For a Season
Old Freckles finally died. Hawke wasn't sure if horses went on to the Maker but she dried her tears and hoped so. Her parents were arguing over the cost of a new horse, it was money they barely had. If they bought the horse, they would have to spend the winter on the road instead of buying a house in Lothering like they planned. She fingered the hilts at her waist. Her friend had disappeared, the rich old lady she lived with had decided she needed to stay inside. Hawke smiled as she strolled out of their camp, dawn glowing softly. That was for the best, some things are better off done alone. She pulled her hood up as she walked into Denerim.
Most people ignored a child underfoot, especially a quiet one. Hawke made her rounds of the inns in the outer ring of the city with no luck. She headed for the market place as her stomach growled. The month they had spent here had put some meat on her bones finally. She didn't even slow her stride anymore as she grabbed a pie from the baker's stall. She bit into the warm flaky crust, smiling as the cherry syrup dripped down her chin. She caught it up with a finger, sucking the sticky tartness from it. She wandered toward Fort Drakon, they had a stable for the guard. She was willing to trade work for a horse, somehow she would find the time.
The stable was easy to find, summer was descending on Ferelden and the smell was becoming unbearable. She was just outside the stable when she heard two men talking. "What about that one in the back stall?"
"The rowan? Nobody can ride him. He's jumpy, useless for patrol. We'll send him to the kennel master this afternoon." She ducked out of sight as they exited the barn, chatting about their wives. She waited until they were out of sight and slipped into the cool darkness.
Dust danced along the sunbeams and the air smelled musty and sweet. She made her way to the far stall where a massive rowan Forder was moping. She made soft noises extending her hand over the door. He snuffled it gently. She glanced down the barn and smiled. "Want a new home, boy?" His ears ticked forward as she slid open the bar.
She pulled an apple from her pocket and offered it to him. He munched happily as she ran her hands softly down his big neck. "I think you are the biggest horse I've ever seen. Do you have a name?" He blew her hood back making her laugh. "I'm going to call you Red. Do you like bridles, Red?" He bounced his head.
She grabbed the bridle and he bowed low so she could slip it on. "What a good boy." She placed a kiss on his nose. "How about a saddle?" He stomped. "No? That's okay. I don't need one." She clambered on to the stall door and tentatively lowered herself on to his back. He danced in place a moment, feeling the bit in his mouth and deciding he liked how she held it. "Let's go, Red."
They bolted through the barn, knocking over the returning stable hands as Hawke whooped for joy. One went to call out to the guard but the other held him back with a shake of his head. The massive horse and his speck of a rider tore through Denerim and then out to the family's wagon. They came to a skidding halt, Hawke triumphantly tossing back her hood and bowed proudly from her hard kept seat, ignoring the pain in her thighs. Malcolm and Leandra looked up from counting their money with shocked faces, the twins were exuberant with joy.
Malcolm found his voice first as he scrambled to his feet. "Where did you find him?"
"Fort Drakon." She slid off his back and took the bridle off him. "This is all his tack but he likes apples. His name is Red."
He held his hand out to the horse, who gave an approving snort before tearing into the grass. "Hawke, he must have cost a fortune."
She shrugged, her expression becoming distant. "Nothing to worry about, papa. I took care of it."
Leandra's voice was so sharp it could cut stone. "You stole him."
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, mama." Hawke smiled sweetly. "I told the Chanter I would be back to work on the books this morning and I have another job this afternoon. I'll be home after dark."
"Rose." Leandra called after her retreating form. "You're still a child, sweetheart. Stay here."
Hawke looked back over her shoulder, her eyes cheerful. "They have story books and don't mind if I stop and read as long as it's to the old blind lady. I'm dragging it out."
She greeted Red first when she returned to camp, his lead tied some little ways from the wagon giving him plenty of room. The big horse swished his tail, nuzzling her fingers and searching her pockets until she produced an apple. Her parents were talking softly by the fire and she crept closer, hiding in the shadows and settling beside the wagon to listen.
"Where's all the money Hawke's been giving you?" Malcolm asked, an unusually hard edge to his voice. "25 sovereigns a day for the past month is a lot of money, Leandra."
She turned away from him, her voice as steely. "I want nothing to do with her thieving."
He sighed. "Love, she's worked hard for that money. Every afternoon she cleans rooms and the bar at one of the inns and sings for the supper time crowd." When her face whipped back to him he shrugged. "I followed her one day. I was worried. The morning she spent doing odd jobs. Every coin she gives you she earns. If she makes anything thieving, she keeps it for herself." He kept it to himself that she might be so good that he didn't notice her stealing anything.
Leandra's eyes watered and she hung her head in shame. "I've been throwing them in the creek after she goes to bed."
"Damn your pride, Lea." He spoke softly and she began to cry.
Hawke called out softly. "I've been picking them up every night." They startled, searching for her in the dark. She stood and wandered into the circle of firelight. "I followed you that first night, mama. And I've followed you every night and got back every sovereign." She rubbed at her elbow, toe of her boot digging into the dirt.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop, Rose." Leandra admonished. Hawke stared at her drolly. Her mother continued, softening. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would you have believed me?" She countered, lightning flashing in her young eyes. "I stole the horse. I steal food. I steal clothes for me and the twins. You tried to sell me. Why should I tell you when I do something good?" Leandra stared at her hands. Hawke turned to her father. "The inn is offering me a room off the kitchen with two other girls, I can keep my tips and they'll keep paying me four sovereigns a day to sing for the evening and afternoon crowd plus helping with the rooms. It's for the rest of the season. I get one day off a week and my mornings are my own. I'd make more."
He sighed. "Sweetheart, you're twelve."
"Thirteen next week, and they don't know how old I am anyway." She interrupted.
He shook his head. "No. I let you do a lot I shouldn't but that's not going to happen." He cut off her protest. "I need an assistant." She froze, hope on her face. "You can sing and you are wonderful with languages. Most of my work is in the evenings at the palace. See if you can sing there for the lunch crowd and then join me in the evenings." She nodded, her body shaking with excitement and he grinned. "Nobles tip pretty good. You'll need a nice dress."
She squeaked. "I know the perfect place." She shook herself, letting a solemnness drift over her. "I need to count my money. I can't steal from that one. That lady is nice and she gives to people when she can."
He chuckled. "A thief with honor, little bird?"
She quirked an eyebrow. "Papa, I don't steal from people who don't deserve it." She wandered to the wagon and climbed inside.
Leandra jabbed his ribs. "Don't encourage her."
Malcolm gave her his own arched look. "She only steals from assholes, love. Even you can't argue that."
She shook her head. "You think she will do well at the palace?"
He smiled, tucking her hand into his elbow. "I think our little Hawke is going to fly."
Hawke made her apologies at the Chantry, promising to return the next morning, before wandering to Tilda's dress shop. The door rang cheerily when she pushed it in. It was a store for the well to do merchants and farmers, she kept brushing her hands across her shirt. It was clean but well, it had been old when she had gotten it, her mother was decent with a needle and thread but the patches had patches. Tilda smiled when she saw her. "Hawke! Welcome, darlin! I'm afraid I don't have any deliveries today."
She smiled shyly. "I need a dress, Lady Tilda."
The sparkle in the older woman's violet eyes burned brighter. "What's the occasion, darlin? Hopefully not a boy."
Hawke snorted, uneasiness forgotten. "No. I'm going to start singing at the palace with my papa in the evening and translating his stories for any visitors. He can't speak common and the rest all at once." She shrugged. "I don't know how many visitors there would be."
Tilda tapped her fingers on her counter. "Your papa is the bard Malcolm Hawke?" Hawke nodded. "Well then, let's get you a dress, darlin. Black would suit you. You're so pale with those big blue eyes." She went to a rack and started sorting. "But nothing frilly or flouncy, we want you taken seriously. You're there to perform not as an ornament."
"I talk too much to be an ornament." Hawke's nose wrinkled.
The older woman chuckled pulling a dress down. "This one I think. Go try it on."
She turned the fabric over in her hands, she had never felt anything so soft. She tossed off her clothes and pulled it over head, grateful for the quick wash the creek provided even with the unscented, rough soap. Clean was clean. It draped gently to the floor, the round neckline sat delicately on her shoulders, and the short lacy sleeves reminded her of butterflies. She smiled, twirling in the mirror. "How does it look, darling?"
Hawke stepped out for inspection. Tilda smiled. "You look like a princess now." Hawke grinned and she laughed noting the missing tooth. "Perfect."
Hawke grabbed her bag from her pile of clothes. "How much?"
Tilda shook her head. "Tell them where you got it. But I won't charge you for it." Hawke shook her head. "No. Not a copper. I see you feed those other children and take care of old Marlo when I know your family is in rough straits. You have a good heart, Rose Hawke, and good things will come your way when the Maker can arrange it." She nodded, eyes watering and then threw herself around Tilda in a tight hug. She hugged her back. "Now, go on! Make those nobles cry instead of this old dressmaker."
Malcolm was right. She did feel like she flying. She spun in her dress in the little alcove set aside for entertainers as he packed up his lute. He laughed. "Enjoyed yourself, little bird?"
"Yes! Arlessa Isolde said my Orlesian is perfect and she taught me a dance." She glowed and did a little jig, her pockets jingling. "I can't wait to count my gold."
"You are more of a raven then a hawk I think." She flapped her arms and cawed. "Where are you keeping all your earnings anyway?"
She grinned. "There's a loose board under my bed and I keep it in pouches. Carver complained about the noise when the wagon moves but I told him its poppets to keep him from turning into a potato."
He groaned. "Rose Hawke."
"Papa Hawke." She mimicked him. "If he wasn't insufferable, I wouldn't have to do it." He sighed heavily and led them from the palace.
Halfway to the wagon, Hawke spoke again. "Should I give mama half my earnings from tonight?"
He glanced down at his daughter, she was staring resolutely at the ground. "We don't need your money, sweetheart. You don't have to work harder than most adults."
She looked at him and rolled her eyes, making it comical enough that he couldn't be upset. "I know it helps." She crossed her arms, growing up before his eyes. "I want a home. We've never had one. I have friends sometimes but not like in the books. I want to leave on adventures and come back to a warm fire. And make friends I can count on and grow up with."
He smiled at her. "If you want, you can give half but keep some for yourself. And don't work all day, little bird. You can have fun on the road."
She shifted, eyes casting about the road. "I don't want to stay at the wagon with mama and the babies."
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't say that. You'll find something, start with reading every book in the Chantry." She grinned up at him then, back to being his little bird.
It was a good season with Hawke as his assistant. She translated his stories for visiting nobles, sang as his accompaniment and sang alone with increasing confidence, and she had taken to learning mummer’s tricks. Her sleight of hand tricks was always sure to please and the day she cartwheeled and flipped down the length of the great table for the servants was met with applause from King Maric. She froze upside down before turning herself over and executing a curtesy that would have shamed her mother if she had been present. When they left for the season, he requested she return with her father the next winter. He agreed, winter months were a better job without the military campaigns and people having nothing better to do then be entertained and pay their entertainment.
Hawke pulled up her board as the wagon swayed. They were leaving for Lothering, to find a home. She knew her parents locked chest was full for the first time in her life, so was the food cabinet. She ran her fingers over the daggers she had barely used, lovingly traced the belt with its pouches, all nestled in her hoard of gold. She giggled. "I'll have tell papa I'm not a raven either, I'm a dragon." There was a small silver mabari statue, next to statues of Andraste for Bethany and a knight for Carver. There were several other treasures she had picked up in the palace that she hadn't been able to convince herself to fence. It had been a good summer, the best summer of her life even. Lothering might home once they get there, but she knew she would always come back to Denerim for a season.