Thanks, as usual, to Olndina for helping me make this all nice and pretty.

As Nathaniel had hardly drunk at all the night before, and Oghren was a seasoned drinker, both of them were hail and hearty the next morning. Gideon was a bit more cross than usual, but he seemed no worse for wear. Anders was finding it incredibly difficult to keep up with them. His eyeballs felt as if they had had salt rubbed into them, and his tongue had a strange furry feel to it, not to mention the raging headache that was threatening to split his skull open.

"Why are we walking so damn fast?" His voice sounded peevish, even to his own ears.

Gideon glanced back at him. "We're not walking fast, Anders. You're just walking slow. Too slow." He scowled. "Pick up the damn pace or we'll have to spend another night camping out."

That got Anders moving. He really hated sleeping in a tent on the cold, hard ground. He'd much rather be back in his soft, warm bed at the Keep, especially if he could find a soft, warm body to share it with. Mmm . . . perhaps a brunette, with strong hands and lean muscles, and—damnit! He was finding it extremely hard to put thoughts of Nathaniel out of his head.

He'd not had much time to dwell on the brooding rogue yesterday, as his thoughts were mostly occupied with what had happened with Rylock. Hateful, horrible bitch. He couldn't believe the whole thing had been a trap she'd set just to catch him. Yes, he'd always known she hated mages, but for her to go after him so deliberately was more than a little unsettling. He shuddered as he remembered the look of cold hatred in her eyes while she stood mere seconds away from running him through with her sword. He had always figured his death would come at the hands of a Templar, but he'd suspected it would be while he was still on the run. To have it happen right when he'd thought he was finally free was like a dash of cold water to his face—a reminder that no matter what, he would always be an apostate. He hadn't really been joking when he'd talked about the 'smell of freedom.' This trip to Amaranthine was the first time he'd been in a city in years without the stench of fear to foul it. The idea of being able to go anywhere he wanted, with his head held high, was nothing short of perfect. He should have known it was too good to be true.

No phylactery, and no freedom. The Wardens may have been able to protect him from death at the hands of a Templar, but he'd still be hunted, hated, despised, for the rest of his life, short as it may be.

And, Maker, it really would have been damn short if it hadn't been for Nathaniel. The rogue had acted just in the nick of time. Anders reflected that Nathaniel very much resembled the heroes in the stories his mother used to tell him when he was a child.

Living in the Anderfels, bedtime stories about Grey Wardens were a part of every child's life: stories of brave knights—noble and courageous, strong and brave—protecting Thedas and rescuing damsels in distress. Anders could picture Nathaniel standing on a hillside, one foot resting on a large rock, his grandfather's bow in his hand poised to shoot an arrow straight through a genlock's eye from fifty yards away. The warm rays of the sun would filter down through the clouds to cast a halo of light around him. Anders chuckled to himself. Too much drink and not enough sleep were clearly making him think a little crazily.

"Hurry the fuck up, Anders!" Gideon yelled back at him. He glanced up and realized that he had trailed so far behind the others that they were nearly out of sight. He trotted forward to catch up with them, purposely ignoring Nathaniel's look of contempt.

"Sorry. I was . . . thinking."

Oghren leered at him. "Got a woman on yer mind, eh?"

Anders blinked at him. "What?"

"That girlfriend of yers wasn't too bad lookin', for an elf." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which Anders found more than a little unsettling.

It took Anders a moment to figure out whom the dwarf was talking about.

"Who? Namaya?" He shrugged. "She was never really my girlfriend, just a sort of casual thing, if you get my drift."

"Heh, had some fun nights with her, did you?"

Anders smirked. "You could say that." He glanced around and caught Nathaniel watching him with a dark expression on his face.

"I'm not that big on elves, myself," Oghren continued. "Too bony. I like an arse you can really get yer hands on, you know what I mean?"

Anders chuckled. Maker, but the dwarf could leer! "You're quite the dirty little dwarf."

"And yer quite the dirty little mage." Oghren elbowed him in the ribs.

"I do my best!" He flashed the dwarf a cheeky grin. "I could tell you about that electricity thing, if you'd like. The ladies love it."

He felt something bump into his shoulder as Nathaniel stalked past him. What the hell is going on with him? If he didn't know any better, he'd think the rogue was jealous, which was completely ridiculous. Wasn't it?

Desperate for a distraction from his own confused thoughts, he spent the remainder of the trip trading insults with Oghren and casting furtive glances at Nathaniel, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore everyone around him.

oOoOo

It was late afternoon by the time they got back to the Keep. Varel was on them almost as soon as they arrived. "Ah, Commander. Good to have you back. I was worried you might not make it in time."

Gideon looked at him questioningly as he and the others headed to the baths. "Not make it back in time for what?"

The seneschal seemed a bit uncomfortable. "I, uh, took the liberty of summoning all of the local banns. They'll be here by tomorrow afternoon for the ceremony."

That stopped Gideon short. "What ceremony?" His voice was steely.

"You're the new Arl of Amaranthine as well as the Commander of the Grey—your new vassals need to swear fealty to you. It's custom." Varel appeared to squirm under Gideon's glare.

"I've no interest in holding some party for people who'll lick my boots one moment and stab me in the back the next."

Varel inclined his head respectfully. "I quite understand, Commander. But unfortunately it needs to be done, if you are to have any sort of power here."

Anders noticed Nathaniel slipping off toward the baths, his face a thundercloud. Even after learning what his father had done, it must have still been hard to live in his family's former home and know that the land that should rightfully be his now belonged to someone else.

He wasn't exactly sure if his company would be welcome, but he really did want a bath. Deciding that he'd be capable of handling a few glares for the sake of getting clean, he followed Nathaniel downstairs to the bathing chambers.

Sure enough, as soon as he entered the room, Nathaniel glared at him. "You must have taken a wrong turn, Mage," he said dryly. "The kitchen's upstairs."

Anders sat down on one of the benches and pulled off his boots. "Why would I want the kitchens?"

Nathaniel was removing his armor. "I just assumed you'd be looking for the company of a woman, seeing as how you had no luck in Amaranthine."

Anders laughed. "That's actually not a bad idea—perhaps I'll go looking for one later." He had to hide a victorious smile when Nathaniel's scowl deepened. He removed his robes and slipped into the steaming bath, not bothering to hide his nakedness from the other man. If Nathaniel wanted to be a prude, so be it, but Anders wasn't going to let the rogue's embarrassment get to him.

He closed his eyes and let out a groan of contentment as the warm water washed over him. A minute or so later he heard a splashing sound as Nathaniel joined him in the large tub. He opened his eyes just a slit to see that the rogue had seated himself as far from Anders as possible. He closed his eyes again and let his mind drift. He was pulled back to reality by Nathaniel's gravelly voice.

"Are all mages as promiscuous as you?"

Anders bristled at that. First we're deviant, and now we're promiscuous. "Are all nobles as repressed as you?"

He heard Nathaniel growl. "I am not repressed, Mage. I simply do not flaunt myself as you do."

Anders' eyes popped open at that. He looked at the rogue with surprise. "When have I ever flaunted myself? I haven't had sex in weeks."

Nathaniel huffed. "That must be agony for you," he said sarcastically.

Anders flashed him a cheeky grin. "It is. But, to answer your question, most mages are fairly open when it comes to sex. It's not as if there's a whole lot else to do in the Circle." He grabbed a bar of soap from the floor next to the tub and began scrubbing himself. "And," he continued, working the soap into a lather, "everyone had the tendency to wear the same kinds of robes in the Circle, so we'd lose track of who we had and hadn't already had sex with."

Nathaniel looked at him blankly. "Maker, you can't be serious."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm not serious." He continued to clean himself up. "Look, things are just different in the Circle. We had to take our fun where we could find it."

Nathaniel grabbed his own bar of soap. "How are things different there?"

Anders shrugged. "Once a mage is taken to the Circle, that's pretty much it for us. We spend the rest of our lives locked up in a tower, stuck with the same people day in and day out. The only hint we have of the outside world are these tiny little windows set so high up on the walls you can't see anything except the sky. They never tell us what's going on outside, never let us have even a taste of freedom." He was starting to get angry, but he couldn't help himself. He hated thinking about how mages were treated. "There's no such thing as privacy or personal space, and nothing to do but read the same damn books in the same damn library and speak to the same damn people every day for the rest of our hopeless, boring lives!" He glared at the water in the tub. "So if we're a little wilder than normal people usually are, it's just because we're trying to find something that makes our lives even halfway livable."

He looked up to see the rogue staring at him, a surprised expression on his face. "I didn't realize—"

"No, you didn't." Anders cut him off. "No one does. It's like I said—no one really cares about mages so long as we're safely locked away." Suddenly, being around other people seemed like a bad idea. He made a token effort to rinse himself off before stepping from the tub. He felt just the tiniest bit disappointed when Nathaniel averted his eyes.

It wasn't until after he'd dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist that Nathaniel spoke up. "Is it really so bad in the Circle?" he asked quietly.

Anders sighed wearily. He sat down on the bench and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, it really is." He hesitated a moment, deliberating. He sucked in a deep breath and decided that if Nathaniel really wanted to know, then Anders would tell him. "There was this apprentice, Amira. She was . . . beautiful." His mind turned inward as he remembered the girl he had been friends with once upon a time. "She had light blonde hair, and chubby cheeks. And this perfect little cupid mouth." He smiled to himself, barely noticing the frown on Nathaniel's face.

"She was extremely shy, though. Timid. She had a great knack for healing, so I took her under my wing." His brows creased. "She . . . had an admirer. A Templar. He used to follow her everywhere. I used to make jokes about it. He looked at Nathaniel with anguish. "I didn't know, you see. Not until it was too late."

"What didn't you know?" Nathaniel asked quietly.

Anders took a deep breath. "He raped her. I don't know how many times, but it went on for a couple of months. He'd go to her dorm in the middle of the night, and take her down to the storerooms, and . . ." he trailed off. "She was too terrified to tell anyone; I don't know what he threatened her with, what he held over her, but it was enough to keep her from saying anything.

"I think now about how I spent nearly every day with her during that time, and I didn't suspect a thing." He laughed bitterly. "I always think of myself as a people person, but I couldn't see what was going on right in front of me. I noticed she was a bit thinner than she had been before, a bit paler and more withdrawn. But I chalked that up to her being nervous about—about becoming a fully-fledge mage. It's a big responsibility." He'd almost mentioned the Harrowing, but that would take too much time to explain. He sighed. "Anyway, I was walking around the tower one night, trying to find a new escape route. I heard something that sounded like whimpering, coming from one of the classrooms. I went in and there she was, lying on the floor…" He squeezed his eyes shut. Never, for as long as he lived, would he forget that sight. "Her face was all bruised, and her lips were cut and swollen. And there was . . . there was blood on the floor . . . under her legs."

Nathaniel made a strange sound, but didn't speak. The silence made it easier for Anders to continue. He'd been holding this to himself for so long, and now that he'd started his story, he found that he wanted to finish it.

"I cleaned her up and healed her . . . it took almost an hour of pleading and threatening before I got her finally to tell me what was going on. She . . . she . . ." He finally looked at Nathaniel, and saw his own pain reflected on the other man's face. "She was pregnant, and she told him. She didn't know what else to do. And he . . . he beat her. He said that no child of his was going to be a mage, and that she had done it on purpose, just to trap him. He beat her so badly that she . . . lost the baby. He beat her until she was almost dead and then he just left her there on the floor like she was a piece of trash." He felt the anger rising up inside him, as his vision started to blur. "And I was so stupid. This was years ago, and I was still young and naïve enough to believe that I could get her help. I talked her into telling the Knight Commander. I would have had her tell the First Enchanter, but he was away."

He had become so lost in the past with the telling of his story that Nathaniel's voice startled him. "What happened? Didn't he help her?"

Anders let out a bitter laugh. "I told you, Nathaniel. No one cares. I learned that the hard way. She told Greagoir what the Templar did to her. And when he questioned the man, the bastard swore up and down that she was a maleficar and had used blood magic to enslave him. Enslave him! This tiny, timid little girl who couldn't hurt a fly—and he said she forced him. And Greagoir took one look at the girl, and one look at the Templar . . . and then he sentenced her to Aeonar."

Nathaniel gaped at him. "How could he do that?"

"Very easily," Anders said hoarsely. "There was no way the Knight Commander was going to take the word of a mage over a Templar. I can't believe I was stupid enough to think otherwise. As much as I hated the Circle, I was still idealistic enough to believe that the Templars were there to protect us. I thought that Greagoir would save her." He shook his head sadly. "Maker, I was so, so wrong."

"So she's at Aeonar now?"

Anders shook his head, sadly. "No. She hanged herself about a week after she got there. She . . . I guess she just couldn't live with what had happened to her." A single tear slipped from his eye. "It's my fault she died. If I hadn't made her tell someone—"

Nathaniel cut him off. "Then that bastard would have just kept hurting her. You couldn't have known what would happen, Anders. No one could have."

Anders looked at him, startled by his gentle tone. "Maybe." He sniffled as he wiped at his eyes. He appreciated Nathaniel's attempt to comfort him, but he knew that he'd never be able to forgive himself for what had happened. He cleared his throat. "Maybe that's not the best example of how things are in the Circle," he tried to smile, but couldn't do it. "Most Templars aren't that bad. They're in it for—well, for what they think are the right reasons. They just keep an eye on us, and make sure we behave ourselves like good little mages. But there are some Templars who don't just hate mages. They despise mages. For them, it's not enough just to watch us—they want to punish us, hurt us, to . . . well, I guess you know . . . You had the pleasure of Rylock's acquaintance."

Nathaniel looked at him hesitantly. "Were you ever . . .?"

"Raped?" Anders asked. "No. Beaten? Humiliated? Treated like dirt? Many, many times." He finally managed a wry smile. "The Templars don't like it when mages try to get away from them."

Nathaniel frowned. "If the conditions in the Tower are that bad, why don't the mages fight back?"

Anders snorted. "They did, during the Blight. It didn't turn out well." That was not a story he was ready to tell yet, to anyone. He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with all that. It's just . . . things aren't always the way you think they are." He turned and left the room, not waiting for Nathaniel's response.