Aveline found Hawke down by the water, staring out at the Waking Sea, as far from the imposing fortress of the Gallows as she could get. They were outside the walls of the harbor, on the opposite side, to get away from the ships and bustle of the docks. More Fereldans just like themselves arrived every day, penniless and starving and sick as mabaris from the long journey across the waves.
Their own ragtag band of refugees had camped out in a stone alcove within the Gallows courtyard, almost shoulder to shoulder with other families that had managed to flee the darkspawn. It was cramped, dirty, and loud all the time. Carver complained almost constantly, and Leandra spent much of her time crying softly into her hands. Aveline didn't blame Hawke for wanting to get away.
They didn't know each other, not really, but two weeks of fighting for their lives at each other's side had brought them closer than they had any reason to be.
"Hawke," Aveline said. The other woman did not turn around.
"It's been three days, Aveline," Hawke said. She could not keep the desperation from her voice. "This waiting is killing me."
Aveline approached her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Finally, Hawke turned. Her crystal-blue eyes were brimming with tears. Aveline was taken aback. Hawke had kept her emotions so well-controlled around her family. It seemed she had finally reached the breaking point. Aveline did the only thing she could: she pulled Hawke into a strong embrace.
Hawke broke.
"I just keep imagining the worst, Aveline," she whimpered against her friend's shoulder. "What if Gamlen doesn't come for us? What if he can't get us into the city? And what if - what if the templars come for me?" Her last sentence came out in a harsh whisper, and she drew in a ragged breath. Aveline pulled back, green eyes searching.
"They'll have to go through me," Aveline said firmly. "You saved my life in the Wilds. I don't leave my debts unpaid."
Hawke gave a small, watery smile before her face fell again. "I keep reliving it," she whispered. "Bethany's death. It's horrible."
"I know," Aveline said heavily, and Hawke knew she was remembering Wesley. Hawke sat down on the stone steps, looking out at the sea once more. The wind tousled her shaggy black hair, whipping it around her face. Aveline took a seat beside her.
"Tell me about her," Aveline said. "Bethany. Before the Blight."
Hawke shrugged. "We were sisters," she said. "I was six when she and Carver were born. By then my father had already begun teaching me to control and hide my magic. When Bethany was old enough, he trained us together." Hawke smiled at a memory. "Beth had a knack for elemental magic. She sent a fireball at Carver once when she was little. It was an accident. She couldn't have been older than four or so. Burned his shirt clean off - he still has the burn scar on his back. She cried more than he did, she felt so bad."
Aveline chuckled. "She sounds like a great person."
"She was. Mother used to call her 'little miss sunshine.' I still can't believe she's gone." Hawke hiccuped softly. "Carver has always resented how close Beth and I were, because of our magic. He blames me for her death."
"He doesn't blame you," Aveline said. "Not really. Grief can do strange things to people."
Hawke wrapped her arms around her knees and glanced over at her friend. "What was Ostagar like? Carver won't talk about it."
Aveline rubbed her strong jaw and shook her head. "It's surreal, to think Carver and I might be some of the few who survived that battle. It was the oddest feeling. Hope answered with . . . nothing. The fight just kept going. I thought I was going to die out there more than once, bleeding out at the foot of that tower." She looked over at the woman beside her, whose eyes had grown even more troubled.
Aveline put her arm around Hawke and pulled her close. "It's going to be fine, Hawke," she said firmly. "We'll get into Kirkwall if I have to break down the gates myself."