This was done for a one-hour story prompt on BSN. The prompt was: "Customer Satisfaction. Just how does Anders go about rating the Templars who keep bringing him back?"
Since it's a one-hour story editing may not be up to my normal standards. Feels like cheating to go back and fix it now, though. ;)

Worst Capture Ever

Really, if given a choice Anders would have preferred Ser Rylock. Sure, she had a voice that could shatter glass at a hundred yards when angry, and yes, she was pretty much always angry, but it would still be an improvement over the current situation.

Anders couldn't deny that her abrasive personality these days was almost entirely his own fault, though. He had to admit that she had once been perfectly nice, even friendly. Rare qualities in a Templar. Her crush on him wasn't much of a secret, either. Not many Templars blush and stammer when they slap the manacles on an apostate, or respond to his mindless flirtation with girlish giggles. Even if Anders wasn't very good at determining when someone was attracted to him, and he was, it would have been obvious.

Taking advantage of that in the hopes of winning the woman's trust and convincing her to let him go was, in retrospect, not the most well thought out plan. If he had more time to think about it he would have used the distraction and cast a sleep spell, a force field, paralysis… anything, just to buy himself a little time to get away. Desperation leads to bad decisions, though.

She hadn't gone for it, of course. He should have known better. That she seemed to hope his… performance would repeat itself on a later escape attempt didn't exactly thrill him, either. She wasn't hideous or anything, but really, a templar? Anders had his standards, and they did not normally stretch to encompass his jailers. When it became very clear that he had no interest in reliving that incident she became, well, mean. He couldn't blame her, really. Rejection is never fun. Neither were the silent glares occasionally punctured by screams calling him a criminal that replaced her giggling and blushing, though.

But… compared to the present situation, it would still be an improvement. Glancing over at the templar currently on watch, giving him the evil eye across the fire, Anders made a face.

Last night he was so upset at being caught- again- that he simply couldn't sleep. He finally managed hours after everyone else. When he woke later than them as a result their reaction was to kick him in the head. Really, what kind of person does that? Maker's breath, those boots were metal. They also seemed to find it amusing to dispel his attempts to heal the injury. Anders had been forced to stumble through the day feeling lightheaded and nauseous. So yes, Ser Rylock screaming would be vastly preferable to these templar's "good morning" of an armored boot to the skull.

Sadly, it wasn't even the worst treatment he'd faced on his numerous escapes. On his fourth trip out, or perhaps it was the fifth, they leveled a smite, marched him until he passed out, and then took turns kicking him in the ribs when he didn't get up. After regaining consciousness Anders had almost enjoyed explaining that no, he could not get up and walk since he could not heal himself. Almost. The fact that he was coughing up blood at the time really prevented him from getting any actual enjoyment out of the situation.

Gingerly curling up on the single blanket they'd provided him, having trouble finding a comfortable position with his hands bound, Anders vaguely wondered what they would do to him this time. Last time he got solitary confinement for a year. He tried to make the best of it. First he went through every song he knew, remembering which ones seemed to particularly annoy the guards so they could be repeated more frequently. He talked to the tower cats, wishing they could answer. He even entertained himself by taunting the celibate guards. Graphically detailing stories of his more explicit exploits with the fairer sex was always fun, especially if he made sound effects. Providing very specific instructions on how to make a woman very, very happy, with hand gestures, often caused them to blush and choke. Their embarrassment was always good for a laugh. The coughing noises they made were sometimes the only sounds he heard besides his own voice.

But really, even with all that, going a year without having an actual conversation with a another person was enough to drive anyone mad. Anders didn't know if he could do it again and come out sane at the end. Sometimes he suspected that the grip he had on his sanity after the first year was a fairly near thing.

Of course, that was assuming they wouldn't simply execute him. While Anders wasn't a blood mage, and they damn well knew it, he might simply have used up all his luck. Nothing he could do but wait and see, though.

"Hey mage, wake up!" Anders struggled to open his eyes, making a sharp noise of pain after he felt a boot connect with his head. Lovely, apparently this would be the daily pattern. Yes, Ser Rylock's screaming was looking better by the second. He would say this was quite easily the second worst capture to date, immediately after the blood-coughing incident. As they screamed at him throughout the day for walking too slowly, occasionally punctuating their complaints with a punch to his kidneys or back of his head, he quickly reevaluated that. This was the worst capture ever.

The most frustrating part was that they hadn't even been hunting him! He just had the fantastic luck to wander into the same tavern at lunchtime. Humiliating, really.

Stopping briefly to vomit on the side of the road Anders winced. He quite clearly had a concussion, and perhaps even a cracked skull at this point. If it wasn't healed soon, well, the result would be bad. He pointed this out to the Templars, commenting that someone at the Circle would certainly notice if he returned unable to remember his own name. "Fine," one said, drawing his sword. "Cast the spell." With a roll of his eyes Anders did just that, feeling better moments later. He pretended not to notice that every one of the Templars had their weapons trained on him just in case he had the bright idea of attacking a group of large armed men who could counter anything he threw at them.

"I'm bloody sick of this rain," one whined.

"You're sick of it?" came the reply. "I had to spend two hours in it watching the mage last night." Anders was tempted to point out that he was the one who had to spend the whole night sleeping in the rain, but resisted the urge.

"Well, Vigil's Keep's just a couple miles up. We can stay there, the Arl will put us up for the night. Stick his ass in the dungeon."

"There is no Arl," another said. "Arlessa. We got a notice. It's a mage, that Grey Warden person. Don't think she's there yet, though."

"Maker's breath, that's bloody horrifying, putting someone like that in charge. A mage." Anders made a face hearing the disgust that was loaded into the word. He should be used to it by now, but it didn't seem to get any easier whenever he was confronted with how much people like him were loathed.

"Aye. Knight-Commander says to leave her alone, too. Something about some treaty."

"Well, we'll just leave early, before she gets there. Someone there will put us up. Damn sick of this rain."

As a kick to his backside, apparently punishment for eavesdropping, sent him sprawling face-first in the mud, Anders determined this was absolutely, by far, the worst group of templars to ever bring him in.