The Hightown mansion was festooned with flowers and garlands, colorful lanterns bathing the attending nobles in a pleasing golden glow. Like peacocks they pranced around the dance floor, one dress more outrageous than the next. Hawke wasn't sure exactly how some of them stayed on at all; maybe the better class of Kirkwallers wasn't as opposed to magic as the chantry would have them believe. His mother had laughed at the suggestion, and proceeded to tell him more about what went on under women's dresses than he had ever wanted to think about. No wonder Isabela wore as little as she could possibly get away with. Of course she would have loved this party all the same, as would he, had not his mother insisted on presenting him with an endless row of giggling girls. Available giggling girls.

"Traitor," Hawke mouthed under his breath as soon as his mother veered off to intercept another nobleman with a daughter of suitable marrying age.

"What?" Anders asked innocently, stroking his chin, freshly shaven for the occasion. He struck a surprisingly handsome figure when he let his hair down and dressed up.

"You were meant to discourage my mother from these things, not cheer her on!" Hawke was still glad his lover had agreed to come at all, there had been a brief but painful argument as the mage had managed to overcome his rather vocal inner protests at doing something as frivolous as this. He had been more than happy to invite Anders to live with him, what he hadn't counted on was that he would have to deal with Justice too. Oh well, any relationship was work in progress.

"Maybe I just like to watch you squirm," the mage said innocently, no trace of his earlier reservations. Justice had apparently disapproved enough to leave the mage alone for the moment.

"There are far more pleasurable ways to go about that you know." Words followed by an evaded grope.

"I know, but I doubt they would make Leandra half as happy," Anders said, looking at Hawke's mother where she now stood talking to an older, rather distinguished gentleman.

"True that, but…" Hawke said thoughtfully as he watched Leandra smile and laugh. Maker, when was the last time he had seen her laugh like that? "Aren't you jealous?"

"I would be if I thought I had reason to. Do I?"

"Of course not," Hawke said. "And mother knows how I feel about you; it's just this whole blasted family line thing. Nobles can't marry out of love, they marry to unify houses and produce heirs. And with Carver dead and Bethany in the gallows, I'm the one option left for re-establishing this branch of the Amell family. Someone should tell her that she was the one that fell in love with an apostate mercenary and ran away to become a farmwife in Ferelden."

"I think she knows that," Anders said softly, "why else would she avoid pressing the issue? She wouldn't want to force you into making a run for it."

"I wouldn't do that," Hawke admitted reluctantly. "She deserves her happiness. Maker knows there's been enough grief in her life lately."

"And doesn't she look happy playing the matchmaker?" Anders asked, nodding at Leandra, who had now been pulled out for a dance despite her teasing protests. "She hasn't looked more alive in the years I've known her."

"So what you are telling me is that I should suck it up and perpetuate the illusion that I am an available bachelor so mother keeps getting invited to parties?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you."

"And the fact that you get to come along and enjoy the bountiful Hightown life has nothing to do with it?" Hawke teased, lips quirking in the faintest of smiles.

"Not a thing," the healer said innocently. "I am a simple and caring man."

"A simple and caring man with his third helping of pie," Hawke pointed out.

"What can I say? Pie is delicious." Anders' teasing smiled failed a little, as always happiness and despair lay too close for the man. "Even if…"

"No ifs," Hawke interrupted before the moment was lost. "I don't want to… oh blast it, come!" He quickly pulled the mage back, weaving through the crowd until they were safely hidden behind some painted screens.

"What?" Anders asked, voice tight with tension, expecting an attack at any moment.

"Seamus," Hawke said, not noticing the faint glimmer of heat around the mage's fist since he was too busy peering out behind the screen. "I have no intention spending another evening discussing the virtues of the Qun. Again."

"You arse," Anders said with fond exasperation, relaxing slightly. "I thought… well, no matter what I thought. Seamus is not that bad. He likes you"

"He likes the fact that I told his father the Viscount that he was right." It wasn't like Hawke disliked Seamus, it was just that right now he had other things on his mind than the Qun, fascinating though the Qunari might be.

"You will never be a diplomat Hawke. But I have to admire your balls," the other thing on Hawke's mind said, gesturing a little with his tiny fork.

"You have. Repeatedly," Hawke said with a lewd grin. "Okay, the coast is clear."

"I mean it," Anders said, putting a hand on Hawke's shoulder to keep him from stepping back out in the crowd. "By my count you should have been thrown in jail, banished or assassinated at least four times since moving to Hightown."

"The Arishok at least appreciates my candor," Hawke said, sounding wounded.

"Don't take diplomatic lessons from the Qunari," Anders cautioned.

"I don't. I treat my mages far better for example," the rogue said, stealing the last bit of Anders' pie, licking his fingers afterwards.

"You do," the mage said, watching Hawke's mouth despite himself. "It's not often people buy clothes for me." He ran his fingers over the waistcoat he wore, looking like he wasn't quite sure whether he liked dressing like this or loathed it.

"I couldn't very well drag you here in your ratty old coat, could I? Besides, mother bought them," Hawke said with a shrug, looking over the mage. Not because of the clothes, mostly because he just loved looking at him. Sometimes he did it just to remind himself that this was real.

"Your mother bought me clothes?" Anders asked, eyebrows shooting up.

"I told you she liked you," Hawke said, leaning in to place a light kiss at the corner of Anders' mouth. The mage was just too kissable. When he pulled back he caught a familiar reddening to his lover's cheeks. "Maker's breath… are you blushing?"

"No, it's just hot in here," Anders said, blushing further.

"I thought that was just me." Hawke preened a little.

"That one was bad even coming from you," Anders said with a helpless laugh.

"They can't all be classics," Hawke said, shrugging. "And you'd better be prepared that now that you are a part of the Hawke household, she will keep doing these things for you. Before long you'll wake up to find your clothes cleaned and your favorite foods on the table and you'll have no say in the matter."

"Andraste's ass, I don't need for her to do that, I…"

"Shush," Hawke said, placing a finger over Anders' lips. "She does this because she wants to take care of someone. The house is too empty, and she and Bodahn are in this friendly war trying to outspoil one another. She was born a noble, but she lived most her life as a mother running a farm. She gets restless, and well… it takes her mind off what she has lost. So you will kindly shut the blight up and resign to your fate of being spoiled rotten."

"And deflect some of her concerns from you?" Anders asked, giving Hawke a knowing glance.

"Maker, yes," the rogue said hopefully. "I need to be able to breathe again."

"You are not nearly as much of an arse as you pretend to be," the mage said, wrapping his arms around Hawke. The kiss lasted until they had to come up for breath, the room and the party forgotten.

"You are, without a doubt, the best kisser I have ever met," Hawke said as he slid a hand down, giving Anders' behind a squeeze. This time the mage made no attempt to evade his hands.

"Seneschal Bran is glaring at us again," he said instead, freeing himself reluctantly.

It was true; the Seneschal had spotted them behind the screen, and did his best to look as disapproving as was humanly possible.

"That man appreciates my wit even less than you," Hawke said, frowning in disapproval. He knew he could not match the Seneschal though; it was like trying to stare down a Mabari. Futile. "And doesn't approve of the way I have been handling the Qunari either."

"Or maybe he just doesn't approve that the Viscount turned to you rather than him," Anders pointed out.

"Hmm maybe," Hawke pondered. "I suppose that's… no, I think it's just me. He really doesn't like me." It had been that way since the start; some people just did not understand what he was all about. Most people in fact, but Hawke liked to think that he was like an aging cheese. Most people just smelled the stink, but those brave enough to have a taste found it worth the effort.

"Oooor," Anders added with a tiny wave at the Seneschal, "maybe he just doesn't appreciate that the healer that treated him for crotch-rot goes to the same parties he does. That rather defeats the purpose of seeking out seedy Darktown healers in the first place."

"You are a rather seedy character, that's true," Hawke admitted. "And that's not even counting the apostate part."

"Quiet," Anders hissed under his breath. "Somebody could overhear."

"I think half of them already know." Hawke looked around the room, where Seneschal Bran now had fled the field, leaving them alone in a crowd of nobles he couldn't name if his life depended on it. "If there's something I've learned about Hightown it's that the nobles are very good at looking to their own self interest rather than following someone else's agenda."

"I have to admit that these people are useful at times," Anders said quietly. "I can charge an arm and a leg and they won't complain. It's a certain kind of Justice that treating a single noble case of crotch-rot enables me to save a dozen people they would never deign to look at if they stumbled in their path." Anders face had grown hard and intense again, looking at the surrounding people in their finery, with their money and their prejudice towards the mages. Judging them.

"Including the one that probably gave him the itches in the first place," Hawke quickly joked, trying to bring back the mage from the brink of seriousness. That seemed to be his new mission in life.

"That would be Isabela," Anders said, his shoulders relaxing slightly under Hawke's hand.

"Really? I never noticed anything wrong with her." Hawke felt that they had reached a point now when joking about his previous relationships should be safe enough. He hoped. Not like he could stop himself.

"And why is that you think?" Anders asked, eyebrow raised.

"Anders… Maker's breath," Hawke said, realizing what the mage was getting at. He was such an idiot never to have connected the dots in the first place. "How long have you been looking out for me?"

"Long enough," the mage admitted with an embarrassed shrug. "I cared about you long before we wound up together."

"I am not sure whether you are a sucker for punishment, or just a sucker, but you are getting laid for that."

"I would rather have hoped I would have gotten laid anyway."

"Not here you wouldn't," Hawke said, the smile growing wide and wicked. "Let's find a suitable room to scandalize."