FYI, the Hawkes have moved into Hightown at this point, so, no, I didn't have a little kid frolicking through Darktown, just the 20 or so feet from the cellar door to the entrance. :)
It was a blessedly slow day at the clinic; only a few broken bones and a minor kidney infection. Truly, he loved the summer months; the warm weather (and the corresponding influx of available work and food) really cut down on his work. Consequently, with no patients and no work this week from the Hawke twins, Anders was attempting to use his free time productively. Attempting was the key word in that sentence. After half a dozen ruined parchments, he was about to give it up as a lost cause when he heard the doors to his clinic slam open and shut. Before he even had a chance to fully rise out of his desk chair in the back room, he found himself with an armful of shaking Aislin Hawke, who proceeded to make herself comfortable in his lap.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he soothed, rubbing comforting circles on her back, "what's the matter?"
"I think I did a bad thing," came the muffled reply from his chest.
"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm sure whatever it is, it can't have been that bad."
Aislin gave an emphatic nod against his chest.
"Why don't you just tell me, Sweetie, and we can fix it together."
After some more coaxing, she finally pulled away enough for him to resettle her on his lap. She was getting to be a bit big (and heavy) for this, but he'd worry about his discomfort later.
"Now Aislin, what did you do that was so bad?" he asked, trying to keep his tone serious in the face of her obvious fear. Nothing was more insulting to a child, especially this child, than not being taken seriously.
Aislin lifted her small hand and screwed up her face in concentration. Confused, Anders quietly waited for her to explain herself. Just as he was about to question her again, her hand began to glow, sending out the tiniest bit of arcane energy.
Instantly, Anders jovial mood disappeared. A mage, little Aislin was a mage. Why her? Maker, why his little sweetling? Anders loved the little girl, all her "aunties" and "uncles" did (even that sour-faced elf couldn't deny her anything). Taking a fortifying breath, shoving his fear for her down deep, Anders looked down at her terrified face and smiled.
"Now, Sweetheart, what's so bad about that?"
Sniffing back tears, Aislin lowered her hand and looked back up at him. "The Chantry says magic is bad. It's why Grandmamma and Grandpapa always had to run."
Taking a deep breath (damn the Chantry and their hate! Making this poor little girl afraid of her gifts, afraid of herself), Anders pushed down his anger. No point in scaring her even more.
"No, Sweetie. Magic isn't bad at all. Magic is a gift, a wonderful gift from the Maker. There are just…some people in this world that can't see that."
Aislin's face crumpled in, eyes filling with tears. "I don't wanna go to the Circle!" she wailed. "Don't let them take me away, Uncle Anders!"
Anders held his little sweetling tight as she sobbed. "Never, Sweetheart; I'll never let them take you. I promise."
Finally, after many tears, Aislin wore herself out. Anders was still rocking her when his clinic doors slammed open and shut yet again. He was still trying to maneuver his way into a standing position without waking her when Carver rounded the corner, looking frazzled.
"Anders! Have you seen—oh, figures she'd run to you." Despite the surly tone, Anders could see that he was relieved to see his daughter alive and unhurt. "She told you, then?" Carver continued in a quieter voice, helping Anders shuffle Aislin over to a nearby cot.
"Yeah. Hard to believe, isn't it?" Anders replied as the men moved to the front of the clinic.
"Maker, I don't know what to do," Carver admitted, running a hand over his face. He looked like he had aged ten years. "I mean, obviously Beth and Merrill, and you, I guess, can train her, but…I don't know. I always thought, at least if anything ever happened to me, Aislin would be safe. That, if nothing else, the Templars couldn't get at her. What am I supposed to do? How do I tell my six year old that there are people out there that want her dead or locked up because of who she is, of what she can do? How do I…how do I keep her safe, Anders? How am I supposed to protect my daughter from this?"
"You're not alone in this, Carver. You've got friends, you know. And as for what you'll tell her…well, I suspect you'll say something similar to what your father told Bethany. You'll tell her that her abilities are a blessing, not a curse; that, yes, there are some people in this world that will fear her, but it's just because those people can't see how wonderful she really is. We'll get through this, Carver."
A shuffling noise caught both of their attention before Carver could respond. A tousled Aislin padded softly around the divider that sectioned off the back of the clinic. "Daddy?"
Despite the tumultuous emotions rolling around inside him, Carver fixed a smile on his face as he walked over and scooped up his little girl.
"Hey there, little flower. You gave me quite a scare, running off like that."
Aislin looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I got scared. I didn't mean to, I promise." Aislin looked ready to cry again.
"Didn't mean to do what, baby?" Carver asked gently, knowing and fearing the answer.
"I didn't mean to do magic, Daddy," Aislin whispered.
Carver hugged his daughter close. "Hey now, don't cry. There is nothing-nothing-in this world that you could do that would ever make me love you less."
"But the Chantry says—"
"The Chantry is full of fools." Taking a deep breath (and worrying that that came out a little more harsh than he intended), Carver tried a new tactic. "Do we love Auntie Beth or Auntie Merrill or Uncle Anders any less for having magic?" He waited for her to shake her head 'no' before he continued. "Well then why would we love you any less for it? Hmm? Hmm, my little flower?" he asked, tickling her ribs as she squirmed and giggled in his arms. When she was breathless and laughing, he stopped and looked her straight in the eye. "We all love you, Aislin, and nothing is going to change that."
Aislin nodded with all the solemnity of a six year old before latching her arms around his neck in a fierce hug.
"Now, let's get back home, shall we? I'm sure Grandmamma has supper all fixed and waiting for us by now."
Carver nodded his thanks to Anders and walked out the clinic doors, Aislin waving over her father's shoulder. Watching them go, waving back, Anders felt a renewed sense of purpose. This, this little girl, was what he was fighting for. Settling himself back at his desk, he pulled out a new piece of parchment and began to write.