She returned the smile. They saw each other once a week most times when she had business in the Gallows. It wouldn't be so farfetched if that continued, after all, but she was certain some people would notice. Meredith, most likely. And she could only imagine how Anders would react.

Going down fighting was something Varric praised in his tall tales as a hero's death. But Hawke understood that it wasn't so heroic when the alternative was worse. She pitied Emeric's fate, the fate of the Templars who succumbed to the addiction. Continuing when your brain was little but addled mush wouldn't truly be living. "And there's nothing that can be done?"

Her smile turned just a touch bitter at the edges. "That's exactly what it's like. You want them around so you can blame them and tell them how much you despise them, but that's next to impossible when they're dead. And talking to ghosts just makes you look like you've fallen off the wagon from grief."

She snorted softly, though she acknowledge his hand and even moved enough so that he wasn't stretching to reach her. "And we skip straight to the horrible life stories first, of course." Her smile brightened. "Tell me about you, then. You know I used to roam with my parents. Where did you live before you went to the tower to be a Templar?"