"Someone looks like he is plotting your murder," Anders quipped to Solona in his sing-song voice. She knew to whom he was referring, though she had no desire to look over at him. It was apparently lost on Anders that Nathaniel often looked at everyone like that.

Nathaniel snorted, his mouth too full of food to form a proper response.

Solona focused her attention fully onto her breakfast of honeyed cakes, stewed apples and leftover pork, trying to ignore the fact that her cheeks were burning with awareness of Nathaniel's eyes. She'd noticed how often he seemed to just sit and observe her, but this time there was no question what he was wondering about. Solona shook it off, forcing the memory of her half-naked excursion into the Deep Roads out of her mind, and took a large bite of savory stewmeat.

Bits of the previous night's dinners had begun making their way into breakfast ever since the Wardens had all agreed to stop raiding the larders in the middle of the night, on the condition that Lya had an extra large breakfast ready for them bright and early each morning. What she was providing before wasn't cutting it, and Lya was tired of cleaning up their messes, and finding important items half consumed before she could even use them in the day's cooking.

None of the Wardens cared what food was put before them anyway, as long as there was a lot of it. So far, the arrangement had worked fine.

When Solona did finally glance up at Nathaniel, his eyes flicked quickly away. She sighed in irritation. It would be better for both of them if they just forgot the events of the previous night, and clearly he hadn't.

"You're awfully chipper this morning, mage," Nathaniel finally responded.

Oghren lumbered into the dining room and dropped onto the bench with a grumble. He picked up a chicken leg and began to gnaw on it without a word of greeting. Trying to engage him in conversation first thing in the morning rarely resulted in coherent dialogue, so no one bothered.

"That's right I am. If you had the night I had, you would be too," Anders sighed happily. "Maker, the legs on that woman…" He popped a chunk of apple into his mouth and groaned.

Solona had heard exactly what kind of night he'd had on her way back to her own quarters. She'd taken the long way around after reentering the main building, and for reasons even she didn't know, paused outside Anders' door. The crush she had on him during her girlhood should have been irrelevant now. He'd been two years ahead of her when they were both in the circle, and he'd hardly known she was alive. Just because she was his superior now, and just because his silly jokes occasionally reminded her of Alistair, didn't mean she was in any place whatsoever to be serious with another man. She didn't want another man, not even remotely.

Besides, serious didn't seem to be in Anders' vocabulary.

And then there was the little fact that he still barely seemed to see her. When she'd come upon him blasting flames at a group of Templars, he'd looked right past her and immediately hit on Mhairi. He knew Solona's face from the circle, but he didn't know her name. Or anything else at all, really.

Still, something had stopped her there in the hallway. And surely he'd known she was there, just as she could feel him inside. Laughter echoed through the thick wood of his door, sounding low and intimate. It seemed he hadn't changed much since leaving the circle. He continued to flirt incessantly, and work his way through the Keep's most attractive men and women, at times leaving broken hearts in his wake. People outside the circle didn't do things the same as mages inside did, she'd learned that from Alistair. People outside got attached. They fell in love and stayed with each other. They didn't shield their hearts and live for quick, shallow dalliances between Templar shifts, too afraid to form anything lasting. Either Anders hadn't figured that out yet, or he simply didn't care.

Yet despite the fact that word about Anders' fickle tendencies had begun to get around the Keep, it didn't seem to stop anyone from wanting to warm his bed. He remained as charismatic as Solona remembered, and had only gotten more attractive since he'd let his hair grow long.

"I suppose that's why you were oblivious to our darkspawn visitors last night?" Nathaniel asked flatly. Solona shot him a warning look, wishing she could freeze him into paralysis with the force of her eyes. Nathaniel only stared down into his plate, picking a chunk of meat off a bone and inhaling it unceremoniously.

"Darkspawn? Oh is that what that was?" Anders asked, sounding mostly unconcerned. He had a blush of purple under his eyes despite their giddy brightness, betraying his long night of exertion. "Well it was over so quickly I didn't think it could be anything serious. I wouldn't even have had time to join you."

Solona kept her face expressionless, exuding a mask of indifference. There was no reason Anders' personal affairs should bother her. Nothing he had to say mattered anyway.

"Right," Nathaniel snorted and shook his head. "Maker forbid the next darkspawn horde arrives while Anders has his pants around his ankles. We'd all be left to our own defenses."

"Oh yeeees, because you're all so very defenseless," Anders teased. "Besides, legs that fine are worth it." His smirk was full of such smug pride that Solona had to look away. Something sour fluttered in her gut.

"Incidentally, I don't wear pants. Especially not to bed."

Nathaniel sighed audibly. Solona scraped the last of the gravy off her plate with a hunk of bread and shoved it into her mouth.

"Anders, you are our only healer," Nathaniel reminded him, his voice stern and reprimanding.

This was probably the point that Solona should have stepped in, should have put on the Warden-Commander hat and chided Anders for making light of a very serious duty. Instead she decided to keep eating. Food at least might staunch the discomfort in her stomach, part of which could genuinely have just been hunger. She popped the last bit of food from her plate into her mouth and surveyed the table for what was left while she chewed. Now that Oghren had arrived and joined the party, there was little remaining in the multitudes of bowls and plates scattered around the table. Solona picked up a tray that still had some carrots and potatoes on it and scraped the rest of them onto her plate. She reached across the table to a bowl on the furthests end and then dropped it back down once she saw that it was empty. She looked to Oghren's plate, which was filled to the brim with apples and meat, but he growled at her as she eyed it.

Sitting back down, Solona sighed with disappointment.

Anders swallowed his mouthful and stabbed his fork at a hunk of cheese, and then looked over at Nathaniel with a crooked smile.

"Well, you've all got potions and whatnot, right? Besides what the incentive for me? As far as I'm concerned, there is no better way to go out of this world than balls deep in a beautiful woman. I would wish that for you, Nathaniel. We should all be so lucky to perish within the throes of one of life's greatest pleasures."

Nathaniel grimaced. "First of all, that is a rather rude thing to say in front of a lady. Did they not teach you any manners in the circle?"

Anders chuckled, "A lady? Oh, is there a lady present?" He nudged Solona's elbow good-naturedly.

Solona didn't look up.

"Secondly," Nathaniel continued. "You would do such a thing at the expense of your friends? Ignore your duty, your obligation as a fellow-"

"Did you hear that everyone? Nathaniel says we're friends. I'm honored, Howe, truly. Maybe we should get matching bracelets or something, let all of Thedas see the evidence of our bond, what do you think?"

Nathaniel snapped his mouth shut and looked away sharply. The table went silent again.

On most mornings Solona didn't mind Anders' chatter. It was usually more good-natured ribbing than it was malicious teasing. Alistair had also been an obnoxiously chipper morning person, and tended to jibber his way through breakfast, even when the rest of the party was clearly tired and not in the mood. It had annoyed her once upon a time. Now, that sort of thing mostly just reminded her of home.

This morning however, she was not amused.

"Oh look!" Anders laughed as he leered down the table toward a scowling Nathaniel, "now he's plotting my murder."

"Well…" Nathaniel began slowly, "you're not wrong."

Solona finished off the last of her potatoes while she stared pointedly at Anders. Every word out of his mouth seemed to be crawling under her skin. It didn't help that he looked altogether too pleased with himself over last night's exploits. He finally met her eyes while he reached for a whole link of sausage lying untouched on his plate. Solona stabbed it hard with her fork, her tongs scraping against the porcelain as she stole the sausage link out from under him.

"He's not the only one," she said. Baring her teeth, she ripped the sausage in half and began to chew.

"Ouch," Anders laughed.

She rose from the table and made her way out of the dining room, glad that at least Nathaniel had exercised some discretion, even if Anders seemed to be incapable of doing so.

Irritation prickled up her spine. It was one of those mornings where everything was an annoyance. She hadn't wanted to wake up in the first place, much less see Nathaniel's coat draped over her chair, reminding uncomfortably of the night before. She hadn't wanted to force herself to look presentable and nod an awkward good morning to Nathaniel as she sat down at the table. She hadn't wanted to hear Anders talk about being balls deep in bloody anything. As she walked her mind swarmed with dozens of things she probably should have said to both of them. Nathaniel certainly had a point about Anders ignoring a battle, and she couldn't disagree with his chastisement. Still, she hadn't particularly wanted Anders down there last night anyway. The presence of a healer jeopardized her ultimate goal.

And, there was that sick flutter again as well, something that continued to happen in response to Anders. It was so tiresome, how he could make her feel so small without even trying. It was like she'd been transformed back into a teenage girl, watching the object of her infatuation from across the room, too afraid to approach or speak up to make a move. This even after the last year and a half, in which she'd united and led an army of many races, stopped a Blight and been crowned the most celebrated and revered Grey Warden in the land.

Part of her wanted to punch Anders square in the face. And another part of her… wished that she wasn't so amused by some of his stupid jokes, or that she didn't find herself eying the cut of his jaw. Or stop outside his door in the middle of the night.

Times like this she squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself just how much lesser of a man he was than the one she truly loved. The one who had shown her what love was, who had been devoted to her, utterly and unabashedly. The one she would be with again, some day.

It was always a disappointment, opening her eyes again and coming back into this new lonely reality.

Solona stalked across the courtyard, not really sure where she was even going. Garavel nodded at her from beside Wade's table. Dworkin was tinkering with something in the far corner by the main gate. The place had grown so empty since she'd told Garavel to send as many soldiers as he needed out to protect the farmlands. She knew it'd be time to leave again soon, though she hadn't made up her mind yet what was the more important task to tackle first. They could venture out to Blackmarsh and see if that might be where they'd find Kristoff. They could make their way back to Amaranthine and maybe convince another vendor to take up shop at the Keep. Or, they could go see what all that business was about in the Wending Wood.

Amaranthine would probably be the more practical choice, but it would also require more ego-stroking and promises made that she wasn't quite sure she could keep. More run-ins with the haughty, condescending nobles, more blighted politics. The thought made her shudder with repulsion.

Out in the countryside there might be more darkspawn, but at least there'd be fewer people.

"Sol!"

Her name, called by a familiar voice somewhere behind her. She groaned to herself. Why was it that people thought she actually wanted to talk?

"Sol, wait!"

Solona stopped, turning on her heel to await Ander's approach. His cocky smirk was gone as he practically jogged across the grass.

"I uh… wanted to apologize," Anders offered sheepishly, coming to a stop before her. "For last night. If I honestly thought you'd need me, I would have come."

Solona stood quietly, trying to decide if she should blow it off, or milk it for a little while. She let his words hang in the air, unacknowledged. Anders studied her, his golden brown eyes searching her face with confusion. He was nearly a whole head taller than her, his lips sitting right at eye level. Solona couldn't help her gaze wandering, taking in the stubble, the strong neck, the glinting of his gold earring. She forced herself to look away.

"You know, I can never tell when you're mad at me," he laughed as he shifted on his feet. "So I think I'm just going to assume that you always are, just to be on the safe side."

Solona stared at him blankly. She couldn't deny that she kind of liked to see him squirm, but his suspecting she had a personal grievance didn't sit well with her. But in the past she'd learned that in situations where she didn't know what to say, silence was usually the best answer.

"Anyway, Nathaniel was right, that was rude. Those things that I said. So, you know, sorry about that too," he said. Solona's gut soured again. She felt her brows furrow and jaw clench, but quickly tried to relax them. His comments shouldn't have bothered her. Naturally she didn't want to hear about the location of his balls, at least with regard to other women. And by all rights he shouldn't see her as a lady. He should only see her as a Commander. That was all exactly as it should be.

Against her will, something inside softened a little. She always was a sucker for an apology. Grudge-holding had never been her forte, despite how otherwise curmudgeonly she'd become in the last seven months. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling completely off balance. She decided to breeze past it, go for the part she was comfortable addressing.

"You are our only healer, Anders. If something had happened to Nathaniel, I wouldn't have been able to help him like you could," she said.

Anders snorted. "Nothing has happened to Nathaniel yet. Nothing has happened to any of us. How could it when we barely see any fighting?"

He was saying it gently, but she saw the little sharpness in his eye.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, "The darkspawn are everywhere, even coming up from the fucking basement —"

"Yeah, and every time we see any of them you go charging in practically by yourself," he said. "You don't leave anything for us to do half the time. Sol, do you even want our help? Because it doesn't seem like you do."

Solona crossed her arms, and felt her frown deepen. The truth was that she didn't. At least not all the time.

"Yes, well I imagine the hordes are only going to get larger the further toward their source we get, and I'll need you then," she insisted.

She was tempted to say more, to explain. Besides, killing them feels good. I need every last one of them to suffer the way they've made me suffer.

"No, look, nevermind. It's fine. I came out here to apologize, not…" Anders said. His gaze was now behind her, his eyes following something — no, someone — who was walking across the grass. She heard the steps, and then a low, lilting voice mumbling quietly. Turning, she quickly confirmed that one of the younger female soldiers was crossing close by, talking quietly with her partner. A curl of silky blonde hair peeked out from under her helmet.

Solona resumed facing Anders, letting herself scowl openly. It figured that he couldn't even get through a single serious conversation. Maybe if she was prettier, maybe if she was someone he wanted to fuck he might actually be able to pay attention. It was just like it had been back in the circle. Any temptation Solona had to apologize in return, to open up to him a little snapped shut. Anders' interest in their conversation was bleeding away like blood through an open gash. Hot anger rose up her spine.

"Are you done?" she demanded impatiently. She wasn't even sure what she was referring to. Probably everything.

Anders laughed. He tore his eyes away from the woman behind her, and his smile immediately fell away as he registered Solona's glare.

The air seemed to hum around them. He was quiet for a long minute while he studied her face. For a moment, it seemed like maybe he actually was truly trying to see her, to look beyond her scowl.

A warm, heavy hand fell onto her shoulder. It was the first gesture of that kind Anders had ever made in their month there together. Solona looked away, her furrowed brows aching.

"I'm sorry, Sol. I promise I'm not really the lecher you think I am. And we all admire your boldness," he said softly. "I guess that's how you came to be the Hero and everything, right?"

Solona didn't want to look up. Part of her wanted to laugh; he perceived it as boldness, but it wasn't quite that, was it? The sour flutter in her gut was changing, turning into that thing that it was always in the circle. Something that was at times exhilarating, and at times poisonous. She was afraid to speak, lest her words all come out as a stutter. His hand on her shoulder squeezed.

"Hey, maybe I'm just jealous. I've never seen anyone throw so much of themselves into a fight."

She chanced a look up, and was startled by the warmth she saw in his eyes. She looked away quickly, her cheeks burning.

Alistair had brown eyes, too. Deep, soulful, expressive eyes that could wrench her heart into knots, or reduce her to tearful laughter. Anders was taller than her too, by about the same amount. This would all be a lot easier if Anders didn't share so many similarities with him. If Anders wasn't also Anders.

Maker's breath, she never would have guessed she'd be sharing a home and a blood-pact with the man she'd spent so many years desperately infatuated with, the man who'd made her years at the circle a special kind of torture. What she'd give to just forget about him again, the way she had up until last month.

She nodded, conjuring up the closest thing to a smile that she could muster and walked out from under his grasp. Turning toward the open courtyard, she took a deep breath. She took step after step, forcing herself not to wonder what he was doing behind her. She hadn't said thanks, but the conversation was clearly over.

The way she felt around him was stifling, as though the world had closed up into a small little box without any air. It made her simultaneously want to melt into nothingness, and to rage against her restraint, to reduce the walls of that box to powder. She was NOT that sixteen year old girl anymore, despite how hard her brain seemed to want her to be. She was a hero, a Commander of the Grey Wardens. And, she was a desirable woman, even if he didn't see it. Not that that particularly mattered. A large part of her had the urge to turn back around and take out all her pent-up frustration on him, to punish him for those years in the circle. To hit him, rip his clothes from his body and immobilize his limbs, to force him to see that she wasn't the meek, inexperienced little girl he used to disregard. She knew her power now. She knew her body. One doesn't spend every spare moment for a year sequestered in a tent with an equally libidinous man and not learn tricks.

Oh but what would Alistair think? He'd laugh at her impulse to prove herself. He'd clench his teeth and chide her gently for the attention she was paying to another man. He'd pity Anders for being so oblivious.

She could hear Alistair's voice in her head.

I feel sorry for him, actually. For every man in the world who will never know your touch. They don't even know that they're living in hell.

It was something he'd said before, though she couldn't remember exactly why. His voice played back like a siren call, luring her attention inward, away from the bustle of the Vigil's Keep courtyard, from the awareness of Anders still standing several meters away, from the acidic roil in her gut. Memory of the dulcet sounds of her love quickly rendered everything else around her inconsequential and moot, deflating the tension she carried with each step over the courtyard grass.

Alistair. His eyes, his voice, his profound, palpable, life-changing love. Anders was a joke in comparison.

S he closed her eyes briefly as she walked and took a deep breath, giving herself over to memory. It was something she did only when she had to. It was too painful to indulge too often. But there, brought up nearly instantaneously, was the smell of the campfire, the feel of Alistair's arms wrapping tight and strong around her waist, the whisper of the trees swaying overhead, the call of owls and creatures of the night, all going about their lives in the woods beyond the camp. Memory enveloped her. She and Alistair had lived for the moments when they could leave their armor in a pile and steal some time alone out in the forest. When she'd curl into his lap while the campfire flames licked at the darkness, and wait the requisite amount of time before retiring to their tent.

Solona's scowl was replaced by a sad smile as she recalled how Alistair would rest his chin on her shoulder and narrate the activities of their camp-mates. He especially he loved when Morrigan would go talk to Sten. He was absolutely convinced that they were madly in love.

Dinner would be hastily dispatched, and then he'd take her in his arms and make the rest of the world, and all the problematic characters from her past — stupid circle crushes especially — all fall away completely.

Solona sighed. She felt better. Returning to camp with Alistair, even if only in memory, was like a meditation. It made her long for country breezes and campfires. It put things in the world right again, as right as they could be while they were also so egregiously wrong.

But Anders' apology was nice enough, and she supposed she'd accept it. She wasn't sure what she was really expecting from him anyway. Obviously she couldn't dictate how he conducted his personal affairs. Her time here would be too fleeting for it to matter much longer. Before she knew it, she will have moved on to a newer, better realm, leaving Anders to his philandering, Nathaniel to his brooding, Oghren to his drinking.

The Wending Wood suddenly sounded like a nice place to die.