[Anders turns away from what he's poking at, making a show of thinking very seriously about this question: he purses his lips and looks up towards the ceiling, hand raised to gesture in the air like he's doing a series of calculations about accusations and plotting and so on. Ultimately, of course:]

Yes.

[There's no point he sees in mincing words; she's so openly hostile towards magic- towards him, for being a mage- that to tiptoe around the subject and hedge his own opinions in half-jokes and tolerant acquiescing would feel more disingenuous than usual. In Anders' experience, it's not actually the most hostile people who can be swayed by charm into treating him like a real person, but the ones in between the extremes. No one this angry to even be in his presence will be convinced to think of him as Anders, a little rebellious but mostly harmless, who should be treated gently to keep him in line. Not like at the Circle, eons ago.

So. Yes, he assumes she will absolutely kill him in his sleep with zero provocation. She's not shot him in the chest on sight, which is nice but also the bare minimum, he thinks.]

Yes, I would. I've spent long enough hunted and hated by people who spit it out when they call me healer, when they call me mage, to assume the worst of you for my own survival. I'm sorry if that upsets you.

[Kind of, anyway. Almost. He truly has no quarrel with her despite her overt fury that he's walking around this room, but that changes nothing about the reality he's the most familiar with: the people who hate mages enough won't hesitate.

So there, now they're on the same page, absolutely.]

You speak of your fears as fully justified in the same breath that you dismiss mine. I hope you find your acceptable healer.