Hawke laughs. "Now that I agree with completely. Even the most sweet tempered or passive of people can dig their heels in when they want to. I admit freely I'm the same. Obstinate that is, not sweet tempered." She is under no illusions. She's a pain in the arse. She more often than not reacted negatively to orders or pushing from people in authority. She is much better with people who are her equal or lower in standing. Her aggressive dislike of Meredith was well known in Kirkwall.

She smiles at Dorian genuinely. So not as much of a snob as she expected. Not that she actually minds snobs in the least. They have good taste. Her mother was one in many ways. Nobility was difficult to outlast. "I don't like wine. It makes me sleepy. Give me ale or rum any day." She misses the Hanged Man desperately. It flutters in her stomach now, that longing for a simpler time. Alas.

"Bull lives not too far from here, I'll take you there if you want, once you adjust a bit. I'm certain he'll happy to see one of his own people here. I'm not certain how long he's been here, but long enough to settle in." Hawke's glad they had a chance to talk and get a measure for each other. Varric assured her in letters she would like him a great deal, and she agreed after only a few moments of chatting. "He told me you lot managed to bring the bastard down, which makes what happened well worth it." Her own death, she means.