At Your Side (A Dragon Age fanfiction)

Viddathari

Things were quiet in Kirkwall for over a month. Hawke was glad for the peace. She spent hours working in her garden, the familiar energizing joy of helping things grow filling some of the space left behind by her mother's passing. The others were devoted in their attentions, dropping by to help or to shoot the breeze, depending on their level of comfort with dirt. Fenris turned out to have a surprising aptitude for gardening, once he stopped being self-conscious about it. Hawke was aware that he was keeping an eye on her—the streets were unusually empty of mercenaries and brigands these days, and Fenris would often turn up wherever she was going, sweating and bloodied. The night he'd spent reading to her after her mother died was added to the list of things they didn't talk about.

Her feelings for him hadn't faded—Evelyn knew she was recovering from her grief the first night she dreamt of Fenris touching her, and she occasionally caught a look in his eyes that said he hadn't forgotten what that felt like—but she had her friend back. And that was enough, at least for now.

A note had come from Bethany, sorrowful but impersonal, along with official sympathies from Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino. Viscount Dumar had seen his son to the Maker in a ceremony Saemus would have utterly despised, and had promptly shut himself in his office, refusing to see anyone. Seneschal Bran appeared to be keeping the city on its feet. He hadn't had time to come visit Hawke, even had he wanted to. She was glad she had broken things cleanly off between them—he was too much of a noble to have ever understood her, or she him, for that matter.

On a sunny day in mid-Drakonis, Hawke had just finished collecting the raspberry canes she'd spent all morning pruning when Bodahn appeared in the garden. "Messere," he said, his forehead creased with more worry lines than usual. "The Captain and, er, the Captain are here. They seem agitated."

Bodahn's formality could occasionally be confusing. 'Captain' could cover Aveline, Isabela, or Cullen, and probably a few other people Hawke couldn't call immediately to mind. She sighed, stripping off her gardening gloves. Whoever they were, they could take her in the ripped and stained tunic she wore in the garden.

Aveline was pacing in front of the fireplace, her arms folded, muttering to herself.

Isabela's voice came from the upper floor. "She's not in bed, more's the pity."

"Do you think this is the time for your frivolity, whore?" Aveline snapped. She looked around as Hawke came in. "Thank the Maker. Hawke, I need your help."

"Wait, Hawke, I have to tell you—" Isabela started, running down the stairs.

"Not now!" Aveline snapped. "I have real problems, not the kind a strumpet like you runs into; 'which rash is it this time' and 'who's the father'!"

"Why, you!" Isabela lunged for the Guard-Captain.

Hawke stepped between the two, gently but firmly pushing them apart. "How about we take this one at a time," she said. This kind of bickering she hadn't missed. Not at all. "Aveline? Make it short, please."

"Two elves murdered one of my guardsmen." Aveline's eyes flashed. "Wilhelm wasn't much of a guardsman—he spent more time in the stockade than on patrol—but he was one of my men, and they killed him. Now they've fled to the Qunari. They claim to have converted, but it must be a ploy to avoid justice."

"You don't think their conversion could be genuine?"

"A convenient time to find the Qun, don't you think? Besides, Qun or no Qun, murderers don't get away in my city. Especially not when they attack one of my men."