Kiara was having a hard time remembering whether Amelle had always been such a gifted manipulator, or if this was a skill developed only since coming to Kirkwall. Her baby sister had always seemed to understand and wield the power of a pair of big green eyes with impunity, and possessed a look of patented wide-eyed innocence that… well, for Kiara, that was the first sign Amelle had done something worth killing her for later. So, maybe Amelle wasn't all that cunning — but if she wasn't, it certainly had nothing to do with a lack of effort.

The tea and buns in bed, Kiara had to admit — that had been a good touch. As had been curing that nasty hangover. She also had to admit revamping the clinic was not the worst idea she'd ever heard.

But as Kiara walked into the clinic, it was to find Amelle deep in conference with Varric. Then Amelle looked up, and it only took a fraction of a second for her sister to give Kiara the very look of doe-eyed guilelessness that made every one of Kiara's instincts go on alert. And she'd barely even walked through the clinic's doors.

And there. There. The slightest scuffing of Amelle's foot upon the floor — then Amelle froze, her foot caught in mid-scuff, as if Amelle realized her tell too late. Kiara slowly raised her eyes to meet her sister's. Kiara arched an eyebrow. But Amelle just smiled. Kiara lifted her other eyebrow. Amelle waved. And then turned her full attention back to Varric.

It occurred to Kiara that Amelle's bloody smile was probably what secured every last one of her little helpers. Maker knew Varric wasn't immune, either.

In truth, the clinic needed a lot of work. When Anders had appropriated the space for his own use, he'd done little with it. People came and he healed them, but as Kiara watched Amelle recite a list of supplies to Varric, who wrote every last item down, it occurred to Kiara Anders hadn't really seemed to… like being a healer. He'd done the job, and he'd been more than competent at it. And he never took half-measures when it came to saving a life. But there'd always seemed to be something… long-suffering about it. He didn't seem to find joy in healing an illness or repairing an injury; he was satisfied at a job well done, of course, but…

Pulling her mind away from that particular track, Kiara's eyes went to the windows, scrubbed clean. They were narrow, pathetic things, barely better than a hole in the wall, but they let in light.

Granted, that light highlighted every single dust mote that floated in the air, and every grimy smear upon every possible surface, but at least letting in the light allowed one to see every flaw needing repair.

And her sister looked happy. Indeed, she looked utterly aglow — and if Amelle could look aglow when the place still looked a bloody shambles, Kiara couldn't wait to see her sister when the project was finished.

Finally Varric nodded at the list he held and looked up at Amelle. "I'll see what I can do about this, Amelle. Shouldn't be too hard to get most of it, but we'll see. Some of these supplies have been in short supply recently."

Amelle grinned at the dwarf. "I have the utmost confidence in your considerable skills."

Varric chuckled. "You need to get that put on a plaque. It'd be good for my ego to see that on my wall every morning." The dwarf turned and spied Kiara, loitering by the door and laughed. "The rest'll be along in a minute, but otherwise looks like the gang's all here."

Kiara looked around. The gang seemed to have a loose meaning: the only person other than Varric and Amelle she saw was Merrill, painstakingly potting plants and doing her best to keep out of Kiara's sight. She frowned, still uneasy, but unwilling to make a scene if Amelle had invited the elf to help. Perhaps Mely will be the good influence I never quite managed to be.

Varric saw the subject of her gaze, however, and shook his head slightly. Quietly enough for Merrill not to hear he said, "Come on, Hawke. Let Daisy be. She only wants to help."

Instead of acknowledging this, Kiara said lightly, "I don't see Isabela. What's a gang without her?"

"She's doing her part for the cause by sleeping off last night's… indulgences. I told your sister the last thing she wants right now is a pissy Rivaini. She'll probably be along later."

"After the hangover fades?" Kiara asked. Varric laughed and shook his head.

"No, for the hangover cure," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Amelle.

Remembering just how grateful she'd been for that same cure, Kiara only smirked. "Mely does manage a mighty fine hangover cure, that's for sure."

Amelle sniffed with theatrical disdain. "I'm beginning to think you only keep me around for one reason."

"Oh no, kid," Varric replied. "You're good for all sorts of things."

"Fireballs," Kiara supplied helpfully.

"Lightning storms, definitely," Varric added. "And that creepy squishing thing."

Kiara arched an eyebrow. "Crushing prison? I do like crushing prison. We should definitely keep her around for crushing prison."

"I'm just her now?" Amelle complained bitterly. "To think I brought you tea and buns. Tea and buns! Never again, Kiara Hawke. Never again."

Kiara grinned. "Or at least not until the next time you want me to help move furniture or scrub walls or whatever it is you're angling for this morning?"

Amelle beamed, though Kiara sidestepped the elbow her sister tried to jam into her ribs. "At least not until then, yes."

Varric clapped Kiara on the back—she wasn't quick enough to sidestep them both—and winked at Amelle. "Ladies. I've got to see a man about a… well, about a shitload of clinic supplies, actually. Hope I'll be back with good news, Amelle."

Amelle stepped close as Varric departed, also looking toward Merrill. "I know you have… issues, but—"

"Blood magic is more than a petty issue."

With furrowed brow, Amelle replied, "You know I feel the same way. But she… Varric says she's been at a loss. He's had to go find her half a dozen times, and she's almost always near the Chantry. Helping people. And she swears she hasn't—"

Kiara shook her head. "Blood mages always swear they don't use blood magic. And then they do. And people die. You sure that's the kind of person you want… here?" Kiara gestured broadly, taking in the clinic in its entirety.

"I don't know, Kiri," Amelle admitted. "But… look, you've let her stick around this long. If you wanted to cast her out, you probably should have done it years ago. You can't keep beating the same dead horse. Either… either let her try to make good on her promises to change, or ask her to go away forever. This… this middle ground has to be hard on both of you."

Kiara blinked down at her sister. "Maker's balls, Mely. First Fenris gets all observant on me, and now you're getting wise. Next thing you know Isabela will learn to hold her tongue and Sebastian'll learn to loosen his."

She spoke the words without thinking, aiming to jest, but the mention of Sebastian stuck in her throat. Amelle went strangely still, and then scuffed at the floor with the toe of her slipper. "Funny you should mention that," Amelle said, a little hesitantly.

"Funny?" To her credit, Kiara didn't actually choke the word. And if it was voiced in a tone slightly rougher than usual, Amelle didn't call attention to it.

"Yes, well, I thought—"

Whatever Amelle's thought, it was silenced by a grunt behind them. When Kiara turned, already reaching for her weapon, it was no bandit or Coterie thug on the other side of the clinic door. It was Fenris, helping a very pale, very unstable, but still mostly upright Sebastian inside. She whirled back around to stare at her sister, who was most definitely scuffing her foot across the floor now.

"Amelle Arista Hawke," she hissed, "what do you think you're—"

"I think," Amelle hissed back, "that getting out of that bloody room is the best thing for him right now." She paused, narrowing her eyes before adding for good measure, in the same tone Kiara had used: "Kiara Fausta Hawke."

"He can barely stand upright!"

"Which is why he'll be sitting while he's doing nothing more strenuous than rolling bandages." And with that, Amelle took a step past Kiara, beaming at both Fenris and Sebastian as she moved to Sebastian's other side and guided his arm around her shoulders, helping Fenris bear the weight. "You're a bit early," she welcomed him, utterly and infuriatingly ignoring Kiara as she and Fenris helped Sebastian maneuver into the clinic. "Varric's only just left for supplies. I'm afraid I haven't any bandages to roll, but there are plants to be potted, if you've no objection to getting your hands a little dirty."

"Are you certain this is wise, Amelle?" asked Fenris, doubt in his voice.

Kiara knew there was a reason she'd always liked Fenris, even with the taciturn disposition and the rage and the occasional inappropriate heart-crushing.

"I'm certain a change of scenery and a little occupation certainly couldn't hurt."

Kiara followed them into the clinic, scowling. What on earth was Amelle thinking? "He could have reopened his wound coming down the ladder, Mely," Kiara pointed out, forcing her voice to lightness.

"He could reopen his wound sneezing, Kiri," Amelle tossed back.

"Which he is far more likely to do down—"

"I'm standing right here," Sebastian said mildly. "I don't mind the change in locale, Hawke. Truly. And truth be known, I would much prefer this to… idleness."

Amelle sent Kiara a See? look over her shoulder. "And I'm sure Sebastian will be careful."

He chuckled. "If your tone is anything to go by, Amelle, I'm not certain I have much choice."

They led Sebastian to a sturdy crate that doubled admirably as a makeshift chair, and Merrill looked up from the windowboxes full of soil and more plants than Kiara could ever hope to identify, and for a moment — the barest, tiniest fraction of a moment — joy overspread the elf's face. She opened her mouth to say something, then, suddenly, seemed to think better of it. The joy fled, replaced by uncertainty and an uncomfortable flush, and Merrill bent her head again, turning her attention entirely to the plants.

Kiara looked at Amelle, then at Merrill. I hope she knows what she's doing. Then she looked at Sebastian and the same thought circled her head, but with twice as much wariness.

Amelle gave them all tasks — and it wasn't long before Varric delivered some of her requested supplies before vanishing again to negotiate for more — but by the time Kiara had nearly fallen from the ladder three times ("Wash the walls, Kiara; you're tall and uninjured.") as she attempted to both do the job she'd been assigned and keep an eye on the patient, Amelle finally sighed and poked her in the back of the thigh. "Go. There's linen to cut into bandages now. Do that for a while. You know how I like them."

"I am capable—"

"Of falling flat on your arse and causing me more trouble than you're worth? Yes, I see that."

Reluctantly, Kiara pulled a second crate close and sat next to Sebastian—close, but not too close—picking up an uncut bolt of linen and a pair of shears. Sebastian, fully absorbed in his own task, did not even raise his eyes to acknowledge her, but Merrill said quietly, "Hello, Hawke. It's… a nice day, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't really know," Kiara retorted, too shortly. "I've been housebound for a while. Seems the city's holding me accountable for crimes I didn't really commit."

"You mean Anders," Merrill said needlessly. "But you didn't… do those things."

"Sometimes that doesn't matter, does it, Sebastian?"

Sebastian's chin dipped even lower, and his knuckles whitened around the little bundle of bandage he held.

"Hawke," Merrill whispered, her tone wounded and her eyes even wider than usual.

"No, Merrill," Sebastian said, still looking down at his task. "Hawke is… she has every right to her anger." After a moment he released the fabric. It unfurled in his lap, and he began slowly winding it up again, taking care not to be too rough. Kiara watched his hands work. The left lacked the dexterity of the right, and she wondered again about the lasting damage of the wound he'd sustained.

It wasn't even anger anymore, not really, not if she was honest. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When she opened them again, she found both Merrill and Sebastian staring at her. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was unkind."

"It was nothing I didn't deserve," he replied. "Nothing I don't deserve."

"Oh, Sebastian," Merrill said softly. "It's so… it's so sad."

Kiara and Sebastian both looked at the elf, and she squirmed under their combined scrutiny. "Sad?" Sebastian asked. "What's sad?"

Merrill scrubbed her dirty hands against her tunic. "I-I'm sorry. There I go, babbling again. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You didn't say anything," Kiara groused.

The elf's brow furrowed, and she looked slantwise at Sebastian. Her eyes were so troubled Kiara almost expected her not to speak, but after a moment Merrill said, "You just… it just reminds me… after, after everything, after Marethari, you told me 'Guilt isn't a punishment. It's just a reminder of all the things you haven't set right.'"

Kiara didn't remember the exchange, but if Sebastian's stricken expression was anything to go by, it had most certainly happened. Merrill twisted her fingers together and said softly, "It's just… the way you spoke just now? It reminded me. And it made me think… it made me think maybe you feel like you have a lot of things you haven't set right." Merrill looked briefly at Kiara, as if she were going to say more, then almost seemed to flinch before falling silent again and looking down at her hands.

Kiara opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Amelle, standing by the clinic door. "Kiara? A moment of your time? I want to take down this Maker-forsaken lantern, but I can't quite reach it, and the ladder's too wobbly to manage on my own."

"I… yes. Of course." And with hands she didn't realize were trembling, Kiara dropped the linen and the shears onto the makeshift table and followed her sister outside. Once Amelle closed the clinic door, however, Kiara saw the lantern had already been removed from its spot. Puzzled, she turned to Amelle, but it only took seeing the look upon her sister's face and her arms crossed tightly over her chest to make something cold and leaden settle in her gut.

"If this is how you're going to be, Kiara Hawke," she said, her voice low and unmistakably angry, "then you can go right back upstairs and take your lousy attitude with you."

Kiara blinked hard at Amelle, not believing the words coming from her sister's mouth. "Excuse m—"

"No," she hissed, taking inordinate care to keep her voice down. "There is no excuse. Not for this. You're being small and petty, and currently you are bearing less than no resemblance to my sister. So either knock it off and stay, or please go back upstairs. I only figured you might have had enough of being homebound and might actually enjoy a change of scenery and a chance to bloody well do something, but more the fool me."

Kiara felt her cheeks burn and she wanted to argue the point with her sister, but she knew, deep in her gut, Amelle's words rang with truth. And she hated that worst of all. She scowled and set her jaw, settling into a stony silence — which worked out, as it happened, because Amelle wasn't finished yet.

"You aren't the only one hurting, Kiri. I'm not going to diminish your pain, but you can't diminish anyone else's." Amelle jerked a thumb at the closed door. "There is too much broken and ugly and ruined in the world right now, and I hate it. So I thought — and maybe I was stupid or blind or too blighted idealistic for my own good — but I thought maybe, if there was something we could build up instead of tear down, something we — all of us — could make a little better, then it might serve to make our other problems a little more…surmountable."

Kiara's hands clenched against the embarrassment burning through her. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, mirroring Amelle's stance, and as she did, she could almost hear her father's voice: Don't get defensive now, kit.

"And for the Maker's sake, stop jumping all over Merrill."

"Don't tell me you're defending her, Amelle," whispered Kiara furiously. "You? Merrill's a blood mage. You know — you saw what she did."

Amelle pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm not defending her. She messed up. She knows she messed up. She knows there are no words for how horribly she messed up and how many lives — including her own — she's ruined because of it. But she wants to make amends, Kiara. Why deny her that?"

Kiara sputtered for a moment. "She's a blood mage who tried to unleash a demon through a mirror."

"No. She's a naive girl who didn't believe any instrument of her ancestors would harm her. She was stubborn, willful, and blinded by pride. But she was never malevolent. And she did a stupid — incredibly stupid and dangerous and horrible — thing. And she was punished for it."

"Amelle," Kiara said on a sigh, but her sister shook her head stubbornly. Kiara wondered for a moment if she was this stubborn. Surely not.

"Keeper Marethari was like a mother to Merrill. And I can't help but think Marethari wouldn't have given her life for someone who was a lost cause. I want to help Merrill, because I don't want to believe Marethari died for nothing."

The words hit Kiara like a slap and she winced. Her face felt unbearably hot and embarrassment slowly began to ebb into anger. But what could she say? She'd had great respect for Marethari in life, and the woman had given her life to save Merrill's. It wasn't Kiara's call to decide whether Merrill was deserving of such a gesture or not — and clearly Merrill didn't think she was. But what had been done was done. Kiara sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples slowly. Her head hurt.

Amelle let out her own sigh, the worst of her anger released now. "I thought you'd want to work on something good right now, Kiara. Don't you want to be part of something good?"

The plaintive tone in her sister's voice cut through all of Kiara's lingering anger and embarrassment, and she let her arms drop as she looked at Amelle — really looked at her.

Her sister was smudged with dirt and grime, and her short hair stuck in sweaty, curled tendrils to her forehead and temple, but mainly she saw the hurt in Amelle's eyes — after she'd been so ridiculously, absurdly happy the night before. The worst of it was in the deepest, darkest, most secret part of her, Kiara felt something uncomfortably close to envy that Amelle had found something to make her that happy. But louder than that voice, more fervent, more insistent, was the voice that wanted Mely to be that happy all the time.

But Mely didn't look happy right now. Far from it, in fact. She looked hurt, and not a little disappointed, the crease of her brow and the line of her mouth making her look entirely too much like Papa. A disapproving Papa. Or maybe that was just the lingering vestiges of Kiara's hangover.

She bowed her head and sighed, all of the anger and frustration and vitriol at the bloody unfairness of it all draining out of her with a sigh. "I… you're right," she said quietly, not meeting her sister's eyes. "I'm… I'm sorry, Mely."

Amelle nodded, then peered closer at her sister, taking Kiara's chin between her fingers and squinting into Kiara's eyes. "Are you feeling all right?"

Kiara gave a grimace and shook her head. "Just a little headache. Still."

Amelle looked worried. "Must have been quite a hangover," she murmured lightly, but the look in her eye put the lie to the lightness in her tone. The fingers at Kiara's chin swept upward to her temple, and she felt the tell-tale rush and hotcold pulse of healing magic wash through her. The pounding in her temples ceased.

"Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

Amelle's arm went around Kiara then, her hand rubbing slowly at her back. Evidently her sister hadn't quite believed her, because Kiara could feel just a little bit of a tingle anywhere her sister's hand pressed against her. "Listen, it's been a bitch of a morning so far. Do you want to go back upstairs and—"

"No," Kiara answered with a firm shake of her head. "I have spent quite enough time upstairs, thank you."

After a moment, Amelle nodded and pushed open the clinic doors again. "Then why don't you help Fenris for a bit? I'd like to get rid of some of those horrid exsanguination tables, but I've no idea what to do with them." Her smile went slightly crooked. "And maybe moving obscenely heavy, clunky furniture is precisely the outlet you need."

Sometimes Kiara thought her sister knew her all too well.