She didn't want to betray Orana's trust.
The poor girl had been a slave for so long, she was only just beginning to act like a free individual. Hawke still had to remind Orana that she had free time, she had money, and how she chose to spend either of them was entirely up to her. She happened to know that Bodahn gave her extra work a lot of the time, not because he thought that she wasn't doing enough, but because she was genuinely uncomfortable when she wasn't working. Orana's confidence was still fragile as sugar-glass; Hawke didn't want to break it.
But she couldn't help smiling when Orana came into the room, looking up eagerly when she spoke, timidly, and begging her to play the lute for her. Orana had such a beautiful voice, and Hawke could listen to her sing and play all day.
One night, Hawke returned to the mansion in a state of frozen horror. After one look at her both Orana and Bodahn knew that Mistress Amell was not coming back. Anders and Aveline explained quickly what had happened, and left her with the two servants. They stripped her out of her bloodstained leather armour and into warm, dry robes. They wrapped her in a blanket and Orana ran to the kitchen for a mug of hot tea. They set her in front of a blazing fire. But for all that they did, Hawke remained still and cold, eyes staring straight ahead.
"Go to bed, Bodahn," Orana murmured. "I'll stay up with her." The elf was worried that Hawke would let the mug drop from her stiff fingers, and it would smash and she would cut herself. Bodahn nodded and vanished.
"Mistress, I'm so sorry." Even in Hawke's dazed mind, she knew that Orana meant it. "Mistress Amell always treated me so well."
"Can you call me Hawke?" Her voice was cool and detached, not at all like she thought it would be. Hawke wanted to scream, to sob roughly. It wouldn't come out.
"Of course," she said soothingly. This wasn't like Orana, Hawke thought numbly. "Can I get you more tea?"
The mug was full, although it had already grown cold. "No…did I do something wrong?"
"Wrong? Hawke?"
"If I had just…if I had, I don't know, done something, would…"
"No, no," Orana shushed her. "There was nothing you could have done. There wasn't a right or wrong way. The only thing you could have done is what you did; you went after her. You held her. You let her know you loved her." Orana's voice faltered for a moment. "Every day I wish I had done that for my father."
"I'm sorry about your father," Hawke mumbled. "I never said that. I'm very sorry."
Orana stood up. "I'm going to get you another blanket. You look cold." She stooped and printed a very light, sweet kiss on Hawke's forehead. As she left, Hawke clutched the blanket around her tighter.
She wasn't alone.