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21. Patrona – Aveline
Keeping himself as busy as he did, Hawke missed a number of opportunities to catch up with his friend in the city guard. She was every bit as overworked, so when he got the word that she was taking a day for paperwork, he made a point of heading to the Keep to see her.
"What's next, Hawke?" Aveline no longer bothered telling Hawke not to rest his feet on her desk when he took a visitor's chair. If that corner on that edge of the desk always seemed to be free of clutter, it didn't mean she'd given in to the mage and his habits. It just meant she was good enough at her work to keep the furniture from being buried. "Avenging Qunari delegates, saving a slum from poisonous gas, rousting a blood mage in Hightown, and now I find out you've adopted a small army of orphans in the sewers. If I blink am I going to hear you've turned the Hanged Man into a reputable establishment?"
"I'm Hawke, not the Maker, Aveline. Even I can't fix the Hanged Man. And you left out 'playing matchmaker for the Captain of the Guard.'" Hawke winked at his friend when she rolled her eyes. "Not that I would fix the place, mind. You just can't play a proper hand of Wicked Grace without the stale-piss ambiance. And just how did you hear about the orphans, anyway? Last I heard, you don't have the numbers to get regular patrols into Darktown."
"You're right, I don't. I did, however, finally manage to squeeze some concessions out of Meredith in the interest of keeping the peace. I get a dispatch with the names of any mages they take within the city, along with whatever information those mages provide about dependents. Donnic went down to investigate the living arrangement after I saw a list of ten children needing care, and came back with stories about the nice healers who give them money."
"Anders, maybe. When have you ever heard anyone call me nice?"
"The word has an entirely different meaning to an impoverished eight-year-old refugee, Hawke. I'm proud, that's all." Before either of them could fully acknowledge the sentiment, Aveline did her best to cover the moment. "I was… surprised, after hearing about the Templars' initiatives in Darktown that I didn't see Anders's name in one of those dispatches."
"We're careful, and I suspect your name carries more weight than you'd think. I know damned well the Templars have left me alone more because of my association with you than out of any consideration of my social standing. If Anders is mine, it wouldn't be that much of a leap to think they consider him yours by extension. Maybe you've got your own little mage-in-law, Mom."
Aveline snatched a pen from her desk and threw it at the mage, giving him the Look she always gave when she decided playtime was over. "My understanding was that they were only searching there so they could 'find' Anders to begin with. Now they've all but given up on Darktown. Do you think I'm going to buy flattery?"
I don't know, what's it going for these days? That won't go over well. Deciding on honesty, Hawke replied, "Do you really want to know?"
If it had been anyone else, the struggle between duty and right that played across the captain's face would have been entertaining to watch. Fully aware which principle would win, Hawke felt his own burst of pride in the woman who'd stood by him, even when he'd had to do a number of seriously questionable things just to get by.
Giving Hawke the point with a nod, Aveline asked instead, "And what's this about plural healers? Far as I know there's only ever been one."
What Hawke didn't say, given his company, was that he'd been dragging his feet over how he wanted to improve his magic once he'd wrung the Entropy and Elemental rags dry. His interest had been caught by some of the research Gallows mages had done in the areas of Force magic, but he wasn't sure that's where he wanted to go. He'd been considering asking Anders to teach him some of the healing magics when, during one of their ever more frequent runs through the underground to pull a mage out of the Gallows, his love had been hurt almost beyond the ability to focus enough to heal himself.
That morning, after the blind and heart-stopping terror Hawke still couldn't find words to describe had ebbed, his decision had been made. In the weeks that followed, Hawke had devoted himself to the study of Spirit Healing. He was sure he'd never reach the level of skill Anders could claim, and in spite of his almost daily occupations in the clinic would never call himself a healer, but he would at least call himself competent.
If Aveline suspected there was more to the answer she eventually got – and, of course, she did – she was kind enough to hold her tongue. Maybe the mage insisted on running around in a glorified dress most days, and maybe he'd never in his life know which end of a sword to point outward, but she knew why they remained friends. Kindred spirits. Whatever else was going on, she could always recognize in others the calling to protect what mattered.
When Hawke finally pushed the memory back, he said, "Still is only one healer, most of the time. I'm what you'd call a plan B, but I have been working in the clinic long enough to have a solid grasp of doctoring and light surgery. I can hit that wound with a leech at ten paces by now." Laughing, the mage enjoyed watching that image form in Aveline's mind.