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The others they meet with at the crafting circle know very little of either of them, and Elgara and Hawke (or Vella and Mel, as they are known here), pretend not to recognise each other. In her hotheaded youth, Elgara would likely have said something after the first session, but these days she has far more patience. Whatever else she can say for every long year since the Conclave, they taught her that. Taught her a great deal of far crueller lessons, besides, and those are why she sits in this crafting circle and pretends to be someone else. A woman who may not have escaped the years unscathed, but one never betrayed by a lover, and certainly one never granted the kind of power Elgara once knew. She pretends to herself that she doesn’t miss it.
Hawke is a mystery. She seems, in some ways, quite similar to that woman Elgara met so long ago, all lonely distance. That is not so strange. The meetings that go by, though, the more Elgara gets the sense Hawke has something to prove, and that is strange. What could she possibly be trying to prove, when her name is so widely praised? Very rarely does Elgara hear a bad word against Hawke. It is a rare thing, for those who did not die still in the years of youthful innocence, like the Hero of Fereldan. Of course, from what Elgara has heard, the Hero of Fereldan was anything but innocent, but she died a young martyr, and in the eyes of the people, that is what counts. No-one wants to see their heroes live to become bitter, and a bitter part of her knows that women like her are always most wanted when they are beautiful and unintimidating. Maybe Hawke is simply more heroic than her, fitting neatly into the role she chafed against. Still, they are both here, two women made myths pretending at normalcy.
In the end, the first time they speak in private is initiated by Hawke. Elgara’s arm has been paining her for days now, and she knows it showed in the meeting. As people pack up, Hawke approaches her and says, in a low voice. “I’m not much of a healer, but I know some, if you want.”
However much times have changed, they both look around instinctively after she speaks, and there’s the beginnings of understanding shared in their expressions as their eyes meet and Elgara nods.
“Probably easiest at mine,” Hawke says, almost apologetic.
“Lead on.”
It’s not a long walk, but it gives her time to really think about the decision she has made. About trusting Hawke, who is, after all, a murderer. Not that she can throw stones, in fact she rather suspects her own kill count is higher, but that doesn’t make it sensible to follow a known killer home. Still, it’s Hawke, whose presence at the meeting and deft hands on her embroidery she has become accustomed to seeing. Hawke is likely far more trustworthy than the last killer Elgara let herself become too comfortable with. Neither of them says a word until they are inside, then Elgara breaks the silence. “Why Mel?”
“It is actually my name. Mel Hawke, but everyone always forgets the first bit. Vella’s from Lavellan, right?”
“It is.”
Hawke directs Elgara to sit down on her ratty old sofa, and so she does, shamelessly examining the room as she does. Hawke hardly lives in luxury, but perhaps that is no bad thing. Or, at least, it is a good sign for Elgara, some hope that not everything about her is a facade. Something definitely is, she is just yet to work out what. Of course, plenty of Elgara is a facade as well, a part nurtured before the Conclave and honed afterwards. She was always a good liar, but she would never have thought she could make herself believed on the scale she did, and yet be unable to convince more than a few that she was in no form the Herald of a religion not her own. She told herself that at least it gave her power, and she tells herself that it was worth giving the power up, and in the end all her best lies have been told to herself. Elgara watches, as Hawke digs around in her cabinets, and wonders what the other woman’s plan is. It is all very well to accept an offer of healing, but there is no changing the fact that Elgara’s arm was torn from her. She just hopes that Hawke is good at the pain relief side of healing.
Hawke speaks, tone soft. “Does it often pain you?”
“Hurts all the time,” she confirms. “Just varies how much.”
Hawke nods, as though this has confirmed her suspicions, and, with an inhale, casts. The spell settles on Elgara, and she gasps aloud as the pain recedes.
“That helped, then?” Hawke asks, and Elgara can only nod.
“Good,” Hawke says, a look of satisfaction on her face. “I’m glad. Let me know if you need assistance in future.”
Elgara hesitates before agreeing, but agree she does. “I will.”
It becomes something of a routine for them. On her worst days, Elgara makes eye contact with Hawke, and follows her back to her place for healing. At some point, she starts thinking of her as Mel, instead of Hawke, and Mel starts calling her Elgara in private. They start talking more and more during the healing sessions, but some topics they never touch. Elgara has her suspicions about where Mel learned her healing from, but she never brings it up, just as Mel never brings about what she surely knows about how Elgara lost her arm. They talk around their respective histories, a lot of the time.
What changes that, in the end, is nothing dramatic. At least, not in the moment where it arises. One moment, Mel arrives looking particularly wild-eyed. Elgara says nothing then, but approaches her as they pack up. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Not here,” Mel says simply.
At Mel’s place, it all comes out. Mel’s voice is emotionless as she tells Elgara about her nightmares, about the guilt she feels over all the death she caused, that her last lover died at her hands and it took her over a decade to regret it. Mel’s voice is still so blank and unlike her when she looks up at Elgara and says, “So, what’s your judgement?”
Elgara has to restrain a flinch, but she says. “I do not blame you, and I would not see you consumed by guilt.”
Mel shudders, and begins to sob. Elgara is unused to offering comfort, but she places a hand on Mel’s shoulder, and murmurs her best attempt at soothing words. Mel falls apart in front of her, and all Elgara can do is talk to her. In the end, when Mel is done, she wipes her face and turns to Elgara.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Of course. I have grown to care for you, and I do not wish for you to suffer.”
At those words, Mel gives a shaky smile, and then speaks again. “Can I hug you?”
Startled, Elgara nods, and Mel flings herself at her. It is surprisingly pleasant. Maybe it’s just that it’s been a very long time since Elgara was hugged, but as she melts into the embrace she thinks that she has never known peace like this.
After that night, they grow closer and closer until they are all but inseparable. It becomes only natural for them to spend the most time possible with each other. There dawns a day when Elgara looks at Mel and realises how deeply she has fallen for this dangerous, tragic woman, and cannot bring herself to regret it. It takes courage to tell her, but tell her she does, and they share a kiss that thrills her.