"Glad you're feeling better, then," Hawke side-eyes Chris wryly for being thrown overboard like that, but there's relief and joy underneath it for the change in demeanor. The release of tension. It feels real too, not just an act to put them at ease.

He takes Amelia's kiss and admonishments both with a smile and puts in a theatrically indignant look. "I'm not so careless as all that. I've potions, haven't I? And you said could stop but I'm not about to leave you unable to sit down comfortably."

This is better, easier now that Chris is more animated. Encouraging too when he'd been worried his meager Creation magics weren't enough to heal the hurt visited. He's glad to have that lain to rest.

Hawke shifts his weight, sitting up and leaning more towards Chris' head and Amelia's perch behind it. He pops the cork on the potion and downs it, setting the empty bottle aside on the floor and trying not to look too much like he's bitten into a lemon for the taste. Still, it does it's work and as soon as he feels his connection to his magic strengthen again, he reaches out a hand to gingerly rest against the hollow of Chris' throat. It's not just the marks without that need healing; the cleric's voice had been a giveaway. He'd heard that rasp to it before - intimately - and if he hadn't already resolved to make certain the guards who'd done this had a limited number of breaths left to draw, he'd lose hold on his temper all over again. For now, though, its just a passing shadow over his expression, gone again after barely appearing.

"I'll stop when I'm finished and not a moment sooner."