"The Commander's been acting a bit... peculiar, don't you think?"

Anders sank down on the bench with a heavy sigh but Nathaniel only grunted and slid aside, keeping his eyes on the bow in his hands. It was unstrung, laid neatly across the dining table amidst the archer's tools. Save for the two of them, the hall was empty. As if to fill the silence, Anders sighed again.

"What do you want?"

"She has, hasn't she? You've noticed it, too. It's not just me?"

Nathaniel raised his head and arched a brow. "I do not have the time for idle gossip."

"Gossip? Me?" Anders grinned, laying a hand across his chest with a mocking gasp. "And of course you do." He gestured to the cavernous and quiet hall. "You're not doing anything else."

"I happen to be engaged in—"

"Playing with your bow. Right. That's just want you get for relying on all that complicated weaponry. Magic, on the other hand…" He waggled his fingers, producing a crackling spark.

"What of your staff?"

"Funny how low-maintenance a big stick can be." He chuckled. "Though it does need polishing now and again. Quite a lot lately."

Setting the bow down, Nathaniel folded his arms and turned to face him. "If it will end this line of conversation, you may have my full attention."

"That's all I ask." Anders stood and began to pace, seemingly unmindful of the glower that dogged his steps.

"Your concern is obvious."

He stopped at that, hastily summoning a crooked grin. "She's our Commander. Why wouldn't I be concerned?"

Nathaniel only shook his head. "And I suppose you have a theory?"

"Well, she's been extra… commanding lately."

"You don't say."

"Distracted, almost. You remember when we ran into Wynne – the old mage – in Amaranthine."

"Her former companion, yes. You were quite frightened, as I recall."

"I wasn't particularly looking forward to fighting off a pack of templars."

"Or running from them."

Anders snorted. "But she was alone. And she's not so bad, really. Solona really likes her."

No, not bad... but there had been something in the look the two women had shared. The old mage's gaze had been openly appraising, shamelessly studying the lot of them. That Anders hadn't minded, even though his best grin had only earned a bemused chuckle. It was only when Solona mentioned their "special training" that Wynne had truly laughed, bending her ear to the shorter woman's whisper with a wicked smirk.

Solona had put on her Commander's voice then - funny how quickly he had come to recognize the difference - and bid them stay in the market while she and the old woman linked arms and slipped off to a nearby tavern. He had followed along, of course, making some suitably witty comment about Tower secrets... and Solona had nearly torn his head off.

"Never you mind!" she had said. If she hadn't blushed so prettily he might have argued, but he had only watched them go.

It was even worse when they returned. Solona was red-faced still but Wynne had distinctly reminded him of a cat in a chicken coop. Maker's breath, how she had stared. Whatever the "special training" was, he assumed it had not gone well.

Nathaniel had noted his silence, was watching him with a knowing smirk. "The woman has duties of her own. I doubt she will join us here. You needn't worry about losing your place as the Commander's favorite."

"I'm not— Wait. You really think I'm her favorite?"

Something in his expression must have been amusing, because the great and brooding Nathaniel Howe actually laughed. Turning back to his bow, he shook his head. "I had heard that mages are clever. Perhaps I was misinformed."

Anders watched for a moment as he again took up his tools, measuring out a fresh length of bowstring. "But you've noticed too? That she's acting strange?"

"Yes." He split the string with an upward slice of a tiny blade. "Now go away."

Wandering back into the hall, Anders found himself smiling. Maybe there was something else to it, something that would bring such a flush to a young girl's cheeks. And they'd been talking about him, hadn't they? That much was obvious. But what sort of advice, what sort of training, could Wynne possibly have…?

He chuckled. Girls in the Tower were notoriously reserved, but he had heard rumor of certain whispered magics, had even gone looking in the restricted sections of the library a time or two. The lorekeeper had chased him out with a switch. It had been the inspiration behind escape number three.

So lost in thought was he that he did not see the figure rounding the corner ahead. "Solona!"

She gave a squeak, stumbling backward to avoid crashing into him. Anders pulled up short, chuckling down at her, but she had already whirled away, huddling round the bundle that she carried in her arms. A few quick steps brought her to a nearby linen closet, her cheeks flaring as she stuffed the package inside and slammed the door. She sagged back against it with obvious relief, fixing him beneath a withering glare.

"Something wrong?"

She only chewed her lip, glancing about as though searching for some sort of escape. Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments, flitting away as her cheeks flamed.

She had always been a bit nervous around him - something about an old resemblance, Oghren had said - but he thought they had gotten past this. He'd hoped they had gotten past it. Maybe a few stolen kisses didn't mean what they used to.

Still he grinned, inclining his head. "My apologies. Something wrong, Commander?"

"Don't-don't do that. You don't have to."

"Alright, then." He shrugged, moving to stand before her and the barricaded door. "What's in the box?"

"Never you mind."

"You're saying that an awful lot lately. I know about keeping secrets, you know, about running away. Maybe I can help."

He reached for the doorknob but she slid closer, pressing a warning hand to his chest. "Anders."

"Hm?"

Dipping his head he tried to catch her eye, but her gaze remained fixed on her hand, on the way it lay amongst the folds of his robe. She slid it to the right, chewing again at her lip. To the left then, placing it lightly, carefully.

The chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "Commander?"

Solona blinked up at him, as if surprised to find him watching her. Again she flushed but she pulled him close, into an awkward sort of hug. Her hands traced now across his back, fingertips straining to meet across the width of his shoulders.

"Well. Okay, then." It had been weeks since last she had allowed them such a moment.

But as he pressed his lips to her forehead she tsked, her hands stepping carefully down the length of his arms. "Hold still."

He complied - what else could he do? - busying himself instead with watching her progress. It wasn't exactly the caress he had hoped for, but it was startling how much he had missed her touch. After a long moment, she stepped back and folded her arms.

Anders smirked. "That was—"

"Shut up." Stretching up on her toes, she brushed her lips cross his. It was chaste as always, trembling and almost fearful. A man could be driven mad over less. Stepping back, she folded her arms and leaned against the door.

"Hm. You're going to stand there until I leave, aren't you?"

She smirked.

"I could just wait round the corner, you know. See what it is you're hiding."

With a snap of her fingers, Solona held aloft a tiny flame.

"Ooh." Anders shrugged, turning away with a widening grin. "Have it your way, then. The air of mystery suits you."

"Commander." Anders turned from the bushes, smiling to see Solona approach. He'd been waiting behind the keep for some time now, huddled against the cold.

"Oghren said you wanted to see me?"

She had certainly taken her time, the thick and fur-lined cloak that she tugged round herself making him regret his own haste. A breeze stirred along the thin dusting of snow on the path, sending a fresh burst of freezing air over his boots and beneath his robes. As he gasped, she chuckled.

"Very funny." With a smirk, he wrapped an arm round her waist and pulled her close.

"What was so important that you'd risk freezing half to death?"

"Ah, only this. Something I thought you might appreciate." The bushes here were long dead; they had been even before the first snows. But with a wave of his hand, the brambles parted, revealing the living garden beyond. "Who would have thought the Howes had such a taste for beauty?"

Solona took half a step forward, pulling away from him to blink out at the overgrown path, at the full and blooming roses to either side.

"I'm sure there's some suitably romantic metaphor here, something about thriving in the winter, beauty even amidst—"

She seemed to rouse then, a sharp gesture of her hand sending the brambles snapping shut.

"Solona?"

Her breath came in a misting hiss. He almost mistook it for anger, but she cradled the hand that she had used, bringing it to her lips to suck at her fingertips.

"Hey." Stepping to her side, he took her hand carefully in his, blinking at what he saw there. Anders quirked a brow. "Hm. Seems you already knew about this place."

Her fingertips were riddled with tiny pinpricks, the calluses blooming fresh and angry. Solona jerked her hand away. "The spell burned a bit; that's all."

"I'll say. Didn't they teach you anything in the Tower? You've got to take better care of your hands." He smirked, tugging the sash from his waist and winding it round her palm. "We're mages, not gardeners."

"It-it's not from the roses." She turned her head away, refusing to meet his eyes. "I hate roses."

"What sort of woman hates—?"

But she had already turned away, boots crunching on the snow as she cut a path back to the keep. Anders stared wordlessly after her, shaking his head.

"What has she been doing with herself?"

"Oghren, have you seen my cat?"

The dwarf looked up from his mug, swaying slightly as he braced a hand against the wall. What he was doing wandering the halls at this hour, Anders couldn't guess. Then again, another letter had arrived from Felsi that afternoon. He supposed it had been bad news... or good. And if you were going to roam the drafty corridors of an empty keep in the middle of the night, taking along a warm mug of ale wasn't exactly a bad idea.

"Lost yer - heh - kitty, have ya?"

"Misplaced, more like."

"I wouldn't worry about it. She likes ya well enough. Just takes her some time to come around, that one."

Anders blinked. "Wait. She who?"

"The Warden... er, Commander. What are you talking about?"

"My cat. Ser Pounce-a-Lot?"

"Heh." Oghren looked decidedly disappointed. "Thought this was one of them whatcha-call-its... innuendos. You surfacers have some strange ways of talkin' about ruttin'."

"You thought I meant—" He chuckled, shaking his head with a crooked grin. "No, just looking for my cat. Literally. Unfortunately. You know... bushy tail, cutest widdle face, has a bell on..."

"Don't worry about it, boy. It'll happen. Trust me." Oghren clapped him on the back and took a slobbering sip from his cup. "As to your cat... the little bastard's slipperier than a greased nug. He'll turn up." With a wave he stumbled away, disappearing round the bend.

Anders sighed. He'd been searching the keep most of the night, but there had been no sign of the cat. Folding his arms, he sagged back against the wall. Maybe Oghren was right; maybe he'd simply found another nest of rats. The keep was certainly full of them. He'd have to remember to ask Nathaniel about his family's cleaning habits in the morning.

Just as he turned for his room, he heard it... the faintest, familiar yowl. "Ser Pounce-a-Lot?"

Crouching low, he followed the noise, finding himself blinking up at a familiar door. What in the Maker's name...? There was scratching now just behind the wood, the mewling unmistakable and insistent.

Anders straightened, brushing the dust from his robes as he rapped on the door. "Commander?"

There was a muffled curse, a crash and a hiss from the cat. After a moment, the door opened a crack. "Anders. What do you want?"

Even through the tiny gap, he could see her cheeks flare, her eyes narrowing guiltily.

"You haven't seen Ser Pounce-a-Lot, have you?"

"No."

"Really?" He smirked, trying to wedge a foot in the door. Solona was faster, but he was stronger, managing to widen the gap with only minor damage to his toes. "Ow."

Pounce-a-Lot bolted between his legs, pausing just long enough to hiss back at them before darting down the hall to freedom.

"You-you kidnapped my cat! I don't believe you kidnapped my cat!"

"I didn't!" Solona folded her arms, but still she braced a leg behind the door, blocking his view of the room beyond. "He... he was helping me."

"Does he know that?"

She sighed, again refusing to meet his eyes.

"Look, Commander. I don't know what's going on with you… maybe I don't want to know. First you go off with that Wynne woman, then you hate roses but have those strange wounds and now you kidnap my cat. I have to draw the line."

"You're a man of principle."

His cheeks were burning; he must be as red as she, he realized. "I-I thought that we... well, that we might... but you've been avoiding me. You won't even look at me."

She did then, raising her eyes slowly to his. There was guilt there still and something almost like... embarrassment. And if he was not mistaken, some sort of grim satisfaction at seeing him so flustered. Maker's breath, she was toying with him.

"If you don't want... I mean, let a guy down easy, will you?"

Solona chuckled, laying a hand against the doorframe. It had been nearly a week since the roses but still the familiar strip of cloth was wrapped round her palm, freshly cleaned and neatly tied.

He blinked at that.

"Well, I hope you and Ser Pounce-a-Lot will be very happy together." She moved as if to shut the door between them, pausing to smirk up at him. "See you tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow?"

She looked vaguely disappointed. "It's Saturnalia." With that, she shut the door in his face.

"You stole that." Nathaniel leaned close, hissing in Anders' ear.

"Not exactly." He grinned, watching Oghren turn the bottle of wine round in his hands. They had gathered in the dining hall, already thick with the smells of the evening's feast. It wasn't as though he'd forgotten about Saturnalia, not really. He had merely taken his time in finding the proper gifts.

"It's from my grandfather's stores and you know it."

"Oh, come on. No one's been around to drink it." With a grunt, Oghren popped the cork, draining half the bottle in a single pull. "It's just been gathering dust."

"That's the point. It must be properly aged, properly—"

"Here." Lifting the quiver from beneath the table, he dropped it in front of Nathaniel.

"You-you enchanted my arrows?"

"With lightning. Thought you might try felling your foes properly for once. They should make a pretty sparkle in the air too."

Nathaniel gave an appreciative grunt.

"Anyone seen the Commander?" Oghren set the empty bottle down with a thunk.

"Not I."

Anders glanced toward the door. She seemed to appear as if on cue, shuffling beneath the load of brightly-wrapped packages in her arms. He couldn't help but smile; he hadn't known she was so fond of the holidays. Coming to his feet, he moved to help but Solona darted wide, piling her burdens on the table without looking at him.

There were packages for Varel and Mistress Woolsey, the cook and various servants. From the pile Solona produced an old vase for Nathaniel and a tiny toy horse for Oghren, which the dwarf seemed to find utterly hilarious. The meal arrived then, the business of stuffing themselves providing a momentary distraction. But when Solona set her fork aside, Anders moved round the table to sit beside her.

He pulled a rose from the folds of his robe, holding it between them.

"Anders..."

There was a tiny wisp of smoke, a tendril of flame snaking along the stem as the rose ignited in his hand. He grinned. "Since you hate roses so much. I thought we might go out to the gardens later... and burn them down."

Across the table Nathaniel buried his head in his hands, but Solona was smiling now. It was perhaps the first genuine smile Anders had seen in all these weeks.

"Here." Reaching beneath the bench, she produced an awkwardly-shaped bundle.

"For me?"

"Just open it." Something of her nervousness had returned, her eyes dropping to the hands twisting in her lap.

Anders pulled the wrappings free, holding aloft a strange and bulky bunch of cloth. The color was a jarringly brilliant green, but the knitting was thick and almost even. He quirked a brow. "The wounds on your hands..."

Still Solona looked away. "Wynne taught me... back when we traveled together. And since you're always complaining about the cold..."

"That day in the hallway... you were measuring me weren't you?"

If possible, her flush deepened even further.

There was a snort from across the table. Nathaniel had clapped a hand across his mouth and Oghren looked as though he were choking on his beard.

"And is this... Ser Pounce-a-Lot on the front?" The color of the stitching was certainly right and it looked something like a cat – at least he thought it was a cat. Right. Four legs, all accounted for.

Oghren burst at last, toppling backward off the bench as Nathaniel gave a quiet chuckle.

Solona flinched, her voice barely above a whisper. "You hate it, don't you?"

With a smirk for the others, Anders rose smoothly to his feet and pulled the bulky sweater over his head. He turned round once, twice, admiring the effect. Solona raised her eyes at that, smiling shyly.

Wrapping both arms round her waist, he lifted her from the bench, laughing as she buried her face against the soft wool of his chest. Somewhere beneath them Oghren snorted, but Anders silenced him with a well-placed kick, tilting Solona's chin to bring her lips to his.

He could not say how long they remained that way but after a time she pulled away and stepped back. "There is one more thing." From her belt, she produced a smaller bundle of knitting in the same garish green. It matched perfectly but this one had four sleeves, a tiny hole for a tail.

Anders grinned, linking an arm through hers. It seemed they had a search to undertake. "Here, kitty kitty..."