For three days, Fenris did his best to play nursemaid, and was rewarded by Amelle's grateful smiles when she came to check on her patient. For all that she had not been entirely pleased with the arrangement, she did not seem to bear him any ill will over it. Instead, she came thrice a day, usually toting carefully-packed meals from Orana, and always accompanied by the mabari. Hawke did not come. Indeed, he had not seen her since the night of the memorial—since their brief conversation in the darkness outside his house—and when he once made the mistake of asking Amelle about her sister, all he received in reply was a terse, "I'm not her keeper, Fenris."
For the most part, Sebastian was an easy houseguest. He kept to his chamber, emerging only to find books to read or to eat the meals Orana sent over with Amelle. Fenris, however, saw the toll the inactivity took. His friend seemed… strained, frayed at the edges and doing his best to pretend he wasn't. His eyes, when they looked up from their reading, were haunted, and he never quite regained the healthy color he'd had before his injury. Fenris did not need to be a healer to see the man still suffered, whether he was willing to admit it or not.
On the third evening, Fenris invited Sebastian to join him at The Hanged Man, but Sebastian only shook his head and murmured something about being tired. Fenris could read the lie on the man's face, but did not call him on it; it seemed both cruel and unnecessary to do so. He thought about remaining behind himself, but he was restless, and an evening with Isabela and Varric would go a great way toward easing some of that agitation. He smiled slightly. He was never quite so peaceful as when he was a bottle of wine in and too many coins down, except, perhaps, when he was at Hawke's side battling slavers and blood mages.
It occurred to him that his idea of peace might be a strange one.
By the time he returned to his mansion, it was very, very late, and though all was still, the… difference in the place was palpable. Sebastian was likely long since asleep, but knowing another person lived beneath his roof—however temporarily—made Fenris look about with clearer eyes. He'd lived here so long he hardly noticed the damage any longer. Most of the corpses had already decayed, though he still caught the scent of death on the air when he wandered into parts of the house left vacant and untouched too long.
Shaking his head slightly—it was pleasantly foggy with wine—Fenris glanced around and thought it might be time perhaps to think about… dusting, at the very least. This thought died as exhaustion made itself abundantly known and the temptation of his bed grew impossible to ignore.
He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The next morning something—something—hammered through his slumber, and a vicious headache prodded him awake. It was less to do with wine and more that the light through the grimy windows was barely bright enough to indicate dawn. Not enough sleep by half.
Groaning, Fenris swung his feet to the floor and leaned heavily, elbows on thighs, waiting for the room to cease spinning. And pounding. After a moment the spinning halted, but the pounding did not. Wincing, he remained still a moment, trying to figure out what exactly had woken him. It didn't take long for him to realize—even exhausted and plagued by headache—the noise sounded remarkably like an actual hammer. Levering himself out of bed, he padded out of his room and down the hallway to investigate.
Downstairs, he found a most astonishing sight: in the foyer was a particular wall sporting a hole—he could not recall just then whether it was made by a thrown wine bottle or a more orthodox weapon, only that the damage had been there as long as he had. The damage, however, was in the process of disappearing even now. Loudly. At Sebastian Vael's hands.
"…Sebastian."
Sebastian turned, hammer in hand, his brow still knit in concentration. He blinked twice at Fenris before saying, "I didn't know you were awake."
"I was not."
Sebastian glanced down at the hammer, clearly taking Fenris' meaning. Shuffling his feet slightly he said, "Ah, I am sorry about that. I didn't realize… you must've come in rather late, then?"
Fenris arched an eyebrow. Late or not, dawn seemed an odd time to tackle… significant household repairs. Sebastian's face looked pinched, and beads of sweat stood out on the tall man's brow. "Cards ran late at The Hanged Man. As they so often do."
"Of… course. I can be… quieter."
Fenris scowled. "Rather late for it now."
Sebastian scrubbed his free hand—his left hand—through his hair and even from several feet away, Fenris saw the way the action caused a sharp flash of pain. Sebastian, however, seemed indifferent, turning back to the wall and tilting his head, as though trying to figure out how best to proceed.
Fenris was tempted to answer leave it, but did not. Instead he said, "Hawke came last night."
After an awkwardly long pause, Sebastian asked, "And… Amelle?"
Fenris shook his head even though Sebastian wasn't looking at him to see it. "The Hawke sisters appear to be… quarreling."
"Ahh," Sebastian murmured, turning again. Concern furrowed his brow. "Still."
"It is unlike them. I find myself troubled." Fenris was not quite able to keep the confusion and dismay from his tone. Hawke had seemed… out of sorts. More so than seemed warranted. She'd stayed only a couple of hands, had too much to drink too quickly, and then excused herself with flimsy protestations of needing to work. Fenris had noticed how carefully she did not mention Sebastian herself, but how her attention was unwavering when he or the others spoke of him.
"Was she…?" Sebastian drifted to silence, bowing his head and refusing to meet Fenris' gaze. "No, it's… none of my concern."
Bending at the waist, Sebastian retrieved a piece of wood from the floor and held it level against the wall, a nail propped between thumb and forefinger. Fenris watched, bewildered, and said, "If you wish to know how she is, why do you not ask her?"
Sebastian swung the hammer, hit his thumb, and let out a stream of invective bawdy enough to make Andraste herself blush, if she were listening. Fenris' lips twitched, but he was not quite awake enough to smile. Ignoring Sebastian's oaths, Fenris added, "You might consider joining us, next time."
Glaring at his wounded thumb, Sebastian muttered, "At The Hanged Man? No, I do not think that's wise."
"I know it cannot be against your beliefs to enter a tavern. You do so regularly enough when Hawke asks it of you."
A faint flush tinged the man's cheeks. Fenris pretended not to notice. "Old habits… die hard. Given everything that's happened—"
"You'd rather pound holes into the wall?"
A hint of a smile pulled at one corner of Sebastian's lips. "Fix the holes someone else already pounded, I'll have you know."
"I only wished you to know you would be welcome."
Under the pretense of checking something on the wall, Sebastian turned away. Not before Fenris heard him murmur, "Oh, I doubt that."
Rather than let it go, Fenris pressed, "You cannot continue living under assumptions that may have no root in truth—"
In an unnaturally even voice, Sebastian replied, "I know what I said to her, Fenris."
"And you believe you are the only one to ever have spoken to Hawke in anger?"
Sebastian gave his head a single, violent shake. "You didn't turn your back on her."
"You are wrong. I did. In the Fade. She… does not hold it against me. But I do not forget it happened. Nor, I think, does she." He could see Sebastian was unmoved. "When we brought you back to her, she did not suggest we abandon you, Sebastian. She wished to see you well again. Of that I am certain."
"I was… injured. Of course she—"
"If Hawke were truly vindictive, do you think that would have made any sort of difference? She could have let you die, and rid herself of a potential problem, a potential enemy. She would not."
Sebastian did not reply at once, returning his attention to the wall. He ran his fingertips over the damage, and when he spoke, it was not to answer Fenris' admittedly rhetorical question. "What did this, anyway?"
"Either a full bottle of Aggregio, or—"
"There are scorch marks."
"Lightning, then. Or a fireball."
He looked at said scorch marks, a funny little smile not quite making it to his lips.
"And you've… left it here this long."
"It adds to the ambience. And that was a poor attempt to change the subject."
Sebastian ignored him. "And the corpses? Are they meant to provide ambience also?"
"No."
"So…?"
"Why bother with them? They'll decompose eventually. Most already have." With a sigh, Fenris went back to playing nursemaid, as Amelle had asked, waving in Sebastian's general direction. "Are you meant to be up and about? I believe Amelle made herself very clear. Rest was high on her list of your priorities."
"I feel… fine."
Fenris raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
"Swinging a hammer hardly constitutes heavy lifting."
"Why do I feel Amelle might disagree?"
Sebastian shrugged, but looked chastened. After a moment he put the hammer down again. "This isn't the end of this."
Fenris chuckled, and then regretted it when the sound echoed unpleasantly in his own aching head. He would have given just about anything for one of Amelle's hangover cures. Catching himself, he felt his eyes widen, just slightly. Wishing for the aid of a mage. He shook his head.
Sebastian sighed, obviously thinking the gesture intended for him. Fenris did not disabuse him of this notion.
"Breakfast, then?" Sebastian asked, with false cheer.
Fenris grimaced. "Is this how it's going to be?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Breakfast requires you to be up and about as well, does it not?"
"Again, hardly strenuous. It's breakfast. And… and I doubt Amelle would approve if her patient went hungry." He said the last with the conviction of a man who knew his argument was irrefutable. Fenris did not bother with a reply, as they both knew Sebastian's point was a solid one. Abandoning his repair work, Sebastian crossed the room, heading for the door to the area that was… technically a kitchen, though Fenris could not fathom the last time it had been used to such a purpose.
"I do not possess particularly domestic skills," Fenris said, very nearly at a growl.
"How… surely you eat, Fenris."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Fenris replied, "One does not need to know how to cook in order to eat."
Sebastian paled slightly. "Please don't tell me you actually eat at The Hanged Man. The rumors about the stew—"
"Of course not."
"Well. I suppose that's a relief—"
"As it happens, The Blooming Rose has a rather accomplished cook."
Sebastian stumbled mid-step, coughed, and put out his hand even though there was nothing for him to hold on to. Then he muttered a prayer—for strength, Fenris thought—under his breath and turned his head.
"Eggs?" Sebastian asked.
Fenris looked at him.
"Bread? Fruit? I daren't hope for sausages."
"All easily procured at The Ros—"
"Market," Sebastian interjected. "All easily procured at the market."
Fenris bristled. "I won't cook for you."
Sebastian shook his head, smiling wryly. "As it happens, I'm a deft hand with a frying pan. And… and I would like to repay you for your hospitality somehow. I… am aware you prefer your solitude. I am grateful you are permitting me to… intrude upon it."
Bristling was replaced by complete and utter bafflement. Fenris blinked. "You want to… cook? For me?"
Sebastian's smile widened. "Servants of the Maker possess any number of talents you might not expect. Cooking just happens to be one of mine."
Fenris blinked. Again.
"Is that agreement, then?"
"Amelle will be displeased if you re-injure yourself."
"Then I will bear her ire gladly. We mustn't count on Orana—or The Rose—for all our meals."
"You are… quite determined?"
Sebastian sighed. "I only wish to make myself useful in some way, Fenris. And, as I said, repay you for your hospitality."
Fenris frowned, wondering if perhaps he wasn't still dreaming after all. Fixing walls and cooking breakfast seemed… terribly far from the purview of either priest or prince. Sebastian kept looking at him, gaze even and unblinking. "If you re-injure yourself whilst repaying me my hospitality, I doubt Amelle will be terribly forgiving to either of us."
"True, but—"
"Particularly if you hurt yourself while cooking breakfast, of all things."
Sebastian sighed again, with even greater long-suffering. "I might just as likely hurt myself picking up a book to read, and she hasn't stopped me doing that. Let me put it this way: I intend to do this. I will… accept whatever repercussions my actions bring."
Fenris scowled for a moment before resigning himself. "I suppose the least I could do is… make the walk to the market. That would doubtless alleviate some of the physical strain."
Sebastian shot him an inscrutable look. "You'd do the shopping."
"I believe I can manage such a thing."
"So you know how to tell the difference between a ripe and overripe tomato? How to select the freshest eggs?" With a smirk, Sebastian indicated the desiccated remains still piled in the corners of the foyer. "Do you know how to tell when meat's gone rancid?"
Fenris blinked, thinking of his familiar table at The Blooming Rose, with the smiling servers whose offers for more than breakfast he never accepted, but who never failed to bring him lovely plates piled high with food.
"We will both go," Sebastian decided.
"That… rather defeats the purpose."
"If I re-injure myself, then you may deposit me in Amelle Hawke's care and I will attempt to explain to her why I've…" he trailed off, and Fenris watched a strange play of emotions run rampant across the other man's face. He thought these particular emotions had less to do with the younger Hawke and everything to do with the elder, but Fenris did not push.
At length Sebastian said softly, "Perhaps I will simply be careful."
Rubbing at his still-sore head, Fenris muttered, "I have the distinct feeling I am going to regret this."
#
Kiara had a headache. Again. She wished she could blame the few drinks she'd had at The Hanged Man the night before, but she'd not had nearly enough to merit the current agony throbbing behind her eyes. She had too much on her mind. She felt like she always had a headache these days, and she knew she had too much on her blighted mind. Too much by half. And none of it promised to go away any time soon. It took a great deal of effort not to reach out and touch the piece of paper folded in her pocket; she felt as though it was burning a hole there, and the longer she went without dealing with it—two days, now—the more anxious she became. The pounding in her head told her to see to the letter straight away. The twist in her gut kept her from doing so.
Every morning she woke thinking today I'll ask Amelle for help, and every morning she bathed and dressed and ate her breakfast and gulped down her tea, and by the time she saw her sister—if she saw her sister—the desire to ask for help had faded into irritation and frustration. And the headache remained.
Amelle was spending a great deal of time in the clinic, mopping and tidying and doing Maker-knew-what, and though Kiara thought of joining her, she always… stopped just before climbing down the ladder.
It wasn't as though the fight before the memorial was the only one they'd ever had, but somehow… somehow the words they'd spoken—hurled—at each other had cut deeper than the words of other arguments.
I'll ask you to remember that Grace wanted to kill me for no other reason than being related to you! If you really wanted to keep me safe, you'd stop being my bloody sister.
And drawing the bow. There was that. She couldn't forget it, no matter how much she wanted to.
Even when she thought to apologize, the sentiment died on her tongue before she could give it voice. She told herself it was because to apologize now would be to concede defeat, somehow. And though the memorial had cleared the air somewhat—Cullen and Aveline had given Kiara permission to go out in the streets again, at least—Kiara couldn't help feeling the strain underlying the city even still.
It felt not unlike the strain between herself and Amelle, to own the truth. Oh, they nodded at each other and spoke when they met in the hallway and sat down to dinner when Orana called them, but something had shifted. And she didn't have the first idea how to fix it. She didn't know if it could be fixed. It just felt… wrong. And she wasn't used to feeling wrong around Amelle.
It gave Kiara a headache. More of a headache.
Given everything that had happened in the city, and with Bodahn and Sandal gone to seek their fortunes—and their safety—elsewhere, Kiara could see Orana was skittish, still, especially about visiting the marketplace, even with Killer to accompany her. Feeling restless and needing the air, Kiara had offered her services. Amelle had opened her mouth, and for one instant Kiara'd thought her sister was going to ask to join her. They'd often done the market shopping together before. Kiara always haggled with the butcher, and Amelle knew where to find the freshest produce.
But then Amelle had closed her mouth and departed for the clinic without another word, and Kiara was left to her own devices.
Entering the market, basket slung over her arm, she could understand why the place unnerved Orana. The square was teeming with people, and the scents and sounds were instantly overwhelming. Kiara only put her head down and wove her way through the crowd. Produce first. It was always what got picked over earliest.
As she drew near her favorite stall, she thought she caught a glimpse of strawberries, and for one glorious moment, everything else was forgotten. It seemed an age since she'd had strawberries. Her mouth watered at the sight, and she had to swallow repeatedly, overcome by sheer anticipation.
Then, standing next to the strawberries, she saw a shock of white hair she'd recognize anywhere, even without the tell-tale armor beneath it to give away its owner's identity. She almost smiled. Fenris must be in dire straights indeed to brave the market. She knew he took most of his meals at The Blooming Rose, but she imagined Sebastian—
Catching herself mid-thought, she realized it was not only the white hair and lyrium-tattooed skin and sharp armor she recognized. Though his back was turned to her and he no longer had his distinctive armor to wear, she recognized the height and breadth of the man standing next to the elf at once. Sunlight glinted in his auburn hair.
When he turned to hold an apple out for Fenris' inspection—Fenris only shrugged and looked intensely uncomfortable—she saw how pale Sebastian was, and she went cold. Clenching her hands around her basket's handle, she pushed her way through the crowd, earning a few curses and a yelp, and barked, "Andraste's blessed arse! What are you doing?"
Sebastian jumped at the sound of her voice, and she saw the pain even as he tried to bury it. The apple fell from his hand. He immediately knelt to retrieve it, and when he rose something very clearly tweaked and he lost what little color he'd had. Fenris reached out, grabbing Sebastian's arm to steady him, but the taller man shook him off.
Kiara glared at Fenris. "He's supposed to be resting. Look how bloody pale he is!"
Fenris gave her a black look, raising one hand as if to ward her off. "This was not my—"
Ignoring him, Kiara turned on Sebastian who, she noted, at least had the good sense to look contrite. "And you! What in the Maker's bloody name do you think you're doing up and out and in the bloody market in your condition? Do you have any idea how serious that wound was? It wasn't a scratch, Sebastian! You can't slap on a poultice and ignore it. You have to heal."
He blinked under the onslaught. "I was merely—"
"Trying to kill yourself?" Kiara snapped.
"Hawke," Fenris said quietly. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she startled under his touch.
"Don't use that tone with me, Fenris. You promised."
"Hawke," Fenris repeated, a heavier warning in his tone. "Not here. Let us go back to the mansion…"
Kiara cast a quick look around and realized they were now at the center of a great deal of attention. People were whispering. A few were even pointing. She glowered. "Amelle is at the clinic, I think, Fenris. I'll take Sebastian to the mansion. I don't trust him not to jump up and start doing things the second my back is turned." Kiara pushed one hand through her hair. Sebastian's eyes were lowered, and he still looked unsteady. "What'll it be next, Sebastian? Archery practice? Taking on the Coterie single-handed? Rebuilding bloody Kirkwall brick by bloody brick?"
"Hawke," Fenris growled. "Enough."
Kiara closed her mouth, somewhat reluctantly, and put one hand to her aching head. Sebastian's eyes tracked the movement, before looking away quickly again. "Fine," she replied. "Get Amelle."
Fenris narrowed his eyes, likely taking offense at her tone, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She glared at Sebastian as though daring him to argue with her and began to move through the crowd, toward Fenris' mansion. People stumbled in their effort to get out of her way. It wasn't until she was nearly through the press that she realized Sebastian wasn't with her. She turned, ready to tear into him—how, how could he be so stupid?—when she saw he was trying to follow. The crowd did not part as easily for him, and he was walking slowly, carefully, holding his left side away from the crush of shoppers.
He seemed so much smaller without his white armor. He hardly looked like himself at all.
Swallowing hard, she waited.
"Forgive me, I—"
"I'm sorry," Kiara interjected. "I didn't realize."
Truthfully, he was very pale. She reached out, freezing before instinctively touching her fingers to his brow. Someone jostled him from behind, and instead of checking his temperature, Kiara was forced to shove herself under his right arm to keep him upright. He groaned, but didn't lean against her; she noticed he pulled away as much as he was able. She tightened her grip, taking as much of his weight as she could.
He blinked, and she was alarmed at how long it took his gaze to regain focus. "I… thought—"
"Obviously you didn't. Or you would be in bed. Resting. Like Amelle told you to do."
He inhaled sharply, and straightened, though he did not entirely pull away from her. "Are you ever going to let me finish a sentence?"
Kiara froze, but said nothing.
"I can manage, Hawke."
"No, you absolutely cannot. You look like death, you're about a breath from passing out, and I don't want to lug you back to Fenris' by myself. Honestly, Sebastian. What were you thinking?"
He snorted and then grimaced again. "That I was hungry."
It was such an unexpected reply that she nearly stumbled, which would have taken them both to the stones in a heap. Shaking her head, she began urging him toward Fenris' mansion, small step by small step. "Of course," she said, trying for lightness. Her headache wasn't cooperating. "I don't think Fenris has ever used the kitchen."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that."
She glanced up, shooting him a questioning look.
"It makes an excellent room for storing corpses."
Kiara almost laughed, except she was standing so close she could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. His limbs trembled and sweat beaded on his brow that had nothing to do with the temperature outdoors. She pressed him a little harder, urging him to take faster steps.
"I should have told Fenris to run," she muttered. "We should have turned back to my estate. I should never have agreed to let you leave in the first pl—"
"Hawke. Please. I'll sit. I'll rest. Just… don't blame yourself. We both know whose fault this wound is, and it's not yours. It is… it is less than I deserve."
Kiara was horrified when her eyes filled with tears. She was even more horrified when she actually had the audacity to sniffle.
"Hawke," Sebastian said, his voice low and worried. Him worried about her. It was absurd, and just enough to hold the tears in check.
"It's nothing. Come on. We're… we're almost there."
"Please," Sebastian whispered. "Please don't cry. Not for me. Not after what I—"
Once again she cut him off mid-sentence, but only because he was walking the dangerous line of beginning a conversation she was not quite ready to have. "You idiot. I'm only… if I was crying—and I'm not—it would be because I want to hit you but you're injured and I can't."
He ducked his head and almost smiled, and Kiara urged him on, praying for Fenris to hurry.
#
Amelle was tired. She hadn't had a proper night's rest since the memorial. Oh, she slept, but fitfully, as if the tension between her and Kiara not only filled the house, but soaked into her sleep as well. She didn't feel quite as stretched, as emotionally drained as she had the day of the memorial, and her mind and spirit were settled and quiet — and Amelle was thankful for that; the tension between her Kiara was bad enough, and she still had no idea how to combat that. Intellectually, she knew that talking to Kiara was the first step. But it felt like such a large step; she and her sister were circling in the anxious little figures of a dance Amelle didn't quite understand, and much as she wanted to stop… she didn't know how. Kiara scowled and snapped when she wasn't hidden in her room or shooting quiver after quiver of arrows into targets in the garden. Amelle could see Kiara was troubled—could even see that she was hurting; her sister never ceased rubbing at her temples—but somehow the words do you need healing, Kiri? refused to form.
Neither did the words do you need help?
Amelle yawned and rolled her neck expressively to banish some of the more persistent knots. She was in the middle of transplanting some seedlings from their nursery bed to the windowboxes. She nearly dropped the one she was holding when she heard the door squeal on its hinges—another thing to do; oil the doors—and she called out, "I'll be with you in a moment!"
When she turned, she was startled to see Fenris standing in the clinic, a strange expression on his face. He looked drawn and tired, and from the way he was squinting slightly, she could tell she was not the only one who hadn't slept well. Though Amelle suspected, given Kiara's brief foray to The Hanged Man the night before, that Fenris' exhaustion had more to do with the tavern's stores of wine than anything else.
"Fenris," she said, unable to keep the surprise from her tone. "Kiara's gone to the market, I think. Unless… oh, Maker, is it Sebastian?"
Fenris inclined his head slightly. "We were—we came upon your sister at the market. She insisted I bring you to see to him."
Brushing the potting soil from her hands, Amelle glanced around. Her supplies were pitiful at best, but she grabbed a few helpful potions and a spool of uncut bandage. "What did he do? Was it bleeding? Is he conscious?"
"He was… only pale."
Amelle paused, glancing at him with raised eyebrows. "Kiara sent you because Sebastian looked pale?"
Fenris put a hand to his forehead and sighed. "I knew I was going to regret letting him do this."
"Letting him…? Do?"
"When I woke this morning he was attempting to repair holes in my walls."
"…What?"
Fenris sighed again. "Sebastian was up at dawn this morning fixing the holes in my walls."
"You're joking."
"Oh, that I were. In comparison, allowing him to make breakfast seemed the lesser of two evils. Had he not come to the market with me, I have no doubt he'd have gone back to the repair work. He was… quite insistent."
She gave him a small smile. "I suppose that explains why you look so wretched. Hangover and no sleep and no breakfast. We'll collect some buns from Orana on the way over. As to the other, you… know I can help."
"How do you… indeed. I have… felt better."
Amelle waved one hand, wiggling her fingers. "It's yours if you want it."
A silent debate raged across Fenris' features in the form of furrowed brow and compressed lips, and Amelle found herself almost regretting the light-hearted offer. He was still Fenris, after all, and though he'd accepted her help before, he was hardly going to start thinking of magic as something to be spoken of or thrown about lightly. Just as she was parting her lips to apologize for her levity, he nodded once. Decisively.
"I would be… it has been a long morning. All evidence indicates the rest of the day may continue on in the same fashion." Fenris' expression lightened, and he took several steps toward Amelle, bowing his head slightly so she did not have to reach for his temples. Amelle caught herself staring and blinked to clear her mind. Warmth that had nothing whatsoever to do with gathering magic and everything to do with the trust Fenris was showing spread through her. Swallowing hard, she took his head between her hands and let her power wash through him.
After a moment, a faint smile of relief overspread his features, but it was replaced almost instantly by yet another frown. "Do you… blame me, then? For… allowing him to… roam?"
Amelle sighed, dropping her hands and shaking her head. "None of us will be able to keep Sebastian from getting up and making a meal if he wants it. Honestly, I would have brought something over earlier, but I… rather lost track of the time down here." She waved at the half-potted plants. "Kiara will likely tell me to drug him into oblivion, but he's still got to eat and keep his strength up. So, if he's determined to do these things one way or another, then we can at least make things a bit easier on him. None of us can watch him constantly, and I don't think he'd thank us for it if we did. If he's going to heal, he's going to do it on his own terms, no matter how much my sister yells at him. I mean, she could shoot him, but that would just make more work for me. So. No, I don't blame you. Sebastian's choices are his own. He's not your… responsibility."
Something about the final word stuck in her throat, and she found herself swallowing anxiously as if to dislodge it. Fenris regarded her steadily, and somehow his attention made her distress even worse. Glancing away, she packed her supplies in the empty market basket Fenris still held. "Perhaps it is only paleness after all, but there's no saying what horrors Kiara will imagine if I don't go have a look." She arched an eyebrow. "And besides, it appears I have to have yet another word with my patient about the meaning of the word rest."
When they entered the mansion, Amelle's eyes darted around the foyer, and what she saw startled her. She noticed the patch job Sebastian had started at once. More than that, the entire space seemed… cleaner, somehow. It was odd. And highly disorienting, like entering a stranger's home.
"Weren't there… more corpses in here?"
Fenris looked around, and gave a one shouldered shrug. "It's possible."
Startled swiftly became alarmed. "He moved the corpses? In his condition?"
Dryly, Fenris replied, "I can only assume so, since the alternative is that they walked out of their own accord."
"Right, because we've never seen that happen before. Still…" She waved, taking in the altered state of the room, "this is far too much work for him to have done in his condition."
"I did attempt to reason with him…"
Amelle's lips twisted in an unpleasant little smile. "They have more in common than they know, my sister and Starkhaven's heir."
Fenris snorted lightly. "Indeed."
"Where did you put him?"
"East wing, second floor. There… seemed to be the least damage there. Though if Sebastian has his way…"
Amelle rolled her eyes, and took a few steps toward the staircase. Before she'd gone very far, however, she heard her sister's voice from above, and Kiara was speaking so loudly every single one of her words was clear as a bell. "You moved the corpses? Sebastian, have you lost your—no. No. Do not answer that question, because it is obvious that any sane man would never have attempted to handle dead weight—carrying Maker knows what contagion—less than a month after sustaining a wound that very nearly made him a corpse in his own right!"
Amelle glanced over her shoulder at Fenris. His eyebrows crept toward his hairline and she shook her head. "I'd best rescue him before she does more damage than even I can fix."
"Do you require anything?"
"Other than a sedative for Kiara? Fresh water, if you would."
Fenris nodded sharply and turned away as Amelle took the steps two at a time. Even if she hadn't known the layout of Fenris' mansion, she could have found Sebastian's room easily enough just by following the ever-more-strident sound of her sister's voice.
Amelle knocked before she entered, but didn't wait before walking in. Kiara was pacing from one end of the room to the other, her color high and her hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Sebastian, Amelle noted, had been wise enough to sit, but his color was terrible, and she regretted the lazy walk from the Hawke estate at once. Sebastian watched Kiara pace, wearing a hangdog expression, and it was Kiara who noticed Amelle first.
Without ceasing her pacing, Kiara jabbed her finger in Sebastian's direction, and shouted, "He moved the corpses!"
"So I gathered. And I think probably the entire neighborhood gathered it, too."
If Kiara even heard the note of humor in Amelle's voice, she ignored it, continuing, "And he refuses to take his shirt off for me!"
In spite of everything, Amelle couldn't help the smile that tilted the corners of her lips. Kiara stopped mid-pace, overcome by a laugh that bordered on the hysterical. Sebastian blushed furiously.
Shooting a vaguely concerned look at her sister, Amelle said gently, "You'll take your shirt off for me, won't you, Sebastian?"
"I would… prefer…" Sebastian glanced around, desperate, as though he wanted nothing more than for the floor to open and swallow him whole.
Adopting her most businesslike demeanor, Amelle shook her head and settled her basket of healing supplies on the end of the bed. "Nothing I haven't seen before, as you well know. I have to take a look, Sebastian. You… you should not be the color you are."
"What took you so long?" Kiara asked. "I sent Fenris ages ago. I've been—"
"Hawke," Sebastian pleaded. "It is nothing."
Amelle knew it wasn't nothing. People rarely turned the color of old dishwater over mere nothings. She turned to order Kiara from the room but found her sister resolute, glare firmly in place. And, oh, Amelle knew that glare. The last time she'd seen it there'd been an arrow pointing at her—
Amelle forced these thoughts away, finding the still, calm place where her magic breathed within her. Now was not the time for any wounds but the one Sebastian suffered. Her own could wait.
Kiara said, "I'm not leaving. He won't tell me the truth about it, so I need to see for myself."
With a heavy sigh, Sebastian shifted until his back was to Kiara. Very slowly, he attempted to remove his shirt, but Amelle could see at once that his left arm was uncooperative. Striding to his side, she shook her head and removed the shirt herself. She could feel the heat of his fever even through the fabric, and his color seemed even worse up close. Inhaling deeply, she calmed her mind, cleared it of thought and worry, and prepared herself for the worst.
Blood stained the bandages wrapped around his chest, and Amelle cursed under her breath. More than three weeks since the original wound—he should not still bleed. Worse was the smell. She could tell at once the wound had grown infected again.
Behind them, Kiara had at last grown utterly silent, and when Amelle shot a glance her way, she saw the hardened expression she recognized from countless battlefields. Amelle knew the look well. Kiara was compartmentalizing, pushing emotions, thoughts, worries down and away to be dealt with later. In a very measured, very artificially calm voice, Kiara said, "Amelle?"
"You were right to send for me."
Kiara closed her eyes.
Amelle turned back to her reluctant patient. "Sit still, Sebastian. This is… this is going to be unpleasant."
"Corpses," Kiara spat. "Bloody corpses. Idiot!"
Sebastian mumbled, "Maybe… corpses… not such a good idea. Just wanted to… to help…"
Amelle glared at her sister. While Sebastian's back was turned they shared a rapid exchange of gestures: Amelle made a little shooing motion with her fingers; Kiara shook her head, scowling; Amelle shooed harder, lifting her eyebrows pointedly. Kiara shook her head, even more pointedly, and crossed her arms over her chest, and Amelle was forced to shrug. She rolled her eyes and then gestured toward the basket of supplies.
"If you're going to stay, you're going to help, Kiara. Cut fresh bandages, long enough to wrap around him twice."
Trusting her sister to her task, Amelle began very carefully to ease the dressing free. Sebastian winced, and Amelle murmured reassuringly, but when the bandages finally came away entirely she couldn't help the breath that hissed through her clenched teeth. It mightn't have been as bad as it once had been, but it was ugly and it was angry. She felt magic rising to her fingertips at the sight of it, desperate to help, to bring succor.
"Definitely infected. Blast. Kiara, there's some topical potion there—if you can warm it up in the embers, that would be a help. Sebastian, you need to lie back."
"I'm not sure that's entirely—"
"Sebastian," Kiara snapped. "Do as she says. Now."
Amelle laid gentle fingertips on his unwounded right shoulder, and bent her head until he was forced to meet her gaze. "Please," she said softly. "This isn't going to be pleasant, and if you lie still I can make sure the spell goes where it needs to go. Sitting up is… more of a challenge. Please. Trust me."
His color was still high, though she put it down to the infection more than his injured modesty. Once he'd settled back against the pillows, she perched on the edge of the bed. After cracking her knuckles in preparation, she closed her eyes and placed her hands lightly over the wound. The blue-white light poured into him as she focused, coaxing the torn flesh to knit itself back together even as she drew out the infection from the blood and surrounding tissues. The hotcold thrum grew stronger, somehow both hotter and colder, until she could feel sweat trickling down her face even as she shivered. Her brow ached with the force of her concentration. Her hands trembled. Still she held. Still she asked for more, because the blighted flesh resisted her.
Ages passed. By the end, strands of hair clung sweatily to her forehead, her mana was all but drained, and a bloody headache pounding towards the front of her head with a vengeance. As the last of the light faded from her hands, she slumped forward, resting her elbows on her knees, panting hard.
"There," she whispered. "There."
Kiara's voice was almost as soft. "It's… mended, then?"
When Amelle looked up, she was startled by the openness of Kiara's expression—after the last few days, it seemed shocking to see her sister so unguarded.
"Again, yes," Amelle replied. "Is the… is the topical potion warmed up?"
Kiara nodded. "I can do this part, Mely."
Somehow even the term of endearment hurt.
You're the one with the death wish, Mely. Wouldn't it be better to see it coming?
"Kiara…"
But Kiara only shook her head. "Go get some air. You look like you could use it."
And because she couldn't disagree with Kiara's assessment, Amelle went.
