"Haven't seen you since the deep roads, Anders," she was leaning on the doorframe of his clinic, looking resplendent in her new, clean and expensive robes, just the right shade of blue to bring out the hazel of her eyes and the deep russet tones in her red hair.

She was… so very beautiful.

He busied himself with winding bandages and stacking poultices. She knew the right time to come to him, she always did, and he couldn't deny that he'd been hoping she'd stop by, but every time he'd thought of visiting he'd remembered the light of insanity in Alrik's eyes and stopped himself. The less association he had with her the better, and not just for his own reasons.

"Do you need healing, Hawke?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Anders…"

He looked at his hands, then up at her. Remembered she didn't know if her brother was alive or dead. Remembered her cradling his head in her hands when she thought he was sleeping. Remembered her helping him control Justice so he could heal Varric.

He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Hawke, but I'm busy here."

She quirked a smile at him. "You're always busy," the grin had something of the manic about it as she lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the door. "And there are no patients, come on."

He resisted. "What?"

"I want to show you my house you grumpy sod. Can't a girl show off a bit? Mother arranged it all while I was gone, we got the keys as soon as I gave them the bonds Varric arranged for us…"

He smiled and took a few steps forward, then remembered Alrik's cold blue gaze. If you are not here you will not be tolerated.

"I… I can't right now, Hawke…"

"Oh, come on and see my house you arse. I want to gloat and possibly dance naked in the hallways and that's no fun if there's no one there with me."

He smirked a bit at that. "Please, don't feel you need to dance naked on my account."

"Prude."

The irony of that statement hit him hard enough that he stopped resisting and allowed himself to be led. After all, Alrik couldn't expect him to stay in the clinic twenty-four hours a day, he needed supplies and to eat… and…

…he was being paranoid, he knew that. But the fear was still very much with him and he knew that part of the excuses were because he truly wanted to see Hawke taking pleasure in something, after those last few miserable days walking back through the deep roads without Carver when he had been scared he'd never see her smile at him again…

"You bought the Amell estate?"

"Reclaimed it, actually," she said as she fumbled with locks. They'd gotten some odd looks, on the way through hightown. Anders in his scruffy coat and untidy hair was a common enough sight, but not accompanied by the woman Hawke had become. He felt completely out of place, like his first time out of the circle. "Gamlen sold it without the proper deeds, and the slavers that took residence here have all been… re-housed."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Re-housed?"

"Killed," she grinned at him, finally working a key in the lock. The estate was virtually on the Viscount's doorstep, and he glanced up at the building with some trepidation.

At least it wasn't right outside the fucking chantry.

She tried to open the door but it stuck, dust billowing out from underneath it. "Haven't you been here yet?"

She shook her head. "No! I went straight to darktown after I got the key. I didn't want to go in by myself, it's been nearly a year since we were in there and we didn't go above the basement. The slavers were Tevinters it's possible there's been… blood magic or stuff going on inside. You know about that. So I thought I'd ask you to come along."

She didn't meet his eyes during the last speech and his heart started to speed up, thinking of exactly why she might have asked him to come here with him and wondering why on earth, after all she'd seen…

The door burst inwards and she stumbled, pulling him with her, over the threshold, laughing and tripping on too long skirts. He was certain he'd used to be more graceful than this, but he didn't manage to keep balance, not with the grip she had on his arm, and he ended up sprawled, breathless and boneless, on top of her in the dust.

"Maker, we just ruined your dress, Saoirse," he said. She laughed under him, things shaking and pressing against him as she did so in a way that was more than pleasant and he had to blink, suddenly, remembering she wasn't from the tower, they weren't in Amaranthine or Denerim and he couldn't do the natural thing, the thing he would always have done before, and lean down to catch that smiling mouth with his…

"Are you seriously," she said softly, having gone completely still under him as though she could read his thoughts, "worried about my dress?"

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Seeing as it almost certainly cost more than all my combined possessions, yes I am, Saoirse."

She wriggled delightfully under him and he repressed a groan, pushing himself up and away from her only to feel a strong hand hooked around his neck. "Where are you going?" she said, tone turned sultry. "I like you right where you are."

"Shei everyone can see in from the street here," he said, the name falling from his lips before he could think.

"I'm already the scandal of hightown, let them look."

He shook his head firmly and gently removed her hand so he could stand. She lay looking up at him for a moment, hurt plain in her eyes and ignored the hand he held out to help her up.

"Fine," he said, uncharacteristically grumpy with her, and turned his back on her to look at the foyer of what would be her new home. "You're right. It is huge."

"Strange to think mother grew up here," her voice floated up to him and he turned back to see she'd flipped onto her stomach and was tracing patterns in the dust that covered the stone floor. She was coated with the stuff, and he supposed he must be too. Ragged and filthy, the two of them. But her sunny mood had disappeared and he sighed, suddenly, realising that he had been the cause. There was a bench, on the side wall of the estate, and he made his way to it, sitting and looking at her.

"There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea Saoirse," he said after a pause, in which she drew a large collection of stick figures and what he assumed was a mabari attacking a bunch of darkspawn with staves.

"Why what is a bad idea?" she said sulkily, not looking up.

"You. And me. This. You know what I mean, Justice isn't the half of it."

She made a noncommittal sound and started drawing flames coming out of one of the stick figures hands. Obviously her, then, he was rubbish at fire.

"I'm an apostate…"

She held up a hand but he interrupted her before she could state the bleeding obvious "Yes, I know you are too, but you're not a wanted, known apostate. I'm… an abomination. And I'm a warden. You… you don't know all of what that means, not yet, and I can't tell you but suffice to say it's… not a good idea for someone like you to be with someone like me."

"You are someone like me."

"No. No I'm not, Shei. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry we didn't meet before…" Amaranthine… Justice… the circle… when would have been a good time? Truly?

She sighed, putting the finishing touches on her picture, which now included a couple of extremely crude griffons, then got up and kicked it away with, he was somewhat amused to note, her old boots - the ones she'd worn in the deep roads. The skirt of her dress had been long enough to conceal them until now.

"Come on let's check this place out," she said, not acknowledging what he'd said and barely looking at him.

The estate was massive. Rooms upon rooms. Anders thought he might have been able to get lost in the place. The concept of someone… two someones having it all to themselves… it didn't fit into Anders' head. Fenris' house was nearly as large, but the elf had settled for making camp in two or three rooms, and the rest of the place was falling into disrepair around him. And Anders had never had occasion, not in all his short life outside the circle, to be inside a nobleman's home on any sort of legitimate business, he was usually far too busy running or hiding to take in the furnishings and tapestries.

"What are you going to do with all the rooms?" he said, bewildered, after they'd shown themselves into yet another sleeping chamber - the fourth, by his count, although he could well have mistaken a drawing or sitting room for somewhere to sleep - apparently there was a difference.

She looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure," she said. "Mother seems to think we need them all furnished. I suppose… we're supposed to invite guests over? Hold balls or something? Isn't that what nobles do?"

"Hey, my family were farmers from the Anderfels, don't look at me for advice about how nobles behave."

She leaned against a dusty doorframe, suddenly looking small and vulnerable. "Andraste's tits, Anders, I hadn't really thought about… what that would mean."

"What what would mean?" he perched on the bed, resisting the urge to sneeze.

She waved a hand. "You know. Being nobility. I've seen the shit that Seneschal Bran and his cronies get up to. Aveline stands guard at some of those stupid parties to make sure the drunk guests don't get mugged on their way home…" she shifted again, eyes widening. "Actually, I suspect I may well have mugged a few of the guests on their way home, Anders. We did a lot of shady things when we were with Athenril…"

"And this is different from what you do now?" he raises an eyebrow at her and is gratified to see the smirk that spreads over her face and reaches her eyes.

"Now I have this legitimate mage-y fellow who follows me around," she said. The smirk faded then and she sighed, pushing herself off the doorframe and turning to leave the room.

He hurried off the bed and followed after her. "What is it, Saoirse?" he asked softly as they walked.

She glanced back at him and shook her head. "It should have been all three of us," she said, and a fist clenched at her side. "Fuck that, it should have been all four of us."

He touched her arm. There were empty words of comfort he could offer, but they would be just that: empty. He could give her no assurance that wouldn't be a lie, and he would not lie to her, not about this.

She turned to face him, and there was a tear on her cheek that he itched to catch with one finger. Instead he pulled her into a hug and stroked her hair with one hand, remembering a time when he'd been able to do this for his friends. Her arms came around him then and she shook a little bit before pulling back and sneezing violently.

"Shit," she said. "Dust. I'm so hiring someone else to clean the place before we move in." The laugh that followed was forced, but he smiled along with it, for the sake of wishing it hadn't been.

When he got back to his clinic he was covered in dust and melancholy and there was a line of patients outside the closed door. He apologised hastily and opened the door, slotting back into the role he had made for himself, and tried not to think of an empty mansion in Hightown with far too many rooms.