at an abomination and he knew what to do. Asking him to sneak into a warden's keep and report on one of them, was not what he had been trained for.

Maker, what was he doing?

It made him short tempered and incautious to a man that had saved not only his life, but his sister's as well.

"Fine, but you didn't answer my other question. What are you doing? Last I saw you, you were standing with Alis—with King Alistair and Ser Rylock. Now you're in my smithy making my men swords. I've been here two weeks, and already I have one of my men threatening to leave because of you."

Garret forgot himself. "Anders can't leave. If Ser Rylock finds out, he'll be hanged the moment he clears the front gates."

Aedan spread his hands wide. "Then tell me what you're doing here."

Closing his eyes, Garrett rubbed at his chest. Even through the leather apron and his tunic, he could feel the twisted mass of scar tissue under his palm. "I'm buying time. If I can get a letter to certain parties, maybe they can persuade Ser Srylock to move on." He opened his eyes. "She's determined to make Anders pay for something that he didn't do."

A slow smile spread over Aedan's lips. "You seem sure that he didn't."

"I… Anders is immature at times, but he's not a murderer." Garrett didn't like the way Aedan was looking at him, as if the man saw more than what Garrett was saying.

"I see…" The Warden-Commander seemed to be pondering over something, and he nodded to himself as he came to a decision. "If you need a letter delivered, I can do it for you."

That sent Garrett's heart to racing. He needed to deliver the letter to the Chantry himself. He was running out of lyrium and only had enough for a few more days. He licked lips suddenly gone dry. "I can do it. I only need to take it to the Chantry in Amaranthine. From there they will see that Cullen gets it."

Aedan's dark eyes narrowed. "Make no mistake, Ser Hawke, I'll be watching you. If it turns out I'm wrong about your character, I'll personally send your head to Ser Rylock. Deliver your letter quickly."

A thought occurred to Garrett and he reached out to stop Aedan as the man turned to leave once his warning had been given. "If Anders is unhappy, you should give him a cat. He likes them."

Aedan looked over his shoulder and glanced down at the hand on his forearm. "A cat?"

What are you doing, Garrett? he asked himself. A day didn't go by when he didn't ask himself that at least once. Now he had done it twice in a span of minutes.

He never got an answer.

"Yes, a cat. It will make him happy. He really likes them. He used to have one in the tower. He—" Garrett snapped his mouth shut. He couldn't tell Aedan how he knew. If Anders hadn't informed the commander of his time in solitary, then Garrett wouldn't either.

Aedan was giving him that look again, the one that seemed to bore straight into him and saw more than it should. "I'll remember that, thank you. Oh," he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. When Garrett eyed him in askance, Aedan grinned. "The sword. Can't have Wade firing you just yet, can we?"