It wasn't a long walk home, but given Kiara's news, even the shortest distance seemed leagues upon leagues away. Amelle hurried to keep up with Kiara's longer-legged strides. Fenris, who appeared not to be hurrying at all, maintained her sister's pace with an ease verging on the irritating. He'd said virtually nothing since the moment he'd dropped his blade, but when they'd moved for the door, he'd fallen in silently. She found herself wanting to… thank him? Something? Acknowledge what he'd done? But she couldn't find the words, and couldn't help noticing the way his wary gaze looked everywhere but at her.

Later, she supposed. There'd be time for gratitude later.

Somewhere in between the knowledge that the trip was short and the annoyance that the distance was still too far, Amelle found her thoughts sifting into some sort of order, now that she wasn't running for her life.

Sebastian was awake.

Maker's blood, I wasn't sure it was going to work.A risk and a gamble it had been, but one so very worth the effort. Amelle only hoped Kiara would agree.

"Did he speak at all?" she asked her sister's back.

"No," answered Kiara shortly, without so much as turning to acknowledge Amelle's query. All trace of their earlier shared mirth was gone as if it had never been. Amelle found herself wondering if she'd imagined it. "He seemed in pain. I checked to make sure the bandages were still clean, but he—" She gave her head a brisk shake. "No, he didn't say anything."

Amelle opened her mouth to reply, snapping it shut again as she quickly sidestepped a large chunk of fallen debris — too large to have been moved easily. Suddenly and fiercely, Kirkwall's chantry, tall and white and whole again, filled Amelle's memory, followed hard by images of Sebastian and the demons feeding upon him, upon his vengeance… and upon his despair. Amelle gave the barest shiver as she thought again of the small boy with the tearstained face, with such an unmistakable — and familiar — lilt to his speech, with bluer-than-blue eyes.

And Sebastian had not seen it, had not recognized the shape his own despair had taken. Perhaps that was how it had dug its claws so deep in the first place. I'm lost. Everybody leaves me. You'll leave, too.

Oh, Sebastian. All the more amazing he'd managed to pull away from the hold upon him and wake, really. Still, there was no knowing how much damage had already been done. Or how well he would recover from it.

"In pain?" prompted Amelle. Not surprising. The wound was still there, after all, and still stubbornly not healing.

"Yes," Kiara answered. Each word emerged short and clipped and hardly like Kiara at all. "He didn't say anything. I saw it in his ey—in his expression."

Narrowing her eyes, Amelle looked harder at her sister. Kiara had been there when Sebastian woke — of that much she was certain. And yet… and yet Kiara seemed… well, not relieved. Or, rather, not relieved enough. It was nothing like the woman who'd begged to be useful, or who'd spent the last week carefully dripping broth into an unresponsive body. It certainly wasn't anything like the sister who'd laughed just ten minutes ago in Fenris' foyer. Strange.

Kiara flung open the front door and stalked inside. There, by the flickering lamplight, Amelle saw her sister fully. She took in Kiara's too-straight spine, her clenched jaw, her hands slowly tightening into fists and releasing, only to clench again. Her sister looked almost… angry.

Very strange, Amelle thought, tipping her head as they all three — four, if you counted Cupcake — walked into the great room, the fire still roaring cheerfully. Amelle slipped off her cloak and started for the stairs. She noticed that Kiara hung back, her hand closed tightly on the back of a chair, her other hand hovering uncertainly by the clasp on the cloak she wore. Fenris, likewise, remained at the foot of the stair. That, at least, was less surprising. He still wouldn't look at her, though.

"I'll just go on up and see how he's doing, then," Amelle said, shouldering her staff and trotting lightly up the stairs.

Before she reached the top step, Kiara's voice — wretched and strangled and still so strangely angry — called out to her. "Amelle."

Amelle paused and looked down the stairwell, brows lifting inquisitively.

"What exactly did you do?"

Well, we knew that question was coming sooner or later. Amelle let out a little breath. "We'll talk about it later, Kiri. I'll tell you everything then, I promise. Are you coming?"

Kiara reached up and ripped at the clasp of her cloak, fumbling with it as gracelessly as Amelle had ever seen her do anything; she heard the fabric tear. "No."

"Are you—"

"I'm sure," she snapped.

"Kiara—"

For the first time, Kiara raised her face and Amelle was forced to meet her sister's gaze. And she couldn't make sense of what she saw. Almost as quickly as it began, it was over. Kiara looked away, pushing her hand roughly through her hair, and said, "I have… I have other things to do. I have other things to take care of."

Amelle thought the words like what? but held them in her mouth unspoken. Flinging the cloak to the ground, Kiara strode toward the kitchen. Fenris' eyes followed her, and then, with the briefest of nods in Amelle's direction, he turned on his heel and walked into the library.

Left abruptly alone, Amelle blinked at Cupcake. The mabari rose and padded to her side. "Maker's breath," she whispered. "What was all that?"

Tilting his head, Cupcake let out a plaintive whine. Then he bounded up the stairs toward Sebastian's room, and Amelle followed. Later. She'd make sense of it all later.

#

Kiara didn't know why she was so angry.

Only that she was. And that she didn't want to lash out, and she didn't trust herself not to.

So once she'd abandoned her torn cloak, she stalked through the house, letting herself into the dark garden. Her favorite old tree had been crushed by fallen masonry, and the great broken bulk of it only made her sadder—and angrier. She almost wished for a bow, even though it was far too dark to shoot with any accuracy, and her little practice yard was as destroyed as the tree that had once shaded it.

Instead, she put herself through her paces, fighting invisible foes and twisting through defensive acrobatics until she was sweating and tired and some of the anger had ebbed. Not all of it, but enough. Enough to realize how out of place the anger was.

Lifting her face to the sky, she wondered if the air actually still smelled of smoke, or if it was only her imagination. Two weeks. Two weeks was long enough. The air should be clear. The ash should be settled. Two weeks.

Two weeks, and she didn't have the first idea what to do with herself. It was all well and good, fighting imaginary enemies in her back garden, but it wasn't purpose.

A pang of something else needled at her, and when she was honest—when she was honest in a way that she could only be when she was tired and sweaty and breathing heavily from exertion—she knew she was jealous. Just a little. Of Amelle. She was jealous that Amelle could still walk the streets unmolested, unhated. She was jealous that Amelle could help.

She was jealous of Amelle's purpose.

"Enough," she growled. "Are you honestly going to begrudge her this? Enough."

And she couldn't. Because all tangled up with fear and anger and jealousy was relief. And that relief couldn't have come without Amelle, either. Because she felt entirely certain her sister had done something to make Sebastian wake.

Still, she wanted to know what in the Void had gone on. And how in the Maker's name Amelle had ended up facing down the pointy end of Fenris' blade in Fenris' house.

If she knew Fenris—and she did—he'd tell her.

If she knew Fenris—and she did—he'd be waiting for her to ask.

Fenris was in the library, sitting in one of the chairs before the fireplace. Two wine glasses stood on the table, already full. Kiara ignored hers for now, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head, leaning against the far wall. Fenris met her gaze for gaze. She noticed he wasn't wearing the blade that had just a short time before rested so very lightly against Amelle's breastbone; it lay abandoned near the door, across the room from where he sat, a subtle peace offering.

"What exactly did she do? You know, don't you?"

Fenris nodded, as though it was precisely the question he'd been expecting. Perhaps, for all that, it was. She figured it meant something that he'd come along back to the house with them, and that he was still here waiting.

"She had a theory that Sebastian might respond if she could speak with him."

"Speak with him? What do you mean, speak with him? He was unconsci—" Realization struck, and Kiara reeled. She felt certain that without the wall holding her up, she might have fallen to the ground in a boneless heap. She placed her hands against the cool stone to brace herself. "She went into the Fade? Alone?"

Again Fenris nodded, though his expression remained guarded and gave her little. "She is a mage, Hawke. Does she not make such a trip nightly?"

"It's not the same thing." There was a difference — a significant difference, as she understood it — between a mage just going to the Fade for the sheer sake of it and going to the Fade with the intent to interfere or… manipulate it.

Fenris' expression didn't budge; if anything, he looked even more inscrutable. "She asked me to watch over her, and to ensure when she came back she was not compromised."

"You mean she asked you to make sure she wasn't a demon in disguise?" Kiara pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until the pain cleared her head. "I suppose that explains the sword."

Fenris inclined his head. "It was… a test, of sorts. We have often seen how a possessed mage turns when pressed. Amelle was… frightened, but she was herself. I am certain of it."

"Well, isn't that bloody reassuring?" Kiara snapped, dropping her hands back to her sides and clenching them into fists because what she most wanted to do was hit something. Perhaps even Fenris. "I can't believe—Fenris, you knew what she intended to do and you let her do it?"

"I did," he replied evenly.

"You didn't think it was something I ought to be told?"

"I did," he repeated, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, still regarding her with solemnity. "Amelle had… concerns."

"Of course she had concerns! It's the Fade, Fenris. Don't tell me you forgot the last visit we took there?"

"I did not. I would have been more troubled if she'd wished me to attend her there, but she only wanted my… protection."

"The protection you offered by trying to kill her?"

He nodded slightly. "The methods may appear extreme, but it is what she asked of me. And her undertaking was successful. Surely you thank her for that much."

She exhaled hard through her nose. "I do."

He regarded her calmly, intently, for several long moments. "You choose an odd way of showing it, Hawke."

Kiara inclined her head, stung. He wasn't wrong, after all. When she thought of the roiling emotions she'd only so barely kept in check the entire walk back from Fenris', she was… embarrassed. "I was scared," she admitted, though it pained her to do so. "People do—I—I was scared. Sebastian scared me. She scared me. Maker, you had a blade on her. You scared me."

Fenris nodded, toying with his wine glass, twisting the delicate stem between his fingers. "Perhaps you can… enlighten me, Hawke. I find I am concerned. I did as Amelle asked, to the best of my ability. In return, she accused me of waging an Exalted March against her." He frowned, eyes downcast. "As you witnessed." She didn't know if it was his unwillingness to meet her gaze, or the subtle tenor of his voice that betrayed him, but Kiara clearly saw how hurt he was by the implication.

And, just like that, her anger dissipated. Her frustration vanished. Even the uncomfortable jealousy disappeared.

Exalted March. Maker. Only Amelle.

Nothing like a little Exalted March to get the blood flowing.

Poor Fenris. No wonder he looked so bloody traumatized.

"Oh, Fenris," Kiara said, beginning to chuckle, which became a laugh, which became something on the border of hysterical. Too many emotions. Fenris half-rose from his seat, but she waved him back down, wrestling the strange mirth into submission. "It's not what you think."

"I do not see how it could be otherwise. It was a troubling accusation."

"No, Fenris. It wasn't. It really wasn't. It was a joke."

Fenris stared, wine glass dangling precariously from his hand. "Joke?"

Kiara wiped tears from her eyes and explained, "Only bloody Amelle would make a joke like that after being chased around a creepy, corpse-filled mansion by an elf intent on exorcism by blade. Of course you wouldn't realize—you weren't to know, Fenris. It was a game we played as children. Exalted March. We thought it sounded terribly romantic and epic and exciting. I'm afraid we were... rather ignorant of the greater implications. Our parents were horrified when they discovered it."

When Fenris spoke his voice emerged strangled and half-an-octave higher-pitched than usual. "You played a game... called Exalted March?"

"We were bored, creative little monsters, yes. Oh, don't give me that look. Carver and I didn't slaughter her every time. Sometimes she even managed to convince us of the error of our ways. And now she's managed to convince me I can't even be mad anymore. Not properly."

With a sigh, Kiara uncrossed her arms and closed the distance between them, sinking into the chair and raising the glass he'd poured her. The first sip tasted like heaven; the second reminded her not to drink too much too quickly.

"It sings a siren song, does it not?" Fenris said, as though reading her thoughts. "Oblivion. Surcease. Forgetfulness."

"Too bad about the hangover, though."

Fenris' lips pulled into a half-smile. "Yes, too bad about that."

"Thank you for protecting her."

Fenris was silent for a moment, contemplating his own glass of wine. "It was a risky plan, but not a foolish one. You must grant her that."

"I do. I will. Tomorrow, probably. It's just… I can't lose her… not after—"

"I understand," Fenris said.

And Kiara believed him.

#

By the time she'd looked in Kiara's room, the library, even the wine cellar, without finding her sister, Amelle was starting to grow just the faintest bit worried. She peeked into Sebastian's room, more out of hope than expectation, but he was alone within. Alone and asleep. She resisted the urge to check up on him—sleep was more help than magic sometimes—and backed out of the room as silently as she'd entered it.

As she strode into the kitchen, faint worry had blossomed into full-fledged distress. Kiara wasn't in the house, and, more worrisome, neither was Cupcake. She didn't want to consider the trouble they might be up to, especially without telling her they planned to leave. Oh, Aveline's reports were tentatively more favorable, but Kirkwall was by no means safe. For any of them. But for Kiara—always so blighted recognizable with her hair and her tendency to assume she was able to take care of herself, no matter what—the city was still a battleground.

Orana looked up from her baking, and whatever she saw on Amelle's face was enough to make her cheeks pale and her eyes widen. "Mistress Amelle—"

"Have you seen my sister?"

Orana's nod was more a twitch than anything else. "She's in the back garden, Mistress. I-I tried to bring her some food, but I don't think she ate it."

"Of course she didn't," Amelle said, grimacing. "And of course she's there."

Amelle had… avoided the garden. Assiduously. She'd had excuses enough, certainly: patients at the Rose, Sebastian, Kiara even. But mostly she'd just been avoiding it. Before… before everything, she'd spent countless hours reading under the oak, and even more time puttering in the garden. She'd watched Kiara practice for hours upon hours under the hot sun, and had occasionally deigned to join her. A scant few times, Kiara had even attempted to teach Amelle to use a bow and arrow — You can't always depend on your magic, Mely — and the results were often as disastrous as they were amusing. But now those memories mocked her, and just touching upon them momentarily made something prick and bleed in Amelle's heart.

It had been a sanctuary, this place. And now it wasn't.

She heard her sister before she saw her. By the sound of things, Kiara was in some kind of losing battle against a silent opponent. When Amelle moved around the fallen tree (and oh, how that fallen tree pained her; so strange to be so affected by such a thing, when so much worse had befallen them), she found Kiara in her shirtsleeves, wrestling with a piece of fallen masonry. One of the old practice dummies lay pinned beneath it, shattered.

Amelle's gorge rose a little as she glanced at it. Here a practice dummy, yes, but elsewhere in the city? It was all too real. All too… metaphoric. She shuddered and looked away from it, focusing instead on Cupcake, asleep in a patch of sun, his paws twitching as he ran in his untroubled mabari dreams.

Shaking her head, she blinked to clear her mind of dark thoughts. It took no small amount of effort, but after a moment she was able to unclench her fists, and she was able to swallow without fearing an onslaught of grief. She was even able to raise her eyes to her sister once again.

If Kiara noticed her arrival, she didn't acknowledge it. She merely grunted and attacked the rock with renewed fervor. Amelle could see the muscles straining in her sister's slim—too slim; she'd obviously not been eating enough—arms. The stone remained where it was, immovable and mocking.

After watching for a minute—a long, horrifying minute—Amelle gathered her power and attempted to use it to shift the stone, or, at the very least, break it into more manageable pieces.

And Kiara snapped.

Rounding on her with wild fury in her eyes, Kiara howled, "Leave it alone!"

Startled, Amelle released the magic, and the rock shifted, crushing the hapless practice dummy once again. Kiara was hardly recognizable in her rage, scraped hands clenched into tight fists and every line of her posture rigid. For a moment—just a moment—Amelle actually thought Kiara might spring for her, might attack her with the same dedication she'd been expending on the stone. But her sister did not come closer, and the anger, bright-burning as it was, was not released on an unwitting target.

"Let me do this," Kiara continued, jabbing her finger toward Amelle even though she was too far away to make contact. "Maker's balls, Amelle, let me have this."

Amelle raised her palms in silent surrender, and something went out of her sister. The fight. The fire. As suddenly as the anger had come, it was gone again, leaving the broken, sweating, too-thin figure of her sister swaying on her feet, gazing at her with bruised, hollow eyes.

"Sorry," Amelle offered. "I thought you could use the help."

"I don't need help. I need occupation." Glancing over her shoulder, Kiara shot a glower at the masonry. "And say what you will, that blighted thing is occupying me."

"I… Kiri, can I occupy you with some lunch, maybe? You look…" Dead on your feet didn't quite have the ring Amelle was looking for, no matter how true, so she settled on, "Hungry. You look hungry. And Orana said you didn't eat the food she brought."

"I don't need coddling. From you or Orana."

Amelle swallowed her retort. The tray Orana had brought still sat where, doubtless, the elf had left it: under the tree, covered by a pretty, patterned cloth. Crossing to it, Amelle found bread and honey and Kiara's favorite cheese. Preparing a slice, Amelle held it out for her sister with the same manner she'd have used if she'd been trying to soothe a wounded animal. If she'd been trying to entice a wounded animal to come nearer, for healing. Kiara glared, but after a moment the glare subsided into a sigh, and she took the offering.

"I'm sorry," Kiara said softly, once the bread had been dutifully inhaled. "I—just—"

Amelle sent her sister a slantwise glance, but Kiara wasn't looking to notice it. Instead, she was staring into her empty hands, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed. "I know."

Amelle saw the protest forming, but it was never spoken. Kiara only closed her mouth again, her lips compressing into a firm line, before she shook her head. "I don't suppose you'd pass me another slice of that bread?"

Silently, Amelle complied. And then silently, she waited for Kiara to devour three more slices. When her sister had finished the entire platter of bread and cheese, Amelle said softly, "You haven't spoken with him."

Amelle felt her sister tense briefly at her side, but whatever emotion Kiara felt was wrestled down just as the protest had been. "I don't have anything to say."

"Kiara."

"I don't have anything to say right now. I'm not… it has to wait. That's all." Again Kiara shook her head, though this time the gesture was subtle, almost an afterthought. "I'm just so… angry. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is confused. Mostly I'm angry. And disappointed. And frustrated."

"So I witnessed."

The faint twitch of Kiara's lips upward felt like a victory beyond compare. "That rock had it coming."

"Doubtless."

"I didn't actually think he'd wake up." Kiara's words emerged tremulous, a bit surprised, as if she hadn't expected to speak them when she'd opened her mouth.

"He…" Amelle paused, wondering how much to reveal. How much was her right to reveal. "Kiri, you have every right to be angry with him. I—I of all people—don't begrudge you that. But he's not up there plotting against you. I'd stake my life on it."

Kiara's eyes met hers, piercing and cool and all too shrewd. "Aren't you?"

"Kiara…"

But her sister turned away then, and whatever ghost of a smile her lips had held was once more banished. "You said you'd explain."

"I… yes, I did."

Kiara kept staring at the patch of earth between her feet, and Amelle watched as her sister's shoulders rose and fell on a heavy breath. "I don't even know if I want to know. I keep… turning it over. I've almost asked you a dozen times in the past two days. At first I was just… it was a huge risk, Amelle. It was a huge bloody risk. If nothing else, that whole… Feynriel thing taught us that much."

Closing her eyes, Amelle lifted her face to the sun. The warmth was soothing against her skin. Comforting, almost. "I was careful."

"I wish you'd told me."

Because it was sadness in Kiara's voice and not anger, Amelle turned her head and looked at her. Her sister still sat half-hunched. "I… I wasn't trying to hide it. I wasn't trying to go behind your back. It was… it was a ghost of an idea. I honestly had no idea if it would even work. I didn't want to get your hopes up."

Kiara shuddered and put her head in her hands. "Oh, Mely. If something had happened—"

Amelle inched closer, nudging her sister with her shoulder. "Nothing happened. I'm right here. And I wanted to do it. It was important. And it worked. It… it really worked."

She felt her sister take a few more deep, steadying breaths. "And you… you think Sebastian's… you think he's not going to follow through? With those—"

"He's not," Amelle insisted. "Look, Kiara, it's hard to explain. You know how things are in the Fade. But he's… the things I saw? I think he's more angry with himself than he ever was with you."

"Sometimes I think letting Anders live, letting him leave, was the stupidest mistake I've ever made. Maker, sometimes I think Sebastian was right to be so angry—not right about the vows of vengeance, or about my reasoning, but…"

"Anders has to live with what he did. I… I'm not sure that's a kinder fate than death."

Kiara gave a low, mirthless chuckle and finally raised her head. "I don't know if it's hunger or sun or exertion, but that makes entirely too much sense."

"I'm getting wise in my old age."

This, at last, brought a smile back to Kiara's lips. It wasn't big, or bright, or anything like Kiara's usual grins, but it was definitely a smile. "Maker. If you're getting old…"

"You're ancient. Clearly."

Kiara arched an eyebrow. "I'm not too old to beat you in a fight, Amelle Hawke."

"You could try. My fireballs are getting really good, though."

On a scowl far more amused than genuine, Kiara said, "I am fond of my eyebrows." A shadow crossed her face, almost too quickly for Amelle to follow. Then she added, "What… what do you think about having everyone here? For… for cards. Fenris suggested it. I… I don't know, Mely. I need to remember what it was all for. I need to remember something that isn't this." She gestured broadly, the sweep of her arm taking in the broken oak, the crushed garden, the foreign pieces of no-longer-white stone.

"I think it's a good idea," Amelle replied, even though she wasn't entirely sure she believed herself.

Nothing was normal. It seemed wrong somehow to pretend things were.

But maybe, just maybe, it was a step in the right direction.