12: Lost, Afraid and Smelly

The last time Beau had come to the Chantry, it had been to help an apostate. Or it had started out that way, she had actually wound up killing several templars and she wondered if she were adding insult to injury by setting foot in here again. Her mother came weekly for the services and had tried to coax her into going but Beau still felt a bit guilty. At least until now.

She wasn't with Leandra, she had come by herself, needing to be out of the house. Mother was now putting her efforts into reclaiming their home. They now had some money but Beau wasn't expecting that to pay off anytime soon. Varric was still selling some of the things they had discovered down in the Deep Roads, so more monies would eventually be rolling in. Varric was also holding onto her coin for her, she didn't trust Gamlen, or anyone else for that matter, to not break into her room and steal it.

She didn't know what to say to the sisters when they greeted her, remembering her encounter with sister Petrice and really hoped she wouldn't run into that evil harpy today. She would hate to have to shed more blood in this holy house. Actually, she had no idea what she was even doing here anymore. It had seemed like a good idea, to finally venture to the Chantry, and maybe… who knew. Maybe she was looking for forgiveness, or just a way to relieve herself of the burdens it felt like she was carting around, had been carting around. That was stupid, this was stupid.

Even if the Maker cared, he would definitely not care about her, not after what she had done.

With that thought in mind, Beau turned to leave, nearly walking directly into none other than the Grand Cleric and she prayed to be struck down right then and there. "I beg your pardon, Grand Cleric," she murmured, hastening to step back.

The Grand Cleric stared at her thoughtfully, her eyes serene. "You are Leandra's daughter." She said after a moment, her tone gentle and kind. "You resemble her."

"Thank you."

"I have not seen you for services."

"I, uh…." Beau could feel her face flushing and stared down at her foot, noting how dirty her shoes looked against the pristine floor. "I'm sorry," she now felt like a little girl again, though she knew she was not being reprimanded. "I'm sorry?"

"Do not be sorry, child. Just know that you are always welcome here, even if you feel you are not."

"Your Grace?"

"You look lost, and afraid."

She felt lost and afraid.

"Special delivery for the apostate."

If it had been anyone else, Anders might have seriously considered setting the fool on fire, as it was, since it was Hawke, he was going to make an exception. He set aside the papers he had been writing on and pushed away from the table he had made into his workstation, his desk. He hadn't seen her since the day Bethany had been taken and that had been months ago. He had kept tabs on her, sort of, through Varric whenever he ventured into Lowtown- more specifically the Hanged Man- for a drink, and some relief against the darkness of… Darktown. She hadn't been up too much. Drinking with Isabela at night, spending time with her mother, and clearing out gangs at night for coin though why she felt the need to earn more coin when she probably had a fortune now was beyond him.

He turned to look at her and hesitated. She looked gaunt and her ebony hair was lank and greasy, falling down over her shoulders in unkempt, matted waves. She was wearing torn, brown trousers and a shirt that matched, both looked too big for her. What was really disturbing was the fact that she looked like she was covered in filth. "Isabeau…." Lastly, he noted the crate she was carrying, another shipment from Lirene no doubt.

She hadn't missed the way his gaze surveyed her and for the first time in months felt self-conscious about her looks. Never would she receive awards for being beautiful but she had never considered herself to be homely either. Maybe now… she had lost weight and she could probably do with good washing and proper clothes, homely it was. "Don't look at me like that. Where do you want this?"

He strode across the dirt floor to take the crate from her, scowling. "You look like shit."

"Well thank you, I missed you too."

Anders snorted at that, setting the crate down out of the way before turning back to her. "Maker Hawke, when was the last time you bathed? I can smell you from here."

"I thought I was blending in with the locals…" she said finally. "You know, by reeking the same as they."

"Clever. Hold still."

"Hold-" Beau let out an ear-piercing shriek when a spray of water, cold water, hit her, turning immediately to present her back to it. "Anders!"

"I'm sorry Hawke, but you're not going to remain covered in that… whatever it is. You're disgusting and you need a bath." She was going to murder him for this and probably harass him for abusing his magic but desperate times and all that. When he felt she might have been adequately clean, he lowered his staff and waited for it.

Slowly, she turned around, looking at him out of narrowed green slits that might have been eyes. She felt, and probably looked, like a drowned rat. "I'm going to shove that staff so far up your arse, you'll have magic spitting out of your eyeballs." She informed him, taking a soggy step forward, hoping her threat didn't lose its intimidation factor due to her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

It had because he was not impressed, nor worried. Instead, he simply walked up to her and took her hand, guiding her towards the back of the clinic and away from the puddle he had created on what was arguably his floor. "You don't smell anymore," he informed her after taking a testing scent.

"B-brill-i-iant." Beau sat down on the cot he directed her towards, watching as he gathered up blankets. "I-I'm not s-staying here."

"You can't go out soaked, you'll catch your death."

The look she gave him clearly said 'and that would be your fault'.

"I'll not have you smelling of dog shit and whatever else you've obviously been rolling in," he knew he sounded heartless but right now, it seemed Beau needed a good kick in the backside to get her going again. "I'm going to turn away now, take off your wet things and I'll lay them out to dry."

Beau watched as he turned away and began trying to manage her clothes with stiff, trembling fingers. "Not afraid I'll stab you in the back?" she demanded, once she was sure there would be no more chattering teeth to impede her speech. "I'm very tempted."

He didn't doubt that but said nothing, just listened to the telltale sounds of clothing being removed. It was tempting to turn, to maybe try glimpsing, what lay beneath those disgusting articles that had once been clothing but several things stayed him. They were friends, that was all they ever could be, and there was no point in teasing himself with what he would never, could never, have. She was also very likely skin and bones by now, not the lean but healthy woman he had met all those months ago.

When she gave him the all-clear, he turned and surveyed her with a more clinical eye than he had thought he would possess. She wasn't as emaciated as he had imagined but if she didn't begin taking care of herself, she would probably wind up on one of his cots. "I understand you're heartsick over Bethany, Isabeau, but starving yourself won't do either of you any good." He was going to go with the cruel to be kind route, so far… it had worked, she didn't stink anymore.

"Shut your mouth."

He was draping her wet clothing over a table now, glancing at the door without much concern for her words, he knew she was now running on her own hot air. He wondered if maybe he should just burn these rags, sincerely hoping he hadn't just bathed lice. The last thing he needed was to find body vermin on himself. "It's late out," he remarked, not really to her in particular, walking over to close those doors he had been eyeing. If someone actually wanted to force their way inside, it wouldn't be hard, but they would be greeted by a very angry mage. "You can sleep here tonight."

"No, I can't, my mother would throw a fit and Isabela's expecting me for cards."

"Isabela will have to do without you," cards indeed, he snorted, beginning to sort through the crate she had brought. Lirene had been sending him things he needed, blankets, extra potions and poultices when she came into them, and recently, clothing. Some of it worthless, fit for nothing but rags -which he also needed for bandages and mopping up whatever. Some of the articles he tended to pass out to those who needed it; he rarely wore trousers so there was no point in keeping them. "I'm sure she'll find a new drinking partner."

"That's none of your business."

"How old are you, Hawke?"

She seemed taken aback by the change in topic, eyeing him suspiciously as he pulled what looked like a shift from the crate. "Twenty-five."

Maker that seemed so young to him, though he was only just past thirty-two himself. "You've got plenty of time then to develop some sort of illness from indulging in too much drink then, no point in starting early."

Beau caught the shift when he tossed it her way, eyeballing the garment. It was respectably clean and near her current size, and she slipped it on quickly. Adjusting herself on the cot, she then tucked her feet underneath her and rewrapped herself in the blankets, watching as he continued sorting through the crate. She hadn't been avoiding Anders per se; she had just had other things to do. She had run into Lirene in the market, the other woman looking as exhausted as ever. There had been no small talk, only the basic greetings before Lirene had asked her to deliver the crate. She hadn't had the good sense to say no and now, now she was at risk for pneumonia and death via irritation.

"When was the last time you ate anything?" he asked, still bent over the crate.

That was a good question and Beau was a little embarrassed when her stomach rumbled, answering for her. She had been doing a good job of keeping it topped off with liquids and things she could gnaw on while she wandered about. But a proper meal or something even halfway close to resembling a proper meal… not so much.

Snorting, Anders finally finished his task and glanced at her. "I've only bread and cheese, but that's probably more than you've had lately, I'd wager."

He'd of been right with that wager so Beau kept her mouth shut, wiggling her toes. She was warm again, somewhat, and her anger was receding as other things came to the forefront. Such as, she was starving. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten something besides a crust of stale bread or perhaps a piece of dried rabbit, something substantial. She really, really had been neglecting her family, such as it was. Though she doubted her mother had noticed and Gamlen didn't care. Loghain, poor Loghain… she fed, watered, and took him out but that was about it. "I'm such a shit," she sighed, leaning back against the wall.

Anders agreed with that, just not openly. He was busy gathering up supper, a bit surprised when he found what looked like a mince pie in his meager food stores. He eyeballed it, trying to recollect when he had acquired it. It didn't look disgusting, no mold, he gave it a sniff then shrugged. He was a healer, if it came down to food poisoning, they'd be uncomfortable but not dead. He hoped. Gathering everything in his arms, he carried it back to the bed, looking pointedly at her. "Budge up."

"Budge… oh," clearing her throat, Beau shuffled down the narrow cot, shifting until her bare legs were hanging over the side and tried not to let her freshly cleaned toes touch the floor. Anders seated himself at the opposite end, setting the food out between them. Her stomach gave another embarrassing growl as she took in the humble spread. "Is this the part where I thank you for showing me the light?"

"No," he was laying out two pieces of relatively clean cloth, dividing their portions, and made sure she got the larger shares. "This is the part where you apologize for smelling the way you did."

"It wasn't that bad."

"I've smelled brood mothers who didn't reek as bad as you did."