Truthfully, Cullen had meant to sleep. He'd certainly wanted to. There had been stolen moments and too-short naps, but for all that it was nearly two days since the healing at the spring, he had yet to actually see the inside of his bedchamber. With Kirkwall leaderless, too much responsibility fell on his shoulders, and from the moment he returned from the Hawke estate, he found himself bombarded with requests and petitions and demands for explanations.

And questions. Mostly from his own templars. Magic like Amelle had wielded was hardly subtle, and she had loosed the power directly beneath the templar stronghold. Only the newest of the new recruits had been oblivious to it.

Evidently the pillars of white light that had come streaming from the wells had been rather a giveaway, even for those who'd not actually felt the power at work.

So Cullen answered questions. Yes, magic had been used. Yes, he'd been aware of it. Yes, he had, in fact, been involved. Yes, he was forced to reply, the mage in question was an apostate.

It was Ser Hugh asking this last question, standing opposite Cullen's desk, eyes firmly fixed on the ground. "Knight-Commander, I beg your pardon for the… impertinence, but… this mage. She is the same one you neglected to apprehend some time ago? On the Wounded Coast. When Ser Thrask… and then again, in the Blooming Rose?"

Leaning heavily on one elbow, Cullen nodded. Though of course the Wounded Coast had not been the first time he'd failed to neglected to apprehend Amelle Hawke. Hugh did not know of that, though. He'd been hardly more than a recruit at the time. "The Champion's sister, yes."

Cullen had the feeling that if training and discipline had permitted it, Hugh would have scuffed his toes against the carpet in pained chagrin. "Ser—Knight-Commaner, ser, it's… it's only…"

"Speak your mind, Hugh."

The young templar's blue gaze flashed up, clearly startled. "She's a mage. An apostate mage. No matter who her sister is. Our duty—the duty of the Templar Order—is clear, ser."

"And what would you have us do with her, Ser Hugh? There is no Circle in Kirkwall. Not any more."

"There are other Circles."

Cullen sighed, weary to his bones. He glanced slantwise at a pile of particularly troubling correspondence. Unfortunately this also reminded him just how much paperwork was yet to be completed. "For now."

"Ser?"

With a wave, Cullen shook his head and said, "Nothing. Would you have us go to war with the Champion, then? Over this? After everything Kirkwall's been through already? Did you not learn from Thrask's mistake?"

"The Champion is one woman, Knight-Commander."

An involuntary, wry chuckle was pulled from him. Hugh scowled, thinking it mockery. "Tell that to Knight-Commander Meredith. I believe she was the last to underestimate Kiara Hawke. The result was, as you may recall, something of a disaster. And common belief is that it was not the Champion at fault."

"The Knight-Commander was… compromised, Ser Cullen. We all saw it. But the matter at hand is a roaming apostate, not the flaws of our former leader."

"Somehow I don't think Hawke will see it that way."

Hugh paled, but looked thoughtful. "It has been said the Champion is no longer even in Kirkwall, Knight-Commander."

"Is that said?" he asked wryly. "And you're willing to risk her wrath, hoping she's not home to mete it out?"

Hugh's eyes narrowed. "We have a duty."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cullen nodded and said, "I understand, Ser Hugh. Your… concern has been noted. For now, Amelle Hawke remains where she is. Kirkwall owes her a great debt of gratitude, and she has paid a steep price for it." Hugh's lips tightened, a thin, irritated line. "Believe me when I say I have considered this very quandary at length. I will understand if you feel the need to go above my head. Write to the Knight-Vigilant, if you must. Even to the Divine, if you wish it. I wish you wouldn't, but I will understand if your conscience dictates."

A startled flush brought color to Hugh's cheeks, and the young templar swallowed so hard Cullen heard it. "It's only…"

"Duty," Cullen supplied. "I know. But duty… duty is more complicated than you know, Hugh. Maker's breath, life is more complicated than you know."

"K-knight-Commander?"

Cullen waved dismissively again. "If that's all, Ser Hugh?"

Before Hugh could reply—and he was going to reply; Cullen could see it writ plain upon his features—a knock interrupted them. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a very confused looking Ser Morton—who had, Cullen noted, kept quite a wide berth since the evening in the library—and Merrill. The elf was smiling. And at least she wasn't carrying a staff.

Only sheer force of will kept Cullen from burying his face in his hands.

"Knight-Commander?" Ser Morton asked. "Uh, you… have a… visitor, ser?"

Merrill reached out and patted the templar's armored forearm gently. Cullen noticed she was carrying a bouquet of freshly—and likely illegally—picked flowers in her other hand. "Thank you very much for your help. I would have wandered around for ages if you hadn't come along." Then she turned her smile on Cullen. "Oh, hello. Fenris sent me. Or, rather, he sent Orana, but she was terribly frightened of coming so she came to me. Honestly, I was rather afraid myself, but Fenris did say it was important. Orana should probably have gone to Aveline. Nothing scares Aveline. But perhaps she's not yet fully recovered. Poor Orana. And poor Aveline." She lifted the bouquet of flowers. "I've picked these for Amelle. Nothing so dreary as being in bed for days; I thought she might appreciate the color."

Cullen would have given virtually anything to not be having this particular conversation with a blood mage in front of his men, but there was little to be done now. "Has she woken?"

"Oh, didn't I say? Yes, Orana said so. Or Fenris said so to Orana, and Orana—"

"I understand," Cullen interrupted.

"Knight-Commander," Ser Hugh sputtered. "You cannot be serious. This elf is clearly—"

Cullen grimaced. "That's all, Hugh. I… imagine you have letters to write. And thank you, Ser Morton, for seeing Merrill brought safely to me."

The templar blinked. "Uh. Certainly, Knight-Commander."

"Morton!" Merrill cried. "Oh, I do like that name; I should have asked you sooner. I'm sorry, that was terribly rude of me, wasn't it? Thank you, Ser Morton."

Morton only stared at her, as though he couldn't understand the sounds she was making, until Cullen cleared his throat. Then the templar offered a salute and departed. Hugh's salute was even briefer, and Cullen did not miss the way the young templar's gaze lingered on Merrill in tacit disapproval.

"Not very talkative, are they?" Merrill asked brightly. "Then again, that seems to be true of quite a lot of templars. But what they lack for in conversation they make up for in glaring, I've found. And you can say quite a lot with a good glare. But then, you've met Fenris, so you probably already know that."

Cullen heaved himself to his feet, putting his hands against the edge of the desk to keep himself from swaying in exhaustion. Merrill made a little distressed noise.

"Andraste's kneecaps, you don't look well at all, do you?" she asked, peering up at him.

Cullen wasn't entirely sure how to reply, so he simply shook his head. "It's been mad these few days, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. We saw the lights all the way in the alienage. I'd… well. I'd hoped it worked. And it's good it did; I suppose things would have been madder if it hadn't."

For the span of only a few seconds — but, Maker, they were a long few seconds — Cullen considered the mess if their gamble hadn't worked, if the water remained tainted after such a display of magic. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Elgar'nan," Merrill breathed. "I've never seen anyone turn that grey right before my eyes!"

"I'll be fine," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I… I'm afraid I don't understand why you're looking so," the elf frowned up at him, "not-fine."

With a wave at the pile of correspondence, Cullen said, "Things to do, questions to answer, and no good deed gone unpunished, I'm afraid." With a deep, fortifying breath, he gave himself a shake, trying to forcibly rid himself of the last stubborn vestiges of exhaustion. "Yes. Well. To the Hawke estate?"

Merrill hesitated, and for an instant the look she gave him seemed strangely… shrewd. But then the look was gone, replaced by the elf's customary open and earnest gaze, tinged now with relief. "Oh, by the Creators — I was afraid I was going to have to find my way out on my own."

#

If there was any sight Cullen was less prepared for, he didn't know what it could have been. But Amelle Hawke, propped up on any number of pillows, playing cards certainly ranked high on the list. The enormous mabari — and Cullen still wasn't certain whether the dog's name was Killer or Cupcake or both — was snuggled against her, looking for all the world like he was scrutinizing the hand she held. Fenris still sat in the chair he'd dragged over when Cullen had left him two days prior, now frowning at his own cards. A small pile of copper glinted upon the blanket. Cullen leaned hard against the doorframe.

The words escaped him in a croak. "You're gambling?"

Dropping a copper onto the pile, Amelle saw him first. She looked up from the coins and, upon spying him, gave a smile so radiantly happyand relieved, Cullen knew in an instant his deepest fears had been only fears. Amelle Hawke was no Tranquil, and the relief that knowledge brought was so sudden and so overwhelming that suddenly the piles and piles of various correspondence waiting for him seemed far away and, for the moment at least, insignificant.

Still, they were playing cards? He looked at Fenris with a glare he knew was positively accusatory; the elf met his glower placidly and shrugged. "It is what she wished to do."

"And you don't think you might be taking advantage—"

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Amelle is winning." And something in the elf's tone told Cullen Fenris was throwing every hand — and neither of them cared a whit.

"I'm winning!" Amelle repeated brightly. Then she folded her cards in one hand and raised her eyebrows. "Did you bring me flowers?"

Blushing, Cullen glanced down at the bouquet he carried. He didn't miss Fenris' glower. "They're… from Merrill, actually. She thought you might… appreciate some color. And some reminder of the world outside. I believe she's downstairs wheedling baked goods out of Orana. She, uh, didn't want to…"

Amelle looked at Fenris. Then sighed. "She could have brought them herself."

Fenris' glower disappeared, replaced by something else entirely. It wasn't… like or approval or anything even close, but it was tinged with a fine sheen of contrition. To give them their moment, Cullen turned to the sideboard and filled a cup with water from the waiting pitcher, placing Merrill's flowers within it.

On another sigh—enough of a sigh to make him leave the flowers and turn to face her again—Amelle added, "And I suppose you want to make sure everything's… fine?"

"I am glad to see you awake." A little reluctantly, he added, "And yourself. But yes, I do have to… make sure. I have to ask. What you did… what we witnessed—it was unlike anything I've seen before." Choosing his words carefully, Cullen asked, "You—do you feel your connection to the Fade, Amelle? Is it the same as it was?"

She looked thoughtful, raising her eyes to the canopy of her bed and pressing herself even more snugly into her fortress of pillows. The hand not holding the cards reached out to scratch behind the mabari's ears. "I don't know," she said, finally. "I… in a way I do feel different. Not bad different. Just… different. Oh, don't give me that look, Cullen." She sent him a mock scowl and patted the bed. "Pull up a seat."

He did as she wished, perching on the far side of the mattress.

As soon as he sat, he realized he shouldn't have gone anywhere near a bed. Having expected to spend the day behind his desk, he was unarmored, and the mattress sank invitingly beneath him as he sat. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, and Amelle's expression turned concerned. Which was ridiculous, all things considered. If anyone was going to be concerned—

"Cullen?" Amelle asked gently. He blinked, realizing by her insistent tone she must have spoken his name more than once.

"Forgive me," he said. "Can you—would it be too much trouble for you to explain just how you feel different?"

Amelle looked as though she disapproved of the way he'd ignored her, but answered, "It's a bit like when you… when you practice something a lot. Over and over. Like… I imagine it's how you felt back when you were first learning swordplay. You learn the basics, and you drill them, and then, one day they're just… part of you. You don't think about them anymore. It's… it's like that with magic, sometimes." Turning her hand over, a tiny flame flickered to life in her empty palm. She made it disappear almost as quickly. "The first time my power manifested I burned all the pea plants in Papa's garden. Now it's… it's as simple as breathing." She frowned down at her hand for a moment, and shook her head. "But the thing is, with magic? At least with my magic? Sometimes it's not only repetition that makes things happen. Sometimes… things just start to make sense all of a sudden. I suppose this feeling of difference is a bit like picking up a lute and realizing you instinctively know how to play it, though you haven't had lessons."

He grimaced. "But this newfound… lute-playing ability? It's not…"

"Demonic in origin?" Amelle finished. "I don't think so. It's just clarity. Knowledge. New. I don't know how else to explain it."

The mabari raised his massive head and cocked it meaningfully at Cullen. For a moment he was taken aback by the intelligence in those dark eyes. Then the hound turned, and licked Amelle's hand, nuzzling up even closer than he'd been before. Amelle chuckled down at her dog. "Yes, you've made your point, thank you. I'm still me, at least by mabari standards."

Cullen wondered if the hound would have been able to sense something wrong in Amelle. The tales of mabari intelligence were well-known, but if the dog was truly able to sense a demonic presence in a person… well, it made Cullen wonder why the Order didn't make wider use of them.

"And how are you… feeling? Beyond that, I mean."

She grimaced and Cullen saw Fenris scowl down at his cards, but he knew better than to think the elf's expression was for him. "Sore," she answered. "Stiff." And then, reading his expression with an ease that surprised him, Amelle then sent Cullen a crooked smile. "And, yes, I probably could make myself feel better with a bit of magic, but…" She pressed her lips together and frowned thoughtfully down at her hands. "I can't explain it. I just know I need to let that part of me… rest, still."

The fact that she needed to rest surprised Cullen not at all — the fact that she seemed aware of it did. "It was an… extreme outpouring of magic," he said. "It is probably wise to give yourself more time to recover."

The look she gave him was all too knowing. "Tell me about it. But it worked. I have no idea how it worked, but it did."

Cullen, as it happened, had been wondering the same thing for the past two days. There was no reason their powers — abilities always at odds and never meant to work in harmony — could produce such a miraculous effect. "I've only come up with vague ideas and flimsy notions, I'm afraid. Nothing solid."

"Same here," Amelle said.

"We know little enough of the idol that was used to craft Meredith's sword," Fenris pointed out, "other than it was very old, and an intensely powerful variety of lyrium."

"Corrupted lyrium," added Amelle. Fenris nodded. "If it was like salt dissolved in water, then we weren't dealing with pieces of lyrium anymore. It was infused in the water."

"But you were able to heal those infected on your own," Cullen countered. "I can understand why you required Fenris'… assistance, but not mine."

"Actually," Amelle said, shaking her head, "I did need your help. I was only able to heal the children on my own. The adults, however—"

"I was there when you treated Cassia, Amelle. I saw—"

"You saw me pushing my magic too far and doused it with a cleanse." Cullen stared at the mage, whomperjawed, but Amelle only let out a low, rueful laugh. "I know, right? But in the instances of Cassia and Aveline both, they were exposed to my healing magic and your abilities."

"It is likely Amelle's magic counteracted the corruption, but a templar's holy powers are meant to nullify magic," Fenris said. He looked briefly at the markings twining down his arm and flexed his fingers into a fist before releasing it. "And what is lyrium but magic in solid form?"

"Though I've never understood why templars need to take lyrium," mused Amelle, tapping her fingers against her lips. "I mean, it worked out well enough for you — you were immune to the levels in the water. I suspect if Meredith hadn't been a templar, the sword would have corrupted her even more quickly than it did."

Once again, Cullen felt a strange rush of gratitude to Meredith for all of those Wounded Coast patrols. After turning this over in his head a moment, he nodded. "I suppose that makes some measure of sense, though I doubt anyone in the Order will be pleased to learn a mage can maintain any spell through the application of a holy cleanse."

"You said yourself it was a very low-level cleanse," Amelle said, sending a smile Fenris' way. "And you must admit I had a very… unique brand of help."

"Rest assured I have no intention of providing the same manner of assistance to any other mage," the elf said darkly. "Or to Amelle, for that matter, ever again."

With a grimace, Amelle rubbed the spot on her chest where Fenris' hand had gone in. "Maker, I'm not going to pretend to be disappointed about that."

The look Cullen sent her, he knew, was shrewd, and more than a little skeptical. "You're quite sure? It was a great deal of power you wielded, you know."

Amelle's gaze seemed to turn inward, and she was silent for several seconds before answering. "I'm sure. It helped — and we needed the help, but…" she bit her lip and stopped rubbing the spot on her chest, instead pressing her palm against it. "No one person is meant to possess that kind of power. It's too… much."

The mabari whined, and Amelle looked down so she missed the strange expression that passed over Fenris' face. Cullen did not. He wasn't entirely certain what it meant, but the elf—just for a moment—looked as though someone had given him an incomparably precious gift. Then he blinked and glanced down at his cards, and by the time Amelle looked up again, smiling, Fenris' countenance was once again inscrutable.

"So, do I pass the test, Knight-Commander?"

"Acting," he replied at once, and she responded by broadening her smile into a full grin. "And yes, I believe you are as well as could possibly be expected. Hoped for, even, considering."

"But?" Amelle asked, and Cullen wished she was a little less perceptive. The bloody Hawkes were going to be his undoing.

"Apparently our combined powers set off quite the chain of events, culminating in great bursts of light and power and, well… the kind of thing that could be felt by every templar in the city limits. Perhaps beyond."

Amelle sighed, and he regretted the loss of her smile. "Not unlike… well, the Chantry, I suppose."

Cullen nodded. "For all that it was good we did, it was still vast. And templars… don't like vast magic of any kind. Generally speaking."

"You speak as though you are not one of them," Fenris remarked.

The thought had, uncomfortably, occurred to him.

"There are some who might say I act as though I am not one of them," Cullen admitted. "They wouldn't entirely be wrong. I… have acted as my conscience dictated, but not precisely how the laws of the Order would have seen me act."

Amelle reached out and gripped his hand, squeezing it briefly. "I'm sorry, Cullen."

He gave her a brief, uncomfortable smile. "I made my choices, Amelle."

She looked like she was going to protest further, but then she just dipped her head and gave a breathy little laugh. "Then I suppose I should say I'm glad you made the ones you did." Then her eyes narrowed, her expression turning shrewd. "Except that one where apparently you decided that you are above the human necessity of sleep."

"There will be time enough—"

"Right now? Yes, I think there will be," Amelle remarked, deceptively mild.

"I did warn you, templar," Fenris added.

"I cannot spare the—"

Amelle's smile was devilish. Terrifying. "You'll have to get through Fenris. And he has slept. At least a little. I'm betting on him." Then she squeezed his hand again. "We'll wake you. But you're of little use to anyone like this, Cullen. You've been yawning every two minutes."

"I have not," he protested, yawning.

"Everything that needs you will still be there waiting in a couple of hours. Don't make me get Merrill up here to magic you to sleep."

The bed was truly very soft. And inviting. "Perhaps I will close my eyes for a few moments," he admitted, reclining against the pillows at the far side of the bed.

Leaning over, Amelle patted him on the shoulder. "You do that."

Cullen fell asleep to the sound of soft voices goading each other playfully over cards.