Hawke idled in the doorway before going into the mansion, wandering through the murky dark. The air in the foyer was musty, but as she went deeper, the overtones of sweat, fire and liquor took hold. She could hear quick movements and sounds from deeper in. Following them on silent steps, she went into the cellar, watching Fenris glide with ephemeral grace to slash through one of the set barrels.

"What did it ever do to you?" Hawke idly drawled, leaning on the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

Attention snapping to her, the hazy glow of Fenris' tattoos flared as he said, "Hawke."

"That's me," she replied with a casual grin.

"Don't you ever knock?" he said, breathing heavily as he took his stance again. His broadsword waster clattered into the barrel, and he grunted as he knocked it over with a burst of energy.

"Barrelled that one right over," Hawke murmured, and he snorted, swinging around again. "And I used to knock, but no one ever answered. You know that."

Shaking his pale hair back, Fenris stood up, muscles relaxing as he looked back at her, "So I should just walk in when I visit your home?"

"If I ever thought you would without prompting, of course," Hawke said, her voice softening. "You called it home."

"I suppose I did," he murmured, throwing the practise sword down to come closer. "Is there something you want?"

"A great deal, I'm afraid," Hawke sighed dramatically, following as he walked right past her up the stairs. She followed as he went to retrieve some water, drinking a great deal before wiping the sweat from his face. "Though I'm getting closer to being satiated."

"If that day comes, let me know," he murmured, retrieving some coin from the mantle. He smacked it down on the table beside Hawke. "What I owe you."

"Don't be serious, Fenris," Hawke said, shaking her head. "You have need for it far more than I do."

"Thank you for reminding me," he said, leaving the coin there. "Your charity has not gone unnoticed. Keeping me ever in your debt."

"My debt," Hawke said, arching a brow, "You're the one who keeps losing to Varric. You used to be much better."

"It was hardly my influence," he faintly said, turning away to settle on one of the stools by the fire. He stared at it as Hawke wandered nearby, wiping a finger through the dust on a painting. "Why did you come here, Hawke. Since you became Champion, house calls are no longer your forte."

"I was curious if you'd heard anything from Isabela," Hawke carefully said, as she meandered across the room, toying with one of her daggers.

Fenris scoffed, "Do you really think I'd tell you if I did?"

"I had a faint inkling," Hawke murmured.

"She is gone because of you," Fenris said, tightening his hand into a fist. Shaking his head, he said, "Go back to your damned mage."

"Go with the blue," Varric said from where he lounged, a foot up on her desk. "It's diplomatic."

"Yes, just what I want," Hawke rolled her eyes, standing on the stool in her smalls as a seamstress busied herself with the fabrics. The woman finished measuring her and held up the fabric for inspection. "I'm partial to red, it might hide the blood stains."

The seamstress gasped and flushed, glancing as Varric laughed, "Maybe, maybe. But it makes your face look splotchy."

"It does not," Hawke murmured, stepping to the bed to retrieve a looking glass. She took the fabric from the dressmaker, holding it to her breast. She sighed, "It does. Balls, I'm getting old. Go with the blue, the slim styling. Fashionable enough for you, dwarf?"

Varric nodded with a grin, glancing to where he wrote in Hawke's journal.

"Thank you, messere. I will return to fit it by month's end."

"Of course, thank you," Hawke said with a tactful smile, "One of my servants will see you out." The smile faded as the woman left, "Why did I decide to do this?"

"For political clout? To make Blondie jealous?" Varric said, tapping the quill against his lips. "Maybe just to screw with them, shit, I don't know. Dwarves don't do this sort of thing. Least not in the merchant's guild."

"I've heard word of it already." Hawke put on false airs, "Did you hear the Champion is going to the Thorton's spring gala. Their son Richard has an eye on her hand." Her voice shifted, higher in pitch, "My, what this world comes to when a Ferelden can rise so high." She turned again, and Varric snickered as she continued, "Really, Edith, show more respect to the woman." Hawke sighed, "I only know if she were my daughter, she would properly be wed." To which she countered, "You're merely jealous she didn't join your family for First Day – etcetera etcetera."

"That your plan for the party?" Varric smirked. "Wander around with drink in hand impersonating them all? I'd pay to see that."

"Then you owe me a few silver for the free show, mm?" Hawke said, tossing her mirror down on the bed as she reached for her trousers. "Besides, I know better than to drink at these things."

"Is Blondie joining you?"

"No, it's too risky." Hawke quietly said. "That was our one time in the sun. I think most imagine I am a lonely spinster now."

"Like they'd say it to your face," Varric said, getting up to help lace her protective under-brace. "The most eligible spinster, at least."

"Most of them are so stuffy and boring," Hawke sighed, holding it steady as he tied them tight. "They aren't the sort I want to drink with. They get annoying, racist and judgemental. Not like you, my dear dwarf."

"It is unfair of you to even think to compare them," Varric sighed, patting her back. He watched as she snagged the rest of her clothes, licking her lips as he thought. "You know, if you were wanting to make it a bit more interesting, I might have a few ideas."

Hawke thanked the young man for the safe walk home, rolling her eyes as she disappeared into through the door of her house. It was late, and she silently walked into the main hall, where the fire burnt low and cast long shadows across the room. Sighing, she pulled at the neat curls and pins holding her hair, raking her fingers through the thinned beeswax that held it in place.

She uncorked the bottle on her desk and took a drink straight away, turning into the library as she pulled the coin purse she'd lifted from her escort out of her bosom. Chuckling, she drank another few gulps of the stiff liquor, exhaling sharply as she saw Anders in the corner, asleep face down in a book.

Feeling the whiskey warm her belly, Hawke took another gulp and set the bottle down, her dress swaying as she quietly walked up behind him. When she leant over to pull the book he lay on, the cat in his lap woke and took a swipe at her.

Hawke hissed in reply, softly saying, "You'll wake him. Stupid cat."

Anders stirred, and the cat leapt off the table and scurried away. He mumbled something, groggily opening his eyes.

"What is so interesting you need absorb it directly through your face," Hawke murmured as she flipped a page in the book.

Snagging it back, Anders rubbed his cheek, where faint lines of ink melted into his stubble, "Oh - nothing. Just... waiting up for you."

"Good job," she chuckled, taking a few steps back to her bottle to take a drink. Hawke closed her eyes and swallowed it, already feeling the edges of her senses fuzz away. "It was a simply delightful evening, I assure you."

Anders neatly stacked and covered his books, latching them shut as he said, "Oh?"

"Well there was the young suitor who was so confident he could win the Champion's hand," Hawke said, tossing the coin purse on the table with a clink. "And Lady Abigail's prized gem." Another clink followed as she pulled it from a hidden pocket. "And so many more, it was really quite ridiculous," she laughed, tripping a moment in her heeled boots.

"What is all of this?" he asked, rising to follow her as she pulled another gold chain out of her bosom.

"You should have seen them," Hawke whispered too loudly, taking another drink before pushing the bottle to the back of the table.

"You - you were stealing from them," Anders furrowed his brow, picking up a locket from the table.

"They wanted the Champion at their soiree," Hawke said, waving her arms in the air in a tipsy display. "Maker, and I did it sober, I needed something to entertain me. Dancing stiffly, shrugging off men who barely know how to tug their pricks properly. Thinking they could woo me."

"So you just stole from them," Anders said. "Why would you do that?"

"It was something Varric challenged me to, he'll never believe it," she laughed, though the sound cut off as Anders snatched her hand. The small silken coin purse dropped, and the sovereigns spilled on the floor.

"You're a thief," his voice fractured deeper, hairline cracks of blue momentarily breaking his veneer. "Stealing what is not yours on a whim, for no other cause than your own vanity."

"Nothing new really it - hey," Hawke looked up to him, cheeks flushed from the drink as she tested her wrist. "It's not like I'm taking from people who actually need any of it."

"Nor do you," Anders said, his voice his own once more as he loosened his grip. "Why, Hawke? It isn't right."

"Is that you or Jusitice who thinks so?"

"It's always me. There is no one or the other. It is who I am," he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "I've never said otherwise."

Hawke slipped her hand around his neck, pulling him into her lips to kiss him. It was only when her lips found his neck and her hand his loins that he responded, twisting his fingers into the skirt of her dress. Anders exhaled as she bit his neck, tugging her closer and laying his forehead on her shoulder as she readily undid his trousers and teased him hard.

"Why," he whispered, breath stilted as she plied him so knowingly.

"Don't think," Hawke murmured in reply, squeezing and running her hand over the head of his shaft.

When Anders kissed her, he bit her bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of the whiskey on her. He shifted down to catch her thigh, and Hawke pushed herself up into his grasp, skirt bunching tight against them. Kissing her hard, he stepped her back to the table, and she hiked her skirt up, still toying with his shaft as his hands gathered the fabric too.

Pressing his face into her neck again, Anders panted out as Hawke wrapped a leg around him and drew him in, guiding their union. He slipped in, opening his mouth to lavish his tongue upon her skin, and her moan urged him on. Wrapping her hands up her back, he thrust up, thighs smacking the table beneath her as she twined her legs tighter.

"Yesss," Hawke whispered, flushed as she leant back into his arms. An arm around his neck, she put a hand on the table to steady herself against the rough jerks. The soft hiss of breath cut away into his lips, and her muscles tensed to roll into his rhythm.

Anders shifted his weight, breathing in her lips as they fucked. Putting his hand on the desk, his fingers slipped on the gem there. Picking it up, he stopped, and Hawke's legs slipped around his thighs.

"Wha - what is it," she softly panted, fingers plying the back of his neck.

Closing his eyes, Anders tossed the gem back across the desk and disentangled himself. Tucking himself back into his pants, he smoothed out his coat and stammered, "I need to go."

"Don't -" was all Hawke managed as he turned and left the library. Her legs dangling off the table, dress bunched and half-ruined, and she stared at the doorway, senses blurred away. She hiccupped and heard the door to the cellar click shut, and she looked at her spoils on the table beside her before reaching for the whiskey once more.