It was a sunny, cloudless day and the brisk breeze coming in off the ocean left the tang of salt upon Amelle's lips. There were certainly worse days to come to the Wounded Coast, but today wasn't one of them. Amelle examined the map a moment, trying to remember which of the many paths had led them to the first Harlot's Blush — it had been some time ago, which was bad for Amelle's memory, but good for the likelihood of another having sprouted up in its place. Merrill walked alongside, glad to be away from the alienage for the day — gladder still, Amelle was sure, to be out of Kirkwall for the day. Fenris walked a few paces ahead of them both — though Amelle had tried to reassure him that her sister had done a more than adequate job of clearing the Wounded Coast of danger, Fenris had pointed out she could not make such assumptions, and then reminded her of his responsibility to Kiara.
Something about the reminder had stung, and still did, even now as she watched him walk ahead, dark shoulders straight, pale hair glinting in the sunlight. With effort, Amelle wrenched her attention to Merrill, whose face was tilted upward. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
"It really is beautiful here. Don't you agree, Amelle?"
Folding the map, Amelle shook her head as she sidestepped a pile of bones picked entirely clean. "For a certain definition of 'beautiful,' I suppose."
"Well, beautiful aside from the dead things. Which, I suppose, makes a place somewhat less beautiful." She paused. "It's quite pretty if you just don't look at the ground."
Amelle chose not to remind Merrill that the ground was where traps tended to be, grimacing yet again over the fact that Kiara had taken along everyone who showed any sort of knack for pointing out traps. So perhaps it was good Fenris had come along — despite his obvious displeasure, she did trust him to point out any dangers that lay on the road ahead. Granted, there was no way for Kiara to know Amelle would need to make a trip to the Wounded Coast at any point during her absence, therefore requiring someone adept at pointing out traps. Not that her sister would have approved of such a venture, either. But Amelle found herself with a dearth of options. This was where they had to be to find what they needed to find. It was depressingly simple.
Amelle tried not to think about what she was going to do if they didn't manage to find another Harlot's Blush. She'd already scoured every one of the books she'd liberated from the Circle library and she wasn't keen on spending another illicit night in the Gallows if she could help it (indeed, Amelle was cured of ever again trying to sneak anywhere she wasn't meant to be). The sad fact of the matter was the potion for Dragon's Sight was the only potion that seemed as if it could reasonably work. Even if she did have the whole of the Circle library at her disposal for as long as she needed it, searching for a new potion recipe would take time she simply didn't have.
They paused at a fork in the path and Amelle nodded at the winding trail that led up and to the right. "I think we found the first one up there."
Fenris continued silently ahead as Merrill kept pace with Amelle, and seemed even to move easily despite the rough terrain. "Do you think this will work?" she asked, nimbly dodging a rock stuck halfway out of the ground.
"I hope it will," she replied, rolling her shoulders tiredly. "I suppose if it doesn't I may have to develop my own potion, but I'd rather it not come to that."
After a thoughtful pause, Merrill sent her a sidelong glance and asked, "Do you not think you can?"
"I… don't know. I think that whatever is making people ill is too strange and too… fickle for me to craft something to cure it."
"It does seem… odd, doesn't it? Some people aren't affected at all. Have you noticed that? You and I, for instance."
Amelle nodded and paused to examine the map again. "I had noticed — it was enough to make me wonder if mages were somehow protected from it, but that hardly explains Fenris or Cullen."
"Neither of them have been acting strangely?"
Amelle thought for a moment, sneaking another look at Fenris' back, remembering his behavior the night he'd come back from dealing with one of Varric's suppliers. He'd been strangely temperamental since then, but nothing… extreme. She shook her head and lowered her voice, murmuring, "I think something's bothering Fenris—"
Merrill made a soft, resigned sound. "That's usually the case, isn't it?"
"No, this is… something different. I don't know — maybe he's not happy about being left behind on babysitting duty. He's been a bit… prickly lately."
Merrill paused, tilting her head and furrowing her brow. "You can tell when he's not prickly?"
Amelle went silent, navigating a patch of loose sand and taking advantage of the distraction to organize her thoughts. "No," she said, still taking care to keep her voice down, "there's something wrong with him, but I don't think it's related to this… whatever it is." She thought again of Kiara's strange behavior the day of the memorial — Amelle seemed to be unable to keep from thinking about it — and felt yet another pang of guilt for not realizing sooner something was very wrong. To say nothing of some of the things she'd said to her own sister. And whatever was wrong with Kiara was going untreated now, leaving Amelle particularly anxious to hear from her.
She didn't want to think about what it meant if Kiara didn't write at all.
"And you still have no idea what's causing it?"
Merrill's words pulled Amelle's mind back to the present and away from that horrible, horrible morning before the memorial. "No," she replied absently, stopping and crouching to examine a small cluster of brush — the move was only half evasion. "How has the alienage been?"
"Tense," said Merrill, soberly. "Fearful. And I can't tell if its because of what happened or because of what is happening."
"Well, send them down to the clinic if anyone seems to be acting particularly out of character." After a moment, she gave Merrill a speculative look. "You know, things have been pretty busy down there lately. If you… wanted to come down and help…"
"What, me? Help you? In the clinic?" Her eyes went almost comically wide. "I— I can't. Oh, no, Amelle. I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Well, for starters, I'm not a healer." There was more than that left unsaid — Merrill had been attempting to wean herself off of the blood magic she'd grown so dependent upon, but that left her wary of her other magical abilities as well.
"Neither is Fenris," countered Amelle, "and he's been helping me quite a bit. I can tell you most of what you need to know as far as potions and poultices go, and, really, the way things have been going and how people have been acting, a well-placed paralysis glyph has been a more helpful treatment than anything else."
"Oh. Well, that I can do."
They walked a little farther, finally reaching the cave entrance where they'd found the flower the first time. Fenris stood near the cave entrance, presumably in case something came barreling out of the cave, giving the two mages room to search. Merrill knew what they were looking for; moreover, she knew how to look for it, and the two of them searched in silence for some minutes, the only sounds the rustling of brush and the cries of birds whose nests they disturbed.
"Elgar'nan, I don't remember these bushes being half this prickly," Merrill observed, sounding more amused than annoyed.
"We weren't knocking around in the bushes last time — the silly little bloom was right there, waiting to be found."
"They are temperamental that way, aren't they? Never growing in convenient little spots — except if you're not looking for them. If you're not looking for them, they're everywhere. Like socks."
This made Amelle stop and straighten, peering over the tops of the bushes to where Merrills dark head bobbed around as she searched. "You… wear socks?"
"Sometimes," came the simple reply. "When it's cold." There was a pause and the rustle of leaves as Merrill peered beneath another bush. "The Knight-Commander—"
"Acting," Amelle called over her shoulder.
"The acting Knight-Commander really let you use the library in the Gallows? What was it like?"
Amelle chuckled and stood, stretching her back. "More books than I'd ever seen in the whole of my life."
"Do you think you'll go back?"
She moved around a cluster of brambles, taking care not to stumble into it. "I'd rather not if I can help it."
"But the Knight-Commander helped you in, didn't he?"
"And out again. But those were very unique circumstances. He wants to find a cure for this illness as badly as I do. Of course he'd offer his help."
There was another stretch of silence, this one longer than the last, and filled with conspicuously less brush-rustling. Finally, Merrill said, "I think he likes you, you know. The Knight-Commander." A pause — another one. "In a way that has nothing to do with shackles and chains, of course."
"Vendehis," Fenris growled. "If you plan to continue this prattle, I will check the perimeter while you search."
Amelle stopped with a jerk, straightening and then nearly stumbling into the very brambles she'd been taking pains to avoid. She opened her mouth to call after Fenris, but he was already gone, and heat was already flaming its way up her back and neck before arriving at her cheeks. She looked once at Merrill, then again in the direction Fenris went, as creeping discomfiture unfurled in her stomach and crept outwards under her skin. She turned to find Merrill staring at her, her face was utterly and completely without guile as she watched Amelle over the tops of the bushes.
Merrill then blinked once, owlishly, which only added to the effect. "Amelle, are you all right? You look unwell. Oh. Oh, did I do it again? Say something dirty?"
Amelle's attempt at a response came out somewhat strangled and she was sure her face was still uncomfortably and blotchily red. "I… um."
She winced. "I did, didn't I? What was it?"
Glancing once more at the path Fenris had stalked down, she pushed aside her discomfiture and… strange sort of disappointment she couldn't quite understand. "You… honestly don't know?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you now, would I?"
"I suppose not."
"So what was it?"
"…The — you really don't know?" At Merrill's look, Amelle sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Merrill, when we get back to Kirkwall, remind me I've got a book you need to borrow."
"A book?" The worry had suddenly vanished from Merrill's expression. "Oh, I do love to read, Amelle. What's it about?"
"It's called The Circle Blackguard." Isabela's earliest banned-by-the-Chantry contribution to the Hawke library had been dogeared when Amelle first found it. Now the spine was splitting and, if dropped, the book fell open to one of three very particular, very memorable scenes. It was a favorite for all that no one would admit to reading it.
Her eyes widened, but not for the reasons they should have, considering the book's plot… or lack thereof. "My, that sounds thrilling."
"It's very… educational," she replied, dryly.
"Ooh!"
Merrill's wide smile lit up her eyes and Amelle felt the vaguest twinges of guilt for planning to contribute so thoroughly to corrupting the elf's naïveté… if such a thing were even possible, and the longer Amelle knew Merrill, the less she thought it so.
"But he does like you," Merrill said again. "I'm nearly certain of it."
She shook her head, focusing hard on the foliage around her. "You're daft."
But even as she said the words, Amelle thought of Cullen's various displays of solicitousness. The way he'd offered her his arm on the walk from the clinic to Cassia's, the way he'd helped her sneak into — and out of — the Circle library, the way he'd stood up to Gamlen — granted, that last one wasn't terribly difficult to do, but still, they were all things Cullen didn't have to do. It had been nice, of course, but Amelle had simply chalked it up to Cullen simply being… kind.
"I'm not," Merrill insisted, and now she was watching Amelle with a sly little smile that teased about her lips. "And now you know I'm not."
"He's just being nice," Amelle insisted weakly.
"You only think that because you don't see the way he smiles when you aren't looking."
Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask. "…And how is that?" she asked in a small voice, hating herself for asking.
Merrill's smile went from pleased to positively gleeful. "Oh, now you're blushing! By the Creators, that's positively darling. I'd never known you could turn so pink!"
"I was blushing before," grumbled Amelle. She stopped a moment to check their progress — a welcome diversion from Merrill's conversation and Fenris' troubling behavior.
The first Harlot's Blush had been right here. If Ines Arancia was correct — and Amelle was led to believe she was a woman not well acquainted with being incorrect — there should be more near where the first had been found. It was also an excellent excuse to turn away and try to gain some control over the burning color at her cheeks.
"I'm not teasing! I'm completely serious, Amelle — don't you… don't you see it?" She stopped to peer beneath a cluster of promising bushes and — despite their conversation — Amelle was glad once again to have Merrill along. If nothing else, she was particularly gifted at finding where things grew. "Unless you don't want him to be smiling like that."
Amelle muttered darkly, "Considering I've never seen this supposed smile you're talking about—"
"Oh, it's a very nice smile." Merrill straightened, letting the bush's branches fall back into place with a rustle. "Tender, but a bit… bewildered sometimes."
"…Bewildered? That's hardly flattering."
"Well, I should think I'd be bewildered, too, if I were a templar with a secret crush on an apostate mage." They went a few feet farther into the brush. "That might be why he hasn't said anything yet."
Amelle shook her head. "Or because he's concerned the Maker Himself might send down a bolt of lightning for admitting tender feelings for one."
Merrill looked up, alarmed. "Do you think that's likely? That could be why, you know — it's been so long and he still hasn't said anything. But if you think there might be lightning involved, that would explain it!"
"No, it was just an expr— " She stopped suddenly, Merrill's words taking a moment to settle in her brain. "Um, what exactly do you mean by that, Merrill? 'It's been so long'?"
This time Merrill looked at her as if she were the daft one. "That he's had a crush on you."
Amelle wasn't sure how to react to that, particularly the matter-of-fact way Merrill shared that bit of information. "Merrill, Kiara hasn't been gone that long."
The elf just shrugged. "Oh, I'm nearly sure he liked you before Hawke left."
Amelle gaped, her mouth working silently for a moment until she finally found her voice. "You're completely mad, Merrill," she croaked. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible.
"I'm quite serious! You've really never noticed? I didn't think I was the only one who… Oh, oh, no, what if I'm wrong? What if… what if he wasn't smiling at you at all? What if all this time he was just thinking about something pleasant? Like— like pie?" Her hands flew up to cover her face, wide green eyes peeking through her fingers. "I hadn't thought about that. It just seemed so… so obvious, you know?"
Whether Cullen was behaving in this manner at all, Amelle wasn't prepared to comment one way or another — though she was still inclined to believe Merrill was mistaken. She couldn't wrap her head around the other possibility. She believed Cullen was kind and fair, and she knew he held her sister in high regard, and Amelle knew she enjoyed his company, but…
The memory of her arm tucked securely in his on the walk through Lowtown flashed again through Amelle's mind and she blushed. It had been nice. She'd thought so even then, but she never would have imagined—
"Oh, dear." Merrill's voice broke into her thoughts. "Now you're worrying about it. I shouldn't have said anything."
"No, it's— it's fine, Merrill," she told the elf, fingertips rubbing hard at the crease between her eyebrows. Like you said, he's probably just… thinking about something else." Her smile went crooked. "I'm sure he's counting the days to her return so he can wash his hands of me."
"You should ask him."
"Since when did you get to be so forward?" Isabela's influence, no doubt. Her bad influence.
But Merrill only shrugged. "Would it be so awful if you did?"
Her fingers began twining around each other until she pulled them away and smoothed her palms down the front of her skirt. Her… vaguely sweaty palms. "I… hadn't… thought about it."
"I wonder if he has. He seems the type to —Oh! Oh!" Merrill suddenly disappeared, her braids flinging upward as she ducked down, hidden by the bushes.
Amelle went on tiptoes, trying to peer over the greenery. "Merrill? Are you all right?"
There was a flurry of rustling as the bush shook with Merrill's movement. "I found one!"
She appeared again, the familiar blue flower clutched triumphantly in her hand, roots dangling in twisting, soil-caked curls. She shot a teasing grin in Amelle's direction as she made her way out of the overgrown bushes. "Don't you think you might consider letting the Knight-Commander—"
Amelle shot her a glare, breaking in with a stern, "Acting."
"—Know you've found one of the elusive ingredients?"
"We should probably wait for Fenris to come back, first." They made their way back out of the brambles and onto the path, allowing Amelle to see just how many prickers and thorns were clinging to her clothes. She brushed off what she could, shaking her head at Merrill. "You have been spending too much time in The Hanged Man with Isabela."
Merrill sighed, handing Amelle the flower. "She still hasn't told me what a 'body shot' is," she said, glumly.
"Merrill, I think you might be better off not knowing the answer to that."
#
Though the conversation with Merrill still lived in Amelle's memory, she had already quite firmly decided she wasn't going to broach… well, any of Merrill's suspicions. Primarily because she thought they were ludicrous. And next because she had no idea how to bring up a subject like that in the first place. What, was she supposed to saunter up to Cullen and say, So, I hear you have a thing for apostates.
No. Just… no.
But now that she had Cullen standing over her in the library as she sat at Kiara's desk, poring over the potion recipe and other books and even scrolls on each ingredient, now that she was feeling desperation creeping up on her that there could be a chance the potion did not get made at all, the words that wound up coming out of her mouth were… maybe only marginally better than ill-conceived pick-up lines.
"Can you get me into the Viscount's private gardens?"
Cullen blinked. "I… probably could. But why?"
"It's this blasted recipe," she sighed. "I thought the Harlot's Blush was going to be blighted difficult to find, but Andraste's Grace… it doesn't seem to be anywhere, and I need to find some. One, actually. One little flower that used to grow everywhere back h—" Amelle caught herself with a jerk; she hadn't referred to Lothering as home in years. "It grew everywhere back in Ferelden," she amended. "I know it doesn't grow wild anywhere I've looked — and I have looked — but there's still hope that maybe it's the sort of thing people might have tried to grow simply because it's not found growing wild anywhere." She gestured at the potion book, lying open on the table. Several sheets of parchment covered with Amelle's notes were spread out nearby. "It's a hunch at best, I'm afraid. If the flower isn't there, I'm going to have to get even more creative with my search. Though somehow I doubt the good citizens of Hightown will be terribly pleased to have an apostate rummaging through their private gardens. What's left of them."
Cullen let out a soft laugh, as if he too were picturing such a thing. "They… might become rather upset about that, yes. Shall I check the templar gardens as well?"
"Speaking of places I wouldn't exactly be welcome, yes, that would be excellent, thank you." She ran her fingers through her short hair, taking care to smooth down the disordered ends. "For the moment, though, I can't help but think the Viscount's garden is the best place to look. Maybe because it's walled off, maybe because I've never been there, but… it's a possibility, and I'm going to have to exhaust every possibility until I find it." She noticed then that a strange look had settled upon Cullen's face; his lips were pressed in thought and his brow was furrowed; he appeared to be having a hard time meeting her eyes. Amelle hesitated before asking, "What is it?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "…There was a patch of Andraste's Grace in the Chantry garden. It… flourished there."
Something twisted deep in her gut and a rush of frustration made Amelle hate Anders all over again. "I see." Her mouth worked silently for a few seconds before she finally managed, "Well, that… isn't an option available to us, then."
"No. It isn't."
Anger — more anger — at this stage was pointless. It was a waste of energy at a time when her resources, her personal resources, were needed elsewhere. "Then I'll look everywhere else I possibly can. It grew someplace — surely it could have grown somewhere else as well. But the fact remains, if I don't find that flower, Cullen, this potion can't happen. I… there are other places I think I might be able to look, but—"
"Time is of the essence. Yes, I understand."
"Then you'll help?" she asked, pushing out of her chair. At his perfunctory nod, her smile was immediate, answered — also immediately — by a warmth of color at Cullen's cheeks as he ducked his head, coughing into his fist. The gesture was both earnest and… endearing. The word "darling" came to mind and Amelle felt her own cheeks grow warm.
Merrill's suspicions rushed back to her, and now Amelle found herself looking a little more closely at the Knight Commander, suddenly curious to see for herself whether he did happen to look at her any particular way. But then he lifted his head and in an instant she realized she was staring rather intently into his eyes — they were green with flecks of gold and it struck her suddenly how pretty they were. But with that realization, Amelle jerked back, averting her eyes as chastised herself and her burning cheeks. In fact, she was nearly sure the color she was turning matched the Knight Commander's perfectly.
Lovely. We match.
"Yes. I-I'll… I — it would be… for the best if I accompanied you to the gardens," he finally stammered out. "As far as I know it's still guarded, which might cause you trouble if I don't go along."
Amelle nodded. "Seneschal Bran still isn't one of my sister's greatest fans, you mean."
"Indeed," he sighed. "And it is still a particularly… sensitive area, after everything that's transpired."
"I understand."
"Why don't you return to the clinic?" he suggested. "I've some duties I must attend to, but they shouldn't take long and I can meet you there as soon as I'm finished." There was an awkward pause as he shifted his weight slightly, metal plates clanking softly together. "Unless you think my presence in uniform might cause unrest among your patients."
"Ah, but that same suit of armor might gain us an easier entry into the Viscount's gardens." She reached out, hesitating for barely a heartbeat of a moment before laying her fingers against his gauntleted hand; Cullen started as if he could feel the touch of her skin even through the thick layer of silverite, but he said nothing. "You've nothing to worry about — I'll vouch for you, Cullen. You…" she bit her lip and stared at her hand still resting upon his armor, "you aren't the enemy — I know that, and others deserve to as well."
He looked stunned, his eyes dropping to her hand. After a moment, she pulled it away, feeling faintly foolish. "I…" Cullen cleared his throat, then straightened slightly. "Thank you, Amelle." His smile grew, then went slightly crooked.
"Oh, dear," she chuckled. "What is it? What have I done now?"
"The Maker indeed works in mysterious ways."
The eyes she'd been admiring only moments earlier were now fixed upon her and the color that had only just faded from her cheeks flooded back with a vengeance. "I…I'm not sure I know what you mean, Knight-Commander."
He was smiling at her now, laughing outright. "Amelle."
"Acting — I know. Acting." She linked her hands behind her and took a hesitant step back. "Yes. Well. Then I will… see you when you… Yes."
Cullen stepped back as well and cleared his throat, inclining his head as he offered her a brief bow. " I-I'll come find you as soon as I'm able to get away."
"Thank you." She stood still and watched as Cullen turned, making his way to the Hightown bridge; though his armor clanked with every step, Amelle wondered if his step didn't seem a little lighter than he had before.
#
"Oh, but that's so romantic!" Merrill clasped her hands and beamed at Amelle. "And adorable. See? I told you. He likes you."
"Merrill," Amelle said, keeping her voice down as she cast a furtive glance around the clinic. It was a reasonably busy day so far — but there was a lull in the activity, as most of the patients in the clinic were resting or simply waiting for various potions and poultices to do their job. She'd healed another fever earlier, but a flask of lyrium potion and a rejuvenation spell was enough to keep her from getting too wobbly. "Do keep your voice down, please. He'll be here any moment."
"And you're quite sure you want to leave me alone here while you're looking?" She looked worriedly around the clinic. "…Maybe I should come along. I could help you look. I've visited those gardens before, remember."
Amelle couldn't help but smile at the memory and Varric's exasperation with Merrill's utter lack of understanding when it came to such things as private gardens. "Indeed. Do you recall ever seeing any Andraste's Grace?"
Merrill sighed and shook her head. "There— there could have been, Amelle. It was such a lovely, lush garden — and there were so many flowers. There were some I hadn't seen since leaving the Brecillian Forest, so I do think it's possible. But it's all quite vast, you know. You may have quite a task ahead of you."
"Be that as it may, I'd really rather not leave the clinic entirely unmanned. And you won't be alone for too long — Fenris should be here in a little while." At Merrill's painfully obvious discomfiture, Amelle laid a hand on her arm. "It's going to be fine. Just tell him I'll be along soon and—"
"You'll be along from where?" a deep voice asked. Fenris. Amelle felt her pulse quicken as a guilty flush rushed to her cheeks and she wondered for a moment what on earth she had to feel guilty about. "I'm— I may have an idea where there's some Andraste's Grace."
"You do?" dark brows lifted. "That is good news, is it not?"
"Oh, it's very good news."
"Very well," he said with a decisive nod. "Let us depart."
Smoothing down the skirt of her dress in order to tamp down on the urge to fidget, Amelle said, "I've… it's — I'm only checking the Viscount's garden. It shouldn't take too long."
Several expressions flickered rapidly across Fenris' features, but he seemed to settle on curiosity. "The Viscount's private gardens? How do you expect to gain permission to enter?" He looked slantwise at Merrill, who fidgeted even more under his glare. "Unless you don't expect such a thing…"
"Amelle?" It was Cullen, standing in the doorway to the clinic, still in full templar regalia. "Are you ready? If we're lucky we may miss the seneschal entirely. He usually takes his tea this time of the day."
"I see," Fenris said quietly. "That is how you expect to get in."
She shrugged and waved a hand at Cullen. "Having an official consort does tend to make some things easier."
Fenris expression went completely neutral as he inclined his head. "Of course."
"It shouldn't take too long. I do know what I'm looking for, after all."
"…Yes, I suppose you do."
Amelle tilted her head at the strange note in Fenris' voice. It… wasn't quite sadness, but perhaps… well, it sounded like resignation, but she had no idea what Fenris had to feel resigned about. She reached out to touch his arm, but he moved smoothly away. "…Fenris?"
"Go, Amelle," he said briskly. "The sooner you collect the ingredients, the sooner we can begin distributing it and put an end to this wretched epidemic."
His words and that strange tone left Amelle feeling vaguely unsettled, but finally she nodded. "Right. You're… you're right. Of course." She turned to Cullen, still waiting in the doorway. "Lead the way, Knight-Commander."
He bowed slightly and offered his arm again; Amelle took it, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. Merrill was positively beaming, while Fenris had turned away and was examining the contents of one of her supply crates.
I'll ask him what's wrong when I get back, she vowed silently.
#
It was one thing to walk arm in arm with the acting Knight-Commander when he was in civilian clothes, but it was something else entirely to walk alongside him in full templar armor. In fact, walking alongside him seemed in itself too presumptuous. As they walked, Kiara's words started slithering back to Amelle, accusations about flaunting her magic, the sharply-worded observation that Amelle was little more than a responsibility to be taken on. A burden. Before long, she started walking a step or two behind Cullen; why walk beside him as if they were equals when they were clearly not? Not with Cullen in his armor polished to a brilliant sheen, walking along with a quiet sort of confidence that made Amelle proud to be in his company, even as she envied it a little.
Cullen turned to say something to her — then, upon realizing that she was walking behind him, stopped and turned, giving her an openly curious look.
"Amelle? What are you doing?"
She coughed and shrugged. "…Keeping my distance?"
His brow creased in further confusion. "Why?"
She grimaced. "It's… the armor, I think," she said with a sheepish gesture. "It makes you look… important."
Making a face, Cullen muttered, "Maker, anything but that."
"You were important when you were the Knight-Captain, Cullen."
"I am only myself, Amelle. Now… really, of anyone I wouldn't expect you to willingly walk behind me."
Now it was Amelle's turn to make a face. "Thinking myself above my station, no doubt."
"Amelle, really." He almost laughed, but then seemed to think better of it. "What in all the Void are you talking about?"
"Just… something someone said to me once." She wasn't particularly inclined to go into too much detail, and as she reached up to rub awkwardly at her neck it struck her how odd that was — perhaps she trusted a uniformed Cullen less, too.
"Someone said you should follow two paces behind a templar at all times? If so, someone was having you on, Amelle."
"No, no, it's—" She sighed and then raked the hand at her neck through her hair. "Before she left, my sister and I… quarreled." She paused, then wrinkled her nose. "No, I suppose that's not accurate: we fought. She accused me of… of 'flaunting' my magic. Of being… indiscreet with it. Walking along with you like this…" She clasped her hands, fingers twisting and turning the plain rings with their subtle-but-powerful enchantments that lived there. "It…"
"Makes you uncomfortable?"
"Reminds me of an outcome I've tried all my life to avoid. And makes me wonder if she wasn't right."
With that, Cullen arched an eyebrow and just looked at her. Amelle felt a gathering wariness as he continued giving her such a look, but went on saying nothing. "What are you looking at me like that for?"
"Wondering how anyone so bright could be so utterly daft."
"Excuse—"
"Come, Amelle — walk with me." He held his arm out, inviting her by his side and, though scowling, Amelle went to his side and the two continued on, their pace matching exactly as they came upon Viscount's Keep. They climbed the stairs slowly and as they did, Amelle looked around — something seemed strange, but she wasn't quite able to put her finger on it. There weren't as many people around, but that was more or less normal these days. The chantry explosion had been more than enough to keep people away and afraid, but this… whatever it was seemed to be having an affect as well. Children were falling ill and adults were falling prey to madness — and there wasn't even a chantry for those inclined toward prayer to go for faith and reassurance.
But no, it wasn't the lack of people Amelle finally noticed, it was the increase in templars. She hadn't seen this many taking up posts in Kirkwall since the height of Meredith's madness and paranoia. She sent a sharp look to Cullen, but he was looking resolutely forward, nodding at those templars who addressed him or bowed — which was most of them, frankly.
They went into the Keep and Amelle suppressed her shudder — the last time she'd been through these doors it was to discover Aveline had also succumbed to the madness that seemed to be infecting Kirkwall. Now, though, she saw it — if the templars stationed outside was noticeable, the templars inside the Keep was more than enough to send a cold chill down her spine.
"…What—"
Cullen, to his credit, saw her looking around, saw her reaction, and anticipated her question. "More of the guard have fallen to this… illness," he explained. "There was little else I could do under the circumstances. I disagreed with Meredith's inclination toward replacing the guard with templars, but both entities are so shorthanded right now. We must assist each other. And with the guard-captain… incapacitated…"
Without really meaning to, Amelle walked a little closer to Cullen. If he noticed, he didn't say anything about it.
"Well," she said, with slightly more confidence than she really felt at that moment, "the sooner we find those ingredients, the better."
"My sentiments exactly," he replied, leading her past the vast staircase and through a set of long corridors. Finally, though, he pushed open a door that revealed not another room — or, worse, another hallway — but a veritable forest of green.
The Viscount's private garden — even when there was no viscount to speak of. Amelle's breath caught as she looked around. The grass was lush and soft beneath their feet, broken up only by twisting and twining stone paths crafted of what looked like smooth river rocks flush with the ground. Flowers and bushes and trees were thriving here and for a moment Amelle was entirely overwhelmed by the green of it all. It was, in fact, easy to forget for a moment what they were there for.
"This is… amazing," Amelle breathed, tilting her head back to see birds flitting from tree to tree, singing sweetly. There was nothing broken or damaged here; here it was easy to forget, almost, that anything had gone wrong in Kirkwall to begin with. Here she could close her eyes and imagine a chantry, whole and gleaming. She could imagine her sister, home, tending her bow with painstaking care.
But the illusion shattered the moment Cullen said her name, reminding her why she was there in the first place.
"Amelle," Cullen said again from behind her. When she turned she saw he'd closed the door quietly behind him. "We… can speak freely here."
She bit her lip. "I… don't want to speak freely, Cullen. I want to lay hands on some Andraste's Grace — ideally enough to transplant for myself — and I want to work on finding the next ingredient. All the better if I can spot it here, but I don't want to get greed—"
"Hawke accused you of… indiscretions with your magic?"
She closed her eyes and blew out a deep breath. "Healing too many people and letting too many people see it, I suppose. It's — there was just so much… carnage, Cullen," she said, looking up at him. "I couldn't… walk away from those who looked like they could have been helped. And… well, when your own sister reminds you if not for her you'd likely be dead or imprisoned fifty times over…" She pressed cool fingertips against her eyes. "I… don't want to talk about it."
"Amelle."
She pulled her fingers away from tired eyes and looked at him. "I know what you're going to say."
"Oh, I quite doubt that." He pointed to a carved stone bench — several such benches were peppered throughout the garden. "Sit."
She sat, nonplussed when Cullen settled down next to her, half surprised he could sit at all in that armor. But sit he did, though by virtue of sheer bulk alone he took up most of the bench. "You… argued. With Hawke. Before she left?"
Looking down at her hands, Amelle nodded. "We've… bickered before. It's sort of an… occupational hazard when you're family. But this was… nothing like anything we've ever—" Pressing her lips together, Amelle fell silent a second or two before finally exhaling through her nose and saying, "She drew her weapon on me. Accused me of having a death wish even as she offered to… relieve me of it. I don't… She— I know she worries, especially after what happened to Mother; I'm the only family she has left other than Gamlen—"
"And from what I've seen of him, he's hardly a shining addition."
A tired chuckle passed her lips. He was trying — she had to credit him with that. "We said…" her throat closed and she tried again. "We said horrible things to each other."
"And she… drew her weapon on you? Truly?" When Amelle nodded glumly, Cullen's features settled into a very… thoughtful sort of frown. "So you would say it's a… fair estimation to suggest Hawke was behaving… out of character. Possibly even somewhat… mad?"
"Yes, she was—" A realization jolted through Amelle and her head shot up, eyes going wide. She stared at Cullen, her mouth falling open before clapping her hand against it and shaking her head. Once again the worst things she could have said to her sister ran around and around her mind until her head pounded with the hateful words—
If you really wanted to keep me safe, you'd stop being my bloody sister.
Tears filled her eyes and she bowed her head, hands clenching into tight fists. Her heart was beating too hard, too fast, and though she tried to keep her breathing even, her lungs felt as if they were burning. "Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker, she was sick. That's… that's why. She was sick and I didn't see it."
"We must… accept it as a possibility, Amelle. But—"
"She was sick and she left for sodding Starkhaven." Amelle raked her hands through her hair, fingers winding around the short strands and pulling as she slouched forward again, resisting the urge to rock slowly. Kiara had been sick with this… madness, and now she was so far away it would be weeks — or, Maker forbid, more — before Amelle could even hope to treat her for it.
"She's… what if she got worse?" she asked, her throat tightening with tears and fear and oh, so much guilt. "What if— we don't… we don't know what this is. What if—" The words stopped as her mind raced faster and faster — how quickly could she mix a batch of the potion? How quickly could they distribute it — and how quickly could she catch up with her sister in Starkhaven? Would it be too late? Would she be too far gone? They had no idea what this illness did to adults if left untreated. Children died, but what of adults gone mad? And what of those Kiara had left with? Would they be likewise infected? Or, worse — would Kiara turn on them like she'd turned on Amelle? Her head swam with a host of unpleasant possibilities.
"Blast her for leaving without me," she finally managed, gritting the words out through her teeth as tears full of frustration, worry, and no small amount of fear spilled.
"Amelle."
She raised her head and looked at Cullen, startled to see calm reassurance in his eyes, tempered with determination.
"Whatever this illness has wrought, we will deal with it. We will find the ingredients you require, and you will mix this potion, and we will test it. That is all we can do right now."
She nodded, hating that the tears kept coming; the water pooled in her eyes and slid forward, tracking wet paths down her cheeks. She didn't speak — she didn't trust her voice.
"It's… not true, you know."
"…What isn't?" she managed despite the tightness in her throat.
"You are many things, Amelle Hawke, but… reckless with your magic is not one of them."
A harsh bark of laughter passed her lips, squeezing a fresh deluge free. She dashed them away and sniffled, shaking her head. "Oh, if you only knew."
He looked at her for a long while; even mere minutes seemed endless when they were full of silence — worse when it was a thoughtful silence. "You… are a healer. One who aids those hurt, regardless of which side they're on. Don't think for a moment that I didn't notice how many of my own brethren you healed — how many of them owe the fact they are alive today to you. And do not think for a moment that I don't realize that it is… thankless work you do." He looked up at the blue sky above them. Somewhere a bird cried out. "Especially now. …That you continue to heal and do the work you do now is…" he frowned, searching for the words. "I do not think you act… recklessly, when you heal those who need it. Do you… truly believe the very templars whose lives you saved, whose wounds you mended have forgotten how much they owe you?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him before retorting, "So you're saying they'd very likely feel bad while they were dragging me off to the Gallows. Well, that's a relief."
"Amelle," sighed Cullen, "I'm being quite serious. Your… actions have been noted. Though I would urge you to be cautious — for your own safety, particularly while this madness seems to be running so rampant. But you are…"
He pressed his lips together and Amelle could see how difficult it was for him to find the right words. She waited, barely realizing that she was holding her breath.
"You are a good example for mages. Would that others could learn by your example."
Her laugh was mirthless even as she felt twin flashes of embarrassment and exasperation, despite the fact she knew Cullen's words were meant to be a compliment, and the words flew past her lips far more sharply than she would have liked or ever intended. "Now all you have to do is convince the Divine that I'm really just a harmless fluffy bunny and everything will be fine."
The look he gave her was so sharply bewildered, Amelle felt a faint flush of guilt creep up her neck. She pushed to her feet and began examining various flower beds — the whole reason they'd come here in the first place: Andraste's Grace — and the irony of that wasn't lost on her, either. Taking her cue, Cullen got up and began searching as well.
"I… fear I have offended you," he said, sending her a slantwise look as he perused a flowerbed that had not been so carefully tended — or at all — in recent months. Amelle wondered whether the gardeners were among the dead and missing, and then decided she didn't want to wonder about that. Cullen coughed softly and she looked over again as he added, "That was not my intent, I assure you."
"It's just…" Sinking down to her knees, a sigh escaped Amelle and she began her close examination of a long, raised flowerbed. "It's an argument I am so very tired of. In fact, I'd rather heal another of those blighted fevers — complete with nosebleed and fainting — than hear it again."
"I apologize," he said quietly, clearly chastised. "I… meant no disrespect."
It was while she was rifling gently through various blooming bushes a white flower caught Amelle's eye, sending a euphoric flash of hope spiraling up through her chest; she reached for it immediately, but upon closer examination, the pristine petals were missing the blood-red marking unique to Andraste's Grace. She let her hand fall. "And I do believe that — truly, I do. But… well. You and my sister had a conversation once, about mages. More to the point, about how mages needed to be watched every second of every day, because of what they might do." She crept farther back, trying to look at every flower, every blossom, every sodding petal. "They might go mad, or they might resort to blood magic or consort with demons or Maker knows what else. Do you know, can you even imagine what that feels like?" She looked up, but Cullen was himself so occupied with searching that he didn't see her expression. "Being looked at by people who are all just wondering if you're going to snap and kill everyone — and if so, when?"
His expression darkened then, and she saw his gauntleted hands tighten into fists. "But mages are tempted by all the demons and spirits in the Fade." His words were curt and clipped, and not only could she hear something more lingering beneath his tone, she felt the change in the tone of their whole conversation. "It is a simple matter of resisting constant temptation. Mages are still human — only human — and how long can any human continue resisting constant temptation?"
The conversation had suddenly veered into territory Amelle tended not to speak about… with anyone. Not even Kiara. She found a cluster of white flowers — the wrong white flowers — at the base of a particularly fragrant vine sprouting exotic yellow and purple blooms; the heady perfume would have been pleasant under different circumstances. Today, however, she found it cloying — too sweet, too thick, and too likely to mask the scent of the flower she was actually looking for. One flowerbed down, countless others to go, Amelle got up and brushed the dirt from her hands and clothes.
"Well," she said, keeping her voice carefully steady, "if we're going to be entirely honest about it, it isn't constant temptation."
Cullen's movements froze, but only for the barest instant. "…That is hardly reassuring."
Amelle stole a glance at him; the dark look was gone, but in its place was an expression cautiously, studiously neutral. Amelle wasn't sure that was an improvement. She sighed and shook her head. "It's… it's at its worst when we… want something," she admitted. "When we're feeling weak and vulnerable and… and wanting something that feels so very far out of reach that even considering it feels hopeless, fruitless, pointless. That… that's when they — the demons… um." She found another section of dense foliage and flowers to hunt through and knelt down in the dirt, thankful for such a distraction. "That's when they…"
"Attempt to…"
Amelle swallowed hard, filling in all the words Cullen wasn't saying: Take you. Use you. Possess you.
"Yes," she finally said. And though she herself had never accepted what those voices offered, she felt a flush of shame regardless, as if she were guilty for something simply by virtue of the fact they spoke to her at all.
"But you've…"
"Resisted them — as my father taught me. But don't mistake that for them never speaking to me, never whispering in my ear. They've come to me, Cullen." And, oh, how she hated the way that admission tasted upon her tongue. "They've come more than once. And they've tried." Recently, she added silently.
"But, as you said, you resisted." That strange, detached coolness in his tone had abated. Cullen still sounded as if he were working to maintain his neutral tone, but they were both picking their way around an impossible topic of conversation — and one Amelle was fairly certain no templar and mage had engaged in, ever.
"Yes. I have. I, a mere apostate, am better equipped to resist the temptations of demons than some Circle mages. I beg you to remember that — I am an apostate. According to the Chant, I should not be qualified to resist the call of demons and spirits, or the lure of blood magic, and still I manage what even the First Enchanter could not." She looked at him pointedly.
For a span of time that felt almost too long, there was nothing but the sounds of clanking armor and rustling plants, and the occasional twitter of birdsong above.
Finally: "This has… not escaped my notice, Amelle."
"Do you ever wonder why?" When he nodded once, his expression strangely guarded, she went on: "Because I consider the consequences of my actions. Because I was taught to consider the consequences of my actions. I…" She swallowed hard and got up, brushing the soil from her hands and moving to another flowerbed. The change in location was little more than an excuse to reorder her thoughts, but if Cullen noticed, he didn't say anything. "Do you know what it's like to live in the Champion's shadow? My whole life I've had to keep my mouth shut and my head down and for the Maker's sake, don't use magic where anyone might see it, Mely. I've been… lost in Kiara's shadow for most of my life, trying so hard to be… invisible. But never more so since coming to Kirkwall. I had nothing of my own — nothing I could do that would let me stand out, because it was too important that I don't stand out."
He straightened and regarded her, leaning lightly against a tall shade tree. "You… have the clinic, do you not?"
"Now, yes. But that wasn't always the case. And… well, demons aren't stupid. Let's just say that."
"You were tempted with… notoriety?"
Her smile was as sharp as it was wry. "Oh, you're thinking too small. I was offered limitless wealth and fame and power beyond all comprehension. If I joined with one of them, I would never be lost in the shadows again. I would have the respect of my sister and everyone around me. I would command the awe and respect of the entire Free Marches, of the whole of Thedas. Oh, they made it sound like quite the party."
"But you… didn't accept. Obviously."
"Because I love my sister. And… despite everything, I know we need each other. I don't want to live in her shadow forever, but I want how I do live to be on my terms. I… not only did I not trust what promises they were making, because… well, demons. But I didn't like the future being painted before me. I could never hurt Kiara — I don't want to hurt her. I would rather die than hurt her. And there was nothing about those scenarios being painted for me that wouldn't hurt Kiara. So I… turned down the offers. Repeatedly. In sum, I was taught to think, Cullen. I was taught to imagine repercussions and consider whether mine was an action I could live with." She sighed. "If I… heal too recklessly and too openly, it's because I do not want a death that is a consequence of my own inaction to rest upon my conscience."
"Your… father taught you all this."
She went still suddenly, looking at her hands in the soil and remembering tending the modest garden back in Lothering, kneeling in the dirt much like this, by her father's side. "He did."
"He must have been very wise indeed."
"And an apostate, no less." She looked up, lips quirking into a smirk. "A wise apostate. Quite the scandal, wouldn't you say, Knight-Commander?"
"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say it's scandalous."
"It isn't as though you could say you know many who fit that particular description."
His smile was small, though genuine. "I might know one."
Amelle's answering blush was sudden and hot. She looked down at her hands, half buried in the cool earth as she parted clusters of flowers — no Andraste's Grace here, either. "I don't know about wise," she muttered. "I suspect my sister would disagree with that estimation — even on a day she wasn't mad with illness."
"It wouldn't be the first time Hawke was mistaken, illness or not." He looked at her from across the garden path. "And the fact remains you are a good example for mages to follow. I… I still believe that."
"And the fact remains, Cullen, that I am an apostate taught by an apostate. I know nothing of a Circle life, other than I am fairly certain it wouldn't have agreed with me. By saying that I am a good example, you are essentially saying that… apostates aren't all that bad, that the Circle might be… wrong."
His sigh was deep and troubled. "And yet it was an apostate who destroyed the chantry and murdered hundreds in one fell swoop, because he felt the need to remove all possibility for compromise."
Amelle nodded. "We are but human men and women, Cullen, as you said. And recall that Anders was a Circle mage for a while, and still he succumbed to a demon." She sat back on her heels and looked up through the canopy of tree limbs above. "I don't understand what makes some mages give in while others don't. I don't know what makes me … different from Anders or Orsino or Tahrone or Grace. But maybe… maybe a Circle education isn't… enough. Maybe it was sufficient years ago, but… perhaps it isn't any longer. I was taught to respect my power, to understand its consequences — to neither fear nor abuse it. So tell me, why did Malcolm Hawke succeed where countless Circles and Enchanters and Andraste knows who else have failed?"
When she looked over she saw that he knelt, and seemed to be looking at something that existed far beyond the flowers directly before him. Something unpleasant. "Would that I could answer that," he answered, his voice low and strained.
"Would that any of us could," Amelle sighed in return.
They combed through the rest of the garden in near silence — but that silence grew not because of the tenor of their conversation, but rather due to the disconcerting lack of Andraste's Grace anywhere in the vast, lush gardens. Oh, there were some that looked very much like the flower upon first glance, but either the number of petals was wrong, or the color, or the shape of its leaves or the color of the pollen clinging to its stamen.
Amelle stood, shoulders aching, the back of her dress soaked with sweat — she didn't dare think of how Cullen was suffering in a suit of armor as he'd helped — staring at the countless flowers they'd looked through. Her clothes were smudged with dirt and pollen and grass-stains, but her hands were empty.
"It's not here," she breathed. "I don't see it. Cullen, I don't— it's not here."
No, that wasn't possible — it had to be here. Amelle refused to believe the only Andraste's Grace in all of Kirkwall had been crushed and buried beneath tons of rubble and ash. But as Amelle cast around her, she saw no corner of the garden that had gone unexamined. Her stomach began to twist and lurch unpleasantly, her pulse kicking up in her veins until Amelle gave in to growing lightheadedness and sat heavily upon a stone bench.
He joined Amelle at the bench, standing before her. "We will keep looking, Amelle. You have my word."
"Where? Where?" she asked again, hysteria tinging her words. "It doesn't grow wild — the climate's not right. It… it was at the chantry, so why isn't it here, too? That doesn't make sense — it… it ought to be here." She could feel everything inside of her growing tight with anxiety, as if she were being squeezed from the inside out. Her breaths were coming too shallow, too fast — too much hinged on this potion for her to fail now. "It has to be here."
She looked up into Cullen's face, but the sunlight behind him cast most of his features into shadow. She blinked suddenly, though whether it was because of the sun or a sudden onslaught of tears — possibly both — Amelle wasn't sure. She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Aveline was sick — Kiara was sick and hundreds of miles away — and this stupid, bloody flower that grew sodding everywhere in Ferelden seemed not even to exist in Kirkwall.
Well, aside from where it had existed having been completely demolished. Bloody Anders. Again.
Think, rabbit. All is not lost; you must think.
She couldn't think — or, rather, she couldn't think clearly. Her thoughts were coming too quickly for her to latch on to. Time was too much of the essence, and the fact that she was poised on the precipice of failure was pounding too loudly in her ears. She didn't have time to be wrong. She didn't have time to wander through every garden in the Free Marches, hoping she tripped across a blighted flower.
There was a soft jangle of armor and Amelle looked up through damp lashes to see Cullen had sunk to his knees, putting them both nearly eye to eye.
"Amelle, you must listen to me. We will figure this out. I will assist you in any way I can."
"How?" She hated the way desperation and worry and fear made the word come out so very strangled.
"However I must," he told her, firmly. "There are more gardens than this in Kirkwall. If I must order every templar and city guard to search every flowerbed in the whole of the city, I will do it."
The mental image his words evoked were so absurd, she could not help but laugh, even if that laugh was little more than a teary hiccup of a chuckle. Cullen also smiled faintly at her soft laughter, as if he too realized how silly a picture it was he'd painted.
"You're right," he said, and Amelle could not help but marvel how soothingly he spoke. "It must grow somewhere else. In the garden at Templar Hall, perhaps, or— or somewhere. We will look. You place your focus on finding the remaining ingredients."
But the panic welling up inside of her would not be calmed so easily. Amelle shook her head, rubbing at her face with dirt-streaked hands, feeling the grit grind against her cheeks.
"And what if I don't find that, either? I need — we need a contingency plan. Something else, in case—" Her head was spinning with the consequences of her potential failure and she felt sick all over again. She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, trying to think through her options. She could try healing people one by one — or perhaps a group heal would work, if she focused her energies enough and had enough lyrium on hand.
Excellent idea, a soft voice — one that sounded far too much like Kiara — remarked wryly. You'll just kill yourself trying — or maybe just spellcast yourself into a coma. Brilliant, really.
"Amelle…" There came the sound of armor clinking softly and falling to the grass with a muffled, metallic thud. When she once again opened her eyes, a pair of gauntlets were on the ground between her feet, and Cullen held her hands in his warm, rough ones. "You will figure this out. I have faith that you will — I have faith in you."
"Faith? In me? Maker, you are at the end of your options, aren't you?" She laughed again, and this time it sounded slightly unhinged, even to her own ears; for a sliver of a moment, Amelle wondered if she were going mad, too. If her initial estimation was wrong and mages weren't somehow protected? What if—
Amelle felt her mana rise with every pounding heartbeat and every hitching breath. She shook her head stubbornly, telling herself to calm down. Cullen looked down at their joined hands and Amelle knew — she knew — he could feel the arcane energy tingling beneath her skin.
"Cullen, I can't—"
But then his hands were cradling her face, his thumbs wiping away tear tracks, despite the trails of grime across her cheeks.
"I have faith in you, Amelle Hawke," he said again, and his tone was one that brooked no argument. "We will find this flower — or another potion, if it comes to that — and if that is the case, we will find every blighted ingredient on that list as well."
It struck her how frequently he was using the word "we." It also struck her she rather liked the sound of it. After a few moments, her tongue snuck out to wet her lips, which were feeling too dry by half. At this close distance, she couldn't miss the way Cullen's eyes dropped to her mouth. And though he blinked, his gaze didn't waver — even when a flush that likely had little to do with the heat of the day began to spread slowly across his cheeks.
"We?" she asked softly.
"We," he answered, his thumbs still slowly stroking her cheeks.
Gradually, Amelle's heartbeat slowed from its panicked gallop, but neither of them moved away from each other just yet. She reached up to brush shy fingertips over the tops of his hands; he started slightly with the tentative contact and she knew without looking that something — some tingling bit of magic — had escaped when she'd touched him.
"Did it hurt?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cullen shook his head. "No. But you're… still upset."
She was still worried, it was true. "I'm trying. Truly, I am. I'm… I don't know if I can do this — if there's no potion, I don't think I can heal them all…"
Slowly, though the bare movement was still enough to settle Amelle into silence, Cullen tilted her face up a fraction. With a soft breath of a sigh, she leaned ever so slightly into his touch.
"May I?" he murmured, and she felt the warm tickle of his breath against her lips. When Amelle nodded, he moved closer. Her eyes fluttered closed just as his lips brushed once, experimentally, against hers, before settling gently against her mouth. At the same time, a slow, cooling ripple of energy coursed down her spine and into her limbs. Her breathing slowed, and her mana settled.
A most unusual application of cleansing energy, she had to admit.
She'd read all the books, of course — fantastic stories of star-crossed love between mages and templars, or tales of sultry, seductive apostates winning over the most devoted, stalwart templar — and they all had one thing in common: the first kiss between a mage and a templar was meant to be a startling, earth-shattering, heart-pounding moment of unbridled passion. She wondered for a moment when it would escalate — when their pounding hearts would overwhelm all sense, and when she would fall into his arms.
…It wasn't happening.
Then, as gently as it began, the kiss ended, leaving Amelle and Cullen, blinking slowly at each other. For her part, Amelle felt vaguely confused, but when she saw that same puzzlement reflected back in Cullen's gaze, she realized that it hadn't been what he'd been expecting, either. And for some strange reason, that knowledge left Amelle feeling a vague sense of relief.
Slowly, his hands came down from her face, finding her hands again and holding them warmly.
"I… didn't think that was supposed to… happen that way." She cringed a little at her lack of eloquence.
His smile was… rueful. But that he was smiling at all was also a relief. "Not what, ah… you expected, then?"
What could she say? That she'd been expecting something more than a perfectly pleasant kiss? "Well… I haven't much, um… scope for experience. But I get the feeling I did something… wrong."
"I… am fairly certain you did not." His eyes dropped to their joined hands. "Perhaps, we…" He trailed off, then let out a soft, rueful laugh. "I am… fond of you, Amelle. But… perhaps this isn't…" He gave her hands a squeeze. "Perhaps we are not…"
"I… ah, I think I understand."
"Well," he said on a dry chuckle, "that is a relief."
Her own smile was crooked and rueful. "This… isn't what I'd expected to happen."
"The kiss at all, or… afterward?"
She blushed. "The kiss was… a surprise, I'll warrant, but not an unpleasant one. I was just… expecting something… else, I think." Something more.
He nodded once, looking down at their hands again. For a moment, Cullen seemed almost… disappointed. Amelle knew all too well how he felt. She respected him — liked him, even — and it seemed entirely normal that things could… progress between them.
"As was I, I fear," said Cullen, quietly. A beat of silence passed. "Well. This is somehow strangely less awkward than I'd feared. That's something, isn't it?"
She let out a choking little laugh. "You were… expecting this?"
He grimaced a little and looked down. "One does consider all… possible outcomes — even worst-case scenarios — before ventures such as this, yes?" Amelle only arched an eloquent eyebrow at Cullen, whose eyes went suddenly wide. "Oh, Maker, I didn't mean it that way. This was not a worst-case scenario, Amelle—"
She sent him an arch look. "Dare I ask what would have been?"
"…Being struck by a storm of lightning for having the audacity at all did come to mind."
Her lips twitched. "And were you more afraid of me striking you with lightning, or the Maker Himself?"
"I would not put it past you to conjure it yourself and let me wonder."
Laughter bubbled up inside Amelle, escaping as she ducked her head sheepishly. "Maker, you know me better than I'd thought." Another little laugh passed her lips as she regarded him. "I do… like you, you know." Her smile suddenly tilted mischievously. "Imagine that: an apostate actually enjoying the company of a templar. Maker, what will the neighbors say?"
Closing his eyes and shaking his head at her, Cullen breathed a soft huff of laughter as well. "Indeed. And I am… not indifferent to you, either, Amelle."
"'Not indifferent'?" Amelle echoed, mockingly, making no effort to hide the teasing grin at her lips. "Such a shining recommendation! Why, Knight-Commander—"
Cullen didn't have to say anything — the look he gave Amelle was enough to cut her off and send her dissolving into laughter. It felt… good to laugh — as if all of the stress and all of the worry and everything was finally releasing its hold on her. Cullen had faith in her, believed in her, and it was enough to awaken a spark of similar faith in Amelle. All would yet be well. She wasn't entirely sure how, just yet, but… all would be well. Somehow. Eventually.
"Very well," Cullen said, attempting — and failing — at maintaining a stern tone. "I might admit to tolerating you — even liking you — provided you learn my bloody title and stop giving me this premature promotion you seem intent on bestowing upon me."
"If that's all it's going to take," Amelle riposted, eyes fairly twinkling, "I think I'll settle for you being just 'not indifferent' to me."
"You'd sacrifice my good opinion, then?"
Her grin widened. "Well, you are great fun to vex."
This time he laughed outright. "And the truth comes out. Maker help me."
