Once Zevran left the room, Dal approached Anders and Fenris and knelt by the couch, lifting the cloth-wrapped chain in his hands as though to test its weight.

Ser Pounce-a-lot rose from his place on Anders' lap, bumped his head against Dal's hand, and jumped off the couch to wander the office, crawling under furniture, poking his head out with dust on his whiskers, and pausing to sharpen his claws on the office rug. At least someone seemed comfortable.

This close, Fenris thought he could feel the air faintly hum around Widald Amell the way he remembered from the most powerful magisters. Most people likely only noticed it subliminally, but Fenris felt it along the lyrium carved in his flesh like an itch.

Without asking, Dal produced a knife from his belt and slit open the cloth that had been sewn around the chain back in Kirkwall. A glance at Anders showed him watching his former commander with a shuttered, tense expression.

"Warn us if you will touch it with magic," Fenris said. He had meant to tell Dal not to use magic at all, but somehow telling this man not to do something seemed unlikely to yield results.

"Just looking," Dal said, tearing the seams until he could pull the cloth free and drop it on the floor. They had been wearing it non-stop for over a week and a half, it was little surprise that it had started to get a bit stiff with dirt, even with the bath they had taken back in Amaranthine. "Did this thing fool anyone?"

Fenris and Anders shared a look over Dal's head. "Almost too well," Anders said.

Dal hummed noncommittally and pulled Anders' wrist closer to examine the runes on the cuff. "What did you two try before deciding to come to me?"

"A skilled picklock, a smith, a dwarven alchemist, a Dalish mage, and a Circle mage who specialized in metallurgy," Fenris said. "Anders has some papers from the Circle mage that you should see."

Fenris knew Anders well enough to see that his whole body was fairly vibrating with tension – nothing had been resolved between him and the Warden Commander. Fenris found it only fitting for all the times that Anders had been filled with his blind self-righteousness that he would be brought to this state by facing his own past.

"Tell me about yourself, Fenris," Dal said while he passed the chain link by link through his hands, examining each one intently for some flaw or difference from the others. "How do you know Anders?"

"We have a mutual acquaintance," Fenris said after a moment's consideration of how to describe Hawke. "A man to whom I owe a debt." That was too cold even for him. "A friend."

"It's a small world," Anders said. "His name is Garrett Hawke." Dal did not react. "His mother's name is Leandra Amell."

Dal looked up from his examination of the chain to pin him with a steely stare. "Amell?"

Anders' lips stretched in an approximation of a smile. "I should have remembered that you had mentioned you had family in Kirkwall. I went where I heard mages were treated worst in Thedas and ended up with a bloody Amell coming into my clinic looking for a Gray Warden."

Dal appeared nonplussed for the first time. "Is he a mage?"

Anders shook his head. "His sister is, and she's in Kirkwall's Circle, the Gallows. It makes Kinloch Hold seem like a non-stop celebration of freedom and happiness. They don't even bother to pretend what the Circle is there – they house mages in an old prison, Dal. The stories of templar abuses that come out to me are horrifying. Your cousin is in there and she was an apostate for most of her life."

He leaned forward in his seat. "Just imagine the fear she lives under simply for being raised a free woman."

Fenris tried to read the expression on Dal's face – perplexity? Irritation? It was too complicated, and he did not know the man well enough to decipher his feelings.

"I do what I can, Anders." Dal picked up the chain again and resumed his examinations. "She will have to do what she can. Perhaps there will come a time when I will hear more tales of the Hero of the Free Marches than of the Hero of Ferelden. What's Garrett Hawke's sister's name?"

Fenris answered before Anders. "Bethany. She's a good woman, a strong woman, she—"

They were interrupted by Zevran's return. "There is a strange mabari in the courtyard," he informed them as a tall human man loomed behind him, staring over Zevran's head at Anders. "Walter has found him. They appear to be, shall we say, negotiating over who has the right to piss on the statue of Andraste."

"Brutal," Fenris said. "He is Hawke's mabari. He sent him with us because he could not come himself."

Dal was already on his feet. "I'll get Walter in line. You two," he indicated Zevran and the newcomer who had to be Nathaniel, "I want your opinions on the chain by the time I get back."

Zevran stood aside just enough for Dal to squeeze past him out of the office. Fenris shifted his attention to Nathaniel, not wanting to see the kiss Dal brushed against Zevran's cheek or the entirely unsubtle grope Zevran gave him in return. Seeing a legend be so… earthy rather ruined the effect.

"Fereldans and dogs," Zevran said with mock despair, moving into the office to do as Dal had directed. "You would think that…." He looked back to where Nathaniel still stood, eyes fixed on Anders and trailed off. "Did I neglect to tell you why the Warden Commander wanted to see you?" he asked the man quite disingenuously. "I must have forgotten."

"You," Nathaniel said. "They told me you were dead."

Anders dropped his eyes to Zevran, who knelt between them and murmured "May I?" to Fenris before picking up his wrist to examine the cuff.

"They were wrong."

"I see that," Nathaniel said, his tone chilly. "I should have known you would run again. It's what you are best at."

Anders made a frustrated noise. "I ran because—"

"Because why?" Nathaniel demanded.

"Because I'm the one who killed Rolan, the templars he brought, and everyone else at the camp," Anders admitted, slumping. "Or Justice and I, but there's not much distinction anymore."

Zevran whistled without looking up from Fenris' cuff.

Fenris didn't take his eyes off Nathaniel. His reaction was too complex to fully follow. Fenris identified disbelief, anger, perhaps betrayal, more anger – it seemed a familiar emotion for the man – a clench in his expression that looked like mourning, and finally his features settled back into hard lines that gave away little beyond the fact that the man was not pleased.

"You and Justice," he finally said, slowly, tasting the words for some truth to them. "He went to you."

Fenris remembered what Dal had said about no longer allowing Nathaniel and Justice to patrol together.

"Yes," Anders said, sounding tired. "I'd have him say hello but that gets a bit…"

"Complicated?" Zevran supplied cheerfully, releasing Fenris' wrist with a murmured, "Thank you," before taking Anders' wrist.

"I'm certain Anders can flounder on his own," Fenris said, drawing Nathaniel's attention for the first time.

"Who are you?" he asked without a trace of friendliness.

"Fenris."

"Why are you chained to Anders?"

Fenris cut his eyes over to Anders who said, "A crazy magic store owner didn't plan past 'don't touch the glaaaaaaass.'" He drew the last words out in mimicry of Xenon's bizarre drawl.

"And you touched it?"

Anders dropped his eyes back down to Zevran's head and gave a small nod. "We both did, but it's not our fault, Xenon should never have put that staff—"

"Sword," Fenris interrupted.

"—thing,"Anders continued with a glare for Fenris, "out where people would be drawn to it. Might as well have asked Oghren not to touch the glass when there was a bottle of dwarven rotgut inside."

"Then at least you two aren't escaped apostates bringing templars down on us," Nathaniel said. "We had enough of those around after Anders 'died'."

Nathaniel's expression tightened still more before he said, "I want to talk to Justice."

"He's here," Anders said. "But he can't answer you right now. It would be—"

Zevran was positively gleeful as he supplied, "Complicated."

Fenris frowned down at him. "Are you always like this?"

Zevran chuckled. "Oh no, my friend, sometimes I am much, much worse, but you would like it."

Nathaniel sounded resigned. "Take his word for being much worse."

"But would you say that he would like it?" Zevran asked, turning to wink at Nathaniel, who only shook his head.

Fenris huffed in exasperation. "It was already explained for the Warden Commander, but there are side effects of this chain that make allowing Justice to manifest…" Zevran opened his mouth and Fenris hurried to finish before he could make another contribution to the conversation, "…undesirable."

"But Justice is here," Nathaniel said. "Right?"

Anders nodded.

"Is he happy?"

Anders turned his head away. Fenris had never considered asking whether the thing that possessed the mage was happy. He had also never known it as a friend the way Nathaniel and Dal had. In point of fact, he had never considered that a thing like that could be considered a friend.

"He has moments, but you can't blame me for that," Anders finally said. "He wasn't often happy in Kristoff's body either."

"Are you happy?" Nathaniel asked.

Zevran's hands stilled on Anders' cuff. Fenris waited for the inevitable rash of complaints.

"What do you want me to say?" Anders asked. "Justice has helped me find some purpose other than planning my next escape from the Circle. I help people. It's enough."

"You had a purpose," Nathaniel retorted. "Being a Gray Warden."

"I would have," Anders snapped. "If I weren't constantly treated like a greater danger than the darkspawn. It's templars who drive good mages to desperate acts. I've lived it, and I've seen it over and over in Kirkwall."

"Is that where you've been?" Nathaniel asked? "Kirkwall? Anders, that's…."

"That's what?" Anders asked.

"Warden business," Nathaniel said. "And there are non-wardens here."

"I could leave," Zevran offered. "But I see no way to separate our handsome elf from your friend. Our other handsome elf, that is. Iam strong enough to resist his bare-chested charms."

"That's a good thing," Dal said, coming out from behind Nathaniel, leaving Fenris to wonder how long he had been listening to the conversation.

"Nathaniel," he said, taking charge of the situation again. "You haven't looked at the manacle yet."

"He is unlikely to find anything I have not," Zevran said, releasing Anders and stepping away. "No offense, my friend, I am not impugning your skills, but there is no physical locking mechanism."

"Nathaniel?" Dal asked.

"If Zevran says it and it is unrelated to his sexual exploits, it is probably true," Nathaniel said.

"If it is related to my sexual exploits it is definitely true," Zevran protested. "I could challenge you to a duel for that. A sexy duel if my warden would allow it."

"He would not," Dal said firmly, taking Zevran by the bicep to guide him back to the desk. "As you well know."

"Were there any problems with the mabari?" Fenris asked, trying to get the conversation back on track to something less frivolous. "Hawke would want to see him returned intact."

"They're fine," Dal assured him. "I have some extra bones I usually keep for Walter. I gave Walter an ox bone and gave – Brutal is it?" Fenris nodded. "I gave Brutal a lamb bone and the two of them are gnawing like old friends."

Zevran settled back in Dal's chair and Dal rested his hip on the desk again. "Do you want to stay?" he asked Nathaniel, who nodded. "Then sit."

"Anders, you have some papers for me?"