If Hawke was nothing else, she was strong. She had always been the one to carry her family through, to look ahead, to protect. That was what she was supposed to do. Be strong. Be steady. Take care of the family.
She had failed.
She couldn't protect anyone, not when it mattered. And now she sat, paralyzed, as the last family she had in this town demanded answers that she didn't have.
That murderer had taken her strength when he took her mother, and for once she let herself be small and scared and just look to someone else for comfort- to Gamlen, of all people, whom she'd never looked to for so much as a shoelace. But she just couldn't do it on her own. Everything she prided herself on- her certainties, abilities, resolves- had failed her, and now nothing was left but pain and brokenness and guilt and that last horrible image of her mother that would be forever burned into her mind.
She was weak. She let Gamlen see it, all of it, as if he could help her at all.
So you're to blame.
Why did you tell me this? I wish I never asked.
Maybe they're right about mages. Lock them all up.
She let the words and the anger and the blame trap her alone in her room. Some distant part of her wanted to be angry, to storm the streets for vengeance, but the only feeling she could conjure from her drained, exhausted heart was emptiness.
I could have stopped it.
Weak.
I was supposed to take care of her.
Stupid.
She called my magic a gift.
Wrong.
And then Fenris came. Angry, intense, magic-hating Fenris. She prepared herself for more hurt (don't flinch away, you deserve it) but none came.
He had no words of healing to offer, no special message to make things okay again. He was simply there, all night long. Little was spoken at all- perhaps he could tell how close she would come to breaking completely if she had to gather enough presence of thought to form a sentence. Instead he stayed at her door. Watching. Guarding. Letting her know that for at least one night, she could cry in peace.
Aveline and Varric came the next day, and the days after as well. Aveline brought food and orders for the servants, while Varric brought distracting stories and news of the outside. The questions they both had, the how are you's and the are you ready's were met with silence and stalling. But after each visit, she did feel the smallest bit better.
She opened the door one day to find a bushel of flowers- not the clipped ones purchased from Hightown markets but wildflowers, vibrant and beautiful and painstakingly handpicked by Merill from hills along the Wounded Coast. It was the first time she smiled in a week.
It was Anders who thrust her staff back into her hands. We need to patrol tonight. And you need this. Her fingers curled hesitantly around the familiar wood, and she remembered the last time she used it- fire raining down from the sky onto the blood mage who murdered her mother. Anders was insistent. She loved you. And this is who you are.
The first time she left her mansion for something other than food or work, it was Isabela who pulled her to the Hanged Man. And it was Isabela who watched her all night, who called for happier music and gave her a reassuring nod whenever she felt like it was all too much, that she shouldn't be there.
And ever so slowly, she felt herself healing. She would never be the same, but she felt the parts of herself that had been lost gradually return. She rarely saw Gamlen again after that, and was surprised at how little that seemed to matter.
She had Varric, callous and crass and unwaveringly at her side.
She had Aveline, with her exasperated smile and protective watchfulness.
She had Anders, who never stopped pushing and fighting and demanding something better.
She had Merill, equal parts sweetness and insanity and bright-eyed determination.
She had Isabela, the selfish, flighty rogue who came through when it counted.
She had Fenris, strong and solid and there, who despite everything was still there, with his ever-present scowl that she would never tire of teasing into a small smile meant just for her.
Nothing was okay, and everything was, both at the same time. She still had the pain and the guilt and the rift that would always exist between her and her uncle. But she could still live, still fight, still smile. She would still take care of her family.
And they would take care of her, because that's what family does.