The fire was still crackling warmly when Fenris carried Amelle, still very much lost in the grip of Merrill's sleep spell, into the library. With infinite care he set her upon the divan before covering her again with her blanket. The mabari paced the room, throwing mournful looks Amelle's way and whining softly when she did not rouse. Fenris knew how the animal felt. Amelle ought to have woken from such a spell by this point, and he wondered for a dark moment what Merrill might have done… but no, she'd used no knives, no blood. Whatever Merrill had done, it had not been blood magic.

She is exhausted, he thought, still standing there awkwardly, not sure what to do next and hating that he had no idea. Perhaps the spell has worn off and she's simply… sleeping. That made sense as well, and Fenris realized that he would likely owe Merrill his thanks for intervening when she had. Amelle had come close — too close — to casting a spell in the clinic. If the mage hadn't summoned her own mana she had, the Knight-Captain would have used his energies to disrupt Amelle's magic, and that seemed to be leaving Amelle drained as well. No, sleep was preferable.

Yes. He would definitely have to thank Merrill. It was a new and not altogether pleasant feeling.

Letting out a breath, he dragged the backs of his fingers across Amelle's forehead, smiling faintly when she turned her head into the light touch. The smile faded, however, as he recalled the sight of her, bent over the child, coaxing potion past her lips. He remembered all too clearly the tremor that had wracked her, long before the tears came, even before she bowed her head in defeat and exhaustion. He'd known something had gone horribly wrong, and yet he'd been powerless to help — to do anything but watch.

"Messere?"

Fenris turned to find Orana standing just inside the doorway. "What?" The word came out more sharply than he'd intended, and he could almost hear Amelle's teasing voice: Don't frighten the maid, Fenris. We like her, and she keeps us well-fed. He drew in a breath in an attempt to temper the his irritation, and his concern, then tried again. "What is it?"

She knotted her hands in her apron as she looked down at Amelle. "Is… is Mistress Amelle all right?"

He scowled and bit back the urge to say any number of things — all of which, he was sure, would only frighten the young woman further. "No," he answered honestly. "But she is resting, which is as much as I dare hope for right now."

"Is there anything I can get?" she asked hopefully, clearly wanting to do something. Fenris knew the feeling. "Some food, perhaps? Or… or some tea?"

At that moment, the last thing Fenris wanted was tea. But it was barely noon and he knew it was for the best that he not drink a dent in Hawke's wine-cellar, no matter how badly he wished to do so. He drew in a breath and let it out again. "No. There is nothing I require." He paused and frowned. "The… others may be coming up shortly. I imagine they would… appreciate the gesture."

Orana nodded, but said nothing right away. After a second or two she came into the library and walked to Hawke's desk, pulling the chair out and tugging it across the floor to the divan. At Fenris' openly puzzled look, she sent him a tremulous smile.

"You should sit with her, messere. I… I think she'd like that." Fenris' puzzled look did not abate as she took a step or two back toward the door. "And… and Mistress Kiara… sometimes prefers a bit of brandy in her tea. If you'd like."

Fenris blinked. "I… yes, that would be… thank you."

Orana bobbed a quick curtsey before vanishing out the door. And Fenris decided never again to underestimate the young woman's powers of observation.

Fenris was most of the way through a second cup of brandy-laced tea by the time the Knight-Captain clanked wearily into the library and dropped precariously into the chair he'd earlier vacated. The wood gave a groan but held, and the templar grimaced. "I wouldn't say no," he said, when Fenris gestured toward the teapot.

"Merrill?"

"Still down there. Locked in. Making potions." The templar glanced toward the divan, but Amelle was still curled beneath the blanket, snoring ever so faintly. "She's terrified of you."

Fenris snorted, adding a splash of brandy to the Knight-Captain's tea before he passed it over. The templar raised his eyebrows but didn't protest the unconventional addition. "There is little love lost between the blo—between Merrill and I."

"So I gathered. She thinks you'd make a splendid templar."

Fenris refilled his own cup once again and returned to his chair at Amelle's side. "The restrictions would trouble me, and I fear I am in no way devout enough, but there was a time when I'd have agreed with her."

"Less so, now."

Fenris nodded. His hand twitched, eager to reach out and brush the hair back from Amelle's brow, but instead he curled his fingers against his thigh and leaned back in his chair. After several minutes of silence broken by the sounds of sleeping girl and sleeping dog, the templar said softly, "Fenris, she's walking a dangerous line."

"You think I am not aware?"

The Knight-Captain pursed his lips and glanced toward the ceiling. "I'm not sure how aware you are, actually. Oh, don't mistake me—I know you can see what it's doing to her, but it's not her… physical self I'm most worried about."

"You fear she will become easy prey for a demon."

The Knight-Captain shook his head. "It's not as simple as that. I don't doubt her resolve. A mage—any mage, but especially a mage of her particular skill set—cannot drain herself so completely without facing desperate consequences."

"You have seen such a thing?" Fenris asked pointedly. "This is not some templar tale to frighten misbehaving apprentices?"

The templar cradled the teacup in his palm, but Fenris knew before he spoke what his answer would be; his expression was too troubled for it to be otherwise. "I have. He was a healer. Very promising. The First Enchanter had high hopes. There was an illness in Redcliffe—nothing like this one, but severe enough that the Tower's aid was sought. The First Enchanter sent Arron, and the Knight-Commander sent me with several more experienced templars. I was new to the Tower then, so it was an adventure. There was camaraderie around the campfire at night, and Arron showed me how to whittle tiny birds from sticks, no magic required. We knew we were headed into a place of illness and grief, but the journey was…" He sighed deeply. "The illness was worse than we'd expected. Arron pushed himself too hard. He couldn't bear the suffering. He lasted several days. We templars forced him to rest, but… it wasn't enough. His mana didn't come back as quickly as we thought. If he knew, he said nothing; he saw patient after patient. I was… there when I saw him bottom out. I felt him reach and find nothing. He looked at me—looked right at me—and I saw the battle. He didn't succumb. He didn't turn into a demon—he didn't take what the demon offered—but he died for it all the same. It took me three long strides to reach his side. He was dead before I got there. Some mages… life and mana become intertwined. It… seems to happen most frequently with healers."

Fenris said nothing, but when he looked down on Amelle again, he saw her green eyes open, staring at the templar. He couldn't read her expression. He wasn't certain he wished to.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice still weak. "In the clinic? I—the child. I remember that. What happened after? Why am I… how did I get back here?"

"You were going to do yourself harm," the Knight-Captain said. "Merrill put you to sleep. Fenris brought you back."

"But what about the clinic? There were so many… so many people there. So many children."

This time Fenris did reach out, laying a gentle but firm hand on Amelle's shoulder as she struggled to rise. "Amelle—"

"I closed the clinic," the Knight-Captain said.

Fenris felt Amelle freeze, saw her expression grow mutinous.

"Don't force my hand, Amelle," the templar added wearily. "I don't want to smite you, but I will do it."

"What gives you the right?" she snapped, jerking out from beneath Fenris' palm to sit upright on the divan. Her hands clenched tight around the blanket; her face was livid, eyes sharp, spots of fevered color high on her cheekbones. "How dare you?"

Fenris did not miss the flash of frustration—of righteous anger—in the templar's eyes, however obdurately calm his expression remained. "I dare because I am your friend, Amelle." With exaggerated precision, the Knight-Captain set the teacup down. Then he raised his hand, curled his fingers into his palm, and knocked the resulting fist sharply against the burning sword sigil on his breastplate. The mabari whined. Amelle's breath was audible even over the dull, metallic echo. "And this gives me the right. I am still the acting Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, and you are a mage one spell away from abomination or death."

"Oh, now you're the Knight-Commander," she growled. "How bloody convenient. Are you going to drag me off to the Gallows in chains, then?"

"Do I need to?" he snapped. "Honestly, what do we need to do? You more than anyone should understand what you're doing. And yet you continue to push yourself, knowing it's only causing damage."

"I have to try."

"And what do we — your friends — do when you have pushed yourself so far? Do you expect us to stand by and watch as you magic yourself into nosebleeds and unconsciousness? Do you have any comprehension what kind of power you've expended by the time that happens? And yet you call on it again and again and again, showing no respect whatsoever for that power."

Amelle flinched, but the movement was barely visible. "Cullen—"

But the Knight-Captain cut her off with a swiping motion and shook his head; his voice shook when he spoke. "No. No, by Andraste, you will listen to this. We are worried about you — would you spit on our concern so? Do you think for a moment any of us enjoyed seeing you watch powerless as that little girl died? No one is doubting your devotion, and no one is doubting your compassion, but you are one mage. There are limits to your power. But over and over you try to surpass those limits without any thought to the repercussions. I am begging you, Amelle: think."

Something the Knight-Captain had said struck Amelle to the core; Fenris could see it in the way her eyes widened as the color drained from her face. Her lips parted in shock, and for a moment she looked like she'd been slapped.

Just then, a soft, uncertain voice came from the doorway. "He's—he's right, Amelle." Merrill peered into the room, remaining resolutely on the other side of the threshold, clearly doubting her welcome. She swallowed hard and for a moment it appeared as if she were blinking back tears. "You should—please, listen to him. It's hard. I know it's hard. I-I know it feels like no one knows your own power better than you do, and nobody knows your limits like you do. And… and I know what it feels like when you know what you're doing is right and—and worth the risk. But the Knight-Commander's right. We're worried. We're all worried."

Amelle looked up at Fenris next, her eyes wide and questioning. She didn't ask him anything, but he could almost see her replaying the words he said to her in her chamber the night before: "I will not stand by and do nothing while you cause harm to yourself."

"The Knight-Captain speaks the truth," he said quietly, holding her gaze but still checking the urge to touch her hand. "As does Merrill."

With a long, deep exhale, Amelle slouched forward, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. She stayed like that for some time, breathing slowly as the fire crackled. Now and then Fenris heard the slightest hitch as she inhaled or exhaled, but when she pulled her hands away and looked at them all, there was nothing but weary contrition upon her face. Amelle's hands lay folded in her lap and after a little while, she dropped her eyes and stared at them. Another breath in and out.

"You… y-you're right." Her throat worked as she swallowed and her fingers tightened minutely before relaxing again. "You're right," she said again. "All of you. I… Maker, I feel like an idiot," she muttered, pressing her fingertips to her eyes, adding, even more quietly, "So glad Kiara's not here right now."

"Oh, come now," the templar said, slowly taking his seat again. "Your sister's had her moments."

Amelle's hands fell again to her lap and she looked up, still contrite, but with a glimmer of wryness shining through, despite the dark shadows that remained beneath her eyes. "Be that as it may, perhaps we can neglect to mention to her this part of things when we give her a recap, hmm?"

The Knight-Captain sent her a look. "I don't know about that."

Amelle's smile was a weak one and this time Fenris did give in to the urge to reach out and touch her hand, resting his hand over hers, saying quietly, "Your sister would be proud you saw sense." Color warmed Amelle's cheeks and, he was certain, his own.

"Thank you," she replied, just as quietly, giving his fingers a brief squeeze. Her fingers were cool and that relieved him more than almost anything else. She hadn't yet let go when she looked over at Merrill, still lingering by the door. "Maker's breath, Merrill, come in and stop hovering. Sit down. Have some tea."

"Oh," Merrill said. "I don't want to bother you. I only came to say there are more potions now. I gave them to Orana. She seems afraid she'll break them, but I said I thought she would do fine, and maybe to leave them where you'd see them. So I suppose now you won't—well, I suppose things will go back to how they were—"

"Merrill," Fenris growled. "Sit."

Merrill blinked. "Oh," she repeated. "Well. If you… if you insist."

Fenris glowered, but Amelle sent him a look and patted the seat next to her. Merrill didn't quite tiptoe across the room, but she never took her gaze from him, and she did move slowly and carefully, as though she feared putting a toe out of line might have him at her throat—or his fist around her heart—before she could so much as squeak.

"Maybe you can help," Amelle said softly. Fenris glared at her when she attempted to reach for the teapot herself. Instead, he poured Merrill a cup and tried not to notice the way her hands shook when he pressed it into her hands. She stared at it hard before tentatively raising it to her lips.

He wondered if she thought he'd poisoned it.

"Help with what?" Merrill asked. "I'm afraid you're out of viable elfroot. I might be able to find some in the market. Everything's been dreadfully picked over since, well, you know, but I could look."

Amelle only smiled tiredly. "Not with potions. We think we've figured out part of the… problem. Part of what's causing the illness. But it doesn't make sense."

"The corrupted idol," Fenris said.

"Oh, it exploded," Merrill said, oddly cheerful. "That's why you can't find it."

"Yes," Fenris ground out. "We were all witness to that."

Amelle rolled her eyes at him, ever so slightly. If Merrill noticed, she said nothing, taking another sip of her tea since the first hadn't killed her. Amelle explained, "It exploded into dust. And the dust got into the air. And people breathed it in."

"I see," Merrill said thoughtfully. "But the air is clear now."

Fenris reminded himself the elf could hardly be expected to know information discussed when she had been down in the clinic, and held his tongue. Before anyone could tell her they'd considered this, too, Merrill hmm'd under her breath and said, "It could be in the water, you know. Once it settled. How does Kirkwall get its water? When I was… one time, everyone in the clan got sick. It was miserable. Even Marethari was ill. We looked and looked for the cause. One of the hunters went to the pool that fed the stream and found a great huge stag had died and fallen in. The rot tainted the source and made us all sick."

"The water," Amelle breathed, looking up at him with huge eyes. "Maker, that's it. The dust would have fallen, or—or it would've been caught on the wind and… Oh, sweet Andraste, that's got to be it."

Fenris turned to the templar, who looked even more horrified than Amelle. "Kirkwall's water source was beneath the chantry."

"There were two," the templar explained weakly. "Two springs. One was — as we all know — below the chantry. And… and destroyed with the rest of it." The Knight-Captain swallowed hard and Fenris could not ignore how ill the man looked. "The other is a spring deep below the Gallows. Which has been supplying water to all of Kirkwall since…" Amelle made a distressed sound, deep in her throat and the templar sent her a raw, miserable look before going on. "There are several wells — one by Templar Hall, and two more in the Gallows proper. They both… lead directly to the source."

"But…" Merrill began, "but the Gallows is where—"

"Meredith's sword exploded into dust," Fenris finished grimly.

"Three points of entry, and no other source of potable water?" Amelle murmured. She leaned forward again, cradling her head in her hands. When she spoke, the words were muffled. "Fucking Anders. Fucking Meredith."

Merrill blinked at Amelle's vehemence, but said nothing. She didn't have to — her expressive face hid none of her sorrow. Finally she whispered, "He couldn't have known."

Anticipating his anger, Amelle placed a hand on Fenris' arm, meeting his gaze steadily. It was enough to induce him to temper his tone, but not his words: "I doubt it would have changed anything even if he had."

The templar still looked vaguely nauseated. "My men have been — on top of everything else, my men have been… Oh, Maker, we've been bloody poisoning people."

"You couldn't have known either, Cullen," said Amelle gently. "None of us could have. And it's… blighted bad luck the responsible parties are conveniently unavailable."

"More the pity that," Fenris muttered. The enormity of such a horror wrought by the unwitting cooperation between mage and templar was beyond astonishing. Anders and Meredith had sickened a city full of innocents. Anders a healer and Meredith a protector — and yet the mark both had left upon Kirkwall reeked of madness and sickness and death.

"Can't you… well, fix it?" Merrill asked cautiously. "Remove the corruption?"

"What do you suggest?" asked Amelle wearily. "Straining the spring with a giant piece of cheesecloth?"

Merrill rubbed her nose and looked for half an instant like she was almost considering that. Then she shook her head. "I'm not a healer, but Marethari…" she trailed off, biting down on her lip. "What is healing a person but… but removing the infection corrupting them? Might the same theory be applied to… to a thing instead of a person?"

Amelle rubbed her forehead as she thought hard, her fingertips massaging the spot between her eyebrows for several long seconds. "…Possibly," she finally answered, shaking her head slowly. "But I… lately I've barely had mana enough to keep a cup of tea hot. As has been infinitely clear to me during the course of this conversation. And now… after what happened downstairs…"

Tilting her head, Merrill said, "But it will replenish."

Amelle did not speak right away. Fenris saw the battle behind her eyes, but had no idea what sides were warring, or what the outcome might be. Finally, she inhaled deeply and exhaled twice as slowly. "I'm… not sure if it will." She glanced up, evidently in an attempt to stop tears from falling, but the gesture failed. Her voice breaking, she added, "Something happened downstairs. Something's—something's wrong. When I—when I reached for my power down in the clinic, it was there and then it—it wasn't. Like… it was as if my mind was scraping the bottom of an empty barrel. It hurt. I—I've never felt anything—not not-felt anything like it before. There was just… nothing." She wrapped her arms tight around herself.

The Knight-Captain's brow furrowed. "You're not… you're still connected to the Fade, Amelle. I can feel it. You may be empty, but you've not broken the connection entirely."

"So I didn't inadvertently make myself Tranquil? That's… reassuring."

The templar ignored the edge in Amelle's tone and asked, "You've been having trouble sleeping?"

She shrugged. "I haven't exactly made a secret of that. And even if I had, Fenris and Orana have been reminding me on a daily basis to get enough rest. But I just… there's too much to worry about. If I've been sleeping, it's never been for very long, and…" she trailed off, looking down at her hands, helpless frustration written all over her features.

This time the Knight-Captain's frown took on a more pointed, frustrated quality. "Then you haven't been dreaming."

"Yes," she snapped, "dreaming does generally go along with sleeping." Then she paused, and shock, understanding, and embarrassment swept over her features. "Maker's balls. I haven't been dreaming," she breathed. "Of course."

"Of course?" Fenris asked.

"We all enter the Fade when we dream," the templar explained. "But mages require it. If she's not sleeping, she's not dreaming. If she's not dreaming, it's no wonder her connection to the Fade—and to the magic of the Fade—is growing frayed."

"I suppose you have horror stories involving insomniac mages as well," Fenris muttered dourly.

The Knight-Captain looked unimpressed, and his eyes darkened. "I do, if you must know. I've been a Circle templar my entire life. This… this is what I know. People may think—people may have the impression that templars exist to keep non-mages safe from mages, or to hunt down mages that have gone apostate or maleficar, but that is only part of the duty. The least part, truly. We exist to keep mages safe from themselves, more often than not."

Amelle held up a trembling hand. "I understand. I do. But I can't sleep. I've tried."

Merrill glanced at Fenris, and then at the Knight-Captain. "I—I could make you sleep. If you wanted. If it would help."

"It wouldn't," the templar sighed. "Magic-induced sleep is dreamless."

"Is it?" Merrill asked. "I didn't know that. Are you certain—"

"I am certain," the Knight-Captain said firmly. Fenris heard a strange waver in the templar's voice, but could not make sense of it. "Mages use magic sleep when they wish to keep someone from dreaming."

"You went into the Fade to speak with Sebastian," Fenris said. "Can you not do so again, to replenish your mana? To ensure the… connection you require?"

Amelle threw an abashed look in the Knight-Captain's direction, already shaking her head. "Usually I require magic to do such a thing. To… to find Sebastian, I used a variation of the ritual Marethari used when we… when we went to get Feynriel. I don't have that kind of magic right now."

"You did what?" the templar asked, arching an eyebrow at her. "Now in the Maker's name—"

Amelle put a hand up, cutting him off. "Don't, Cullen. Don't. I did what was necessary to help Sebastian, and I would do it again."

But the templar continued glaring at her, and unless Fenris missed his guess, there looked to be a glimmer of betrayal in his gaze. "You went into the Fade, into Sebastian's—you might as well have gone into his mind."

Amelle leaned back and sighed, shaking her head. "He wasn't recovering from his injury — an injury dealt him, may I remind you, by a templar's sword. Something was wrong, and it was something beyond torn flesh and muscle. So yes. I… I had paid attention back when Marethari sent us into the Fade to help Feynriel — and I had a feeling those measures would work on Sebastian, too. But I'd never done anything quite like it before and—"

"And for good reason," the Knight-Captain broke in sternly. Amelle gave a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"I trusted Marethari's magic," countered Amelle, tilting her chin stubbornly. Fenris knew well that particular tilt. Too well.

Beside her, Merrill had grown suddenly silent, staring down into the depths of her teacup, her fingers gripping it tightly.

"Don't you understand how dangerous—"

Amelle tipped her head back and addressed the ceiling. "Oh, Maker. Not this again. It's a centuries' old Dalish ritual, Cullen. It's not— it's not dancing naked and sacrificing chickens under a full moon. Old magic is not necessarily bad magic."

"Amelle is right," Merrill said, never lifting her eyes from her cup. She fairly radiated with tension as she went on to say, her voice soft as it trembled, "Keeper Marethari w-was no— she was no maleficar. She wasn't an abomination. She was a good person. A kind person." Her voice broke a little when she added, "A selfless person."

The templar looked from Amelle to Merrill, and though he clearly looked displeased by this development, he was holding his tongue. Though, Fenris guessed, just barely. He inclined his head at the Knight-Captain and said, evenly, "Do not underestimate Amelle's respect for the danger — the potential for danger — in attempting such a ritual. She took… precautions."

"Precautions," the templar echoed before adding in a mutter, "Maker, I'm almost afraid to ask. What sorts of precautions?"

Fenris arched an eyebrow, replying, "I stood guard while she was… indisposed."

Amelle nodded. "I asked Fenris to… wait and watch, in case I came out of the Fade… impaired."

"Amelle wouldn't risk becoming an abomination," came Merrill's quiet contribution. "Not after… she wouldn't."

The Knight-Captain looked at him then, his brow furrowing in undisguised skepticism. "And you would have… addressed the situation, had she…"

"He would have," Amelle said firmly, and for a moment Fenris could not help but wonder at the steel in her voice. "That's why I asked him. I understood and accepted the risks. I decided the errand was worth that risk."

But the templar was still looking at him. Fenris didn't look away as he said, "Had she come out of the Fade with a demon inside of her, I would have completed the task she asked of me. Do not doubt that."

"You would have killed her." The templar shook his head slowly. "How did you know she wasn't?"

"Your confidence in me is astounding," Amelle muttered, scowling.

"I did not know at first, as it happened," Fenris explained. Something soft brushed his arm and he startled, looking over at Amelle. She was resting her fingers just below the crook of his elbow, sending him a smile that looked almost… reassuring.

"After chasing me around his house with his sword for a bit, Fenris decided I hadn't brought a hitchhiker back with me."

"What?" the Knight-Captain sputtered, his jaw dropping as he looked between them. His expression said very clearly, You're all mad.

"An abomination would not have suffered such treatment," Fenris reasoned. "I attempted to provoke a transformation. When that failed, I was satisfied Amelle was… Amelle."

This time it was Merrill's turn to gape. She turned and said to Amelle, "Fenris chased you around the house? With his sword? That whopping big one he's got? What did you do?"

Amelle sent him a slantwise look that held the barest breath of amusement. "The reasonable thing to do at the time was… well, run." Then she shrugged. "I didn't— I don't know why it didn't occur to me to use any sort of defensive spell."

"Well, you knew he wouldn't hurt you," Merrill said, smiling now. Fenris hated that particular version of Merrill's smile.

Before Fenris could do more than glower, Amelle said, "Oh, no. I knew he would hurt me. That's what made the whole thing so bloody terrifying. It wasn't until after that I realized we probably ought to have come up with some kind of 'oh by the way I'm not an abomination don't kill me' codeword."

The Knight-Captain heaved a sigh. "The magic of Dalish Keepers is a… grey area in Chantry law, Amelle, but you are not a Dalish Keeper. Please—please don't repeat it."

Just for a moment, her eyes blazed defiance. It faded almost as quickly, however, leaving resignation in its wake. "I couldn't right now anyway. Which more or less brings us back to square one."

The templar bent his neck and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Fenris thought, in that moment, it was more than clear Amelle was not the only one having difficulty sleeping. The templar's weariness was palpable. Then the man froze. "There's lyrium," he said.

"In the water, yes. We figured that part out already," Merrill said gently.

The Knight-Captain shook his head. "The lyrium they use in a Harrowing."

Amelle gaped at him, aghast. "You can't be serious. I may not be a Circle mage, but my father was. I know what a Harrowing is, Cullen."

"I do not," Fenris said coldly. "But the word hardly conjures images of the healing and replenishment Amelle requires at this juncture."

"Look, no one will be summoning a demon for Amelle to face, but the lyrium—" The templar stumbled to a halt mid-sentence as three pairs of green eyes glared at him. Muttering a curse under his breath, he said, "Let me explain."

"Do," Fenris growled.

"The Harrowing is a test… the test that makes an apprentice a full mage."

"They have to fight a demon," Amelle supplied. "Or resist a demon. In the Fade. While templars stand with swords at the ready. If you fail—if you become an abomination—Maker, even if you take too long, they kill you," she added, voice still tinged with horror.

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Not unlike how I stood guard over you, Amelle."

"Andraste's kneecaps!" Merrill cursed brightly. "I was right! You would make a good templar, Fenris. You're a natural!"

The Knight-Captain made a decisive cutting motion with his hand. "You're missing the salient point. It's not about the Harrowing, it's about the lyrium. There is a way to send a mage into the Fade that does not involve… Dalish rituals. The apprentice ingests a uniquely processed form of lyrium. It creates a connection to the Fade, without the necessity of reaching a deep sleep first."

Raising her eyebrows, Amelle asked, "And this uniquely processed form of lyrium just happens to be lying around, where? The market?"

"I'm the bloody Knight-Commander of Kirkwall! Who do you think has access to the sodding lyrium?"

After a long, tense, silent moment, Amelle murmured, "Acting."

To Fenris' surprise, the acting Knight-Commander of Kirkwall only bowed his head and chuckled. "Fine. Acting. But I can still get ahold of the lyrium."

Fenris tapped his fingertips along his thigh until Amelle reached out and ghosted her fingers along the back of his hand. "I do not like it," he said. "Even without summoning a demon, the Fade is no place for a mage whose powers are so depleted. Can—" he swallowed hard and cleared his throat before continuing, "can one of us not accompany her?" He pretended not to notice the speed with which Amelle turned her head to stare at him, eyes wide, lips parted in quiet shock.

"Merrill," the Knight-Captain said, though he did not sound convinced. "As far as I understand, this is a path open only to mages. And there's no guarantee they would—or could—even end up in the same… part of the Fade. Apprentices go in alone."

"Hawke was able to take people with her when Marethari sent her," Merrill replied primly.

"And can you repeat the ritual?" Fenris asked.

Merrill was already shaking her head sadly. "I… could. Before. But now…"

"No one's resorting to blood magic on my behalf," Amelle declared. "No one. Not for any reason." The fingers ghosting over his hand settled over his and Fenris looked up to see Amelle's green eyes watching him steadily. "I will be fine. It will be like going to sleep." She paused, tilting her head. "Just like it, in fact."

Fenris didn't reply. He disliked having anyone else present for such a conversation and he suspected Amelle could sense his reticence. Amelle sighed a little, looking to the templar and asking, "How long do you think it would take to get this lyrium?"

"No more than an hour or two. Plenty of time to… prepare."

Amelle cocked an eyebrow at him. "And you're sure you won't be summoning any demons, just to teach me a lesson?"

The templar's expression matched Fenris' own. "I'm sure," he answered flatly. "No matter how tempting you may make such a prospect." He pushed to his feet, armor clanking softly and the chair creaking its gratitude as he stood. "I… imagine you'll want to start this sooner rather than later?"

With a determined nod, Amelle said, "We'll need to do this quickly—"

"You cannot rush the process, Amelle. It will take however long it takes."

"Then we'd better get started. There's a small matter of a tainted water source we need to address later."

The Knight-Commander shook his head with a grimace. "Was there ever a time things weren't utterly mad here?"

"Oh, look on the bright side," Merrill chirped. "Maybe things will be less mad now, hmm?" No one in the room looked convinced. After a moment, Merrill slumped a little and sighed. "It was worth a try at least, I thought."

"Yes. Well." The Knight-Commander's gaze swept over the room. "I'll collect what we require. As I said, it shouldn't take me more than an hour, maybe two." With another nod, he left, and the front door closed heavily behind him, echoing through the house.

Amelle's hand remained closed over his as she looked over to Merrill, who at that moment was frowning into the teapot.

"We're out of tea," she said mournfully.

"Would you mind terribly taking that to Orana and asking her if she might make another?"

"Of course, Amelle, I'd— oh. Oh." Again, Merrill smiled. Fenris ground his teeth as Merrill's smile widened into one more brilliant and beaming. "Oh, of course. And… and I'll stay in the kitchen and help her too, maybe." Merrill's smile dimmed not a bit as she gathered up the tea tray and left the library, taking one very precarious moment to balance the tray in one hand as she closed the door.

Once they were alone, Amelle sighed, clasping his hand in both of hers. "You're worried."

He frowned, looking down at her hands. "Haven't I reason to worry? You are going into the Fade. You haven't the first idea what awaits you there."

"But I'm going in for myself. It's… it's going to be different than when I went in to find Sebastian. I promise. That was… more uncertain."

"More uncertain than this?" he countered.

"That's not a fair question," Amelle admonished. "I've gone to the Fade before — I should go there every night when I sleep, but I haven't been. It is a long overdue visit. Nothing more."

But he saw the shadow of uncertainty in her eyes. "I still do not like it."

With a smile, Amelle reached up and brushed her thumb along his cheekbone and he tried to suppress his shiver. "I'd worry if you did," she murmured. "I promise you — swear to you — I'll be careful."

He thought of his own singular experience traveling into the Fade. He remember how quickly he'd succumbed to the demon's lures, how quickly he'd turned against Hawke — something he never would have even thought possible. In fact, it still troubled him, years later. But Amelle had not succumbed. She had resolve — he knew that. He'd known it for quite some time.

"Will you…" Amelle bit her lip, ducking her head a little in a gesture that was heartbreakingly uncertain. "While I'm… in there, will you…"

"Watch over you as I did while you were tending Sebastian?"

She nodded, still worrying her bottom lip. "Just in case."

"I will."

Amelle's resultant smile was both relieved and grateful, and after only the briefest hesitation, she leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss across his lips. They still had not… discussed this new change between them, but in light of other things, more important things, it was a conversation possibly best put off until… later. The gesture was still new — blindingly new, in fact, and despite the chasteness, the shyness of the kiss, Fenris' breath caught as he reached up and brushed Amelle's hair back from her forehead.

If I must spend my last breath to keep you from harm, I will do it.