A/N: Headache and nausea make for a very short chapter. No guilt, for this was supposed to be a collection of short, random scenes anyway. Still not confident about getting Anders' voice right, but he's sure fun to work with. Next instalment after tea (hopefuly) does its magic.

XXX

Jury, Judge, Executioner

You can't keep a good man down. Except when you can.

XXX

Anders' vision swirled. He had expected some rough handling - Rylock was pretty darn furious, after all. He had given her a chase to remember this time around. And he had fully expected to be dragged back to the Circle Tower, again. Where he either would or wouldn't manage to invoke his new Grey Warden status and get off the hook. But there was supposed be ample traveling time during which he could examine various possible approaches in relative peace. Say what you will about the Templars, but there was decidedly less impromptu Fade and Deep Roads trips involved where they were concerned. More other things, though, and occasional smacks were not an unkown whenever he invariably took yet another trip back to the Tower with them. He had been expecting that.

He hadn't been expecting this.

Looks like he had finally pushed Rylock's patience too far.

It was actually rather ironic: a healer, rendered incapable of healing, exactly when he needed those skills the most. The joke was not lost to him. But between six Templars, even his considerable mana reserve was easily kept nonexistent. Which… made some sense, he supposed. Insofar as anything made sense right now, what with his head spinning and his body hurting in places he didn't even know could hurt. Could hair hurt? It sure felt like it could.

Mana powered mages' spells. With mana gone, the only other resource on hand was blood. The Templars made sure he had that particular supply at his disposal aplenty, though not exactly where he prefered it to be. Inside a body was its proper place far as he could remember. And how much of the stuff could that container hold anyway? Surely, not this much. Can't be all his, can it?

A true maleficar would have used what was available by now; would have used it few hours ago, as a matter of fact. He didn't. He's seen abominations and had long ago decided that he just didn't like the looks. His stubborn clinging to his fashion sense seemed to have rather dissapointed the Templars in attendance. So they tried harder.

He gave up trying to figure out what all was broken by now.

The campfire sputtered cinders into the night as one of the three Templars sitting around it added another branch. The fourth was standing a bit off to the side. The fifth retreated after giving his boot one final introduction to Anders' ribs. Forgetful boot, that one. Seemed like it had to be reintroduced at least ten times in a span of an hour lest it forgets its lesson. Much like a Templar, really. Well, at least it and its owner were a match.

The shadow of the sixth Templar fell on him, obscuring the other four from sight. Was she really always that tall? It was, he supposed, a matter of perspective. Right now, quite literally. Strange to think of it at this moment, but how big was she, really? He never saw her out of her armour. Not for the lack of trying, mind. But she was kinda pretty. Or was it just his swollen eye playing tricks on him right now? Probably. Still, shame he couldn't tell her. Broken jaw. Her loss. When it came to words, he was always so much better than her.

"Hm."

There! He knew eloquence just wasn't her thing.

"Looks like you are not a blood mage after all, Anders."

He could have told her that. He did tell her that. But then she broke his jaw.

"You are, however, an apostate…"

Grey Warden. Grey Warden, thank-you-very-much. Grey Wardens cannot be apostates. He told her that, too, even offered to fix her hearing sicne she was so obviously having problems with it. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have said that. See what happens when you try to be helpful to the Templars?

"...proven to be incorrigible…"

Oh no, not him, not at all. It was just that he had a horrible reaction to circles, is all. Made him dizzy, circles. Cannot fault a man for simply loking out for his health.

"…and also, a murderer."

Hello, Rylock? The Darkspawn? Remember? Not that he was terribly sorry, but…

She unsheathed her sword.

Okay, scratch that. He was sorry. Terribly, terribly sorry.

"I knew those men, Anders," she hissed. "And I will make sure you never murder another good man again." She raised her blade high above her head, both hands on the hilt.

"In the name of the Maker, Anders the Apostate, I sentence you to death!"

And then she died.