Ellana was still asleep the next morning. Hungry and unable to sit still any longer, Amaryllis agreed to leave her sister behind with Solas-who had promised to look in on her every few hours-and went to have breakfast. She found herself with a small bowl of pottage and a piece of barley bread. The warmth the meal left inside her caused her to smile.

As she made her way toward the apothecary's cottage, she overheard whispering. Two women stood outside the tavern beneath the swinging sign, failing in their attempt to look busy by brushing off their skirts.

"That's the Herald's sister," one grunted.

"Are you daft? The Herald is Dalish. This one is... not," the other huffed.

"Maybe she's got some elf blood in her."

"Seems a little too tall for that. Plus, look at her ears. Too round."

"I heard she felled that pride demon," the second said. "I heard all it took was one spell."

"If that's true, I might actually believe her to be the Herald's sister. Maybe... Maybe they were both chosen."

"Or maybe it was blood magic."

Amaryllis walked faster, running a hand over the end of her braid, resisting the urge to cover herself. She could see Adan in the distance, standing at the entrance of a cottage looking peeved; he crossed his arms and scowled at her approach.

"Finally," he grunted, stomping into the cabin. Each step thundered across the floor. "That bastard Seggrit is trying to make a profit selling elfroot and other plants to the Inquisition for fucking disgusting prices. Worm. We've no choice but to go and pick our own." He picked up a journal, ripped a page free with a frown of great displeasure, and slapped it into her palm. "I'm far too busy here playing mother-fucking-hen to the injured and cooking up potions when I have a spare minute. We need more than I have time to make, stuck taking care of fucking everything. That's where you come in."

Amaryllis nodded, quickly glancing at the paper. "You want me to gather herbs."

"Perceptive," he sighed and shook his head. "I'm not normally this much of an ass. Still an ass, just not... to this extent. I'm being run dry, here. There's only so much I can do on my own, and even then I'm pushing myself for more than that. I haven't slept in three days. And then we have pigs like Seggrit out here charging enough to feed a family for a month for a single bundle of elfroot. Fucking pathetic, trying to capitalize on war." Adan leaned against the desk, motioning to Amaryllis with a jerk of his head. "Heard from that apostate you're a healer. You'll know what to look for better than any else. I tried-asking the townsfolk for help, that is. Some at least knew what elfroot looked like. Others... I didn't know such idiots existed."

"And then there's the problem of the Inquisition itself. I can't seem to get anyone's attention with this. It's 'more potions, more elixirs, more salves, now now now,' but Seeker Pentaghast doesn't seem to care whether I've got the supplies to actually do that. I'm not a healer. I'm an alchemist. But there are so few around who can help."

That familiar warmth swirled inside her, spreading across her chest. I can help.

"I will do anything that I can," she said. "I'm no stranger to the forest, anyway."

Adan gazed at her for a moment before turning toward his work table, where powders and jars and a scale sat in disarray as if he'd stormed off in the middle of work.

Amaryllis dismissed herself, murmuring "I'll be back before dinner," and made sure to close the door behind her softly.

It was a surprisingly warm winter day. The snow upon the rooftops had begun to melt, dripping down slowly thawing icicles. When she breathed, Amaryllis could swear she smelled spring: the earthy, musky scent of petrichor; the clean breeze; the humid, sweet scent of sprouts breaking free from their packed dirt prisons. It was a joyous smell. A signal of the end of her least favorite season. A sign of a new beginning.

She breathed it all in, savoring each and every scent, closing her eyes in an attempt to keep them close, to pack them away to save for the impossible days. For the days that felt like years, the hours that felt like decades, and the times when the very existence of her bones made her wish for anything but. She would revel in it now, while it was fresh and new. She would press her fingers into the cold, wet earth, and feel life rise up to meet her.

She would pick elfroot for healing, blood lotus for pain, spindleweed for wounds to mend faster. And she would help.

Smiling to herself, Amaryllis made her way through the village, to the front gates, and out into the Templar camps. The Commander called out toward his troops; from the corner of her eye, she could see him standing tall, chin up, barking orders. She was unable to stop the way she turned to watch as he took up his sword and began to spar with a rather sheepish-looking Templar. His feet slid into a stance that the Templar mimicked; their swords met with a clang. Swinging his sword again, the Commander slashed at the soldier who barely dodged the attack. Cullen frowned, said something too low for Amaryllis to hear, and the soldier slid his leg out further, brought his elbow higher, and this time when the Commander swung his sword toward him, the Templar blocked it, using his blade to push Cullen's away. The Commander smiled.

A yell from down the well-trodden path had her turning quickly, facing the direction the familiar voice had come from with a grin so fierce her cheeks ached. Emil jogged toward her from the last line of tents, cocking his head in surprise at her obvious joy. His apple-green eyes glittered as he smiled, too.

"Glad to see yer alive, miss. Heard what ye and yer sister did, too, at the temple." He blew out a breath, eyes wide. "Knew ye were strong but Andraste's tits, didn't realize ye were that strong."

Amaryllis couldn't help herself then, a surprised laugh exploding from her chest. She blushed at the noise, at the way she snorted, unable to stop it, but Emil's grin only widened.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Emil. And in one piece."

He nodded, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone. "It was touch 'n go there for a while, sure. Never thought I'd get that close to pissin' myself. Thankfully I've got more 'n one pair of breeches."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said. "Wouldn't want yer toes to freeze in a puddle of your own piss. I'd be devastated to lose our friendship to frostbite."

Emil blinked once, seeming quite taken aback, then flung his head back; he put his hand to his chestpiece while he roared.

Recovering quickly, his lips split into the widest grin, he said, "It'd be one smelly funeral pyre, that's for sure." Without missing a beat he took a step closer. If not for his armor, Amaryllis knew she would be able to feel the heat pouring off his sweaty skin. "I wanted to thank ye for helping me, miss. I'd be honored if ye'd join me at the tavern for a pint or two. What d'ye say?"

Ellana, alone, flashed through her mind. Amaryllis pursed her lips and began to shake her head. "No, no, I couldn't. I've-I'm far too busy. Maybe-maybe some other time?"

"Too busy looking after yer sleepin' sister 'n pickin' grass, I see." He shrugged. "Not like she'd miss ye for one night. Though I sure would," he said, his grin never faltering in its intensity. "I was hopin' to get to know ye better. Not many I get along with out here. Not now, anyway."

His gaze darkened with an emotion Amaryllis knew all too well; it sat upon the back of her tongue, heavier than stone. It perched on her shoulders, twin vultures of misfortune, following her every move, watching, waiting for her next victim. She busied herself, ran herself ragged, filled her days with everything, anything to stop the inevitable. Because if she never gave it the time of day, then did it even exist at all?

Her family. Mihris. All proof that it did. So how vile of a person did she have to be to willingly, knowingly, lead Emil by the hand to meet that same fate?

And yet, in desperation, she reached out, touched his gauntleted hand, and looked into his eyes. His gaze brightened as it met hers. He needs me, she told herself. He needs me.

"...only two?" she asked.

"Why, are ye plannin' on drinkin' me under the table?"

"I heard there's been dancing in the evenings," Amaryllis continued. "And the best dancing is done tipsy."

"Dancin'? I'm in for a real treat tonight, aren't I?" He looked amused, then. "After dinner, then?"

"After dinner," she repeated.

With a nod and one last, lingering smile, they parted ways. She turned to the training soldiers, the clanging din of swords, and watched as Emil loped toward where the Commander stood, watching them. Amaryllis met his gaze from across the field.

He nodded once, a slight, gentle tilt to his lips.

She continued down the path and into the trees.

Amaryllis ran a hand over her braid, rubbing the ends between her fingers. She ached to pull it free, to braid it again and again in an attempt to calm herself, but instead let it go, took a deep breath, and approached the tavern door. It wasn't the boisterous laughter and raucous noise slipping through the cracks in the window frames that made her nervous. Nor was it the idea of spending time with Emil. No, it was the reminder of the women that morning, the mention of the battle at the temple and blood magic that left her feeling off.

Instead of allowing herself to fixate on it, however, she took a deep breath, steeled her shoulders, and entered the tavern.

Same as the last time she entered the warm air surrounded her, immediately bringing a light sheen of sweat to the nape of her neck. She pulled off her cloak and slung it over her arm. The tavern was bustling, full of life. And she had been right-tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls, opening up the floor for dancers. There were more musicians than just the bard this time; a few couples skipped about, spinning, leaping, laughing as they danced. The sight brought a smile to her face that only continued to widen as her gaze swept over Emil.

Amaryllis couldn't help but notice how good Emil looked outside of his armor. He was big, bigger than she had thought he'd be. His biceps looked to be twice the size of her head, his tunic stretched tight over his arms and chest. She might have felt a bit intimidated if he hadn't noticed her and smiled wide, flashing his big bunny teeth and spilling a bit of his ale over his hand in his haste to greet her.

"Aw, shit," he cursed, setting his tankard on the bar. He shook the beer from his fingers, grimacing for a moment. "Glad to see ye. I knew ye were too good to bail on me." Emil turned to Flissa, who frowned at the Templar-Recruit. "Ye owe me that silver, Fliss."

"If I'd have known who it was you'd invited, I wouldn't have bet in the first place," she grumbled. "Fuck the silver."

"Can't back out now! How 'bout this-no silver, but free ale for the next hour. Deal?"

Flissa laughed. "The ale here is piss and you know it! A pint isn't even worth two coppers. But go ahead, see how much you can drink to make it worth it."

Amaryllis came to stand before the bar, grinning at the two. "Hi."

Flissa slid a tankard across the bar at her. "It's good to see you again, too. Did you end up eating all of that bread?" she asked. She turned to Emil and motioned toward Amaryllis with a jerk of her head. "I've never seen anyone who loved bread enough to buy 'as much as she could fit in her bag.'"

He looked at Amaryllis with a small, knowing smile. She nodded. "Yes, I did. It was delicious."

"See?" Flissa smirked, slapping Emil's chest with the back of her hand. " Someone likes my cooking."

"Never said yer cookin' isn't good," Emil said with a shrug. "Just said ye make some weird shit, is all."

"Oh, fuck you."

He rolled his eyes and took up his tankard, motioning for Amaryllis to follow him. Her friend led her to an empty corner table, far enough from the dance floor that they could still hear each other speak, but close enough that she could feel the thump of feet along the floorboards.

They sit in companionable silence for a long moment, smiling over the rims of their drinks. Amaryllis was the first to speak.

"Do you know Flissa?" she asked. "You both seem very close."

"Long enough," he admitted, taking another gulp of his ale. "Though she's not exactly the most difficult person to get to know. Fliss has always been an open book."

Amaryllis nodded. "She's a very kind person."

"Ye wouldn't know how bad she really is; Fliss has always been nice to the ladies," he sighed something long-suffering, feigned weariness in the crinkle of his brow. "Anythin' to take 'em to bed."

"Oh?" She blinked in surprise.

"But enough about that fool. I said I wanted to get to know ye better and I meant it. So tell me," he leaned in closer, sliding his elbow across the table. "How in the name of Andraste's flamin' arse did ye end up livin' with a bunch of elves?"

Amaryllis shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Then she said, "how did you end up a member of the Templar Order?"

"A secret for a secret," he said. Mischief flickered like a growing fire in his eyes, gathering in his spreading smile. He lifted his tankard, and with a wink, drank the rest of his ale down. "Maybe after a few drinks."

"And that dance you promised me?" she asked.

"I promised nothin'," he said. "Try again in an hour. I wanna see how much of a sottish fool I can become before the hour's up." Emil winked. "I think we deserve a night of tomfoolery after all the world savin' 'n... demon fuckin'."

Amaryllis almost spat her ale, but managed to down the rest of her own mug, recovering quickly. "Just for that, you're getting my next drink."

"Already planned on it." He winked, grabbed her mug, and walked around the dancing crowd back to the bar.

A/N: Seriously, I really dislike being unable to format my chapters as I usually do lol if you want to read this in a better format, I suggest reading this on ao3. I'm sorry! And thank you for reading thus far