Hawke should have probably been disturbed or at least concerned by the way that Emmrich spoke of Manfred as though he were a small child, not a spirit. He was certainly no Chantry zealot, but his common sense told him that getting too close to any denizen of the Fade was apt to end in grief—the disastrous collapse of his friendship with Anders was proof enough of that. And yet he refused to even entertain the possibility of extinguishing the light that glittered in Emmrich’s eyes when he recounted the antics of his skeleton friend. Hawke may have been a cheater, a braggart, and a libertine, but he was not a cruel man.
He made an effort to smile, hoping that none of his thoughts showed through on his face. “I’d love to meet him once all this is done. You’ll have to have me over for tea some time—or have me over for grainy sugar-water, I should say.”
He had never set foot in Nevarra, and most Nevarran practices regarding magic were beyond his ken. He wondered idly if Mortalitasi were permitted to have families, or if their lives were as tightly controlled as those of Circle mages in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Could Manfred have been something like a son to Emmrich? A small taste of the stable family life denied to their kind?
Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he realized that it was not only incredibly presumptuous but also none of his damned business, and it made him sad to boot. He shook his head, trying to herd his fatigued mind back to more appropriate topics.
The hand on his shoulder dragged him out of the pit of melancholy he’d descended into. Somehow, he found the wherewithal to stop avoiding Emmrich’s gaze, and he was touched by the kindness he found there. Not everyone would have gone to such lengths to comfort a complete stranger. In truth, Hawke was unsure whether he deserved the effort.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to demand you fill me in on every single thing my friends have done over the past nine years.” He heaved a sigh, caught halfway between fondness and guilt. “Varric should have retired to his own private island by now. Maker knows he deserves the break. They all do. I’m the one who dragged them into this… Well. I believe ‘complete and utter shitshow’ would be a bit of an understatement.” Without realizing it, he raised his hand to his lips and began biting at his thumbnail—a nervous habit from his boyhood that he’d never quite been able to break. “The war, Corypheus… It’s all my mess. My responsibility. I have to stick long enough to clean it up, at least.”
no subject
He made an effort to smile, hoping that none of his thoughts showed through on his face. “I’d love to meet him once all this is done. You’ll have to have me over for tea some time—or have me over for grainy sugar-water, I should say.”
He had never set foot in Nevarra, and most Nevarran practices regarding magic were beyond his ken. He wondered idly if Mortalitasi were permitted to have families, or if their lives were as tightly controlled as those of Circle mages in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Could Manfred have been something like a son to Emmrich? A small taste of the stable family life denied to their kind?
Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he realized that it was not only incredibly presumptuous but also none of his damned business, and it made him sad to boot. He shook his head, trying to herd his fatigued mind back to more appropriate topics.
The hand on his shoulder dragged him out of the pit of melancholy he’d descended into. Somehow, he found the wherewithal to stop avoiding Emmrich’s gaze, and he was touched by the kindness he found there. Not everyone would have gone to such lengths to comfort a complete stranger. In truth, Hawke was unsure whether he deserved the effort.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to demand you fill me in on every single thing my friends have done over the past nine years.” He heaved a sigh, caught halfway between fondness and guilt. “Varric should have retired to his own private island by now. Maker knows he deserves the break. They all do. I’m the one who dragged them into this… Well. I believe ‘complete and utter shitshow’ would be a bit of an understatement.” Without realizing it, he raised his hand to his lips and began biting at his thumbnail—a nervous habit from his boyhood that he’d never quite been able to break. “The war, Corypheus… It’s all my mess. My responsibility. I have to stick long enough to clean it up, at least.”