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Another day was stretching before her with nothing in particular to do. Mina used to enjoy these days … but the echoing emptiness of her house had become oppressive, and while she loved the Hanged Man, and pretty much always wanted to spend time with Varric, even that had a terrible sameness. Nothing had changed in six years; nothing was ever likely to change. And was that what she wanted out of her life? She didn't believe it was, but nothing was calling her in any more positive directions.
Bodahn came to the door of the parlor as she was lounging on the settee, trying to work up the energy to decide what better there was to do.
"Messenger for you, ser."
"Send him in."
The messenger was a very nervous elf. "I was to wait by the venadahl tree in the Alienage, but … I've been waiting and you haven't been by."
Hawke frowned. She seemed to remember at some point a note that told her to go there. At a fish warehouse? Maybe somewhere in Darktown? It all blurred together. "My apologies. I didn't mean to waste your time."
"Oh. Um … you didn't. It's just that … I don't … I don't get paid unless—"
"Unless you complete your task. Of course. What was the message?"
"In your uncle's house hangs a wallop mallet, made of the wood of the venadahl tree."
Hawke repeated the message back to him. "What is a wallop mallet, and why does Gamlen have one?"
"I, uh, think you'll have to ask him that."
"I shall." She handed a coin to the elf, who clutched it tightly before scurrying from the room.
Well, at least that was something to do. She hadn't visited Gamlen in some time; she should probably do so. Her list of blood relatives was getting smaller all the time, no reason to let a perfectly good drunken uncle go to waste.
She stopped by the Hanged Man to get Varric to go with her. Aveline was there arguing with Isabela, and they both decided to come, too.
Gamlen was home, which was a relief, as Hawke hadn't stopped to think that he might not have been. "Hawke."
"Gamlen."
They looked at each other awkwardly until Gamlen cleared his throat and snapped, "Well, what is it? I don't have all day."
"Do you have a wallop mallet?"
"Wallop?" He stared at her as though she was touched in the head. Which maybe she was. "You want to play wallop?"
"No, I can't imagine I do, but a strange elf showed up and told me you had a wallop mallet, so I came to investigate. Also, what in the Maker's name is a wallop mallet?"
"It's a … mallet. For playing wallop."
"Thank you for the clarification," Aveline said dryly.
Gamlen was frowning to himself. "Haven't played since I was a kid. Still got my mallet, though. It's up on the wall. Last time I was any good at something."
Hawke looked up to see a slab of wood hanging on the wall. "Has that always been there?"
"Always. Not surprised you didn't notice, dragging yourself in at all hours reeking of the cheap ale from that flophouse."
"Hey!" Varric glared at him.
Hawke laughed. "You're one to talk, Uncle. Different flophouses, is all."
"Oh, no, Hawke, Gammy drinks at the Rose." Isabela chuckled. "Which is a house where people do a lot of flopping, but it's not quite the same."
"I, uh … I like the food," Gamlen muttered.
"All right, then." Hawke moved over to inspect the mallet. There was really nothing there. "This appears to have been a wild goose chase. Sorry, Uncle."
"No, it's fine. I … well, I rather like the company, occasionally. I, er ..." He cleared his throat. "I had my doubts about that Hawke fellow Leandra ran off with, but there must have been something to him. He produced an … an amazing daughter. Your mother would be proud."
Hawke was astonished, and touched, and then immediately felt guilty. She wasn't doing anything in her life her mother would be particularly proud of. Not in her estimation, at least. "Was that … affection?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm feeling sentimental. With Bethany locked in the Gallows, you're the only family I have left."
"And you're mine. Thank you, Uncle. I appreciate the thought."
"For a long time, I thought the Amell line in Kirkwall would end with me. I'm glad you've pulled it out of the grave."
Oh, the Amell line. Hawke couldn't say she cared about that, particularly, but she wasn't about to say that and ruin a nice moment. She tried to think of something equivalently generous to say back, but nothing came to her that wouldn't have sounded forced. "I'll … I'll try to visit more often."
"You do that." He scuffed his feet and tried to make it look like he was ready for them to leave.
Hawke led them all out of Gamlen's house. "Well, now what? What was the point of having some poor elf sitting around the alienage waiting for me if the wallop mallet wasn't going to tell me a sodding thing?"
"Be mean to the elf?" Isabela suggested.
"Yes, probably, but then … surely there are other ways to be mean if you want to do that. This seems pretty mild."
Above their heads, the rusty hinges squealed as Gamlen opened the door and came out to look down at them. "Come to think of it, I took that mallet to be oiled not so long ago. I'd been lucky at the gaming table for a change."
"And that's what you spent your money on?" Aveline asked.
Gamlen ignored her. There had never been any love lost between the two of them. "I took it to a place in Darktown. Does that help?"
"It's at least something to do."
"You'll let me know what you turn up?"
"I will." It would be an excuse to go see him, at least. After living with him for a year, Hawke was fairly sure she and her uncle were never going to be best friends, but they could at least act like they were related every once in a while. Her mother would have wanted that. "I'll, um, see you later, Uncle."
"Right." He turned and went back into the house, and Hawke led her team to Darktown.