Before Amelle took breakfast the next morning, she snuck down to the underground passages, hurrying along through the dimness like a ghost, her loose dress swishing around her legs as she walked. She'd had dreams — insane, impossible dreams — of pox-ridden patients filling the clinic until they were nearly piled upon each other, moaning their death-throes until she had awoken with a start, clawing at her sweat-soaked sheets. She washed and dressed herself quickly, and her hair was still damp as she clambered down the ladder.

The clinic was closed up. The lantern was out. All was still, as it should have been at such an hour. Amelle blew out a relieved breath and climbed back up, returning to the estate's cellar level in time to hear Orana call her for breakfast.

With so few in the house, breakfast was a charmingly simple affair — this morning Orana had made a rich, sweet bread, golden brown, studded throughout with dried fruit and wound into a braid. Orana hadn't had reason to make a full breakfast since that fateful morning after Kiara left — Aveline had been too busy to stop by since; emotions in the city were still running high, it seemed, and the guard were stretched too thin to be this busy. That left Fenris, who typically showed up once Amelle was on her second cup of tea. Sometimes they ate together before heading down to the clinic for another day of splinting broken bones, sewing up wounds, and — though she always hoped none would turn up — healing those blasted fevers.

Which made it all the more puzzling when the knock sounded as Amelle sat at her sister's desk, holding a slice of bread in her teeth as she attempted to bring order to the swirling chaos of Kiara's desk. Kiara always claimed the desk was in a perfect state of organization, but after laying eyes upon weeks' and months' and years' worth of old correspondence she'd found in nothing remotely resembling order? Amelle became more and more convinced the only things responsible for this mess were laziness and procrastination. Oh, she was certain her sister would be entirely horrified upon her return, but that was rather the point: Amelle wrought her revenge in simple, subtle ways.

"Drug me, will you, Kiri?" she muttered through the bread.

Just then, Orana appeared at the door to Kiara's study, looking almost birdlike as her hands plucked at each other and she shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot. "Mistress Amelle?" she said, pausing to take a brief look behind her. "Th-there's someone here to see you. Knight-Commander Cullen?" Her voice wavered as she said his name, and she was watching Amelle with a worried gaze.

Amelle swallowed her bite of bread, making short work of the rest of the crust as well. "Ahh, good," she said, brushing the crumbs from her dress and her hands. Once she was presentable, she smiled at the elf and said, "Thank you, Orana. Send him in, if you would?"

Orana gave a quick, jerky nod. She twisted around in Kiara's chair and lined up three bottles of ink in a flawless line, perfectly parallel with the back edge of the desk's surface. The soft sound of a throat clearing came from behind her and she turned around then stood, a smile ready at her lips as Cullen offered a quick nod of greeting.

"Ahh, Knight-Commander."

The look he gave her was a stern one, but it was also one she was used to. "Amelle."

"Acting. Acting." She smiled a moment longer, then sobered, noting how Cullen's expression mimicked hers. "Would you come in?" she asked, gesturing around her. "Take a seat, if you don't think one will collapse under the weight of all that metal. But at least come in — you make me nervous, hovering in the doorway like that."

He nodded again and came in, and he seemed to fill the whole space with all that gleaming, clanking armor, and the similarly gleaming sword and shield at his back. He looked around for a second, but decided to remain standing. She did too, linking her hands behind her back and looking up at him.

"I admit I … find myself surprised. Is there something I can do for you? Your letter… while amusing—"

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that much at least."

He smiled. "—while amusing, left me feeling somewhat…"

"Ill at ease?"

With a nod, he said, "Something like that. When one asks for the unique expertise of a templar, it seldom means good things. But that…"

"But that an apostate might need that expertise…" she prompted mildly. He sighed.

"Indeed. That an apostate," and he lowered his voice saying the word, as if it may have held an insult, "might need my assistance is… strange indeed."

Amelle nodded, then turned to Kiara's desk. She'd already organized away any messes; all of her sister's correspondence laid in neat, even piles. She moved papers from one pile to another, fidgeting, not meeting his eyes. "I— the illness in the city. Do you know anything about it?"

"Little enough, I admit," he said, watching her hands. "I've heard it causes fever and has been striking the very young—" But Amelle was already shaking her head at him.

"Not… the symptoms." She paused, grimacing, and when she spoke she wanted to grimace more for the awkward delivery of her words. "The… cause."

It took barely a breath of time for Cullen to understand what she was saying, and his expression of horror was such that Amelle dropped the papers and took several steps forward, immediately contrite.

"I— I didn't want to think you did," she said, gnawing on her bottom lip. "It's just… too much trouble of late has come from mages and templars and Kirkwall is currently rather short on mages. So. I… wanted to check. Cover my bases."

Strangely, he didn't become angry with her, as she had feared. Instead, Cullen took in her words and gave a slow nod, then turned and paced the room for a moment. When he stopped and looked over at her, she lifted her eyebrows questioningly, silently inviting him to say whatever was on his mind. Maker knew she had.

"There is yet a mage free who has shown little regard for the lives of the people of this city," Cullen said darkly. "Especially innocents."

The urge to fidget surfaced yet again and Amelle folded her hands tightly in front of her. "The thought had occurred. But— somehow, I don't think so." At his skeptical look, she added, "Oh, it's possible, and the Maker knows he's proved himself capable, but—"

"But you have reason to believe he's left Kirkwall?"

"You would, too, if you'd ever had Kiara mad at you." Suddenly the mental image of her sister, her eyes like ice as she glared and drew her bow, filled Amelle's mind. She shut it away with all the force of a slamming door. "Really mad." When she looked up, Cullen was almost smiling — almost — and Amelle felt reassured, despite the memory of the words she and her sister spoke — yelled — at one another. But now was not the time for those regrets, not yet. "He… you know he— came back. Here. After the battle. I missed their conversation, but I think… things were said."

"But were they things that might beg for revenge to be taken? We must… consider the timing, Amelle. Your sister left and people began sickening."

Amelle was sure every last drop of blood drained from her face at that moment. "Surely you aren't implying—!"

And as if he realized what he was saying, Cullen flushed a very bright red. "Maker, no! No, no. Her methods sometimes leave much to be desired, but I trust your sister. I only meant it might be significant that trouble started — again — once the Champion was gone from the city."

Amelle nodded thoughtfully as he spoke, then asked, "You trust her? Truly? Though you know she was hiding apostates from you for years? Even though you know there were times she lied to you?"

But Cullen waved this thought away as it were were utterly inconsequential, then met her gaze and held it, saying, "I will not lie to you and say I was comfortable with every decision she ever made, but yes… I trust her. She has stood by and fought when most would have run. She has earned her title rightfully."

This honesty, the deep sincerity of it, struck Amelle and she found it was suddenly her turn to blush.

"Also," added Cullen, "she is a most unconvincing liar. It's not as though she ever fooled me."

Amelle let out a sudden, surprised laugh, and Cullen grinned in turn, then looked around the study. Before she could wonder what he was looking for, he arched an eyebrow and looked back at her.

"I see you're without your bodyguard today. Daring."

The blush already at her cheeks only flamed harder. "He is not my bodyguard." But Cullen only lifted skeptical eyebrows at her, though he still smiled — almost teasingly. Teased by a templar. Maker, but her life had taken a strange turn.

"Does he know that, I wonder?" Amelle opened her mouth to object, but Cullen shook his head. "No matter. I— I do wonder, though, Amelle. Might I…" Here Cullen paused, looking around the room again — but this time it looked less like he was looking for a thing or a person and more like he was looking for words. Specifically the right words to say. "Might I stop by the clinic?"

A templar? In her clinic? The surprise must have shown on her face, because at her expression Cullen went on, speaking rapidly — almost blurting, "If there are clues to the illness, and if it has some kind of magical signature, I may be able to pick it up."

Amelle considered this, then tilted her head quizzically. "You think I haven't tried to hunt down if it's magical in origin?" But Cullen only waved his hand, taking in the templar armor he wore.

"Different methods," he said, almost apologetically. "I-I'm not looking to start a witch hunt, Amelle. I only want to help."

She narrowed her eyes and thought about his offer for several long moments. Perhaps she shouldn't have trusted him, but she did. Cullen began to grow vaguely uneasy — almost twitchy — at her silence. It was written all over his face.

"Oh, very well," she said finally. "But you'll scare everyone half to death if you show up in your full templar regalia. I don't suppose you'd consider coming as a civilian?"

For some reason this only made Cullen blush again, and he offered her a slight bow from the waist, almost as if it stood a chance of hiding the color warming his cheeks.

"As you wish, Amelle."

#

It had certainly taken long enough — longer than Amelle had anticipated, particularly given the increased activity in the clinic lately — but when she looked around she saw the clinic as she somehow felt it was always meant to be. It was brighter, cleaner, and more welcoming than it had ever been, and Amelle felt a rush of pride every time she walked through the doors.

As it happened, increased activity was part of her growing problem; though Varric had left her inordinately well-supplied, with so many people in and out of the clinic, it wasn't long before she realized she was running drastically low on supplies — bandages and potion bottles, mainly, though her stores of lyrium potion were somewhat lower than she was comfortable with, particularly given the fevers she'd been treating. But that day, at least, had bordered on the mundane so far; though a lot of people were coming through the doors, their complaints were common and easily treated, frequently without magic at all. So manageable was it that Amelle had asked Fenris if he wouldn't mind chasing down some of Varric's suppliers and seeing if more crafting agents and potion bottles might be found. He'd been uncertain but agreed that the day had been quiet enough that he could run a simple errand for her.

It was all a pleasant sort of chaos, Amelle thought, and she wished intensely Kiara could have been there to see it, to share it with her. Amelle missed her sister terribly, despite how tense and horrible things had been between them before she'd left. She knew, was sure Kiara would be as happy as Amelle was to see the clinic in its current shape. She wanted to show her sister this labor of love, share it with her, and show her that there could be good in Kirkwall, despite what lessons they'd been taught in the years living there.

She'll be back soon enough, she told herself, examining Marlin's arm and wincing sympathetically as the young man let out a strangled gasp of pain. "I'm afraid it is broken," she murmured, beginning the careful task of setting the bone. She was barely finished when a murmur rippled through the few people remaining in the clinic and Amelle looked up, half expecting to see another harried parent carrying another feverish infant and saw instead a man lingering near the doorway. It took her a few moments to recognize Cullen; even in his civilian clothing his bearing was a soldier's — a soldier at ease, perhaps, but a soldier nonetheless.

Marlin followed her gaze then whispered up at her, "Mistress, he may be out of his fancy dress, but that's the Knight-Commander in your clinic. My brother had a run-in with him once. Recognize that face anywhere."

Amelle sent the young man a small smile. "Acting."

She noticed his eyes widen as she nodded at Cullen, offering him a brief wave.

"Wait here a moment, Marlin. I'm not quite finished with you yet — and hold that arm still." With that, Amelle rose and crossed the room. "Knigh—"

"Perhaps just Cullen," he corrected quietly, offering her a warm smile. "Best save the official title for official business." At her grateful smile, he added, "You do good work here, Amelle. I'd hate to see the townsfolk suffer for fear of templar reprimand."

That was somewhat surprising to hear, and Amelle said as much. Cullen only furrowed his brows in reply, but as silent questions went, it was eloquent enough.

Amelle shrugged as she explained, "You're fair, but you're devoted. No one questions your belief in the work of the templars."

"I… do." He looked past her then, his expression darkening.

Amelle found herself wondering if he was thinking then of the previous mage who had maintained this particular space. She followed his gaze; the clinic was nearly empty now after what she considered a good day. For Amelle, a good day was one that ended with her being only slightly wobbly, and having had not a single nosebleed. A good day ended with nobody dying.

Amelle had learned quickly to appreciate the days when no one died.

"But I have seen the repercussions of blind devotion firsthand," Cullen went on, his voice low. "I have seen madness, and I have seen too much death. It does me some good, I think, to see compassion and selflessness and respect."

Something about his words, or perhaps just the tone in which he said them, struck Amelle as very earnest, and she decided, after a moment, she rather liked it. She smiled, looking up at him for a second or two before noticing that the shirt Cullen wore complimented the color of his eyes, bringing out the gold in the hazel. At that point she realized rather abruptly that she was staring and she looked away, flushed.

"I just want to help," she said, simply, sure she could feel his eyes on her, now. Before he could comment, she added, "That said, I'm not sure how much help I'll be to you today, I fear. It has been one of the rare days I've not had to deal with this… illness."

It was a rare blend of good news in its own way still disappointing, but if Cullen was disappointed, he hid it well. "In that case, may I look around?" he asked, gesturing at the clinic.

"Certainly. I just need to finish with my foolish young charge. Then I'll be free to answer any questions you might have."

Amelle returned to Marlin's side and resumed the task of setting and binding the arm, helping the healing along with the barest glimmer of magic, but without completely mending the bone — she preferred it if she could let the healing happen naturally, and she had always been of the opinion that letting people who hurt themselves idiotically suffer a little was as much a part of the healing process as fixing the injury in the first place. This fellow had fallen from a neighbor's roof, for example. While trying to look in at the neighbor's wife. In the bath.

Definitely stupid enough to have earned a few weeks' natural healing.

As she bound the arm and settled it in a linen sling, Amelle felt warmth at her shoulder; she hadn't heard Cullen come up behind her, but she knew without looking that he was there, watching her work. She looked at her hands, only the faintest glow of blue-white light emanating from her palms and wondered for a moment what he saw when he looked at her hands — instruments of healing, or madness and power waiting for the first opportunity to snap loose.

"And how did you hurt yourself, young man?" he asked.

Amelle did a fair job of hiding her smile despite Marlin's terrified look as he silently begged her to intercede. She shook her head briefly at him. "Go on, Marlin. Tell him."

Marlin flushed red. "Uh. I was… climbing. Messere. Ser. Cap—Commander-ser."

Cullen glanced at Amelle for clarification, but she kept her expression serene and he was left no choice but to look again to Marlin. "Climbing where?"

The young man looked utterly shamefaced as he mumbled, "My… roof… ser."

At these words Amelle shot Marlin a look and coughed both delicately and pointedly. Though it would have seemed impossible, Marlin's flush deepened, and he quickly amended: "My neighbor's roof, ser. 'S just — Liri's so pretty, right? And I … I couldn't help myself, ser. But I got punished right good. Fell off the roof and Liri was the one found me." He gestured dolefully at his broken arm. "Her husband'll probably break it again for me later. Or my head. He might break my head. He could."

"I know Arin," Amelle said gently as she tied off the binding and checked her work. "Please tell him Amelle would prefer he not make more work for her."

"C-can I go then, Mistress? Ser? I—promise I won't do it again." He cast a pleading glance at Cullen. "P-please don't take me to the Gallows, ser."

But Cullen just waved him off. "Off with you then. But make no more trouble for the healer, do you understand?"

"Yes, ser. Thank you, ser," Marlin said quickly as he hurried out of the clinic.

"You do realize you can't send him to the Gallows," Amelle murmured, amusement glinting in her eyes. "He's no mage."

"Well, he doesn't know I can't, does he? And if it keeps him from climbing other people's roofs and spying upon their wives…" As Cullen watched Marlin go, a faint frown knitted his brow. Once the young man was gone, the clinic door slamming shut behind him, Cullen's frown deepened. After a moment or two he paced to the windowboxes, staring at them for a time before plucking a dead leaf from an otherwise healthy bunch of elfroot, and returned to a baffled Amelle.

"He felt fine to you?" he asked.

"How do you mean?"

But Cullen only shook his head, looking at the dead leaf between his fingertips. "There… was something off about him. I don't understand it. It wasn't magic. But it wasn't normal either."

This sounded to Amelle very much like her own description of the fevers striking the children she'd treated so far. Not quite magic, but not quite normal. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then asked, "You think he was lying about the fall?"

"No," came Cullen's decisive answer. "I'm certain he wasn't. But— something — I wonder… can you tell me about the others you treated today?"

Amelle's eyebrow arched gracefully. "All of them? I see a lot of patients in a day, Cullen. More so lately."

"Lately?"

She shrugged. "The city is… unstable."

"But have there been any more falls? Strange stories? Stupid behavior?"

Huffing a dry laugh, Amelle replied, "Like I said, I see a lot of patients in a day." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the floor, mentally rifling through everyone she treated that day — it had been another early morning, and while there hadn't been any fevers… "Now that you mention it, Cassia was here today. She runs a fruit stall in the market, and she got into a fight with a patron. She is the sweetest, quietest, least aggressive person I've ever met. But she was the one who started the fight. She said she thought the man was trying to cheat her. Pulled a knife on him and wouldn't quit until one of her neighbors hit her over the head with a melon. I think Willa brought Cassia to me because she was acting so oddly. The melon wasn't nearly enough to give her a concussion."

"And you… treated her?"

Amelle shrugged. "I eased her headache and sent her on her way. Nothing out of the ordinary except the story, but then, like I said, the city's still uneasy, after everything."

"The city's still uneasy, indeed," he replied softly, glancing down once more at the leaf of elfroot, and for a moment it looked as though he didn't remember picking it. "Do you know where to find her, this Cassia?"

"I… suppose so."

"Will you take me? I'd like to see if she feels odd to me the same way that boy Marlin felt odd."

"It's the very young who seem to be affected by this illness, Cullen. They're the ones who come with fever — they're the ones who are dying."

"Still. Odd is always worth investigating. And you seem to be at a lull for the day."

Amelle shrugged and smiled. "Indeed. No guarantee how long it will last."

When Cullen offered her his arm, it seemed only polite to take it. She let him guide her out of the clinic, and she doused the lantern just outside the door before locking up and leading Cullen to the ladder, up into the Amell cellars. She could still remember that night, so long ago, when they'd broken into the house to retrieve Grandfather's will — there hadn't been slavers in these cellars for years, and the space now looked much more… cellar-like, filled with odds and ends, flotsam and jetsam from throughout their lives. Over the years, Amelle and Kiara had worked to bolster the cellar's wine collection as well, despite the recent dent Kiara had made in their stores.

"You are quite a hand with healing spells," asked Cullen as they walked through the dim cellar. "Was it always so?"

Amelle smiled. "I was eight when my magic showed itself. I… developed a propensity for lost causes and strays soon after." The smile faded. "Looking back, I think it was because…"

"Because…?" he prompted.

"My magic first manifested itself as fire. It was… scary, to say the least. I'd been by myself at the time — weeding the family garden — and had no idea what was happening to me. My father heard me calling for help and…" She shrugged. "He… was an apostate as well. He dried my tears and healed my burns and explained to me what I was. But I had already frightened myself. I… didn't want to… to destroy things. I tried to learn how to heal them, instead." She was reminded, suddenly and powerfully, of the afternoon she and Kiara had hidden in the woods, of the burn she'd dealt her sister when fear had overrun sense. "I had… excellent incentives to become a healer. I practiced on wounded and sick animals and worked up from there."

"You said your father was the one who discovered you, after…"

"After I nearly burned our harvest to a crisp? Yes. He… I think, looking back, he was… upset, because he knew what it would mean for me. He knew better than anyone that being tracked and hunted is no sort of life — and it has the potential to be…" she trailed off with a shrug, "lonely, I suppose. I think he wanted things to be different for his children. But… well, one out of three isn't so bad."

A beat of confused silence followed before Cullen spoke. "Three? I thought—"

Amelle very nearly tripped over her own feet, so sudden was her stop. She turned to face Cullen and could feel the blood draining from her face. She hadn't spoken about Carver to anyone not in her sister's immediate circle of friends. She hadn't spoken of him at all in… a very long time. She swallowed hard.

"There—there were three of us. We had a brother, Carver." Amelle hesitated a moment before adding, "He was my twin."

Cullen blinked, startled; he'd not heard this before, and why would he have? Kiara had done favors for Cullen, certainly, but he was not in the same… circle as the rest of her friends.

"What happened to him?"

"Killed." And it was still so hard to say, even after so many years. She tried saying the word quickly, as if that might mitigate some of the pain. It didn't. She looked down, steeling herself, and went on: "We were fleeing Lothering, trying to get to Gwaren to catch a ship for Kirkwall. That was our plan, such as it was. But we… the darkspawn attacked." The memories were still so very fresh after so long, and Amelle looked at the ground, unable to stop the deluge. "Foolish blighter tried to take on an ogre by himself, with only his sword. It…" She stopped suddenly and collected herself. Her hands had curled into white-knuckled fists. "It was… very quick. I couldn't— he was gone before I could…" She stopped, took a deep breath. "It was quick."

Cullen said nothing for a long, long while. Amelle simply stood, her arms hugging herself as she stared at the floor. It felt wrong somehow that she hadn't spoken more of Carver, and she felt suddenly and intensely ashamed.

"I am sorry," he said, finally. Amelle nodded her thanks, but didn't quite trust her voice.

When she did speak again — when she could — she found herself smiling, however tremulously. "He was quite good with a sword, as it happens. He wasn't just — he didn't just hack away at things. He was good." Cullen took her arm again, and she couldn't help but notice the warmth of his arm despite the cool damp of the basement. "He was never allowed to shine, though. Never allowed to stand out, because of us." She paused, and her fingers tightened reflexively on Cullen's sleeve. "Because of me."

"He only wanted to protect his sister."

"And I couldn't protect him. Couldn't even heal him. It— it all happened too fast."

"Is that… why?" he asked, gesturing behind them — it was a vague motion, but he was clearly indicating the clinic.

Such a thing had never occurred to Amelle and she stopped suddenly and turned, looking back down the tunnel, her hand flying to her mouth. She stared down the path for a long while, then pulled her hand away, uttering a short, dry laugh.

"Probably. I couldn't save my own twin brother, but, by the Maker, I'll make up for it and save everybody else."

"I'm sure he's walking by the Maker's side, even now."

Amelle's smile was wry. "Unless the Maker's leading him to a training field for a sparring match, I'm not sure Carver isn't dreadfully bored."

A small smile twitched at his mouth. "We none of us know what exists for us beyond death. Perhaps there are more training fields and sparring matches than your brother could possibly hope for."

"He'd like that." She turned again and began walking, leading the way back up to the house. "I hope… I just hope he isn't alone. It won't be so bad, at least, if Father's there and if Mother can fuss over him." She fell silent as they walked, her arm linked with Cullen's as she sifted through her memories. "Maker. I still miss that big idiot."

"I'm sure he misses you, too."

#

Amelle wasn't sure what made her keep her arm linked in Cullen's the entire walk to Lowtown, but she found herself on the losing side of her internal argument over whether such contact was even remotely appropriate, mainly because it felt so nice.

It was nice to walk along with someone like this — and surely if Cullen had any reservations regarding appearances or whether or not it was appropriate for him to be walking arm in arm with anyone — particularly an apostate mage — he'd have said so, with much blushing and stammering, Amelle was sure. Blushing and stammering or a well-aimed holy smite. That firmly in mind, she let herself enjoy the light contact. Besides, it wasn't as if she could pretend they were only out for anything but an early evening stroll — not when they were on the way to Lowtown, anyway.

"And you're sure you know where Cassia lives?" Cullen asked, doubtless noticing the way Amelle peered at each doorway as they made their way through the colorless maze of buildings that was Lowtown.

"I can find it just fine from Uncle Gamlen's house. Any other starting point, I'm afraid, and I get a bit… lost."

"Well, then. Shall we find your uncle's house first?"

Amelle gave him a sheepish grin. "That's what I was trying to do."

Cullen's lips twitched, as if he were holding back a chuckle. He cleared his throat instead and inclined his head. "Did you not… live there too, at one time?"

Amelle ducked her head, sheepishly. "Yes, we did."

"Did you get this lost then, too?"

"Not quite this lost."

This time Cullen did chuckle. "All right. Let's start at the beginning. Your uncle — Gamlen, was it? — lives in Lowtown."

"Yes."

"Which part?"

"The older part — not far from the alienage. That's where Cassia lives — the alienage."

"Ah. There I can help." Cullen's grip on her arm tightened ever so slightly as he guided her to the left and then on through a series of winding alleyways until the upper limbs of the alienage's sacred tree were visible above the rooftops.

"Ah. I… I know where I am now, Cullen, thank y—"

"Amelle!"

Few voices in Kirkwall had the power to elicit much of a reaction from Amelle; her sister's of course, and the voices of those they'd traveled and fought with over the years — Amelle knew the timbre and volume of each, and when they called her name, she turned willingly, even happily, to answer them. This particular voice, however, made Amelle wish she'd studied earth magic just a little more closely so that she'd actually be able to make the ground open up and swallow her whole.

All the same, she turned and smiled, resisting the urge to fidget. "Hello, Uncle."

The older man's face was set in a disapproving frown, as always — particularly where Amelle was concerned. Amelle wasn't the Champion of Kirkwall; she was, first and foremost, a problem to be swept under the rug, like the other Amell children. She'd thought things had changed after their mother's death, and then thought they'd changed again when Kiara had helped reunite Gamlen with his long lost daughter, but apparently the man had a pitifully short memory. It was either that or he simply didn't care much for Amelle. Or mages at all, really.

"Surprised to see you out and about," he said, eyeing her in that way he had of making Amelle feel as if she'd filched all the family riches and lost it all in a card game—

Oh, wait, no, she thought, fighting to keep her expression perfectly neutral. That was him. She gestured a little at the cloudless sky, all innocence. "Oh, just… taking advantage of the nice evening."

He arched an incredulous eyebrow at her. "A nice evening," he echoed flatly. "In Lowtown. I wouldn't have thought you'd be so willing to come back, no matter the circumstances. Felt like slumming it, then?"

Amelle resisted the urge to point out the one thing Lowtown had over Hightown insofar as ambiance went was a distinct lack of ruined chantries; instead, she kept her smile fixed in place. "Well, you know. A clear sky's a clear sky."

Gamlen didn't reply, but Amelle had noticed that his disapproving gaze had turned into a glower — and it had slid from her to Cullen. She tugged lightly at Cullen's arm, urging him to leave with her, but he only gave her forearm a gentle squeeze… and stayed put. Something about his posture changed ever so slightly, and Amelle saw the soldier's bearing come through as he looked down at her uncle.

"Good evening, serah," he said to Gamlen, the very picture of politeness, and Amelle felt a tiny flush of pride that Cullen, on top of everything else, seemed to stand so much taller than her uncle.

"Hmph," was the extent of Gamlen's reply as he continued glowering — the fact that Cullen's expression was politely bland only made Gamlen glower harder. "So. You're a friend of my niece, are you?"

Something about the way Gamlen had uttered the word friend made Amelle feel vaguely insulted and slightly unclean. Cullen squeezed her arm again. She held her tongue and watched.

"I suppose I am, serah. Am I to understand I have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of another of her family?"

"I'm her uncle, if that's what you're asking." Gamlen narrowed his eyes slightly. "And what about you?"

Cullen blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry? I thought we'd established I am a friend of your niece's."

Impatience and disdain flickered across Gamlen's face. "So are you one of her kind?" he asked, taking only long enough to look at Amelle, though his tone and expression made his meaning entirely clear.

And it was certainly clear enough for Cullen, who had gone strangely tense, and whose fingers spasmed against Amelle's arm as he cleared his throat. "And by 'her kind,' you mean…?"

"Mages, of course," he spat. "Apostates. Whatever you lot are referring to yourselves as now. You could call yourselves the bloody Queens of Antiva and it wouldn't make any difference."

"I see. No, serah, as fate would have it I am no mage—"

"Oh. Well, good—"

"That said, I am the current Knight-Commander of the Templar Order of Kirkwall, and I would thank you to show a modicum of respect for this healer who, as I can attest, has been doing more to help the citizens of Kirkwall than some can begin to comprehend." Gamlen opened his mouth to reply, but Cullen stood even taller. "Unless, serah, you have been healing fevers, setting bones, and soothing burns without receiving so much as a copper in return. In which case, I humbly beg your pardon."

"I—"

"I thought not." Cullen offered a brief bow. "Do excuse us, serah, but we must take our leave. I am escorting your niece on exceptionally sensitive business this evening."

Without a word, Cullen turned and whisked Amelle around the corner; she had a hard time keeping up with his long-legged strides and she hurried to maintain his pace until he slowed to a stop halfway down a narrow stairwell.

"I'm so sorry about that, Cullen, he—"

"Your own uncle speaks to you that way? Truly?"

Amelle fidgeted with her sleeve a moment. "Well. He's not a favorite uncle. And he… well, he's not all bad, he just has a… terribly short memory, I think." Cullen appeared not to be convinced; Amelle grimaced again. "I'm not making excuses for him. He—"

"The man's a weasel."

"Well. That's… not… entirely untrue, I'll warrant." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry about that… assumption he made, too."

He sighed. "Amelle—"

"It's just that you're out of armor and you're in my company," she sighed, wincing. "Trust me — that was enough. If you'd been in armor, Gamlen likely would have assumed you were putting me under arrest. And that, I'm sure, would have encouraged an entirely different response from him. There might have even been cheering. Maybe confetti."

Cullen did more than stare at her — he gaped.

"This… can't be new to your experience, Cullen," Amelle said, choosing her words with extreme care. "My mother… chose to spend her life with an apostate. That she got one for a child probably was never a surprise to her. But not all family members are so… accepting." She swallowed, hating the way the words tasted on her tongue.

"I— no, I suppose it isn't a surprise, exactly. I'd just thought…"

The look she sent him was a wry one. Amelle cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head, and in that moment she looked so much like her sister the resemblance was almost eerie. "Thought perhaps that the Champion of Kirkwall's family wouldn't have included a shortsighted, selfish, rude, prejudiced weasel-cheat?"

"Er… not in so many words. But… essentially, yes."

Amelle sighed, spreading her hands. "He's family; I don't have to like him. And he doesn't have to like me."

Cullen's lips twitched into a slightly crooked grin. "True, but it's still nearly incomprehensible. Are you quite sure you're related? You're far more likable than he is."

His words — and the gentle, sincere nature of them — took Amelle by surprise, leaving her nearly breathless. She swallowed hard and stared up at him, blinking rapidly as her mind raced to figure out whether he'd meant it, or whether he'd simply been teasing her. Nothing about his tone or expression lent any real credibility to the possibility of teasing. His smile reflected nothing but good humor, without superciliousness or scorn or cruelty, or any of the other qualities Amelle found herself frequently expecting. Her heart thudded suddenly, hard, and she swallowed.

Sensing she'd been silent far too long, she cleared her throat, thankful for the afternoon's lengthening shadows; the shadows hid the heat at her cheeks most effectively. "Um… th-thank you."

Several seconds ticked past before the spell suddenly broke. Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck, looking away. "Yes. Well. It's getting late. We ought to find Cassia and speak with her, if she'll let us."

On impulse, Amelle took Cullen's hand. She felt him startle slightly, and she immediately relaxed her grip when he did, ready to pull away. But in the space of a heartbeat, his fingers tightened warmly around hers. Amelle turned her head to peer around a corner, using the opportunity to hide the tiny smile warming her lips.

"Come on," she said, looking above the rooftops for the upper limbs of the alienage's sacred tree. "I'll try not to get us lost this time," Amelle said, tugging Cullen into the golden afternoon light, leading him to the alienage and to Cassia.

#

Cassia's husband Kavan answered the door when Cullen knocked. He opened it only wide enough to see Cullen standing on the stoop, but not Amelle. His eyes widened suddenly and he started to shut the door, but Amelle thrust her hands out against the flat of it, pushing back. The force wasn't enough to stop Kavan from slamming the door in their faces entirely, were he of a mind to, but it was enough to make him stop long enough to think.

"Kavan, it's me, Amelle," she said quickly, ducking in front of Cullen so Kavan could see her. "I'm here to see after Cassia."

The elf's nervous face peered at them through the narrow opening, and he hesitated a moment longer before pulling the door completely open.

"I'm sorry," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "It's… things have been so strained lately, and after what happened with Cassie at the market today, I…" he grimaced and shook his head, looking down. "We've been careful with visitors. Not that we've really had a lot of those lately."

"I understand," Amelle said, bringing her hands down and linking them behind her back. "It's been… difficult around the city lately. No one can be too careful."

Kavan nodded, then looked around Cullen and Amelle, his eyes darting across the alienage's courtyard. "You said you wanted to see Cassie?"

"You've got to admit it was a strange altercation. I thought I'd come by, see how she's doing."

At this, Kavan's expression clouded as he stepped back, silently inviting them in. "I've never known her to act that way," he said, lowering his voice once the door was closed.

"Nor I," Amelle agreed. "It's entirely unlike her." She looked around; their home was small but clean and lovingly kept — fresh fruit filled a basket that looked to Amelle to have been hand-woven. She knew Kavan and Cassia had a small child — a little girl — but Amelle neither saw nor heard any sign of her. If her mother was behaving erratically, it was probably for the best if the child was away from home, with friends or family, if any were to be had in the alienage; Amelle assumed there were. "Has she been under any… stress? I know the whole city has been… upended, but has Cassia been especially worried about anything?"

Kavan paused to think about this for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Nothing more than usual, anyway," he said. "Nothing that would've caused her to act like that. Thank Andraste Willa was there, or…" Kavan trailed off with a shake of his head, closing his eyes as if he didn't even want to consider what might have happened. "That isn't like her, Mistress Amelle. My Cassie is the kindest, gentlest woman I know. I don't… I don't understand what came over her this morning. This isn't like her," he said again, his tone growing desperate. Amelle laid a soothing hand on his arm.

"I know it isn't. That's why we'd like to speak with her, if she's feeling better."

The elf frowned, folding his arms — it was less a defensive gesture and looked more like he was simply trying to ward off any number of uncomfortable thoughts and possibilities. "She's… she's been sleeping since I brought her home."

"I only want to see if the treatment I gave her for the headache kept it at bay." She gave him her most disarming smile. "Consider this a house-call."

He looked at the floor for a moment, then over his shoulder at a closed door. "I could… check on her, if you wanted. If she's awake, you can speak with her."

Amelle's smile didn't budge. "All right. We'll just wait here."

Kavan nodded, then sent an uncertain look at Cullen, who remained mildly impassive. Once Kavan disappeared into the other room, Amelle turned to him. "Letting me do all the talking?"

He shrugged a little, looking only vaguely sheepish. "These people know you, Amelle. I am… an interested observer, but as you said once, the armor tends to make people nervous."

"You aren't in your armor now," she reasoned. "The only person I know who can go incognito by leaving things out of your usual ensemble, in fact."

He dipped his head to speak in a low tone near her ear and Amelle fought back the urge to shiver as warm breath stirred the short strands of hair along her neck. "And yet were you to tell anyone I am a templar, I suspect any welcome we'd been given would grow significantly less warm."

Before Amelle could reply, the door opened again and Kavan came out, looking more nervous than he had before. "She's… awake," he said, casting a worried glance over his shoulder. "But Mistress Amelle, she's… not right. I'm not sure you should—"

But Amelle was already walking toward the room in question. "If she's not quite right, Kavan," she said brightly, with more confidence than she felt, "best let me see if I can figure out what's wrong."

Either the elf was smart enough to let her attempt her work, or he was simply too unnerved by his wife's behavior to protest. Either way, he stepped aside as Amelle and Cullen entered the small room.

Cassia, a pretty elf with short blonde hair and wide brown eyes, sat upon the bed, shoulders slumped and elbows resting upon her knees, her head cradled in her hands. Amelle couldn't tell simply from looking whether the woman's head merely ached or if this attitude was indicative of a different, larger problem. She hoped — desperately hoped, in fact — it was the former, but Amelle's optimism had started to wane slightly as the latter seemed far more likely. She felt a sudden pang of guilt, but tried shoving it aside; it was hard not to beat up on herself — clearly something was very wrong with Cassia, but Amelle had only treated her for a bloody headache.

Amelle kept her voice low as she approached the woman. "Cassia? It's Amelle Hawke. I've brought a friend; we're here to see how you're doing."

Cassia looked up at them, dark eyes usually sparking with good humor and liveliness now vacant and empty, rimmed with red. Slowly Cassia brought her hand up and touched her head, fingers brushing over the spot — Amelle assumed — where Willa had hit her with the melon.

"My head." She sounded distracted, her soft words too like a distant echo of something else. Amelle felt the worry in her gut ratchet higher as she moved closer to the bed, unsure whether Cassia had even heard her.

"Yes," she soothed, creeping closer. "Your head. You came to see me earlier and I treated you for headache. Do you remember?"

That got Cassia's attention and the woman's expression flashed irritation as she looked up at Amelle. "Of course I remember. I'm not stupid."

Taken aback by the vehemence of the reply, Amelle faltered, scrambling a moment before she said, "Of course you aren't, Cassia. But you did take quite a blow to the head. We just want to make sure you're still all right."

Cassia's dark eyes narrowed and flicked over to Cullen, who was doing a fine job of looking as unassuming and nonthreatening as he possibly could. "Who did you bring?" she snapped. "Another shemlen healer?"

"N-no, Cassia. This is Cullen. He's a friend. He's—"

"Here to take a statement, my good woman," Cullen added fluidly, interrupting firmly enough to cause Amelle to stop talking, but gently enough that he didn't seem rude about it. "Mistress Amelle told me what happened today at the market. I thought it best if I accompanied her."

The change that came over the woman's features was shocking; her lip curled and her eyes glittered wildly. "One of the guard, then? Good. Did she tell you that bastard shem tried to cheat me?"

The words themselves — to say nothing of their tone — were unlike anything Amelle had ever heard the merchant use before, but she nodded soberly even as Cullen said, "She did. I asked her to bring me to see you so I might hear your side of the story."

"What's there to tell?" she spat, glaring. "They always try to cheat me in Hightown. Think I don't know any better. Think I'm just some stupid knife-eared bitch who doesn't know." Her voice was growing higher and shrill, trembling with anger as she curled her hands into fists. "Well, I know. I know, all right. And I showed him!"

Amelle and Cullen exchanged a look. Cullen nodded briefly — if Amelle's guess was right he was feeling the same thing he sensed in Marlin earlier. Amelle lifted her eyebrows and nodded once in silent acknowledgement, then stepped closer.

"Might I tend your head, Cassia? Kavan's terribly worried."

The elf sneered and looked for a moment like she was going to spout a few unflattering words about her own husband, but instead she flung up a hand dismissively.

"Whatever."

Amelle crept closer until she stood directly in front of Cassia, hands resting on either side of the woman's head. As she took a breath of mana and focused it, funneling it into healing energy, Amelle thought of the fevers she'd healed, how they felt.

There was something there. Something almost familiar in Cassia.

"Catch me if I faint, Cullen," she murmured, eyes closed.

"Is that… likely to happen?"

"More likely than I'd prefer, I'm afraid," she replied, setting to work.

As Amelle rested her hands upon Cassia's head, her mind was racing: was Cassia ill in the same way the children had been? She had no fever, but when Amelle's fingers crept to the pulse in her neck, a rapid, erratic tattoo beneath her fingertips.

Concentrate, she thought, frowning. Focus.

There it was. It was faint, but there. That same sense of… something wrong. Something there that shouldn't have been. It wasn't localized; it was everywhere, and for a brief, startling moment Amelle was utterly shocked she hadn't felt it before. But, no, when she'd tended Cassia's headache, she'd sent a wave of healing magic to the woman's head, focusing her energies upon the spot where she'd been hit with the melon. She hadn't looked any deeper than that — treating a symptom, rather than examining the cause. But a fever… a fever was more than a symptom; a fever indicated something was dreadfully wrong in the patient. But an adult experienced no fever. Odd.

She was vaguely aware of Cullen moving behind her, but his voice was distant to her ears. "Amelle…"

"Just a moment…" she managed, adjusting her power slightly, shifting here and pulling there, feeling it tingle through her hands, more hot than cold, just now.

"Amelle." His voice was louder now, and he sounded alarmed. "Amelle, your nose."

She ignored him. So close, she thought. Nearly there—

The next thing Amelle knew, she was shutting her eyes tight against a wave of light so white, so brilliant that she saw it even from behind her lids. She felt the healing spell sputter out and knew the glow from her hands had already died out as she darted back, gasping as if she'd been doused with icy water.

A smite? Here? Now? Sudden betrayal welled up in her, a dull ache in her chest, but then Amelle realized that, no, it had not been a smite. A smite would have left her a crumpled, drained heap on the floor. She was still upright and still felt her mana pulsing within. But he'd disrupted the spell all the same. Glaring, Amelle rounded on Cullen.

"What in all the Void was that about?" she demanded, poking her finger against his chest. "I was nearly there!"

But Cullen only grasped her shoulders and held her at arm's length, looking down at her. Worry and bewilderment mingled on his features as he said, "Amelle. Your nose. It's bleeding."

She stopped, her hand flying to her face. Sure enough, her fingertips came back slicked with red and she swore softly.

"You were pushing yourself too hard," said Cullen. "It's not good for—"

"M-mistress Amelle?"

They both stopped and stared. Cassia was looking up at them both, like she had no memory of how she got there. The woman blinked once, then twice, her mouth working silently.

"Mistress Amelle?" she began again. "Y-you're bleeding. Are you… are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Amelle said, and from the way Cullen sent her a sidelong glare, she could tell he knew it wasn't the whole truth. "How's your head?"

Cassia placed her hand against her forehead, looking strangely lost. "It's… fine. Better, I think." She bit her lip and looked around once more. "I… how did I get home?"

"You don't remember?" asked Cullen.

"I— I remember leaving for the market this morning, and…" she trailed off, rubbing her head again. "It's all kind of… muddled."

"Muddled," Amelle echoed.

"That's one way of putting it," Cullen said, frowning.

#

Amelle and Cullen assured Cassia and Kavan that while it was unlikely her headache would return, but if it did manage to come back, or if Cassia began behaving oddly again, they were to bring Cassia to the clinic as soon as possible.

They walked back to Hightown in near silence.

"You sensed it," Amelle said quietly. "I saw your face. You felt the same thing in Cassia you felt in Marlin."

Cullen nodded. His arm was linked in hers again, though Amelle couldn't help but wonder if this particular display of solicitousness was fueled by the fact that she'd magicked herself into a nosebleed before his eyes. She grimaced at the memory. Hope he doesn't think that was some fancy new application for blood magic, she thought, even as her fingers played absently with the cuff of his sleeve.

"As did you," he mildly replied.

"It was different, in Cassia. With those children, I sensed it almost immediately. Something wrong. I didn't sense it at all in Marlin or Cassia — or, Maker, any number of the adults I saw today, yesterday, or the day before."

"Perhaps you simply weren't looking for it. If someone comes in with a broken arm, you're going to fix the arm. Not search for hidden reasons why its owner broke it in the first place. But a child's fever is… a different case altogether."

"I'd thought much the same thing."

A beat of silence passed. "You don't sound terribly convinced. Besides, with as many patients as have been darkening your door as of late, you can hardly be blamed for not catching an aberration hidden beneath the surface."

"But you did."

"Ah," he countered, giving her a sly half-grin, "but I was looking for something."

"All of which does us very little good," she said. Her hip brushed his as they walked and Amelle felt a sudden rush of heat flare at her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "We still have no idea what's causing it."

Cullen's stride hitched as he hesitated. "I… may have a suggestion. Though I would understand if you were disinclined to consider it."

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

"The Circle library is still more or less intact," he began. "And as I understand it, there is a fairly well-stocked section on herbalism — that is… that is a speciality of yours, is it not?" When Amelle nodded, he went on, "I suspect there are research and reference materials you might make good use of, if you were interested?"

"The Circle library," she echoed, looking at him. "The Circle library located in the bowels of Templar Hall located ever so helpfully in the Gallows?"

"I could get you in and out again, Amelle. But you'd have to be quick about it."

"I don't even know what to look for," she argued, not listening to the little voice inside that believed him, that trusted him to get her in and out again safely. "It's… it's not even a needle in a haystack; it's a needle in a pile of needles! How much time do you possibly think you could give me?"

He considered. "Given the… shortage of mages in the area, there is less need to patrol areas such as the library. We're rather shorter on men, so areas like the library aren't patrolled as frequently."

"That isn't an answer, Knight-Commander," she said dryly.

He made a face. "Acting," he corrected her. "And… overnight, I think. I could give you overnight. The last patrol is at dusk, and the first of the day is just after dawn. Could you work with that?"

They climbed the stairs to Hightown as Amelle gave the matter all due contemplation. If there was any chance at all this illness could be fought with a potion, it was certainly a path worth exploring, and though she had some books on the subject, her library wasn't nearly as vast as the Circle's. Amelle knew she didn't have mana enough to heal everyone — she'd never drained herself so many times in such a short period before, and it was enough to make her worry. She chewed the inside of her cheek before responding, "I could potentially work with that, yes. If anyone kept a record of what books—"

"One of the Tranquil minded the library. I'm sure there is such an index."

"Are you sure you could lay hands on it?"

He gave her a tiny smile as they reached the front door. "Amelle, if the Knight-Commander can't request the library index, what good is it being the Knight-Commander?"

Amelle met his smile with one of her own. "Acting."