A/N:

13: Something Nice

Beau was quiet as she ate, trying not to wolf everything down. She was well aware Ander's patient brown eyes were scrutinizing her and could feel color slowly building in her cheeks. "I miss my brother, and my sister," she was a bit surprised she had said it out loud, reluctantly raising her own eyes to meet his. She had eaten half of what he had given her, knowing she needed to let that settle before considering the rest. In the past, she would have scarfed it without thinking twice and wanted more. In the past, she had taken a bit better care of herself, even though she had been poor and usually starving. Now, now she had some coin and was forcing her body back into that poverty / survival mode out of depression and other emotional crap she was having a hard time controlling.

Isabeau rarely ever talked about her brother, about Carver. Anders remembered that first trip to Sundermount, they had camped out that night. "I can only imagine," he said finally, his tone carefully neutral as he popped a piece of bread into his mouth. She hadn't reached for the rest of her food, which was good, he didn't want her throwing everything back up or else she'd be getting another ice-cold shower courtesy of his staff. "What was Carver like?"

"A giant asshole to be honest," Beau snorted, taking the bowl of water he offered and sipped from it. Her throat felt parched, like she hadn't had anything to drink in ages when in fact, she had just been force fed a stream not so long ago. "Now that I think about it though," and all she had was time to think about things lately it seemed. "I can't blame him. When our father died, I became head of the family."

"What about your mother?"

"You know she was nobility here," he had been with them when they had gone to that vault a year ago. Had it really been a year? "She broke her betrothal to run off with my father."

Who had been a mage, Anders remembered. He had enchanted that worn satchel Hawke liked to carry around. It carried more than its size suggested, it had been rather ingenious.

"But I don't think she ever really thought about how her life was going to go. I mean, I'm all about making stupid, rushed decisions," it was sort of the story of her life actually. "But her… she never really got used to it, being poor and on the run all the time to hide father and then Bethany. Then coming back here after all that time, to nothing… Anyways," Beau didn't really like thinking about her mother, that hurt. Leandra hurt, period and Beau was practically living at the Hanged Man these days just to avoid 'home'. Granted, she spent time with her mother, but she tried to limit it to an hour or so a day. "So, when father died, she kind of just… I don't know, stepped back. So, I stepped up."

"And Carver?" Since that was who they had originally been talking about.

Quietly, Beau told him about how Carver had inadvertently been cast behind her and Bethany. She had become head of the household and joined King Cailan's army, sending the money home. Carver had followed and she winced at the memory. He had been trying to eke out his own name, his own way, and she had overshadowed him just by being herself. Then there had been Bethany and their constant having to watch out for her, that had not helped at all. "I was an ass to him…"

"To be fair, you're kind of an ass to everyone."

Yeah, she was.

"Now, tell me something nice about your brother," Anders wasn't sure what to think at the smile that spread across her lips. It was a genuine smile and he found himself smiling as well as she began telling him little stories.

Eventually, he left her to sleep on that cot. He wasn't sure what time she had finally fallen asleep, she had been tired, murmuring stories about Bethany and Carver until her head had lulled on his shoulder and silence had reigned. He laid her out carefully, covered her with the blanket and secured the clinic before retiring to his own bed.

Isabeau back in his life was going to be havoc for his mental and emotional health, he just knew it.

Beau woke up having a bit of a panic attack. Her head was clear, the room was fairly quiet for Kirkwall and dark. There was also no taste of cheap, bitter ale on her tongue. It took her a long moment to realize where she was, the faint odor of chokedamp, magic and medicinal things informing her she was in Ander's clinic. Frowning, she swung her feet over the cot, her toes automatically curling in protest at the cold, dirt floor. Most nights lately she spent on a hard bed in a tiny, scummy room at the Hanged Man, usually drunk to boot. Gamlen had no shortage of comments for her though he was smart enough to make sure Leandra was never around when he made them.

She was in the part of the clinic that Anders used to treat his patients. She knew he slept in the back; behind some privacy screens he had scrounged up. Quietly, she made her way towards his makeshift bedroom, peering around the screen. She was about to creep back to the cot, mentally chiding herself for being creepy, when she heard a change in his breathing pattern. It was harsh, panicked.

"Rolan…"

Rolan Who was Rolan? That curiosity left quickly because he was starting to do that weird blue-white lightening thing, where it kind of crackled and danced across his skin and lit up his face. She had seen this only once before, the first day she had met him and then met him at the Chantry. Justice.

"Anders?" Hesitantly, she moved closer, extending one hand until she was nearly touching his cheek.

A second later, her wrist was caught in a vise grip, she swore she saw sparks and his eyes were filmed in that blue and white light for a moment. "WHAT ARE-"

Beau was cringing because that voice was not Ander's, not entirely.

"you doing?"

That was and he sounded confused, half-awake, and his hold on her wrist went slack. She didn't move her hand, letting it hover just over his cheek, wondering if it was paranoia making her feel like she had just been burnt by that weird, crackling thing his body had done. "I woke up," she didn't think, just spoke and it sounded dumb even to her. "I-"

Anders was sitting up, forcing her to step out of his immediate space as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with his palms before blearily looking up at her. There was barely enough light coming from his near spent candle, burning low on the crate that served as a nightstand. "Did you have need of me?" he asked finally, sounding both concerned and exhausted.

Yes? That was her idiot heart whispering and she squished it, already knowing what he would say. He had said it once before. "No, I'm sorry for waking you." She was already backing away, leaving him to wake up.

Who is Rolan? Who are you Anders?