I have a beta (huzzah!) Olndina is going to help me polish this thing up to a nice shine, and make sure I keep my punctuation abuse to a minimum.

Revised 6/5/12

The next morning, Nathaniel and Gideon carefully ignored one another while they broke camp. As Anders had predicted, Gideon had approached him just after breakfast for healing. He didn't look nearly as bad as Nathaniel had, but his right eye was swollen and his lip was split open.

Gideon had seemed reluctant to ask for his help, but Anders suspected it was more because of wounded pride than a distrust of magic. Gideon didn't seem to mind Anders' spellcasting. In fact, he was one of the few non-mages Anders had met who didn't flinch when Anders healed him. Which made sense when he thought about it: Gideon had traveled with two mages for over a year during the Blight, and one of those mages had been his lover. Anders wasn't used to people being tolerant of his magic. They tended to react much as Nathaniel did: with wariness and mistrust, yes, but sometimes with outright hostility.

Was that why Gideon had rescued him from the Templars, because he respected mages? He suspected it was more than that. Gideon didn't do anything without some sort of ulterior motive. He shrugged; the reason didn't really matter. If Rylock had gotten her hands on him, she almost certainly would have killed Anders. Maker knew, she had been itching for an opportunity to do so for some time. It had only been Irving's fondness for him that had kept him relatively safe. After seven escape attempts, however, he doubted he had any allies left in the Circle.

The way to Amaranthine was littered with pockets of darkspawn, so they had little time to talk while they were traveling. Anders eyed Nathaniel speculatively. The rogue was concentrating on scouting the way for them, so Anders had plenty of opportunity to observe him unnoticed.

Nathaniel was lithe and toned, strong. His black hair was swept back into two braids that were just begging to be unraveled. Anders wondered what the man would look like with his hair down, and how it would feel to run his fingers through it. The rogue was also incredibly good-looking. Anders chuckled to himself. Tall, dark, and handsome: a perfect description of Nathaniel Howe. He noticed once again that pride and nobility radiated from the rogue. His mannerism was just as attractive to Anders as his looks. Masculinity could be very sexy.

His mind wandered back to the night before, when Nathaniel had helped him set up his tent. Maker, that had been a pain. It was definitely harder to make a mess of putting a tent up than it was to do it correctly. Still, it had been worth it for the chance to stare at Nathaniel's arse without being glared at or scolded. And letting Nathaniel "teach" him to put up a tent on their journey back might turn out to be fun. There might even be an opportunity to "accidentally" brush up against him while they were working on the tent together.

He shook his head, smiling. He still couldn't believe that Nathaniel had fallen for it. Honestly, after so many escapes from the Circle, it would be amazing if he didn't know how to set up a tent. Not that he usually bothered with it when he was on the run; he preferred sharing someone else's bed to camping outdoors.

It was their brief conversation when Nathaniel was setting up the tent that had Anders thinking now. Nathaniel had shut down Anders' flirtations so firmly that it made him wonder who exactly the rogue was trying to convince of his disinterest in men: Anders, or himself?

He sped up his pace so that he was walking next to the rogue. "So, Nathaniel," he began, "why don't you fancy men?"

Nathaniel appeared startled at Anders' abrupt question. "Because it's wrong."

Anders thought about that for a minute. "Why?" he finally asked.

"What do you mean why? It's a sin. The Chantry says—"

"Nothing about the subject," Anders interrupted. Nathaniel glanced at him skeptically. "It's true. There is nothing in the Chant of Light that says it's wrong for a man to be with another man. Or for a woman to be with another woman. In fact, when it comes to sex, Andraste was oddly silent. You kind of have to feel sorry for Maferath," he smirked. "Being married to such a frigid woman must have been hard. D'you know, maybe that's why Andraste went on a march against the Tevinters: she never had a good fu—"

"What in the Maker's name are you talking about?" Nathaniel interrupted.

Anders ignored him. "I wonder if she and the Maker have sex," he mused.

Nathaniel made a noise of irritation. "Do you have a point, Mage?"

Anders shrugged. "I'm just saying that if religion is the only thing stopping you from bedding men, you're in the clear."

"That's not . . . you're missing the point. Being with another man is wrong. It's unnatural. And perverted."

"It can actually be quite pleasurable," Anders replied. "Maybe you just haven't found the right man yet."

Nathaniel's expression darkened. "I doubt that that's the problem."

Hmm . . . now that was a statement definitely worth thinking about later. "So, what is the problem?" Anders smiled mischievously. "You're not a eunuch are you?"

Nathaniel scowled at him, causing a tiny shiver of electricity to shoot through Anders. Maker, but the man was sexy when he scowled. "While I'm sure quite a bit of . . . deviancy . . . goes on amongst the mages in the Circle, normal people don't behave like that."

Anders bristled at the 'normal people' remark. Sodding nobles and their snobby ideas. He probably thinks mages really do deserve to be locked up. "Well," he said coldly, "I'm glad I'm not normal then. It sounds like us 'deviants' have a lot more fun." He dropped back a little and went to bother Oghren. At least the dwarf knew how to have a proper conversation: sarcastic remarks and witty retorts.

oOoOo

As the group of Wardens approached Amaranthine, Nathaniel's eyes automatically strayed to the top of the walls surrounding the city. He remembered that they used to display the heads of traitors over the gate. He supposed he should be grateful that his father was at least spared that indignity.

Anders stopped suddenly, looking around him with a child-like smile on his face. He breathed deep. "Ah, can you smell that?" He turned to his fellow Wardens. "That is the smell of freedom." He grinned. "Of course, there's also the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too."

Gideon raised an eyebrow. "The only thing I can smell is pie."

Anders' grin widened. "Exactly!" He inhaled deeply. "Maker, the fact that that there's even pie nearby to smell is a miracle. I've led a pretty pieless existence up to now." He sobered. "I escaped from the Tower seven times. The first couple of times they caught me, I just got a slap on the wrist and a long lecture about the need for mages to stay in the Tower. Then came the cozy little stays in solitary confinement—sometimes a few weeks, or even a month. But after the last time they caught me, they put me in there for a year."

"A year?" Gideon asked, expressing the surprise that Nathaniel was feeling.

Anders shrugged. "I think they were running out of ways to keep me under control; any free passes I may have had I'd used up long ago. I was starting to become a liability to them." He frowned. "You saw what Rylock was like. I have no doubt that she would have had me executed. All she would have had to do is tell everyone I became a maleficar. The fact that the Templars who were escorting me are all dead would have been all the proof she needed."

Nathaniel looked at him skeptically. "The Circle can't be that bad."

Anders turned to him, frowning. "The problem is that mages are tolerated. Barely. It's like we need permission to be alive. No matter how hard we try, we'll never be able to prove our worth. Everyone needs to be protected from us, the end!" He slashed his hand downward, emphasizing his words.

No one spoke, unsure of how to react to Anders' sudden agitation. Nathaniel was surprised at Anders' accusations towards the Circle. He knew almost nothing of life in the Tower of Magi, and he wondered if Anders was speaking the truth, or if he was just exaggerating. But still, a year in solitary confinement? That seemed much too harsh a punishment just for trying to escape.

Anders relaxed and let out a deep breath, his anger seeming to dissipate. "Never mind me. Now and again, I realize I'm not sitting in a cell and I have to smile." A small smile did ghost his lips, then, but Nathaniel couldn't help thinking that it was a bit forced.

Gideon looked at him intently. It seemed as if he was about to say something to Anders, then apparently changed his mind. "Come on, let's get going." He beckoned them onward.

As soon as they passed through the gate, they were stopped by a rather nervous-looking guard. "Pardon me, ser. I need to search your packs."

Anders sucked in a breath. "Uh, oh," he murmured. The mage took a few steps back from the guard, as if to make sure he was out of the crossfire of Gideon's anger. Nathaniel didn't blame him.

Gideon looked at the guard searchingly. "No," he finally replied. He moved to step beyond the guard, but was stopped short by a hand on his chest. Gideon looked down at the offending hand and back up at the guard. "I suggest you get your hand off me. Now." His voice was mild, but it had an edge to it.

The guard took a few nervous steps backwards. "Standing orders, ser; we've had a lot of smuggled goods coming into the city lately."

Gideon glared at the boy, obviously trying to hold his temper in. Luckily, a rather handsome young man approached just then. "What are you doing?" he asked the unfortunate guard. "Are you accusing the Commander of the Grey of smuggling?"

The poor man was stammering now; it was obvious that the guards here hadn't been trained to make judgment calls. "B-but you said everyone—"

"That's enough. You're dismissed." Waving away the guard's salute, the young man turned to Gideon. "My apologies, Commander. We do our best, but the city's practically been overtaken by smugglers and thieves."

Gideon scowled at the man. "I've killed men for lesser offenses, you know."

Anders let out a snort of laughter, but it quickly became apparent that Gideon wasn't joking. Nathaniel looked to Oghren, but the dwarf just shrugged.

The young man looked to be at a loss as to how to reply. "Right. Well. I'm Aidan, Constable of Amaranthine. These smugglers have got us scrambling, to be honest—we just don't have the manpower to deal with them. We really could use your help."

Gideon nodded to the constable. "I've other things to attend to first, but I'll come find you later."

"Of course, Commander. Welcome to Amaranthine."

Nathaniel was surprised to hear that Amaranthine had been overrun with criminals. He'd visited the city often as a boy, and he remembered it as being fairly peaceful. Crowded, and often noisy, but little crime to speak of.

Gideon turned to Anders and Nathaniel. "Go check out the Chanter's board, see if there are any jobs we can do. We could use some coin if we're going to reinforce the Keep to Dwynn's standards." He grimaced, most likely remembering the large sum of money he'd recently had to pay the dwarf.

Anders raised an eyebrow at Gideon. "Um, I don't really think it's a good idea for me to go to the Chantry right now." He laughed nervously. "They might try to, you know, drag me back to the Circle kicking and screaming."

Gideon shook his head. "You're a Warden now. They don't have any say over what you do anymore."

"Yes, well, I'll be sure to tell them that when they grab me."

Gideon's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Don't worry. Nathaniel will keep an eye on you." He turned his piercing gaze on Nathaniel. "Won't you?"

Nathaniel grimaced. Just what he wanted to do—play nursemaid to a mage. "Of course, Commander," he replied smoothly, keeping the irritation out of his voice.

Gideon nodded, satisfied. "Oghren and I'll go talk to . . . whoever the hell it is we came here to talk to."

Oghren chuckled. "Good to see yer on top of things." Gideon ignored him.

Anders and Nathaniel set off for the Chantry on the east side of the city. Nathaniel looked about him in wonder. The city had changed so much since he had last been here. It was larger, for one thing, yet it wasn't as crowded as it had once been. By the looks of the many houses that had been built in the years he'd been gone, this decline in population must have been a fairly recent occurrence. He would be interested to know what had happened—had the people fled, or was there something keeping them from getting to the city? They'd encountered a few darkspawn on the way, of course, but surely there were times that the roads were passable.

Anders had been acting coolly towards Nathaniel ever since their conversation earlier in the day. He felt a little bad about that. He hadn't meant to be so scathing with his words, but Anders unnerved him. The way he asked such direct questions made Nathaniel feel as if the mage were trying to peer into his mind. And that was the last thing he wanted. Anders made him feel uneasy, and he wasn't exactly certain why.

He wanted to say something to the mage to apologize, but he was afraid that he'd just make things worse. He seemed to have a talent for saying the wrong thing lately.

They made their way through the city in silence, Anders unwilling to speak and Nathaniel unable to. They were just about to ascend the steps leading up to the Chantry when Anders let out a noise of surprise. He grabbed hold of Nathaniel's arm and pulled him into the shadow of a nearby tree. He stood behind Nathaniel, almost as if he was hiding. Just then, an elderly woman—a mage, by the robes she wore—came walking down the steps. She passed within a few feet of the two men, but didn't seem to notice them.

Anders let out a sigh of relief as she passed out of sight. He seemed to realize he was still holding Nathaniel's arm and quickly let go. "Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly.

Nathaniel looked at him, bemused. "Do you know her?"

Anders nodded. "Wynne. One of the senior mages from the Circle."

"Don't you want to say hello?"

"Maker, no!" Anders scowled. "I hate that old bitch! She was always nagging at me, saying that I never take anything seriously enough."

"No." Nathaniel said in mock-surprise.

"Exactly!" Anders grinned at him, his eyes dancing with laughter.

Nathaniel found himself returning the smile. He couldn't help it—the mage's good humor was infectious, and he was glad that the breach between himself and Anders seemed to have mended.

Anders' smile grew even wider. "I'm the most serious person I kn—well, the second most . . . no, I take that back. No one could beat a nobleman for seriousness." He winked at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel just shook his head, still smiling, as he ascended the steps to the Chantry. The smile faded from his face as he saw the statue of Andraste standing before the Chantry doors.

"It figures," he said grimly.

"What?" Anders came up behind him.

"There used to be a different statue here. It was of my great-uncle, Byron Howe. He died in the rebellion, helping King Maric reclaim his throne. They must have taken it down, just because of what my father did." His brows drew together.

Anders cleared his throat. "Well, you know, I'm sure they meant well . . ." He sounded a little apologetic.

Nathaniel laughed bitterly. "Yes, I'm sure they did." He shook his head sadly. "The Howes have been around since Calenhad. There's a long line of heroes in my family, but no one remembers that now. Everything my family built is gone. And for what?" He frowned. "For being on the wrong side of the war, for choosing poorly."

"Well, then," Anders clapped him on the back, "it's up to you to turn that around."

Nathaniel looked at him in surprise. He had expected the mage to argue with him as Gideon had the night before. He gave a small chuckle. "Not too much pressure, right?"

Anders flashed him a lopsided smile. "Of course not! It'll be easy."

Nathaniel looked back at the still figure of Andraste. "I wonder what happened to it." He laughed mirthlessly. "With the way my family's treated now, it's probably propping up the side of some run-down old barn." He turned away in irritation. "It doesn't really matter, what's done is done."

He saw the notice board on the wall of the Chantry and they went over to examine it. There were several jobs available, and Anders began pulling down the ones that looked promising. Nathaniel caught sight of the word "maleficar" on one of the notices still on the board. "Look at this one, nice reward for it."

Anders glanced up from the papers he was rifling through. His lips moved as he scanned the notice. Eyes widening, he moved to rip it off the board, but Nathaniel was too fast for him.

"Give it here," Anders said, his voice tense. "We've got to get rid of it before anyone else sees it."

Nathaniel looked at him in surprise. "Why? All they want us to do is question some mages."

Andes laughed bitterly. "Question them. Right. That's Templar-speak for 'find and kill the supposed maleficars.'"

"Well, if they are maleficars then they have to be stopped," Nathaniel reasoned.

"Accused maleficars," Anders replied shortly. "I know this is going to come as a surprise to you, but Templars don't always tell the truth." His eyes narrowed. "They want all mages under their thumb, and they're more than willing to do anything to get us back, even if it means falsely accusing someone of using blood magic."

"And if these mages really are using blood magic?" Nathaniel asked doggedly. "Could you live with the fact that they might harm others?"

"So we should kill them 'just in case'?" Anders glared at him. "You want us to kill innocent people whose only crime is being born?"

Nathaniel sighed. "Anders, it doesn't say anything about killing them. I think you're overreacting."

Anders ignored him. "None of us chooses to be a mage. It's just who we are. An evil person is going to do horrible things whether they're a mage, or a rogue, or—or a Templar." He started pacing. "Mages are people, like everyone else. Some of us are good, and some of us are bad. It has nothing to do with us being able to cast spells."

"But the magic is dangerous," Nathaniel tried to explain.

Anders stopped and pointed to the longbow strapped to Nathaniel's back. "Magic's no more dangerous than your bow. Or Gideon's sword. It's a weapon, like any other. The only danger lies in the person who wields it, and mages are no more inherently wicked than any other person."

"But we can put down our weapons; mages can't."

Anders threw up his hands in exasperation. "Forget it. It's useless trying to explain it to you. You're just like everyone else. 'Magic is a curse,'" he spat. "A punishment from the Maker for some unnamed sin that we may or may not have committed. Believe whatever you want to, but I am not going to let you and Gideon murder these people." He stood there defiantly, his body tensed as if he were preparing himself for a battle.

Nathaniel stared at him for a long moment before carefully and deliberately crumpling up the notice and pitching it into a nearby shrub.

Anders let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Come on," Nathaniel said, taking the notices that Anders had been holding. "We should get back to Gideon."

Nathaniel was surprised by Anders' vitriolic reaction to the notice. He seemed to think that any Templar looking for a mage was doing so for nefarious reasons. It seemed natural that mages and Templars wouldn't get along—the Order of Templars was, after all, created to keep mages in line. But Anders' anger seemed to speak of something deeper.

They found Gideon and Oghren in the Market District, talking to Constable Aidan. Gideon finished his conversation with the man and came over to them. "We've got a few leads," he said. "There's some trouble in the Wending Woods with caravans being attacked. One of the merchants told us there's parts of the Pilgrim's Pass that can't even be traveled anymore without fear of being attacked." He tapped a scroll he had tucked under his belt. "And we managed to get a map of that area in the Knotwood Hills where those fellows ran into that big group of darkspawn. Apparently there's a big chasm there. What about you two?"

Nathaniel glanced at Anders before answering. "There wasn't much." He handed the notices to Gideon. "Just a couple of errands to run."

Gideon nodded. "We'll go check the inns and try to find that Orlesian Warden, Kristoff. We'll spend the night here, and then in the morning we can take a look at the smuggler situation, and take care of these errands."

Nathaniel nodded his head. "That's sounds good. I—" He noticed a dark-haired woman standing at one of the market stalls. "Delilah?"

The woman looked away from the girl she had been talking to. "Nathaniel!" Her face broke into a huge grin. She hurried away from the stall and enveloped her brother in a huge hug. Her eyes were shining when they finally separated. "Thank the Maker," she said. "I've been so worried about you."

Nathaniel smiled at her. "I'm fine, Delilah. But you . . ." He frowned as he took in her clean but plain dress, her calloused hands, and the tiny shop that seemed to be her livelihood. "I know times have been hard since the war, but you can do better than this." He thought for a moment before coming to a decision. "Come back to the Keep with us; you can stay there until we can find somewhere more appropriate for you."

Delilah looked at him in surprise before she started laughing. "Nathaniel, I'm not here out of desperation. I have a good life here, a good husband." Her eyes softened. "I'm with him because I love him, not because I've nowhere else to go."

Nathaniel stood there, uncertain of what to say. It was hard to believe that the confident, happy woman standing before him was his baby sister. He remembered the little girl in pigtails who used to beg Nathaniel to come and have tea parties with her dolls.

She finally noticed the rest of Nathaniel's companions. Her eyes settled on Gideon and she gasped in surprise. "Gideon?"

Gideon offered her a tight smile. "Hello again, Delilah. It's been a long time."

She took a step toward her childhood friend. "Gideon, I am so sorry for what happened. What my father did was terrible, unforgiveable." She shook her head sadly. "I thank the Maker every day that I'm finally free from his evil."

"Evil?" Nathaniel was shocked to hear his sister talk about their father like that. "Isn't that overstating it a little? He was wrong, certainly, but he wasn't evil."

Delilah looked at him pityingly. "You weren't here, Nathaniel. You didn't see what he did. You want to know who destroyed our family? It was him, without a doubt."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No, that's not true. He was a hard man, but—"

"He was more than that, and you know it. You always worshipped father. You never wanted to see what he was really like." She looked over at the others. "This isn't the place to talk about these things. Come and see the house, and we can catch up." She smiled at him.

Nathaniel looked over at Gideon, silently asking permission. Gideon nodded to him. "Go on, we'll get our shopping done while you're gone."

"Thank you."

Delilah said a few quiet words to the girl at the stall and then beckoned to him. "My house is just around the corner." She led them down a side street to a tiny house that sat right at the end. It looked much like all the other houses on the street, but it was well-kept. She ushered them inside. "It's small, I know. But it works well enough for us." She turned to him with a small smile on her face, clearly looking to him for approval. He looked around the room they were in. It was indeed small: a kitchen, dining room, and sitting room all rolled into one. The worn wooden table had been freshly scrubbed, and there were gingham curtains hanging in the windows. Pots and pans and dishes were stacked neatly on the sideboard, and the bench near the hearth had a multi-colored quilt draped over it. This wasn't just a house. It was a home. And one that was well-loved.

Nathaniel smiled warmly at his sister. "It's very nice."

She beamed at him. "Sit down, sit down." She gestured to the table as she went to the sideboard to grab a pitcher and a couple of mugs. "So," she said as she sat down across from him, "what in Thedas are you doing with Gideon Cousland?"

He grimaced. "It's a long story. The shortened version is that I'm a Grey Warden now, and he's my commander."

"A Grey Warden!" Delilah exclaimed. "Well, that's a fine turn of events." She grinned at him as she filled their cups with apple cider.

Nathaniel took a sip of the sweet drink before setting the mug back on the table. His expression turned serious. "Tell me about Father. What happened?"

Delilah looked at him searchingly. "Do you really want to know?"

No. Nathaniel nodded his head. "Tell me."

Delilah took his hands in hers and began to speak. He listened first with dismay and then horror as she recounted their father's actions during the Blight: the massacre at Highever; the elves in the Alienage sold into slavery; the kidnapping of Queen Anora; and the employment of an Antivan Crow to assassinate the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

When she finished, Nathaniel was almost shaking with the pain and grief that wracked him. "I… I had no idea," he said. "I thought he had his reasons, that everyone was blaming him for what happened just because he was on the wrong side of the war."

Delilah looked at him sadly. "You've spent your whole life defending his actions, Nathaniel. Even after all the times he hurt you, you still refused to accept that he was an evil, hateful man." She held his hands even tighter.

"Make no mistake, Nathaniel. Father deserved to die." Delilah's voice had an edge to it Nathaniel had never heard. "If he'd been put on trial for his crimes, he would have been executed anyway. Gideon probably gave him a better death than he deserved."

Nathaniel pinched his eyes shut. "I feel like such a fool. All I ever wanted was to be like him. How could I not have seen?"

"Because you wanted what every little boy wants: for his father to be a hero." She looked at him fondly. "I cried and cried the day you left for the Free Marches. I was heartbroken that you were leaving me." Nathaniel smiled at her. "But I was also glad you were going. If you'd stayed under Father's thumb, you might have become just like him. I'm not the only one who's free of him now. You are too. You have the chance to be whoever you want, without Father telling you who you should be. Take this chance, I beg you."

Nathaniel looked at her for a long time. There was so much to take in. Delilah was right—Nathaniel had worshipped his father, and he'd forgiven the man for every time he had whipped or struck Nathaniel. He knew in his heart that he had deserved his punishments, for those were lessons that needed to be taught. But this, this was something else entirely. This was not a man disciplining his son for doing wrong—this was a man torturing and murdering innocent people.

Guilt and shame washed over him as he realized how he'd behaved toward Gideon. He had to make things right, atone for his father's sins. That was the only way that he could make the Howe name great again, and find peace for his family.

He ignored the tears stinging his eyes as he smiled at his sister. "All right," he said quietly. "I'll take it."