It was late in the day by the time Fenris returned to the clinic with a crate of the most depleted supplies. In addition to bandages, crafting reagents, and potion bottles — as well as a small cache of lyrium potion — Fenris had a promise from Varric's supplier for more. The dwarf had been somewhat reluctant, and much to Fenris' annoyance he'd had little choice but to spend the better part of his afternoon being persuasive. But he had the supplies Amelle needed most, and that would doubtless please her, so certainly the effort had been worth it.
Or it would have pleased her had she been in the clinic, but upon climbing the stairs Fenris found the doors closed, the lantern doused. For a moment, the irritation that had been building all afternoon and evening was swept away by sudden panic, but though it was early for Amelle to be gone, the doors were most assuredly locked and there appeared to be no sign of battle or force. Panic ebbed away, replaced by chagrin as he chastised himself — of course nothing had happened in his absence.
If anything, he thought, letting himself into the clinic and setting the crate on a nearby table, I ought to be relieved Amelle has — for once — apparently quit before having to be physically helped back to Hightown. Fenris closed up the clinic again and made his way up the ladder into the Amell wine cellar and onward into the estate proper.
As he continued upward, a thread of worry began to pull at him. Amelle had exhausted herself before in his absence. It was entirely within the realm of possibility that she had done so again. If Aveline or Merrill or even Orana had come down and found her…
Fenris quickened his pace.
He told himself he was overreacting, told himself he was being foolish, told himself any number of things, but still he hurried up the final flight of stairs and stalked down the hallway that led into the warmth of the house. He wouldn't stay long, he decided — just long enough to make certain she was all right, and that nothing had happened to make the clinic's early closing necessary.
But just as Fenris crossed the threshold of that hall, he stopped.
Voices came from the library. Laughter. Amelle's. When he drew nearer, expecting to see Orana (or even Merrill; the Dalish elf had something of a gift for making Amelle laugh, he'd noticed) he instead saw Amelle at a long desk, laughing with a man. As casual and at ease as he appeared, it took Fenris a moment to recognize the templar Knight-Captain out of his armor, and he too was… laughing.
Fenris turned quickly to leave, but not before he noticed the way they were both leaning forward in their chairs, knees bumping awkwardly. Sheets of parchment were spread out on the table, but Fenris was too interested in retreating to care what was printed upon them. As he turned, however, Amelle looked up and saw him.
"Fenris!" she twisted around in her seat, smiling at him. It was impossible to ignore the way her eyes lit up, and he hated that he noticed such a thing. "You're back. Did you have any trouble?"
Behind her, the Knight-Captain inclined his head and Fenris straightened slightly, meeting that gaze with a steady one of his own. The other man's look held no overt challenge, but there was a definite moment wherein Fenris sized him up, and he was certain Cullen had done the same. Finally he shifted his gaze to Amelle.
"I did not mean to interrupt. I only wished to tell you I'd procured the supplies you needed."
"Thank you." She looked at the window to find it was dark outside. "Maker, it took you all day?" Her apologetic wince was immediate as she pushed out of the chair. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine it was your ideal day, chasing after Varric's suppliers and bullying them into giving us bandages—"
Keeping his expression neutral, Fenris took a single step back. "Think nothing of it. But you are… clearly busy. I will not keep you."
As if suddenly remembering the room wasn't so vacant as Fenris might have liked it to be, Amelle looked back at Cullen, then again at Fenris, seeming to read his irritation with the Knight-Captain's presence as mere curiosity. "Oh… Cullen came by earlier to see if he could sense anything in this illness I might've overlooked."
He gave nothing away, either in tone or expression. "Ah."
She rocked back on her heels, and he recognized the building excitement in the way she couldn't quite keep still, the way energy imbued every movement — and in the way she smiled at him. "We may have uncovered something useful. It appears the same illness manifests itself differently in children as opposed to adults. The children develop fevers, but the adults begin to exhibit erratic, even violent, behavior. I hadn't thought the two were related, but that seems to be the case. And with the increased traffic in the clinic, it seems to make the most sense."
As Amelle spoke, enthusiasm growing, Fenris regarded Cullen steadily. His own eyebrow twitched, the slightest hint of a challenge. Amelle continued speaking, entirely oblivious.
"Cullen thinks there may be some books in the Circle library that will help me develop a potion so—"
That caught his notice and Fenris wrenched his attention back to Amelle, now pacing the library with barely contained excitement. The Circle library? Was she mad?
"Fenris?" Amelle paused by the fireplace and was watching him closely. "Are you—"
"You are planning on doing this, then?"
She gestured at the books lining the walls, most of which, he knew, a mage would have had no practical use for. "The resources there outstrip anything I've got here. If I can craft a potion that'll cure these people and doesn't give me a nosebleed in the process, all the better."
"And you expect to gain entrance to the library of the fallen Circle of Magi how, exactly?" He hated how pointed and almost bitter he sounded; he hated even more the way he noticed Amelle's almost-imperceptible flinch, the hurt in her eyes. Instinct screamed at him to apologize and screamed louder at him to leave.
Cullen shifted slightly in his seat, the creaking wood breaking the silence that had settled over the room. "I have a number of library access points in mind. Amelle should be able to get in and out again without notice."
"And there are no patrols in that portion of the Gallows overnight—"
"Overnight?" Fenris sent a sharp look Cullen's way. To the templar's credit, which Fenris only grudgingly allowed, the Knight-Captain appeared not to comprehend the full implication behind Amelle's words until that moment. He twitched suddenly, his face going red; Fenris found it difficult not to gain the slightest enjoyment in the other man's discomfiture.
"Yes — so I'll have plenty of time to research. I hope."
"And who will be standing guard while you…" a pointed pause, "…research?"
His question seemed to puzzle her. "I… had hoped you might consider it, Fenris. Or better yet, help me search. Cullen will remain nearby; the Knight-Commander's office," she said, gesturing at what he saw now were maps strewn across the table, "is en route to the library. If anyone's headed that way, he'll be able to run interference for me. Us. If you decide to come with me. So… will you?"
It was such a simple request, and yet Fenris felt himself tense. He was perfectly aware Amelle knew of the… arrangement he and her sister had. Reading was no longer a mystery, and it was in fact even a pastime he enjoyed, but he was hardly equipped to assist Amelle in any sort of real capacity. Surely she knew that; Fenris didn't think she'd have made such a suggestion just to be cruel or to mock him, but…
No, he decided. If Amelle was suggesting it, she was suggesting it honestly.
Granted, that didn't mean he was going to take her up on it.
"I would prefer not."
Surprise, confusion, then disappointment flashed by in rapid succession, and the last was his undoing. "…Please?"
Setting his jaw, Fenris turned with a jerk, facing the hearth and closing his eyes against the brightness and heat of the flames. "Festus bei umo canaverum," he muttered softly under his breath. She would indeed be the death of him, he was certain.
"Fenris?" He could feel the warmth of her as she inched closer. "Was that a y—"
"Yes. Fine," he finally said, turning briskly to face her. "If you wish it, I will accompany you." Despite the brightness of her smile, tension pulled at Fenris' shoulder blades and he found himself stretching his fingers out simply to keep them from tightening into fists.
"Excellent," she said, clasping her hands together. "Tomorrow night, then, after—"
"If you'll forgive me, Amelle, I must take my leave. We will speak more on this later."
Amelle stopped mid-sentence and blinked at him; behind her, the Knight-Captain's expression remained neutral — maddeningly so. Without another word, Fenris turned on his heel and left.
He found he suddenly had the strangest desire to put his fist through a wall.
#
As agreed, Cullen got Amelle and Fenris into the Circle library. Amelle hadn't expected it to be easy — and a good thing for that, too. This was a place people weren't supposed to be able to break out of, after all. Breaking in had every reason to be difficult as well. The plan depended on Cullen adjusting the duty shifts just-so, and then ushering Amelle and Fenris — both of them cloaked, for they were both far too easily identified — through the Gallows courtyard, into Templar Hall, and from there to the library. Amelle's heart pounded somewhere in the vicinity of her throat as they darted from corridor to corridor, relying on silent signals from Cullen as he strode along ahead, indicating that they should wait, hide, or hurry.
It was enough to make Amelle decide—firmly—that espionage was not her forte.
The library, as promised, was deserted and dark. Cullen set his lantern down on a table. "I will only be at the top of the stairs and down the hall should you need me."
Fenris cast an eye around the room as if planning contingency escape plans. "Do you believe that's likely?"
A thoughtful frown creased his forehead. "I hope not. But in any event, I will be keeping an eye and ear out." He kept his voice low and fixed Amelle with a grave look. "You should have until dawn, but I urge you, Amelle, not to take that long if you can manage it."
She nodded. "I'll do my best."
Cullen started to say something, then hesitated and settled for giving her a small nod. "I… I know you will." He turned and started for the door, leaving the lantern behind.
"Cullen, you take that one," said Amelle, picking up the lantern and offering it to him, letting a light flare to life in her other hand. "You need it more than I do."
The templar only shook his head at her. "Keep it. Maker forbid, if you get caught, you don't want to be caught using magic. I hardly believe that sort of display would go over well."
Amelle looked skeptical, but let her own light wink out and she didn't argue.
Once Cullen left, all was still and dark; no lanterns save one were lit, and the only moonlight managed cut through the gloom poured through high windows in narrow beams. Even in the dimness, the library at the Kirkwall Circle of Magi was grand, no matter the state of the Circle itself.
The books of the Kirkwall Circle, most of them ancient, nearly all of them priceless, were housed in a high-ceilinged room with walls stacked from floor to ceiling. Free-standing bookcases, also impossibly tall and loaded down with books, segmented the large room into aisles. Dusty step stools were scattered about and ladders leaned against walls, a means to reach those higher tomes. Amelle stared at it all, trying to take everything in, unable for a moment to comprehend just how many books were kept here. It was quiet and cavernous as a tomb; Amelle tried to imagine it full of light and people, the sounds of whispers and turning pages filling the air, but that seemed only to enhance the stillness in her own ears and she couldn't quite control the shiver that went down her spine.
Amelle picked up the lantern; the flickering light within illuminated the marks of age upon the table — scratches and scorches stood out against the wood and Amelle had to wonder how much of the damage was incidental — spells gone awry, perhaps? — and how much of it was done in that one bloodstained night. Given the carnage they'd all seen, Amelle dared not think this room or those in it had been spared. She turned and stepped closer to one of the shelving units when her eye caught a dark splatter against the stones, the room itself giving silent credence to her thoughts.
Fenris' low whisper broke into her thoughts and Amelle couldn't say she minded the distraction. "I hope you know where to begin."
She turned to reply, but when she looked over her shoulder at Fenris, she was met with the sight of him bathed in pale, silver moonlight that caught his hair and markings, making them seem as if to glow, even as most of his features were cast in shadow so dark it was nearly black. Her breath caught and she looked away, quickly, striding to the nearest shelf of books, lifting the lantern, and peering at the titles. "According to the library index, the herbalism section should be around this area, here." She scanned the shelves, looking up… and up and up and up. "If I understand correctly, every mage is expected to have a basic understanding of potions. They aren't going to hide the herbalism books." She handed Fenris the lantern and pulled a step stool free, climbing upon it.
"And when you find them?"
Amelle's hand stilled as her fingers drifted over the dry, smooth leather-bound spines of each book. "Then the fun starts," she murmured, pulling one thick, battered book halfway out — A Compendium of The Arcane by Prymm Bastlock: First Fellow at the College of Magi, Cumberland — and slid it home again.
"…Fun."
"Well, for a certain definition of fun, I guess." Smirking, Amelle looked over her shoulder at Fenris. "What, do you have a hot date I don't know about?"
Fenris shot her a glare but said nothing. Amelle turned her attention back to the books upon the shelves. "We aren't looking for necromancy potions or mind control or potions for world domination — we're looking for something geared toward a healer with an impossible illness to cure." Amelle hoped, at least, she was telling the truth and that she wouldn't discover the only way to cure this particular illness was with a mind-control-world-domination-necromancy-blood-potion.
"How, exactly, did you think I could help you?"
The question took her by surprise. "What do you mean?"
Fenris didn't reply right away and Amelle looked down. He still held the lantern aloft, but was looking somewhere else down and to the side as if lost in deep thought.
"Fenris? What's wrong?"
His brows knitted together for a moment before he looked up, before he even spoke. "I am not certain I am the best candidate to assist you in this portion of your search."
"Do you care to tell me why not?"
The look he shot her was so frustrated and yet so embarrassed that Amelle understood at once and hopped down from the step-stool to face him. "Maker's Blood, Fenris — did you honestly think…" she looked up at the books and felt suddenly and intensely foolish. "That's… that's why you didn't wish to come."
He inclined his head with a defiant jerk. "I doubted my usefulness to you."
"You doubted your…" It took a few moments for that statement to sink in — surely she hadn't heard him correctly — and Amelle looked around them again at all the books. Together on an errand that required reading. She winced, her gut twisting sharply. Amelle was all too aware of the progress Fenris had made with his reading, and she was all too aware how proud Kiara was of her pupil. Amelle shared in that sentiment, and yet as she thought over what she'd asked of him — to come with her, here; to help her research…
"I… I'm sorry." She clasped her hands in front of her, head bowed. "It was never my intent to make you feel… uncomfortable. I… for what it's worth, I didn't doubt your usefulness for a moment." The look Fenris gave her was incredulous, but she pressed on. "I… wasn't intending to present you with anything you couldn't do, Fenris."
"Because this is easy to you?"
She flushed harder and shook her head, taking care to keep her voice down. "No, it's — I hoped you'd come with me because I knew… I knew you'd keep me from lingering too long, and I knew you'd…" Amelle dipped her head, a self-deprecating smile at her lips, "and I knew you'd tell me the moment someone was coming — I… tend to get rather… lost in things, when I'm reading. And I knew I could steer you in the right direction if you were inclined to help with the going-through-dusty-dull-books part. I never — I would never put you in a position to make you feel…" She flung her hands out in a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry. I—it was thoughtless of me. I apologize."
Fenris was still for a moment, a sort of preternatural stillness which seemed entirely at home in a room such as this, and Amelle realized even she was holding her breath. "I… understand," he finally said. Amelle let out that breath. He shook his head briskly and lifted the lantern again, frowning at her in its light. "Come. We should not waste any time."
They found the section on herbalism and potions in good time, referring several more times to the index and finally finding — in neat, but nearly invisible writing — a long-ago note written by a long-dead librarian indicating the entire section had grown too large and would be moved to the west wall.
The entire west wall. Amelle looked up and took a step back, then pushed up her sleeves and dragged over a ladder. "All right. I'm going to start at the top, and you're going to start at the bottom."
"I beg your—"
"Anything with the word 'Heal' or 'Healer' in the title will do, Fenris." He steadied the ladder as she climbed it. "But as you've already pointed out, we've limited time, and I need to get started."
It took no time at all for the two of them working together to collect a pile of books to search through; searching through them, however, was another story entirely. Amelle found a few promising volumes, which she slipped into her bag, sending up a silent apology to whoever had watched over these books before the world went sideways.
"Amelle." Fenris' voice slipped through the shadows at her and she looked up in time to see him approaching her workspace with brisk, determined strides.
"Is someone coming?" she breathed, ready to douse the lantern and run for it. She'd lost all track of time, and only Fenris' perimeter checks gave her any indication that night was slowly running out.
"I… have found something I believe you will find interesting." She lifted her eyebrows at Fenris, silently inviting him to continue. He looked once over his shoulder then back at her again. "There is an alcove with locked cabinet housing a number of books."
Her heart beat a little harder as she swept two more slender tomes into her bag. "See if you can get the cabinet unlocked — I'll be along in a few seconds. We may have all we need, but you're right: that does sound interesting. Let me take a look at what you've found, and then we can leave."
Fenris nodded and vanished into the shadows. Amelle looked at the books littering the table and fought back a flash of worry. Nearly everything she'd looked at tonight had some sort of potion to cure fever, but nothing that seemed tailor-made for what she needed right now. Pursing her lips and frowning hard, Amelle picked up The Practical Herbalist's Companion: An Illustrated Glossary of Thedas' Useful Weeds, Flowers, and Sprouts, by Ines Arancia and flipped through it. She didn't want to take any book she didn't absolutely need, but in the event she did have to develop her own potion, it would be invaluable.
Better take it, she thought, finally adding that book to the rest and pushing her chair back; the sound of it scraping against the stone floor was loud and jarring enough to make her jump — but what truly sent her heart pounding was the far-off jangle of armor growing closer—
Please let it be Cullen, please let it be Cullen, please let it be Cullen…
Dousing the lantern, Amelle looked around wildly and saw Fenris move quickly out from between the stacks — he'd heard it too; someone was definitely coming — but she waved him back, shaking her head. Even in the dimness she saw the way his eyes widened as he stared at her and for a terrifying moment Amelle thought for sure either they'd both be caught, or Fenris would have no choice but to shed blood on her behalf — enough blood had been shed in Kirkwall; she would not be responsible for more if she could help it. Again she waved Fenris back with a furious gesture. He set his jaw, but nodded, and melted into the shadows once more.
"Hallo!" an unfamiliar voice called out; the voice that belonged to the armor, no doubt. "Anyone in there?"
Amelle took a silent step away from the table, hoping she might have time to slip back and hide, but the glow of the intruder's lantern was already easing into the library. She clenched her sweat-soaked hands around the leather strap of the bag slung across her chest, glad at least she'd left her staff behind. She took a second step back and willed her heart to stop pounding so.
She'd barely shifted her weight from one foot to the other when a templar in full armor walked in, carrying a lantern much like the kind Cullen had left for her to use. The templar saw her almost immediately, and she him. He looked at her for a moment, blinking hard, as if the very last thing he expected to find in the library in the dead of night was a young woman. It didn't take long for his surprise to subside, and he arched an eyebrow at her.
"Right then. Who are you and how in all the Void did you get in here?"
Amelle's pulse seemed only to race faster as every instinct in her head screamed at her, Templar! Templar! Run! Run! Run! Swallowing hard, she took in a deep breath and let it out again. "I…"
Somewhere behind her, Amelle heard the slow, soft, metallic rasp of Fenris' sword being pulled carefully from its sheath. Her pulse sped to a full gallop.
"I—I'm sorry," she said quietly, her hands coming together, fingers winding tightly around each other. "I didn't—"
"You do know where you are, don't you?" At Amelle's silent, jerky nod, he came a step closer. "So, who let you in?" Amelle drew in a deep, shuddering breath, but before she could speak, the templar closed his eyes and tipped his head back. "Maker's breath, you'd think they'd learn. Bloody recruits…"
"I… I'm sorry?" Amelle managed, her voice soft and faintly strangled.
"Listen, whoever it is you're waiting for—"
There came more footsteps, more clanking, jangling armor, and the fear twisting in Amelle's gut warred with the shock and incredulity that was surfacing in light of the realization that this templar appeared to be under the impression that she was meeting someone. She was torn between laughing out loud and running for her life. But more footsteps meant more templars, and the possibility that a second would be even less amused than the first.
Another lantern came through the open double doors, bringing with it more light.
"What in the Maker's name is going on in here?"
The templar whirled. "Knight-Commander! My apologies for disturbing you, ser, but I have everything under control. I've just found this young woman and was questioning—"
The look Cullen gave the other templar was entirely readable. "You've just happened to find a young woman lurking about in the library a week after we've removed overnight library sweeps from the duty roster? What exactly do you take me for, Ser Morten?"
The templar realized at once what Cullen was implying and even in the dim lantern-light, Amelle saw the man go pale. "By the Maker, Knight-Commander, I give you my word I-I was not the one to… to lure this young woman here for any manner of secret assignation—"
"And yet you seem to know at once that she is here for a secret assignation," replied Cullen, disapproval clear on his features. "I am shocked you'd speak so unflatteringly of any young woman, Ser Morten."
Ser Morten choked. "B-but I don't know why she's here, ser!"
"So you say. Consider yourself confined to quarters until dawn, at which point you and I will revisit this matter."
"Y-yes, Knight-Commander, ser."
Cullen's gaze settled on Amelle, his disapproval abating not a single iota. "And you, young woman."
She dropped a quick curtsey. "Yes, messere?"
"I highly recommend you take your leave and think heavily upon your actions here tonight."
The anxiety that made her voice quiver was no act. "Y-yes, messere."
Without looking away from Amelle, Cullen cleared his throat pointedly. "Ser Morten, are you not supposed to be confined to your quarters?"
"Yes, Knight-Commander."
With that, the templar bowed his head and hurried from the library, the scuffing sound of his footsteps and jangling armor growing fainter with every passing second. Amelle looked over her shoulder, silently indicating to Cullen that Fenris was still in the library. He gave her only the briefest nod and moved forward, placing a hand upon her shoulder and gently turning her about.
"Now then, young woman," he began, and Amelle saw him glance over his shoulder in the event Ser Morten was of a mind to return and attempt to defend his wrongly impugned reputation, "I recommend you go out whichever way you came in and be quick about it, for dawn is nearly upon us and surely that is far too late for anyone to be about." With that, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and leaned down to whisper in Amelle's ear: "Go quickly and for Andraste's sake, be careful."
Amelle nodded and rushed into the shadows where she knew Fenris was waiting. She could see he held something against his chest, and Amelle wondered for a wild moment what he'd found in the locked cabinet, but their time had run out, and whatever it was could wait at least until they were safely ensconced in her own family's library.
#
Her eyes burned.
The morning sun was now well over the horizon, and Orana had come in with tea and a light breakfast — the sight and smell of any food, however, was enough to make Amelle's stomach lurch, leaving her feeling queasy. She declined any food — much to the elf girl's obvious dismay — but urged Orana to keep the tea flowing, leaving the entire pot if she wished. There was only so far one could take rejuvenation spells, but the scalding hot liquid did a fair job of jolting awake her sluggish mind.
She turned another page, the rasp of paper loud — louder, even, than the fire burning in the hearth — in the quiet room. Smothering a yawn, Amelle glanced over at the divan; Fenris had refused to leave until Amelle agreed to get some sleep, but the warmth of the fire and the coziness of the divan had proved an adversary Fenris couldn't quite defeat. Amelle had thrown a quilt over him some hours before. He still slept on.
Good, she thought, turning another page as she rolled her shoulders. At least one of us is getting sleep.
The books they'd brought from the Circle library all turned out to be useful in various ways, but it was the book Fenris had liberated from the locked cabinet was the most promising. It was a huge, black tome easily four times the size and three times as thick as any normal grimoire. More than that, it was old. It was the sort of book you'd wish to have in your arsenal in the event you had to hunt down an obscure potion to treat an obscure illness. The cover was ornately decorated, the leather embossed with twisting vines and strange, not-quite-human faces, and each brittle, yellowed page within was covered with handwritten potion recipes using some plants she'd never even heard of — leaving her doubly glad she'd taken the reference text.
Not that a potion requiring ingredients she'd never seen and could not identify was any sort of improvement, but first Amelle had to find a potion that fit the bill. Then she could worry about the rest of it — namely the origins of such a book. Old magic didn't seem problematic on the surface, but one had only to meet Flemeth a single time to experience a reshuffling of opinions. Recipes within gave her pause; strange wordings made her wonder.
She yawned again, widely, and turned another page, propping her head up in her hand. The spidery writing made her sit up and blink, first rubbing and then pressing her fingertips against her burning eyelids only to discover she had in fact read the title correctly:
Dragon's Sight: A Potion For Curing Brain-Sickness.
A rush of sudden energy wiped away her lethargy and Amelle leaned forward, squinting at the ingredients and instructions. Given that the book was clearly a hand-written heirloom, Amelle imagined the original owner didn't need much description for what a brain-sickness was. It didn't sound like the sort of thing one forgot easily. Maker knew she wouldn't. Still, she wished for a little more by way of explanation.
It was a potion built and improved upon elfroot potion, which made sense, given elfroot's natural healing properties. The recipe also called for a generous measure of spindleweed. The rest of the ingredients were somewhat more difficult to come by: the pulverized root of Andraste's Grace, a flower easy enough to find in Ferelden, where it grew wild around every corner, but one Amelle had never seen anywhere since arriving in Kirkwall; the leaves of Harlot's Blush — Amelle knew where one used to grow, but she'd long since pulled it up and brought it so dutifully to Solivitus; and pollen scraped from five Ozmidiannum blooms.
"Oh, you're making that one up," she whispered to the book.
She ran her finger down the list of ingredients once more — two items she had on hand; one she'd never known to grow in Kirkwall or anywhere else in the Free Marches; one she'd given away for some coin — and how that stung, now — and the final ingredient she'd never even heard of. But there was no blood in the ingredient list. Insofar as the directions went, Amelle saw nothing there she couldn't — or wouldn't — do. It was clearly a concentrated potion, using the most potent parts of each plant.
Pulling the Arancia botany glossary closer, Amelle first looked up Harlot's Blush — rare indeed, as she'd already known, but said to like rocky, arid soil and high elevations. Where one grew, others were not far behind, and so Amelle made a mental note to return to the Wounded Coast in the very near future.
Andraste's Grace was a slightly different matter — according to Arancia, the cold and wet climate of Ferelden created ideal growing conditions for the plant. She sighed, closing her eyes and bowing her head. Is anywhere in Kirkwall green and lush and wet?
But before the question could fully form in her mind, Amelle's head jerked up, her tired, burning eyes widening. The Viscount's gardens, she thought madly, remembering Merrill's ill-conceived visits to the spot, which she'd rhapsodized about to no end. Clearly if Andraste's Grace could thrive anywhere, it would be in a privately tended garden — even if the garden wasn't precisely tended these days, as far as she knew. But still worth a look.
Indeed, it would be worth checking all the private gardens in Hightown, but the Viscount's gardens were walled off and stood the best chance of avoiding destruction after the explosion in the chantry. The smaller gardens in Hightown were nowhere near their former glory, roses and other blooms either killed by fire and heat or smothered by dust.
Two potential problems with two potential solutions, which only left Ozmidiannum — the final problem ingredient.
Amelle turned again to Ines Arancia's expertise.
Ozmidiannum is a wild-growing, climbing vine so profligate in Thedas, it is viewed by many as a weed to be destroyed, for it chokes and overtakes any vegetation in its path. Its use as a medicinal herb has been debated largely over the years; though Ozmidiannum is rumored to possess strong — to say nothing of mysterious — medicinal properties, the vine is riddled with thorns enough to discourage all but the most stubborn and determined herbalists. While reports differ on which part of the vine can be used, it is widely agreed the pollen of the Ozmidiannum bloom is the most potent part of the plant.
The pollen must be collected while the bloom is on the vine, if it is to be collected at all. Removing the flower prior to collecting the pollen kills it immediately, rendering the pollen useless.
Amelle sighed. "Thorny vines and temperamental flowers. All right. Difficult but not impossible, so far."
She read on.
There is some mystery regarding the flowers themselves, as there appears to be no set schedule upon which they bloom. They are nearly always a closed bud, as shown in the sketch below. Lore has it that the plant is sentient, and that whispering it to it what you need will induce it to open. That has, however, been proven false time and again.
The vine requires a catalyst to open its buds, though that catalyst has been a matter of some debate among botanists. My own theory follows, however heavy with anecdotal evidence it may be.
The buds upon the Ozmidiannum vines bloomed only once I had pricked myself on its thorns. Thinking this mere coincidence, I turned my attention to another section of vines, along which buds still slept. After pricking myself on the thorns again, the blooms awoke, petals unfurling immediately. I repeated this leg of my impromptu experiment several more times, to identical effect. It is the theory of this botanist that the specific catalyst required for this event is blood. Whether the event depends on blood itself or merely specific pressure upon the thorny portion of the vine is open to interpretation…
The article went on and Amelle stared at the words until they went blurry, then very quietly closed the book and rested her head upon folded arms, closing her eyes. Blood. Again with the sodding blood. Damn it.
"Amelle." Fenris' voice. He sounded as if he'd been awake for some time.
"Yes?" she answered, her voice muffled.
"I… apologize. I did not mean to sleep… quite so deeply."
"It's all right." Amelle lifted her head and regarded him. He stood by the divan, the quilt folded neatly at one end, and she wondered just how long he'd been awake and how long she hadn't noticed.
He seemed to read the question in her eyes. "I have been awake for some time. Though not nearly as long as you, I'd wager."
He was right, of course. She rubbed briskly at her face. "I've found a… possibly viable recipe," she said, looking down again at the cover of the botany book and telling herself it wasn't so she could avoid looking him in the eye.
"That is good news, is it not?"
"The ingredients — some of them — might be… difficult to acquire."
"I see."
She bit her lip, wanting to move, to stand, to stretch muscles stiff from inactivity and pushed to her feet. "I should…"
"What you should do is get some sleep, Amelle. Whatever it is, it can wait."
He wasn't wrong and Amelle knew it. Still she shook her head. "I should at least let Cullen know I've found something so he doesn't think last night's search was fruitless."
Fenris' expression went carefully blank, his eyes cooling slightly and Amelle wondered if Fenris was displeased with her after all about being asked to accompany her on that particular errand. She had thought he understood she hadn't intended to make him feel uncomfortable, but perhaps she'd failed in that regard no matter her intentions. The possibility stung.
"I'll… just write a quick note—" After a brief search, Amelle found parchment and quills and began scribbling. "— And I'll get Orana to deliver it." She kept the message short and did not sign it — neither did she bother with sealing wax, choosing instead to simply fold the note into fourths. "And thank you, Fenris," she said as she folded the parchment. "If you hadn't come with me, I'd never have found that book in the first place."
"I'm sure you—"
"And I'm sure I wouldn't have. So thank you."
Fenris hesitated, then nodded. "Do you intend to rest, then?"
"I ought to." She grimaced. "My head feels… fuzzy. What about you?"
Fenris cast a look at the divan and made a face she couldn't quite read. "I have had sufficient rest. I believe I may call on Aveline—"
"Oh, let me come with you—"
But he was already shaking his head. "Amelle—"
"No, I want to speak with her — see if she's noticed anything odd around the city. I need to get an idea of whether this thing is spreading and how quickly."
"I will ask on your behalf. You are clearly exhausted. Do not be foolish about this."
"I'm not being—" She bit off the heated words, stopping herself; she was tired and her mind was still processing what she'd read about the Ozmidiannum vine, and not liking what she was coming up with. "Listen," she began again. "It's still early. Aveline's probably busy with guard meetings and last-minute duty changes. Things will have slowed down later in the morning, and she'll have patience and time to speak with us. Why don't you go home or… something, and I'll stay here and get a few hours of sleep — then come back for me and we'll go together."
It took far longer than Amelle would have anticipated for Fenris to acquiesce, but eventually he gave her a slow nod and left, no matter how displeased he seemed to be about the prospect.
#
Three hours of sleep weren't much by any estimation, but Amelle found even such a scant amount helped. Her appetite still hadn't returned, but she imagined after a brisk walk to the barracks and back again she'd be more than ready for lunch. Three hours plus a rejuvenation potion and another cup of tea were enough to make her feel human again. She was, in fact, feeling refreshed and optimistic, particularly after discovering the Dragon's Sight recipe. The small matter of collecting ingredients still remained, which cast an entirely different shadow over everything, but Amelle was determined not to let that dampen her enthusiasm. Indeed, by the time Fenris returned, her spirits were quite lifted.
She paused a moment by the weapons rack in her room, considering. She hadn't had much use lately to carry a weapon around — in a lot of ways, going without a staff was better right now. In fact, anything that didn't immediately identify her as a mage was generally better and safer. And Maker knew she didn't need a staff to channel her healing energy down in the clinic — in fact using a staff often felt like it achieved the opposite of its purpose when she used her healing energy. It made things feel… too far away, too distant.
But Amelle wasn't going to the Rose or to the clinic; she was going to the Viscount's Keep. She perused each and every staff in her arsenal, frowning at them as she examined which runes were embedded in which staff, augmenting which particular feature. Unfortunately, they were all utterly and unapologetically staff-like.
All except one.
The red jewel lashed to the top of the Staff of Parlathan glowed dully as she ran thoughtful fingers along its smooth top. She remembered carrying that staff and no other during those early days in Kirkwall. It was almost too powerful for her to manage at first, but she'd come to know the staff, and how best to wield it, allowing it to complement her natural inclination toward fire. She'd had Sandal infuse it with runes, bolstering its power, and it had remained her favorite weapon over the years, despite the many others they'd found on their journeys. And with such a blade at the end, it looked very little like any sort of mage's weapon.
Amelle took hold of the staff, smiling faintly at the warmth and power that hummed against her hands as she handled it, murmuring to the weapon as she placed it upon her back, "If you weren't an inanimate object and if I didn't know better, I'd say you missed me."
Fenris was waiting for Amelle in the great room, crouched by Cupcake, who was sprawled happily by the fire as Fenris ran his hand over the short, smooth coat. Amelle watched the exchange for a moment or two, caught the elf's faint smile as the animal rolled indulgently onto his back, baring a tummy for scratching. Amelle felt her own smile form as Fenris huffed a soft breath of laughter and obediently scratched the canine belly presented him.
"Ah, you're one of the family now," she teased.
Fenris clearly hadn't heard her approach, for his entire body started with surprise, his hand jerking back as he stood and turned. "I… did not hear you," he said, inclining his head and casting an accusing eye at the stairs she'd just come down, as if they were somehow to blame for Amelle taking him by surprise.
She grinned and descended the last few steps. "When Kiara comes back, you'll have to tell her I managed to sneak up on you. She'll never believe it." Tilting her head, her grin widening, she added, "I hardly believe it myself."
Several beats of silence passed and Amelle realized that Fenris looked strangely… annoyed. "I was… preoccupied."
"Yes. I saw." Amelle looked pointedly at Cupcake, who was looking inordinately put out over having lost Fenris' attention. He cleared his throat and straightened, squaring his shoulders.
"If you're ready, we shouldn't waste any more time."
The unspoken implication hung in the air that they'd been wasting time until now stung slightly. Amelle swallowed against her suddenly-dry throat and adjusted her grip on the banister. "I'm ready," she said, the earlier flare of playfulness fizzling out.
"Come, then. I assured your sister I would watch over you. No matter what that… entails."
The longer he stood there, the clearer she saw it — something was… off in Fenris' demeanor. He was a far cry from the talkative, easygoing Varric, but right now, standing before her, Fenris seemed strangely … cold even by his usual standards, and Amelle felt an uncomfortable memory wiggle to the surface in the back of her mind, reminding her clearly, almost painfully, of those early days when his anger and irritation with her were much more frequently vented. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and resisted the urge to fidget.
"Right. Well. We probably ought to hurry along. See if she or the rest of the guard have encountered any… strange behavior?" Strange behavior like the sort you're demonstrating right now?
They left in silence and continued onward in silence, and as they made their way to the Keep, Amelle found herself wondering if something was ailing the elf — he hadn't behaved this coldly toward her for years. Strange behavior was a hallmark of this illness, evidently, and Fenris was certainly behaving oddly. There was also the chance she'd managed to offend or irritate him without realizing it. Whatever the problem, this was not the same Fenris who'd met her every morning at the clinic without complaint, handing out potions and quietly standing by as she coaxed illness out of young children, their cheeks unnaturally ruddy with fever. This was not the same man who'd insisted he wanted to be there with her.
It took the entire trip to the Keep for Amelle to find her voice. Fenris' hand was upon the door, preparatory to opening it when she said, "Fenris."
He stopped, but only barely, making no effort to hide his irritation as he asked, "What is it?"
"I… I'm sorry," Amelle blurted, pressing her hand against the door just as Fenris tried to open it. He stopped short and looked at her, nothing in the line of his mouth or the crease between his eyebrows giving anything away. He just… looked at her, and then rather pointedly at her hand, which she then let slowly drop.
"You are… sorry," he repeated slowly, his eyebrow lifting only a fraction. When Amelle nodded, he still gave nothing away. "For what reason?"
The question made her mind stumble and she bit back what she wanted to say — I'm sorry for whatever reason it is you're angry — and she discovered, to her horror, no words were forming. Finally, after far too much hesitation, she managed, "The trip to the library. I'm sorry. You were uncomfortable with it and… and you went anyway — at my urging — and I should have been more understanding. I—"
"Think no more of it. It is done."
His words did very little to make her feel better and she followed him into the Keep. "Fenris—"
But anything Amelle may have said was cut off once they stepped inside, only to narrowly avoid a stampede of armored and armed city guards — Donnic leading them — rushing past. Amelle realized with a sick jolt they were heading up to the barracks and she ran after them a few steps, yelling Donnic's name.
Aveline's husband stopped only long enough to identify them, and then continued on. "There's no time," he yelled over his shoulder, shaking his head and starting for the wide staircase. "We haven't any time — follow me."
A brief, bewildered look passed between Fenris and Amelle before they broke into a run after Donnic and the guardsmen, following him — Amelle realized as bile rose in her throat — to the barracks. They'd only reached the top of the staircase, rushing to the wide double doors on the right, when a noise snapped through the air, sharp enough to make Amelle stumble. She caught herself at the last, though that did nothing to keep nausea from clenching her gut. The sound was one she'd never expected to hear in the guard barracks, and one she hoped never to hear again: it was the wound of a whip cracking, each snap followed by the anguished, painful cries of a man. From the corner of her eye she saw Fenris' steps stutter slightly.
They followed the guards into the barracks, but as Amelle passed through the doors, she froze the top of the stair, unable — unwilling — to believe the tableau playing out before her eyes.
Aveline, red-faced and furious, stood over one of her own guardsmen — the man's name was Renlan, if Amelle recollected correctly — her arm raised. As she swung her arm in a wide, powerful arc, that same horrible, snapping sound filled the room. So utterly dumbfounded was she at the sight that it took a moment for Amelle to truly comprehend what Aveline was doing: she was flogging one of her own men.
The rest of the guard stood by, too horrified, too shocked to step in. And so clearly someone had sent for Donnic to calm his wife, to speak sense into her. He was the first to recover his wits despite all unfolding before them, and he began to approach the pair, preparatory — Amelle dearly hoped — to stopping his wife and captain, but when Aveline looked up at him, there was something wrong — something foreign and nearly rabid — in the guard-captain's usually calm green gaze. That look alone was enough to make Donnic hesitate. Amelle didn't blame him.
"Aveline!" Amelle cried, Donnic's hesitation galvanizing her to action as she rushed down the rest of the stairs. "Aveline, what in the Maker's name are you doing?"
She looked at Amelle then, but the mage saw nothing but twisted anger in her friend's face. Perspiration beaded on her brow and upper lip, but whether it was a result of illness or simply exertion, Amelle was not willing to contemplate.
"I will not tolerate insubordination in my guard," Aveline snarled, spittle flying from her lips. "Not from this dog; not from any of them."
With the guard-captain distracted, there was a slight movement just outside the cluster of guards: Brennan — a friend of Aveline's since her early days in the guard — began creeping closer. But the very moment Aveline spied the slightest whisper of movement from the crowd before her, she drew her sword with her other hand, leveling it at Brennan. The rest of the guard stared on helplessly; Aveline was their captain, their leader, and such behavior went beyond the pale. It was Aveline, and yet it… most certainly wasn't. It was not — could not — be Aveline, her sword trained on the unarmed Brennan, whose hands were up as she slowly skidded forward, her eyes darting between Aveline and Renlan.
"One more step, guardsman, and it'll be your last."
With her heart thudding rapidly against her ribs, Amelle exchanged a quick look with Fenris, who sent her a short nod, and began inching toward Aveline while she was distracted by Brennan. Her target wasn't Aveline, but Renlan, bleeding and trembling upon the ground. The others could handle Aveline — Maker, she hoped — but Renlan was clearly in pain.
All she needed to was pull him to the safety of his comrades, allowing Donnic and Fenris — and anyone else armed and in control enough of their wits — to deal with Aveline. But though Amelle's movement was slight, Aveline whirled away from Brennan, angling her sword now at Amelle. Fear iced over her insides as she lifted her hands, showing Aveline they were empty. Amelle was perfectly aware how much of an advantage Aveline had over her — Amelle didn't have time enough gain enough distance between them so she could pull her staff free. A paralysis glyph would have been the most useful, but they required a great deal of mana to cast without a staff — a staff she didn't have the time to draw, and she wasn't sure she could manage the spell without one, given the state of her spellcasting lately. Could she summon a glyph, or even a sleeping spell before Aveline could lunge forward with her sword? It wasn't a gamble Amelle was willing to take — not with the way Aveline's face was contorted with mindless fury, her chest heaving with ragged breaths that sounded too much like a growl.
From behind her, Amelle heard Fenris draw his sword.
Aveline's lip curled as her eyes darted madly from Amelle to Fenris. "Are you taking their part, Amelle? Fenris? Are you both against me, too?"
"I'm not taking anyone's side, Aveline," Amelle said as soothingly as she could. She took a slow step closer to Renlan, but Aveline lunged and swung as Amelle jerked back — she felt a breeze as the blade passed, just barely missing her. "I'm not taking anyone's side," she said again, waiting a moment before making another attempt to creep toward Renlan. "I'm just here to help."
"Oh," Aveline said, fairly baring her teeth at Amelle, "I know your kind of help."
She was nearly there — nearly within arm's reach of the beaten man, who was even then trying to inch closer to Amelle, his muscles trembling with effort. She snuck a calculating look at Aveline, whose eyes were still darting warily between Amelle and Fenris. When Aveline looked once more at the elf, Amelle rushed forward, grabbing at Renlan's arms — but Aveline saw and swung into action, her blade coming down with such speed and force it seemed to sing as it cut through the air. Amelle struggled with Renlan, and she heard the quick shuffle of booted feet as several of the guard moved forward to help, but it was all happening too fast, and she knew — she knew Aveline was quick with her blade.
But Fenris was quicker.
There was a dark blur and a clash as Fenris' sword met Aveline's, giving Amelle and the guards enough time to pull Renlan to safety. From the corner of her eye, Amelle saw Fenris deftly block every one of Aveline's attacks. The more she parried, the more he evaded; the more he blocked every advance, the more Aveline's face grew red and livid with rage. Finally, she gritted her teeth and pulled her shield free, letting loose a furious cry that sounded more animal than human as she slammed her shield into Fenris who, once more, evaded the attack.
"I do not wish to fight you, Aveline," he said over the sound of clashing metal.
"Then what are you trying to prove, Fenris?"
"I am trying to prove nothing; I merely—"
Another ringing clash cut off whatever Fenris was about to say and the two moved around the common area, Fenris evading and Aveline advancing, the guard-captain's wildly-swinging longsword cutting gouges in the walls. Amelle closed her eyes and focused her mana, keeping her ears trained on the sounds of metal hitting metal and Aveline's snarled epithets. They moved haphazardly through the common area, like some strange, horrible dance, Aveline's advances growing more erratic — and dangerous — the longer they fought.
The welts on Renlan's back, though numerous and deep, were quickly healed, at which point Amelle scrambled to her feet, but before she'd fully drawn her staff, before she could gather mana for even the most basic spell, Aveline swung her shield with quite possibly every ounce of force she possessed, knocking aside Fenris' blade and lunging, her longsword plunging into him, angled just so. Just below his breastplate. Surprise spread across Fenris' features as he took a wobbly step back, sinking to his knees. He placed a hand over the wound, but it did nothing to staunch the flow.
A wound identical to Sebastian's. One that had nearly killed him.
Amelle felt her scream tear from her throat, but couldn't hear her own voice above the rush of mana. Mana that had felt nearly depleted before now rushed to the surface and pulsed down to her hands. Aveline's strike had somehow jolted the rest of the guard into action — the unarmed rushing to Fenris' aid, and the armed distracting Aveline with their own swords and shields. Amelle slammed her staff into the ground, casting two glyphs, one after the other, and faster than she'd ever cast in her life — the first knocked Aveline back against the wall, startling her and knocking the wind from her lungs. The second kept her there.
"What did you do?" Donnic asked, eyes going wide as he stared at his wife struggling against the paralysis glyph. His gaze held wariness, but Amelle wasn't sure it was directed at her.
"Put her in time out," Amelle said through gritted teeth as she turned to where Fenris lay. She'd seen him injured countless times before, but this time Aveline had done the damage, and that gave such an unreal slant to the incident any detachment Amelle could have hoped to have was washed away by disbelief. "It's not going to last, so get her weapons and, for the love of the Maker, she needs to go somewhere she won't hurt herself or anyone else."
"What about a cell?" asked Brennan.
Amelle nodded briskly. "Yes. Do it, and quickly."
The look Donnic gave them both was a mix of disbelief tinged with betrayal. "You would put her in a cell?"
Despite frustration and fear, Amelle kept her voice steady despite feeling as if she were trembling all over. "It is a temporary measure, Donnic. You must."
The guards looked terrified enough to acquiesce, and even Donnic pushed aside his reservations as they led Aveline — strong, brave, kind, loyal Aveline — struggling and screaming out of the barracks. Her voice, ragged with madness, echoed off the walls, the sound ringing in Amelle's ears long after they were gone. She gave her head a shake and scolded herself — can't think about that now — and turned her attention to Fenris. Another breath of mana called the healing magic forward, and the blue light was already glowing to life as she dropped to her knees next to him. A quick-thinking guard — Brennan, Amelle distantly realized — pressed a bedsheet snagged hastily from the guards' quarters against the wound.
"You're all right," Amelle whispered to him, trembling hands blue with light, so much light that threads of it were starting to twist and twine up her arms. "You're going to be all right." Normally the rush of magic was enough to steady her hands, but she could see the way they still shook and she worked harder to calm herself, to steady them. "You're going to be just fine, Fenris, I promise…" Maker, please. Please be all right. Please. Please. The threads of blue light grew brighter, glowing as high as her shoulders.
Please.
Brennan pulled away the bedsheet and Amelle placed both hands over the wound as Fenris' blood, hot and slick, covered her hands. She closed her eyes tightly against the sight of it. Don't look, she told herself. The feverish thought ran through her head, over and over again, like an echo. Just heal him. Focus. Heal. He's been hurt worse than this. You know he has been. You can fix this. You can. He's going to be fine. Just focus. Think. Breathe.
But behind closed lids, Amelle saw Sebastian, who'd been left to bleed out far longer than this — his blood had pooled beneath him, slowly creeping outward like a grisly tide coming in. Her eyes flew open and the magic flaring at her hands grew brighter, the hotcold thrum of it tingling down to the tips of her fingers. She felt the wound begin to acquiesce under her ministrations, knitting back together, torn flesh mending from the inside working out and, rather than seeing Sebastian's pale face, she focused on Fenris' tanned one, until she felt the topmost layer of skin once again whole and smooth beneath her fingers. There was only the faintest red line where the sword had entered, but that too would fade — the chances it would scar were slim; there had been no poison on Aveline's blade, and Amelle had tended Fenris immediately.
She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, bowing her head. "There."
Fenris sat up, placing a hand over where the wound had been, an unreadable expression flickering across his features as he fingered the tear in his jerkin.
"Better?"
"Yes," replied Fenris quietly, pushing to his feet. "Thank you."
For as long as Amelle could remember, Fenris had always seemed so strangely awkward after receiving healing. She wasn't sure if it was some lingering dislike of magic he couldn't quite reconcile, or if he was simply annoyed with himself over needing to be healed at all. Something about it was almost… charming, and she would have smiled had Fenris' blood not been drying stickily upon her hands, had Aveline not only moments before been dragged kicking and screaming from the barracks after attempting to mortally wound him.
"I hope to the Maker you've got some idea what's done that to the captain," Brennan said, getting to her feet and frowning up the stairs leading out of the barracks.
"I know something's going around," replied Amelle. "It seemed to have been sprouting up in Darktown and Lowtown, mostly, but this… this is a surprise."
"An unpleasant one," Fenris added. He turned his attention to Brennan. "Have the guard noticed instances of strange behavior on their patrols?"
Brennan's expression told all. "We thought at first it was just people feeling the… stress, after everything. A whole city, trying to deal with all of that? It's worse than it was after the Qunari — and you remember how bad that was."
Amelle made a face. "Sometimes I wish I didn't."
Brennan gave a commiserating nod. "At first it seemed like we were just breaking up a few more brawls than usual. Nothing that strange at The Hanged Man, as well you know. But then there were strange things — one of the potion merchants in the bazaar—"
"Maker, tell me it wasn't Elegant," asked Amelle.
"The very same. She went mad, screaming at the trinket merchant that she was selling some of Elegant's potions. But poor Linnie just sells what people bring in for trade — couldn't say whether it was really one of Elegant's potions or not. It was just a little bottle of elfroot potion anyway — hardly the sort of thing Elegant could've claimed as proprietary. But she still went mad over it — tried to claw Linnie's eyes out."
Fenris asked, "Where's Elegant now?"
Brennan cast a doleful look in the direction the other guards had taken Aveline. "Still in one of the cells. She's got plenty of company."
Amelle and Fenris exchanged a look and Amelle felt a sick twist of fear in her gut the moment the next question formed in her mind. "Have any of the other guards been acting strangely?"
"A fair few," Brennan answered. "Captain was beside herself with it — when she started in on Renlan, a few of us weren't surprised. He'd been blowing off duty shifts, so it was just a matter of time until he got a dressing down, but…" she shook her head. "None of us expected that."
"And still you did nothing to stop her," remarked Fenris.
"That's why we sent for Donnic. Figured he could talk sense into her if anyone could. She was armed and no one wanted to risk Renlan getting hurt worse than he already was."
Guardsman Brennan departed for her own shift shortly thereafter, leaving Amelle and Fenris alone in the barracks common area. The blood was now nearly dry on her hands and had begun flaking off her nails. She frowned down at them. "Something is very wrong here, Fenris."
"I concur. You… said the Knight-Captain could… sense this illness in the adults?"
"More clearly than I could," answered Amelle. "I haven't figured out why."
"Right now the reason why matters little. If he can, then he should be brought to see Aveline."
"I agree." She sighed, began to pinch the bridge of her nose, but upon catching sight of it, let her hand drop suddenly and turned, starting up the stairs. Without a word, Fenris did the same, keeping pace with her the whole while.
Why did this have to happen while Kiara was gone? Why? And Aveline — why Aveline? Of all the people in Kirkwall for this to happen to—
Fenris' voice cut into her thoughts. "Amelle, stop."
Her body stopped, but her mind kept churning. How in the Maker's bloody name was she going to fix this? And there was no other option — she had to fix this. Kiara was long gone and Amelle didn't have the first idea of how to contact her. And even if she could get in touch with her sister, what in blighted blue blazes was Kiara supposed to do about any of this from bloody Starkhaven? No, if Aveline was compromised, then the guard was compromised — and they were compromised right now; there was no time for letters and couriers and crying to her sister. Because without the city guard, the remaining option for law in Kirkwall fell to the templars, and no matter her opinions about Cullen, Amelle dared not think of Kirkwall under templar control for any extended period of time, even with Cullen commanding the ranks. No, she had to do something.
"We have to do something," she blurted, turning to Fenris. "We…" she looked down at her hands, still red with Fenris' blood. Her whole dress showed evidence of battle — there were smears up her sleeves and across the bodice; even her skirt was stained red-brown, as if she'd been kneeling in blood, which was entirely possible. The wild fear that had sliced through her breast at the sight of Fenris on Aveline's sword surged up again and she pushed it down resolutely, setting her jaw. "We have to do something."
"Agreed. What do you suggest?"
"The Gallows," she answered promptly. "Cullen can sense something about this illness that I can't. He's the best person to look in on Aveline right now."
Raising a dark eyebrow at her, Fenris asked sharply, "And what do you hope to accomplish by barging into Templar Hall? Though you may have an… association with the Knight-Captain, charging into the Gallows is—"
"To the Void with the templars," she interrupted, her voice low. "Aveline is sick. This illness is spreading."
"Going directly into the belly of the beast is unwise," he countered, shaking his head. "There are yet templars who stood alongside Meredith. We have been given no reason to believe otherwise. Should you go directly to Templar Hall, you may find yourself no longer in a position to help Aveline, or anyone else."
She frowned. Fenris was right, of course. "All right," she said, glancing again at her bloody hands and then folding her arms across her breast to hide them. "You go to Templar Hall and bring Cullen back here. Have him look in on Aveline and whoever else they've got in the cells so far. If they're all the same type of sick, it… may help me figure out how to treat them."
Fenris nodded once. "Very well."
"In the meantime…" She drew in a breath and blew it out. "In the meantime, I have more than enough to keep me busy."
"You truly believe you've found a viable potion?"
"I've found… a possible possibility," she answered. "I'm going to keep looking in the event we need a contingency plan. Merrill can keep an eye on the clinic — she'll come and find me if anything's disastrously wrong." She glanced down at her bloodstained clothes. "More disastrously wrong."
Nodding once more, Fenris turned to leave and pushed open the door, then hesitated as sunlight streamed in. Turning his head without quite looking at her, he said, "Do not overtax yourself."
"Maybe I'll even get some sleep." But Amelle doubted that was anything more than a remote possibility.
"That… would be wise," Fenris replied, heading into the daylight and jogging down the stairs before she could say another word.
Amelle watched him go, a new frown pulling at her brow as she wondered just how far the illness had already spread.
No time to worry about that right now, she chastised herself, stepping out into the blinding sunshine. Blood-spattered as she was, Amelle noticed more than a few people trying not to stare, and even more than that making no such effort at all. She shook off the discomfiture.
No time to worry about that, either. Too much work to do, not nearly enough time to do it.