A/N: Sorry about the delay! The past couple of days have been super hectic and filled with all kinds of troublesome feels, so I just haven't had the concentration to sit down and write. Thank you so much for the reviews! I really, really appreciate them, and they actually gave me the kick in the pants I needed. I love you guys! I apologize ahead of time for this chapter being kind of angsty. It is sheer coincidence that it coincides with my real-life-feels-issues. I just always got some very strong impressions of Leandra as I played through the game over and over again, so uh... if you prefer a kinder, more perfect Leandra I apologize. Also I still don't own Dragon Age. Shocking, right?

"Where were you all night? I was worried sick about you!" Leandra, anxious tension visible in her face, swooped down on Hawke the moment the mage walked in the door.

Hawke inwardly groaned, drawing a hand across her features in exasperation. Talking to her mother these days was never an easy task. It was always about Bethany and how she shouldn't have died, how Hawke should have saved her little sister. Or it was about the conditions in Gamlen's hovel, and, while Hawke wasn't arguing that the place was deplorable, she couldn't help but think that at least Gamlen had taken them in.

"I'm sorry to make you worry, Mother," she said, adopting that careful, cautious tone that had come to characterize her discussions with the older woman, "but I was fine. Really."

Leandra captured her daughter's jaw in both hands, peering into Hawke's eyes searchingly. "But where were you?"

Hawke resisted the urge to wince. She certainly couldn't tell the truth. Her mother would have passed out if she'd said she'd spent the night in a mansion being squatted in by a fugitive male elf from Tevinter.

"Isabela and Varric helped me get a room in the Hanged Man for the night," Hawke blurted out immediately, trying to force her lips into a smile. She hated lying to her mother, but she had to protect the woman—from the Darkspawn, from the Templars, from… from everything. "So now I owe them a round of drinks, but that's the least I can do, all things considered."

Leandra stared at Hawke for another long moment before relaxing and drawing the mage into a hug. "I'm sorry, dear. I know you're tired when you come home from trying to take care of us."

The mage just shook her head, returning the hug. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. I'm sorry too." Disengaging herself carefully from her mother's grasp, she took the opportunity to duck into the bedroom and find a clean robe.

"Are you leaving already?" Leandra asked from the other room.

"Yeah. I've got to get everyone gathered up so we can talk about the expedition. We've almost got enough gold to satisfy Bartrand, so we need to start planning out who's coming along." Hawke said as she tugged a pale blue robe on over her clean smalls.

"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

Hawke froze, biting her lower lip. This couldn't be good.

"Please, no matter what happens, promise me you won't take Carver along."

"I'll try to talk him out of it, but he seemed pretty set on going along…" Hawke replied doubtfully, her fingers flying along the tiny ivory buttons of her robe as she did the garment up. If she could just hurry up, she could get away from this conversation and everything it implied. If only she didn't have to think about it.

"He'll do as you say if you put your foot down. I just can't bear the thought of losing my little boy like I lost Bethany."

The words were like a punch in the face. Hawke covered her mouth with one hand, using the other to brace herself against the wall as she struggled for her composure. She angrily squeezed her eyes shut as she felt tears stinging at them, threatening to fall. With that last, thoughtless sentence, Leandra had managed to confirm every single dark doubt that had plagued her mind since they'd fled Lothering.

Leandra couldn't stand the idea of losing Carver. But what about her? Was it because she was the oldest? Because she was hell bent on protecting their family and no amount of pleading would keep her from putting herself in danger for them? Why wasn't she deserving of that protective air?

Hawke swallowed the unpleasant boil of feelings threatening to bubble up from her, and she hurriedly brushed at her eyes as she straightened. She was grateful for the wall between her and her mother—both walls, really. The ugly, stained, cracked wall of Gamlen's house and the carefully-guarded fortifications she'd figuratively put up between her and her mother.

"—and are you listening, dear?" Leandra asked, shaking Hawke from her thoughts.

"Yes. Sorry, I was just trying to… to think of what to say to dissuade Carver from coming along," She managed to fish the explanation up and emerged from the bedroom, a smile painted on her face. "Anyway, I should get going. The others are probably waiting on me already."

"I didn't mean to keep you. Are you going to take Winston with you?"

"Not today, I think. They don't like him being in the Hanged Man. Would you mind taking him for a walk later?"

"Of course, dear. You'll come home at a decent hour tonight?" Leandra's voice carried a stern, expectant note.

Hawke nodded dutifully and said her goodbyes, then fled from the house. Once outside, she took in a deep, steadying breath and glanced down the street toward the tavern. What she'd told her mother about having a sort of planning meeting for the expedition was true. Varric wanted to hammer out some of the major details and do another count on how much more money they needed.

"Hawke!" a voice called, making her turn.

Anders jogged over, giving her a warm smile. "It's good to see you. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. How are you today?" she replied, slipping into her practiced, pleasant tone once again.

"Glad to see I'm not the only one running late," he chuckled, his gaze flitting over her. "You look beautiful."

"Ah—thanks. Well, we shouldn't make the others wait, huh?" she asked quickly, eager to shift the other mage's attention away from her. He meant well, and she knew it. But he was just so… it was hard to explain. He was so overt with his feelings for her. After years of keeping almost everyone at arm's length, it made her uncomfortable to have someone so insistently push his feelings onto her. And maybe part of it was that it would just be too easy. Everything about Anders was easy—his laugh, his willingness to talk about himself, his feelings for her, his smiles.

That and the fact that she'd already lit her candle for a certain elf, one whose smiles were so rare and so fleeting, his nature so guarded…

It wasn't that she looked at Fenris as a challenge to be beaten or a conquest. Frankly, she didn't think he'd ever feel anything better than 'tolerance' for her, since she was a mage. But there was something in those large, dark eyes that she wanted to protect. He remembered so little of his life save for suffering and hatred and, even if he never returned her feelings, she just wanted to show him that there was still something good left in the world. That there were good people, good mages. That people were still capable of being gentle and thoughtful. That he deserved to be treated with dignity. That she would always respect him, no matter what.

"Hawke?" The feeling of Anders placing his hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she glanced around. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed they'd reached the Hanged Man and that she'd been about to just cruise right on past it.

"Oh- hey, we're here. Sorry about that," she laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Been a crazy couple of days."

"That's alright. After you, milady." Anders half-jested as he held open the door to the tavern for her.

Making sure she was composed, that her mask was firmly in place, she strode into the building to greet her friends.