A / N - okay sorry this chapter has taken a long time as well! i'm juggling university work and fanfiction and other things right now! this one is a little short and is just based in the aftermath of last chapter. thanks for reading and sticking with me this far!

Chapter Eleven

Anders called in the next day, finding Hawke in cross-legged on the floor of the estate library. She was wearing a tunic that looked in dire need of washing; it hung off one shoulder and had a large soup stain down the front. Her hair was dishevelled and hung around her shoulders lankly. She looked up as Anders entered, and he noted the red-rimmed eyes that held nothing other than despair.

"Hello," she said hoarsely, completely unsurprised to see him. She turned her attention back to the wad of paper she was sorting through on the floor.

"I'm here for you," said the mage gently, sitting on the floor at arm's length away from her. He knew that she would want her own space. Awkwardly, he cupped her hand with his own comfortingly.

"I know," she replied in a monotone, not looking at him and seemingly not aware of his touch. "I'm sorting through Mother's old correspondences and pictures. Here." She passed him a folded piece of paper.

Opening it, he saw it was a sketch of Leandra. The artist had used charcoal and graphite, having been able to bend the uses of these mediums at will. Even though the picture was black and white, it seemed uncannily realistic, the eyes holding a lifelike sparkle. Hawke then passed another picture, of Leandra again but also of her three children. It had been done by the same artist, obviously some years ago as the family looked quite young.

"Mother's friend did those back in Lothering," Hawke explained. Suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered the home she had left behind. Things had been hard without her father there, but they were happy – even though Leandra had been a single mother with three children to raise, the love she held in her heart for them was immense, and never failed to crack a smile. She'd always been there, at the end of a hard day with a cup of tea, comforting hug and reassuring words. That was a mother's job. Hawke's vision became obscured by tears, then splashing onto the sheaths of paper. She became dimly aware of an arm around her shoulders and whiff of lavender.

"At least she isn't suffering anymore," whispered Anders, completely at a loss of what else to say. Well, what do you tell someone when a parent has died? It would have been exceptionally foolish of him to say that everything would be okay. Though it would, after a long time of heartache, it wasn't a clever thing to say to someone. His belief was that no one ever got over a death; they just learned to cope with it better.

"It's just hard," said Hawke at last, "knowing that she's never going to comfort me or that I'll never find her cooking in the kitchen again." She gave a great sniff, and took the handkerchief Anders offered. The estate seemed very much empty now. Hawke could vaguely imagine the ghost of Leandra floating through the bare halls, the cold kitchen… Bodahn and Orana took the news of Leandra's death stoically enough and offered their condolences. Despite the company of servants, Hawke still felt as alone as ever.

"What happened to your mother, Anders?" she asked after a long period of silence that had been permeated only by Hawke's gentle sobs. She stuffed the handkerchief unceremoniously down her tunic sleeve and turned to the mage.

"I didn't know her too well," he replied simply. "I was taken to the Circle when I was very young. I know she didn't put up too much of a fight though," he added, somewhat bitterly.

"Do you miss her?"

He pondered this for a moment. "I miss the idea of a mother, yes. Like I said, I didn't really know her."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Hawke.

The mage turned to look at her. "Don't be."

She managed a weak smile, her eyes red and puffy. "Thank you for being here. I didn't think you would want to be, after…" she trailed off awkwardly, remembering their previous discussion in the clinic.

"You are still a good friend," he told her kindly, patting her arm. Even though he was hurt, deep down, he knew that this was the best for both of them. Friends was better than nothing.

"I feel lost," she admitted, not looking at him. Instead, she sifted through the letters again. "Like I'm just drifting about aimlessly, just… existing. I feel like there's no other purpose in this world, and I can't stop thinking about how I could have prevented this…" Hawke swallowed hard as tears slid down her cheeks again. "Nothing matters; not the Qunari, not the conflict between the templars and mages…" She let out a choked sob, which was followed by a pattering sound as Torch entered the library, as if sensing his mistress's discomfort. He made his way up to her, head bowed and tail wagging curiously, before gently licking the salty tracks her tears had made. Subconsciously, she patted the dog's broad head and allowed him to comfort her.

"We're all here for you, Hawke," murmured Anders, giving her hand a squeeze.

She hiccoughed. "I bet they're all down at the Hanged Man, aren't they?"

"Of course. They offered to all come and see you, but I didn't think you'd want a lot of people gathered here awkwardly, gawking, probing you, constantly asking if you're okay…"

"No, I suppose not. This means a lot." She patted his hand, then stood up suddenly. She swayed slightly, her head light from extensive crying and severe lack of sleep. "I'd better put these away," she said, more to herself. She gathered the sheaths of paper and clumsily banded them together, before slotting them into a drawer in the desk, though keeping the portrait of Leandra clutched in her hand. "I can't imagine Mother would want me moping about."

"You are not moping," said Anders firmly, "you're in mourning, which is understandable. I don't think your mother would approve if the first thing you did was swan off to the Hanged Man and drowned your sorrows there."

Hawke sighed. "You're right. You're always right." She sat down heavily in an armchair, Torch resting his head on her lap. She inhaled deeply. "Either Torch needs a bath, or I do."

Anders perched himself on the arm of the chair. "I didn't want to say anything, but I think it might be you."

Hawke met his gaze and began to laugh. Not just a giggle, but a gut-wrenching guffaw. What Anders said wasn't even remotely funny, but it felt good to do something instead of cry. The mage joined in with her mirth, failing to see the joke. He couldn't help but notice how her eyes had lit up and how gentle creases tugged at her eyes. He was glad that he was the one here to comfort her, no one else, and especially not Fenris. It made things even better when she didn't push him away and accepted the relief and concerns only a close friend could offer.

"I promise I'll bathe soon," she said, wiping her streaming eyes. She looked down at the drawing she still held, admiring its beauty and realness. "I think I will frame this."

Anders looked down at the portrait. "I think that's a good idea."

Hawke thought of keeping the image in her room on her vanity table, where she could look at it every day and keep Leandra's memory alive, and feel blessed at all the time she had with her. Her mind then wandered to her mother's room and what was to be done about it. Of course, she didn't have to do anything with it now – or rather, maybe it'd be a good plan to keep it as is, like a shrine in dedication to her mother…? No. That would be irrefutably morbid and keep her stuck in the past, pining for the mother she no longer had instead of placing her memory at peace. Hawke settled on the fact that she wouldn't throw out or sell everything. On the contrary, she would place the personal keepsakes elsewhere, somewhere private, where only she could look at them and remember a happier time. Suddenly, it felt as if some sort of weight had lifted, leaving her feeling slightly lighter than before.

She rose from the chair, Torch watching her curiously as she dislodged him.

"I think I'll go for a bath now," she said, deciding she should at least clean and change her clothes today, if nothing else.

She turned to Anders. "Thank you for being here," she said softly.

In a swift move, she pecked him softly on the mouth, then turned and exited the room before he could question her move and call her back.