When morning dawned, Kirkwall found itself short one Champion, one prince, one pirate, and one dwarf. Fenris knew perfectly well Hawke and the others had set sail hours earlier, and were now well on their way to Starkhaven. And if the city seemed a little quieter for the absence, the elf knew the difference was largely in his own mind.
He walked the short distance from the mansion to the Hawke estate as the midmorning sun warmed the stones beneath his feet, wondering how much about her errand Hawke had chosen to share with her sister. He also wondered just how much he was going to have to explain to her sister, and how furious she was going to be.
The maid seemed surprised to see him, though perhaps because he so seldom remained behind when Hawke went off on one job or another.
"Messere," she said, peering at him in unmasked confusion. "Mistress Kiara is—is away from home this morning. She left when it was still full dark. I thought you—"
"Hawke required that I remain in Kirkwall," Fenris replied as he inclined his head. "I am here to speak with her sister."
"Oh! Oh, but Mistress Amelle is still…" Biting her lip, Orana cast a worried look behind her. "She's still sleeping, messere."
"But it is full morning," he replied, brows drawing together in a mix of confusion and concern. "I had always been under the impression Amelle preferred an earlier start to her day." Indeed, it was more than an impression. Amelle attributed it to her spirit healing abilities, but to hear Hawke tell it, her sister was simply a morning person. Hawke typically added in the same breath that it was nothing short of a miracle Amelle had survived this long.
Orana opened the door wider. "She does, messere. Normally. But I just looked in on her, and she's still sound asleep."
"Perhaps she discovered her sister's plan to leave and saw her off," Fenris said, but even as he spoke the words, they sounded improbable. If Amelle discovered Hawke's plan to sneak out of Kirkwall in the dead of night, the whole of the Free Marches would have heard the row. Things were still tense between the sisters, and if this move of Hawke's provoked anything less than an explosive — potentially literally — reaction from her sister, Fenris was going to be greatly surprised.
Orana, however, didn't seem to think it was such a far-fetched notion. She tilted her head in that queer, birdlike way she had before opening the door fully and granting him entrance. "Do you think she might have?" she asked as he stepped inside. The mabari, Killer, bounded into the room, panting happily and wagging his stubby tail at Fenris — this was enough to satisfy the elf nothing was terribly amiss. When the dog rolled over and presented its underside for scratching, Fenris was considerably reassured.
He still didn't think it was probable that Amelle had discovered her sister's plan, but only said, "I think, if she is still asleep, then we must consider the possibility." After a beat, he added, "Regardless, I have need to speak with Amelle when she does wake."
"Would you like to wait in the library?"
"If it would not pose any imposition," he said, crouching down to pet the dog. Orana made a move as if to escort him, but Fenris held up a hand. "Please, do not trouble yourself. I know the way." Killer's head lolled to the side as he looked up at Fenris, those great jaws opening wide and revealing impossibly sharp teeth just before the hound's great pink tongue unfurled and fell out as it panted happily.
Orana nodded, offering a small smile. "Yes, I… I guess you do. I could try waking—"
"No. I will wait. It is no trouble."
"I'll… I'll let her know you're here, once she's awake, messere," she said, taking a few steps toward the kitchen. "Is there… is there anything you'd like while you wait? There's some tea, and I've just taken bread from the oven."
He was about to insist such attention was unnecessary when his stomach betrayed him by growling loudly. Even the mabari tilted his head and let out a whine at the undignified sound. Orana ducked her head, almost more embarrassed than he, and said, "I'll bring breakfast to the library, messere. Really, it's no trouble. I don't mind. With Mistress Kiara gone, I've made too much."
This time Fenris didn't bother protesting. He merely inclined his head. The elf girl dipped into something far too close to a curtsey for his comfort and darted away, leaving Fenris to saunter to the library at a much more leisurely pace. Killer kept him company, staying close to heel and occasionally nudging his head up under Fenris' hand in search of scratches. Fenris obliged.
It would probably help to have the hound on his side once Amelle woke. Perhaps if Killer stayed close, Amelle would think twice about dropping an enraged firestorm on his head. He hoped.
Availing himself of a familiar tome, Fenris sat in his favorite chair near the fire. Killer sat at his side, large head resting in his lap. He had been working with Hawke some time on his reading, but the intricacies of the study still eluded him. Hawke was unceasingly patient with him, but he often wondered if she despaired of him ever learning properly. Once a week for three years—give or take—he'd sat beside her while she patiently listened to him sounding out words. It had taken him months to properly puzzle out the alphabet, and then months more to figure out how those queer squiggles formed actual words. For all his frustration—and oh, his frustration was great indeed—he would not have traded those evenings, or that knowledge, for anything. He had trouble admitting it even to himself, but he would miss the lessons whilst Hawke was gone. For an instant, he wondered if he might prevail upon Amelle to aid him in her sister's stead, but something about that thought sat ill with him. Amelle knew he was learning to read, certainly, but for some reason he didn't want her to know just how hard he struggled with it.
Orana came and went, toting a tray heaped high with food, waving away his thanks with a smile and a blush and another little bob of deference. "Sorry, messere. Still sleeping," she replied before he could ask. "And… the pup will beg for all he's worth, but please don't give him the bacon. Mistress Kiara's a little concerned about his weight."
Killer whined—probably affronted at being called pup by an elf who likely weighed less than he did—and gave first Orana and then Fenris a mournful look.
As soon as the maid disappeared again, leaving Fenris to solitude and breakfast, the elf broke off a piece of the forbidden food and slipped it to the mabari. "We'll walk that off later," Fenris told the hound seriously. "Twice around the market."
Killer once again gave his mabari-sized grin, tongue lolling. Fenris threw another morsel of meat, and as the hound leapt for it, Fenris heard a door slam and a woman's shout—Amelle's shout, "I'm going to bloody kill her!"—and footsteps upon the stair.
Fenris had a moment to prepare himself—evidently Hawke had told her sister very little, if anything about her plans, if the shouting and the cursing were any indication—before the library door slammed open to reveal a sleep-tousled, nightgown-clad, very irate Amelle Hawke. Upon finding him in the library, Amelle startled — eyes widening, her lips parting in surprise — evidently as unprepared to see him as he was to see her in… such a state.
"Fenris," she blurted, blinking at him, her mouth working silently — as if she had more questions than she could ask at that moment. She held up one hand, and in it he saw a crumpled piece of paper. Amelle closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out again before asking, in barely controlled tones, "When did she leave?" A thin tendril of smoke slithered up from the hand clutching the paper.
"Before dawn," Fenris replied honestly. "I did not know myself when she planned to leave, only that she—"
"Only that she planned to leave." And Amelle's disappointment — disappointment in him, he knew — was so evident, Fenris could not help his grimace. "You knew she was going to leave. Everyone knew, and no one told me?"
"It was for your sister to do," he said, pushing from the seat and standing opposite her. "She ought to have told you her plans, but she did not. Possibly she was concerned—"
"She drugged me, Fenris."
Fenris stared. Killed cocked his head and made an inquisitive whine, deep in his throat.
"Hawke… drugged you," he echoed.
"Drugged me," she said again, her eyes hard. More smoke slithered up from the paper she held. "So she could sneak out of the house. So I wouldn't hear her sneak out of the house." With that, she tipped her head back and shouted at the ceiling, "Andraste's ass, Kiara, it's not bloody stealth if you have to drug me to sneak out of the house." Then, with a vivid curse, Amelle threw the wadded-up and smoldering note into the fire, then stamped her foot, adding, "Worst rogue ever!"
Fenris was still struggling with the fact that Hawke had drugged her sister. True, Hawke's behavior had been… unusual lately, but such a measure was nothing short of bewildering. "You are… certain she drugged you."
The look Amelle gave him was more than enough to answer that question. "She said as much in her note." She looked disdainfully at the fire; the paper curled and darkened as flames ate away at it. "Honestly," she muttered, bringing her hands up to rub at her temples. "My own sister."
It was, Fenris thought, possible that Hawke had resorted to such an extreme measure out of a misguided attempt to avoid yet another row with Amelle. He didn't know how likely that was, but he was just about to suggest it as a possibility when Amelle lowered her hands and blew out a deep breath and regarded him, cocking her head to the side and saying, "But if you're here, that means she left you behind too. So… I suppose I'm in good company." Then, on a sigh, she added, "But I'll wager she didn't drug you."
Frowning, Fenris turned to face the fire. "You are… at least partially correct."
Raking her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth down the errant, tousled strands, she came to stand closer to him, nearer the fire. "Only partially?"
Fenris turned his head to look at Amelle, but at this distance he saw only too well the way the firelight played against the material of her nightgown — the very thin material of her nightgown — revealing shadowy curves beneath. The wide neckline revealed an expanse of pale skin and the gentle curve of her collarbone down to what he knew was the slope of her breasts. Fenris — with some effort — met Amelle's eyes briefly before looking again at the fire.
"Your sister asked that I might… look in on you in her absence."
He was only realizing now the hidden difficulties in Hawke's request.
Beside him, Amelle went so suddenly, carefully still, Fenris very nearly took a step backward. The mabari whined deep in his throat and butted his head against Amelle's thigh. She blinked down at him, and he gave a brief bark, wagging his entire rump.
"Yes, well, you're hardly absolved of guilt, either," Amelle told the hound. "She probably left you behind as a babysitter, too."
Killer hung his head.
Fenris was almost of a mind to echo the gesture himself. In all his thoughts on the subject, he'd never considered Hawke would simply flee without revealing anything of her plans to her sister. He'd certainly never imagined petty trickery and misapplied sleeping draughts might enter the equation. Then he remembered how… how strangely deflective she'd been when she'd asked his help, and how she'd kept her eyes on the floor. Of course she'd never intended to tell Amelle anything at all.
Perhaps he ought to have asked harder questions. Perhaps he ought not to have acceded quite so easily.
"She went to Starkhaven?" Amelle asked at last. Fenris could hear the undercurrent of frustration in her voice, ever so slightly tinged with rage.
"Did she not say in her note?"
Amelle glowered up at him, rolling her eyes. "Let's say forthcoming and Kiara are two words that cannot be said to go together in any way, shape, or form."
"I believe she intended to accompany Sebastian, yes."
"It has not been a fortnight. I told him he needed a fortnight. Maker's balls, Fenris! What possessed her? Oh, I understand that he didn't want to wait, but if you're going to accompany a man who was mortally wounded on a mad errand, don't you think you should bring the resident healer?"
Fenris was saved answering by another knock on the door. Orana poked her head in. Fenris saw her glance between him and Amelle, taking in the latter's half-dressed state. "Ah, Mistress Amelle…"
"Oh, what now?" Amelle griped. "A platoon of guards at the door, come to ring the estate? A bevy of nursemaids hired to make certain I don't stub my bloody toe?"
From behind Orana came Aveline's familiar voice. "I'm not a platoon, and I'm certainly not a nursemaid."
"The guard-captain is here," Orana added unnecessarily.
When the maid stepped aside, Aveline entered. She was outfitted in her armor from head to heel, looking as though she fully intended to head out and immediately engage in battle somewhere. Perhaps that wasn't even so far off the mark—as Fenris understood it, a great deal of responsibility had fallen to Aveline and the guard in the wake of… recent events. Aveline certainly looked as though she bore the weight of the world—or at least of Kirkwall—on her shoulders. Her skin was even paler than usual, and under her freckles, she looked bruised with exhaustion. But her eyes were alert, and they darted from Fenris to Amelle, taking in the scene with disturbing quickness. Her brow arched, doubtless at the nightgown. Fenris only regarded her steadily. After a moment, Aveline snorted and shook her head. "You're the very last person I expected to see here, Fenris," she said at last.
Amelle narrowed her eyes. "That you haven't asked to see Kiara speaks volumes, Aveline. Don't tell me—"
Aveline's lips turned up in a weary smile. "I won't tell you if you don't ask."
On an inarticulate growl, Amelle muttered, "I am going to kill her."
Aveline sighed and took a few steps forward. "Don't be too hard on Hawke, Amelle. Kirkwall's incredibly unstable right now, but it's a known evil, for whatever that's worth. What may look like an overreaction on the surface are just the actions of a worried sister who—"
Amelle broke in flatly, "Who drugged me."
"She what?"
Amelle crossed her arms over her chest. "My sister drugged me so she could sneak out of the house without waking me."
Aveline shot Fenris a baffled look, but he only raised his shoulders in a shrug. "It would appear Hawke's behavior has been…" he wrestled with the words, but Amelle had no difficulty finding language descriptive enough:
"Nuttier than a sodding fruitcake?"
Aveline grimaced and shifted her weight, armor clanking softly with the movement. "It's hard to argue with that." She tipped her head to the side and regarded Amelle, who was scowling stormily into the fire. "Her execution left something — okay, a lot — to be desired, but her motives were pure, Amelle. Angry as you are, she just wants to keep you safe."
For all that Fenris agreed with Aveline, he also recalled Hawke's words the night she'd asked him to watch over Amelle — it was true, she wanted Amelle to be safe, but more than that, she didn't want her sister to chafe, but rather to be happy, as happy as she'd been the night she'd delivered Ianna's babe, and such happiness stood a better chance of being found in the clinic than on a ship to Starkhaven.
But despite Fenris' thoughts on the matter, he could see it wasn't the right thing to say, especially if Amelle's darkening scowl was any indication, but the way she wrestled with her response made it plain she didn't blame Aveline, who at times seemed as much of an elder sister as Hawke was. She rubbed hard at her forehead and said, "I know, Aveline. I just wish…"
Aveline's grin was a tired one, but genuinely fond, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "She wouldn't be such a blighted ass about it?"
"That would be a start. And then she could maybe not spike my warm milk before bed."
Aveline nodded. "Goes without saying. Regardless of Hawke's lack of finesse, if you need anything, Amelle, just holler."
#
The last time Cullen had walked this route, it had been under Meredith Stannard's order to… collect Amelle Hawke and bring her to the Gallows for questioning, which, of course, was simply another way of saying apprehend the apostate.
Now he was making the very same trip under very different circumstances. This time he was not seeking Amelle Hawke in order to have her inducted into the Circle of Magi, but rather to… look in on her — a request that still left Cullen utterly baffled. Not only did it baffle him, but accepting Hawke's request ran entirely counter to every tenet he'd committed to memory during all his years in the Order.
"I would appreciate it if you looked in on her from time to time."
He could pretend he had no idea what had possessed him to agree to Hawke's request, but he'd have been lying to himself. He knew why he'd said yes. It had nothing to do with Hawke, and everything to do with other, older debts that hung upon him.
Oh, but there was still the question of duty, and what that meant — no good came from granting lenience to mages, Cullen knew. But if he were to look in on Amelle Hawke in her sister's stead, would he not also be fulfilling a templar's responsibility to protect others from the mage and the mage from herself? It was, perhaps, a fuzzy interpretation of responsibilities, but not an outright violation, provided one ignored a few… key facts.
Cullen was still trying to work out the particulars in a way that wouldn't make his conscience twinge too horribly. It was a work in progress. He certainly hadn't come to any hard and fast conclusions by the time he reached the Hawke Estate.
Before raising his hand to knock, Cullen glanced around him. Hightown was still putting itself back to rights. Too many blocks of soot-stained white stone still sprouted from places where no stone ought to have been. Many wealthy enough to do so had fled Kirkwall entirely, taking their money and what little they could salvage to less violent climes. More fools they, he thought with some bitterness. If the dull rumblings in his correspondence meant what he dreaded they meant, there might soon be no place in Thedas safe to hide. It was the Blight all over again, but worse.
This time, after all, the enemy didn't wear the twisted faces of monsters. There was no Archdemon to confront and slay. All the lines were so blurry, he didn't see how anyone could possibly emerge, bloody sword aloft, to claim the title Hero and set the world to rights again.
He wished it were that blighted simple.
A few of the Hightown folk were beginning to slant confused, concerned looks in his direction, and he realized he'd been standing before the door for some time. On a heavy sigh, he raised his gauntleted fist and brought it down on the heavy wood.
The door opened with rather alarming rapidity, as though the little elf girl on the other side had been waiting. By the expression on her face, whatever—or whomever—she'd been waiting for had certainly not been a templar in full plate. Her mouth opened in a terrified 'o' and she clung to the door as if desiring nothing more than to slam it shut once again and pretend she'd never heard the knocking.
After a very long moment, Cullen heard Amelle from within. "Now who is it, Orana? By all means, send them in. We're having quite the party here this morning, aren't we? Varric, is that you?"
Without finding her voice, or losing her wide-eyed horror, the maid stepped backward, dragging the door open. Cullen gave her a smile he thought was bolstering, but she only squeaked and bowed her head.
Amelle took that moment to sweep into the foyer, and suddenly Cullen was certain his expression exactly matched the one the elf maid was wearing. He felt his jaw drop. Amelle was clad in a billowing nightgown, one strap slipping from her shoulder, and her figure silhouetted in some detail by the firelight behind her. Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Cullen took a half-step backward and ducked his head, fixing his gaze very steadily on the stones beneath his feet.
"Maker's bloody breath, this day," Amelle growled. "Honestly, have you just been waiting for the minute my sister left town?"
"Your timing is… curious, templar," came another voice, low and warning. Cullen hazarded a glance up, his cheeks still burning. The tattooed elf stood just behind Amelle's right shoulder; Guard-Captain Aveline stood behind the other.
"I'm—" Cullen began, only to be cut off once again by the mage.
"You've got to be kidding me. I know we're not friends or anything, Knight-Commander, but… I am not going to be the founding member of a new Circle. I don't know what you—"
Cullen raised his hands in silent surrender. Maker's breath, every time he came to this house he ended up fearing for his life. "Your sister—"
"Isn't here," Amelle gritted out. "Nor I think is she like to be for some time."
"Hawke's absence is not an invitation for your interference," Fenris added.
"Actually—" Cullen attempted, only to have the guard-captain take a step forward, hand on the hilt of her sword.
"Best go back where you came from, Knight-Commander," Aveline warned, her tone menacing.
"Maker's balls!" Cullen spat, the invective temporarily startling everyone into silence. "Hawke's the one who sent me."
Silence crashed down all around them as Amelle, the elf — Cullen was nearly certain his name was Fenris but did not think now was the time to ask, and Guard-Captain Aveline stared at him. Amelle's mouth hung open now and she swung around, making that blighted nightgown billow even more, and said to the guard-captain, "Drugged me, skipped town, and then called the templars on me? Still think her motives were pure, Aveline?"
The guard-captain made a pained face, then looked again at Cullen, the steel back in her green eyes. "What is your business here, Knight-Commander?"
"It's only acting Knight-Commander, Guard-Captain," he said as placatingly as he dared. "And it's as I said: Hawke sent me."
"I doubt Hawke would have left town for the sole purpose of committing her sister to the Circle," she replied. Cullen shook his head.
"She didn't send me for that." He looked between the elf and guard-captain, both regarding him with suspicion that bordered on outright distrust. "Hawke simply asked if I might… look in on her sister in her absence."
Folding her arms over her chest — and Cullen cursed her nightgown once more as she did, forcing his gaze firmly on her eyes — Amelle arched an eyebrow and looked from Cullen, to Fenris, to Aveline.
"You know," she drawled, "it's starting to look to me as if my loving sister was worried less about my safety and more concerned with what horrible mischief I might get into in her absence. You know the old saying about the cat being away…"
Aveline heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Be reasonable, Amelle. It's true enough that Hawke… overdid things a bit—"
"Gee, do you think so?" riposted Amelle with an arch look.
The guard-captain shot her a stern look, but kept speaking. "But Kirkwall is unstable."
Amelle pulled a face. "Given the present company, it would seem Kiara thought I was the unstable one."
The elf sent Cullen a glower tinged with more than a little suspicion. "Templar. Exactly what did Hawke say to you?"
Maker's breath, Cullen was used to chilly welcomes, but this one fell on the verge of freezing him out entirely. He sighed and explained as patiently as he could, "She asked me if I would look in on Amelle from time to time. Just me," he added, "with the understanding that I would recruit no other templars in this particular task. She seemed concerned that some of my fellows might have some hidden loyalty to Meredith and her… dictum."
Fenris narrowed his eyes. "And you do not."
This time Cullen was the one who glared. "I should think recent events would have made that clear enough." He could still remember that moment when he'd stood in opposition to Meredith, when he'd stared into the unhinged madness in his superior's icy blue gaze. It was not the sort of thing one forgot easily, the sensation of the world spinning out of control, the instant of panic replaced suddenly with an almost eerie calm as he said the words. You will have to go through me.
"Fenris," Amelle said, laying a hand on the elf's arm. He startled slightly and turned — and Cullen was more than gratified to see that he wasn't the only one having difficulty grappling with Amelle Hawke's state of dishabille. On a sigh — one that sounded tired and pushed beyond all endurance — she added, "It's all right. He's… he's right."
The elf glowered, but subsided.
"She told all of you the same thing, it would seem," said Amelle, giving them all a cursory glance. "Guard-Captain, Knight-Commander—"
"Acting," interjected Cullen. A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. He wondered if she, like he, was remembering a strange, strained conversation in the common room of the Rose. It had been Hawke who kept him from collecting Amelle the first time, perhaps, but the mage had since proven herself equally formidable. True to her word, Amelle had been very discreet ever after, and even Ser Hugh had finally stopped glowering and asking pointedly what had happened to the woman who'd been so… secretive in the days after the chantry's destruction. And many were healed who mightn't have survived otherwise. Cullen could hardly be angry about that.
Aveline sighed, and Cullen could see at once that for some reason—Amelle's smile, perhaps—she had decided to trust him. The elf's countenance did not soften in the slightest; if anything, he looked even more dour.
"Still," Amelle asked, giving him a narrow-eyed look, "aren't you awfully busy to be traipsing from the Gallows to Hightown on a whim of my sister's?"
He huffed a mirthless laugh. "Yes. I absolutely am. Which is partly why I'm here."
"Paperwork?" Aveline asked, raising her brows.
"Endless."
"I'm avoiding mine, too." The guard-captain nodded, and it was the most sympathetic the woman had ever been. As if reading this thought, and catching herself in uncharacteristic commiseration, she retaliated with a scowl. "Look, Knight-Captain—sorry, acting Knight-Commander—Hawke's faith counts for a lot, but it's not everything. See you don't make her regret putting hers in you. I don't want to have to have words with you."
"I imagine you don't," Cullen retorted dryly. "Kirkwall is rather depending on the two of us at the moment, Guard-Captain. At least you know I'm… tentatively sympathetic."
Aveline snorted, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Maker's breath, Cullen. 'Tentatively sympathetic' indeed. That's hardly a ringing endorsement."
"Better than the alternative," Amelle riposted lightly. "Stark, raving zealot. With or without corrupted lyrium idol-swords."
Cullen shrugged. "I daresay there are other points between those extremes that might be equally unfortunate for you in particular, Mistress Hawke."
"I do not like this," Fenris growled. "He is a templar. You are a mage. Perhaps this is… yet another example of Hawke's increasingly—and distressingly—unpredictable behavior."
"A Tevinter bodyguard, Kirkwall's Guard-Captain, and the acting Knight-Commander of the Templar Order?" Amelle asked archly. "Oh, no, that sounds exactly like something Kiara would do."
Fenris did not look convinced. It was strange; Cullen had always heard the elf was vehement in his dislike of mages. He'd heard templars speaking of him as a possible recruit, once upon a time. Cullen had always thought it unlikely—those who sided with Hawke tended to stay intensely loyal to her. Meredith had been known to vent about it at length. Something had to account for the varied backgrounds of Hawke's companions. Now, with so many looking to him for leadership, he almost wished he'd though to ask her.
Amelle sighed. "Much as I thank you all for your… concern, I believe I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Come by for tea, or to visit, or to talk of the weather, but please don't come with the intention of babysitting."
Aveline chuckled. "I suppose that's your way of banishing me back to my duty rosters and my paperwork, isn't it?"
Amelle smiled sweetly. "Unless you'd care for tea?"
Aveline grinned, and clapped the shorter woman lightly on the shoulder. "Between you and me, Amelle? You're not exactly dressed for visiting."
A beat of silence passed and Cullen saw dawning comprehension settle on Amelle's face, followed swiftly by a mortified cringe and a rush of color that crept — unfortunately — from the neckline of her nightgown up to her face, making her cheeks flame with ruddy heat. One arm crossed protectively over her chest while the other hand clapped over her eyes.
"Kiara," she muttered through gritted teeth, "I am going to kill you."
Aveline chuckled as she started to make her way to the door. "But if you kill her, you'll never get to pay her back for this." She shot Cullen a speculative look before adding, "And the resident acting Knight-Commander might frown on murder done on his watch."
"The resident acting Knight-Commander might be willing to overlook it in this case," Cullen replied. "What of the Kirkwall's resident guard-captain?"
Aveline made no effort to disguise her smirk. "I think there's something to be said for turning a blind eye when the situation warrants it." She looked back at the elf. "Coming Fenris?"
"Indeed. I—"
"I'm afraid I interrupted Fenris' breakfast with my frothing and ranting," Amelle broke in, her fair skin still tinged pink with embarrassment. She now had both arms crossed protectively over her chest.
"It's no troub—"
"Fenris, for the Maker's sake, eat the breakfast Orana made for you. The tea's probably already cold."
A smile kicked up at the corner of Aveline's mouth. "Orana's sticky buns?"
"The very same," replied Amelle. "Want a couple for the road?"
"If you're offering, I'm not going to refuse."
Within minutes, Cullen was back on his way to the Gallows, a slightly sticky, linen-wrapped bundle settled in the crook of his arm. It was easily one of the strangest morning appointments Cullen had ever experienced, and yet, as he returned to Templar Hall, stopping briefly in the kitchens for a mug of hot, strong tea, before continuing on to the Knight-Commander's office and sitting behind the Knight-Commander's desk, it was not the worst morning he'd had in a while. A steaming cup of tea at his elbow, Cullen unwrapped the bundle to reveal two glazed pastries, still warm and studded generously with nuts, and as he bit into one, warm sugar dissolving instantly on his tongue, he realized it was actually one of the better mornings he'd had in a while.
It was almost enough to make a man optimistic.
