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“’Don’t you dare stop asking questions,’” Dagna said to Anders.
Anders looked somewhat surprised by this answer. “Really?”
“Mm.” Dagna nodded her head. “That was the last thing that Enchanter Thekla said to me. And, I think, the best bit of advice that anyone ever gave me.”
Anders cast a glance in Hawke’s direction that Dagna could not discern, and he moved away from her, staring instead at one of the many bookshelves that lined the room.
“It is, ah, good advice.” Hawke cleared his throat as he watched Anders walk away. “How are you ever going to know anything if you don’t ask? Though, there is some wisdom in knowing what to ask and when to ask it. There’s a lot of value in a well-placed question.”
“He always told me that I asked too many questions.” Dagna caught biting jealousy in Anders’ voice as he spoke. His back remained turned toward Hawke and Dagna.
“Well, maybe you asked him too many questions of the not-wise type,” Hawke murmured, raising his dark eyebrows before turning to look at Dagna. “Do you want more coffee?”
“Oh, please.” She extended her teacup and its accompanying saucer toward him. “It’s good coffee, isn’t it? Lucius has it shipped in from Rivain. It’s the newest fashion, drinking coffee. All the Senators do it. They call it an art form.”
Hawke raised his eyebrows as he poured fresh cups for himself, Dagna, and after another pointed expression and a quiet grunt cast in Anders’ direction, he refreshed Anders’ forgotten cup with a few drops. “I don’t know if I would go that far. Not sure if I like how it makes me feel. Gives me a bit of the jitters.”
“It’s too expensive,” said Anders, his long fingers caressing the spines of the books before him. “Or else I’d drink a pot a day.”
“Well, when you’re a wealthy Tevinter Senator with his own winery and factory, I’d bet that the price of a bag of coffee is mere pocket change,” Hawke quipped, the sarcasm creeping into his voice.
Dagna frowned as she took her cup back from Hawke. She had a distinct feeling that Hawke was mocking Lucius. She didn’t like that. She quickly changed the subject. “What did you mean when you were talking about the well-placed question?”
“My father used to obsess over the concept,” Hawke said, his posture become almost lazy as he leaned back in one of Lucius’s fine chairs, one arm resting on one of the plush rests while the other held his cup. “He thought that a question held more power than people thought. He used to talk a lot about the power of words. Have you ever asked someone an idiomatic question?”
“You ask me idiomatic questions all the time,” Anders muttered. “Always asking me what I think when you don’t really want to know.”
“Ignore him. Can’t stand when he’s in these moods. Makes me itch in unflattering places.” Hawke rolled his eyes and looked back to Dagna. “But he does have a good example there. Sometimes you ask someone what they think when you don’t really want to know. It’s sarcasm. It can anger some, or in my case, spur me onward. You have to be cautious.”
“I never thought about it that way before.” Dagna sipped her coffee, letting the bitter liquid slowly roll over her tongue. “So, I could ask you a question I already knew the answer to for the sole purpose of making you angry.”
“Exactly right.” Hawke pointed a finger in her direction. “I’ve been telling Anders all of this for years. I’m no writer, mind.” The finger became a careless wave of a whole hand. “But when you’re writing something like Anders’ manifesto, there are no throwaway words. One awkward phrase can send a potential ally off in into the arms of the enemy, then where would you be? All of it has to be good. All of it has to be a choice. Do you see artists out in the Grand Forum just throwing paint on a canvas just because they need this part to turn out blue? No, they brush it on. Slowly. Should be the same with a writer.” Again, he jabbed a finger toward her. “Ask your mentor. He’ll tell you the same thing. It’s the exact same thing with speaking. Any powerful person that gets up on a stage and blurts out bullshit gets bullshit in return.”
“You were eloquent up until that point, love,” Anders said quietly.
The pointing finger turned on Anders. “You be quiet. I’m passing on my father’s wisdom here, and he was smarter than I ever will be,” Hawke said in half-mocking tones. “Do you see my point there? Questions. Powerful things. Use them wisely.”
Dagna pondered what Hawke had just told her before speaking again. “I think I get it.”
“Good. There you have it.” Hawke’s expression turned into a visage of satisfaction. “Wisdom of Malcolm Hawke. Remember that.”