Amelle hated tunnels. Amelle also hated the Gallows.
So it was doubly unfortunate that where they were going was at the end of an endless tunnel, deep below the Gallows. Deeper still than the underground passage where they'd encountered Ser Alrik. She suppressed a shudder.
The map of the Gallows and what lay beneath it was spread out over — and took up every available inch of — the desk in the Knight-Commander's office. Amelle was less than thrilled to be there at all, and had caught more than one wary glance from more than one wary templar on the way in. She was gratified to notice, however, there were some she recognized — some she'd healed in the aftermath of that horrible battle, mending bones broken or deep gashes cut by animated statues — and those men and women acknowledged her without hostility, at least. In truth, they looked as if they didn't quite know why she was there at all, much less why she was with the acting Knight-Commander.
Amelle, at least, knew why she was there. Even if she didn't like it.
Cullen tapped a portion of the map with his index finger. "This is the access point. Easy enough to reach, but it will be quite a walk."
Fenris frowned at the map. "It looks as if it is below the water line," he said, indicating a point where the Gallows' exterior walls doubled in thickness.
"Because it is. The Gallows itself is built upon a body of land — the structure isn't an island, but was established on one. The freshwater spring isn't just under the Gallows, it's underground."
Clearing her throat—she hoped nonchalantly—Amelle said, "So we go… into the dungeon—"
"Through the dungeon," corrected Cullen. "Underneath it."
"And it's… how far?" All she could picture were tunnels — dark, tight, winding tunnels stinking of damp loam and— oh, Maker… Amelle sucked in a quick breath and looked at Cullen. "And these… these aren't the Deep Roads, are they? I mean, we aren't going that far down, right?"
"It is likely at one time there may have been underground — and underwater — tunnels," Fenris said. "Recall the Gallows was once controlled by Magisters. Not only would they have been able to seal and reinforce any such tunnel of dwarven make, they would have worked escape routes into the design."
Cullen frowned at Fenris. "This map was drawn after the Tevinters left Kirkwall, but why would they have wanted escape routes? In the event of a slave uprising?"
The look Fenris sent him was a wry one. Wry and just a little bitter. "The one person a magister would wish a speedy escape from is another magister."
"Cutthroat politics, not really a metaphor in the Imperium?" asked Amelle, brows raising. Fenris nodded. "But still, if they're escape tunnels — even if they're caved in or closed off, they're still tunnels out and not into the Deep Roads. That's all I need to know."
Cullen sent her a curious look. "Not a fan?"
"Not in the least. It took a trip there to help me realize how supremely thankful I am my sister left me behind when she went the first time." Amelle gave a shudder. Corypheus. As if she needed another example not to follow.
Fenris gave her a long look before remarking, "I do not recall it was so at the time."
"Yes, well. Live and learn."
Mirth teased the corners of his mouth, and though she was glad to see him less dour, she was less thrilled it was at her expense. "How pleased Hawke will be to hear it," he opined. "It will be good for her to know the slammed doors and shouted threats and tears were all for naught."
Amelle tore a page from his book and sent the direst glower she could muster in his direction. This only pulled his lips into a most definite smirk. "I… did not slam any doors," she countered, mustering up her wounded dignity. "And I certainly didn't cry over it."
Fenris inclined his head, but the smirk remained and Amelle blushed. "I was young," she groused. "And Kiara was going on an adventure without me. Of course I was… annoyed."
Cullen's smile wasn't quite a smirk, but it was near enough as to make no difference. Rolling her eyes, Amelle pointed at one of the twisting paths noted on the map. "This is it, then?" she asked pointedly. "You're certain?"
Cullen arched his eyebrows. "Inasmuch as I'm hardly an expert on these things, yes, I believe that's it."
"Then we should go. At once."
"And?" Cullen asked, just as incisively, "What do we do then?"
She grimaced. "Heal the spring."
"That's the entire plan? It may lack something in… detail."
She put a hand to her head and inhaled slowly. "I don't know. You're saying jumping in head first and hoping for the best isn't a solid strategy? It always seems to work for Kiara."
Fenris snorted. "Yes. Always."
"Fine," she relented with a grimace. "It works more often than not."
"Hardly the kind of odds one might desire before undertaking an endeavor such as this one," Fenris said, folding his arms over his chest. "It works for Hawke except when it doesn't. And when it doesn't? Things tend to go astoundingly wrong."
Amelle paced from one side of the room to the other, tapping the end of her staff in patterns against the floor. "Cullen, can you get me a glass of water?"
He narrowed his eyes. "It's… tainted, Amelle."
"You don't say. Still. Please?"
When the water was produced, she pushed back the map and set the glass on the desk. It looked like water. It smelled like water. When she held it to the light, it was as clear as ever she'd seen water be. Fenris and Cullen wore identical glares when she raised the cup to her lips, but she ignored them. It tasted like water. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except, of course, that it was killing people. Frowning, she nudged the glass toward Cullen. "Now that you know what we're looking for, can you sense anything? Anything?"
Skeptically, he took the glass in hand. After putting it through much the same ordeal Amelle had done—minus the tasting, she noted—he closed his eyes. His hands began to glow, ever so faintly, like the prelude to a cleanse or a smite, but before it manifested into anything stronger, the light dimmed and he opened his eyes again. "Maker, Amelle. That was a guess. But yes, I can sense something, and only, I think, because I knew what I was looking for. It's like a ghost."
"Lyrium?"
"Corruption," he replied, gently setting the cup back on the desk and pushing it away.
"But you'll recognize it if you need to look for it again?"
He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, expression uncertain. "I believe so. This is… all rather uncharted territory."
Amelle huffed a disconsolate laugh, waving her hand toward the maps. "Oh, it's charted. Tunnels and tunnels and tunnels all under the sodding ground. Maker's balls, but I hate tunnels."
Sitting in Cullen's chair, she pulled the glass of water toward herself once again. Her fingers tightened around her staff. She'd chosen it because it aided healing. She'd chosen her robes for the same reason—and how strange it felt to wear robes again, the magic-imbued fabric brushing against her limbs, so much more alive than mere linen or wool or silk. Closing her eyes, she reached toward her magic and found it already waiting, willing and compliant and still overflowing its cup.
A glass of water was not a body. Her usual methods seemed wrong, but the theory, the theory of it was the same. An illness did not belong. The corruption—the lyrium—did not belong. Cullen was right about that, at least—once she started looking, it was the corruption she found, lurking in the water just as illness might lurk in the blood. Once she thought of it that way, it was only a question of applying the right amount of power in the right direction for the right duration. The blue-silver glow grew around her hand, enveloping the cup and its contents, and then it faded.
And when she searched, she no longer felt the corruption. It was only a glass of water, pure and simple. She raised her head and sent Cullen a querying look.
"It's gone," he said wonderingly. "I—it's gone."
"Good," Amelle said firmly. "At least now we know it works."
Fenris still looked unconvinced. "I imagine the body of water you'll be dealing with is far larger than that."
"And there's no way to recreate the circumstances to run a test-healing," countered Amelle. "We know it works — we know there's a chance it's going to work. We know the theory works. It's just a matter of putting theory into practice."
Cullen frowned faintly as he rolled up the map. "The problem with theory and practice, Amelle, is that one is far easier to control."
She got to her feet with a sigh. "We're as prepared as we're going to get. I recommend we actually go before my better sense takes hold of me and reminds me of how much I sodding hate tunnels."
Cullen straightened, holding the rolled map loosely in both hands, giving her a particularly strange look.
"What?" she prompted.
"Your better sense is choosing now to show up? I'd started doubting whether you had any at all."
#
Walking past all the cells was the worst. And as often as Amelle tried to reason with herself that it would certainly get far worse, particularly once the tunnels were involved, she still couldn't look away from row after row of little rooms, all of them precisely the same, with precisely the same lock upon the doors. She couldn't imagine it, couldn't imagine living in such a dismal, depressing place. Madness seemed a foregone conclusion when faced with an existence such as this. She shivered before realizing Fenris was watching her intently — gauging her reaction to the cells, she imagined. Or perhaps he was thinking only of their previous use, when they'd held slaves instead of mages.
She still didn't think Anders had the right of it. But that didn't mean she liked the idea of human beings being locked away like criminals or prisoners.
Especially given how close she'd come to joining them.
Amelle shoved the thought away and walked a little faster.
Cullen led them through several locked doors and eventually, they stood at the top of a steep stone staircase. There was no light whatsoever, and the darkness was only superseded by the oppressive silence. She tried to picture the map and where they were on that map, but the way down was so dark and the walls seemed too narrow by half.
"There are torches on the wall, but—"
With a breath and a flick of her fingers, every torch burst alight. There. Better. Less dark, less narrow.
"Amelle." Fenris looked at her, his eyes narrowed in either wariness or concern. "Are you certain you—"
"Very useful expenditure of mana, and you won't convince me otherwise," Amelle riposted. No small part of why she hated tunnels so was because they were so bloody dark. She hated the dark. She hated the dark and she hated tunnels, and by the Maker if she could do something about half of that problem, she was going to do it.
"Besides," she said, aiming for cheerful and falling short enough that Fenris' expression only grew more concerned, "I only had to light the torches; they'll do the rest."
Still, she lingered as Cullen began the descent, until she felt Fenris' hand against the small of her back. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, she found his markings glowing just enough to illuminate the bubble of space they occupied. "Best not let the templar get too far ahead," Fenris said softly.
With a deep, fortifying breath, Amelle nodded, peering into the tunnel, her eyes making out the flat, smooth stones lining both the stairs and the walls — the stones had possibly at one time been white, but dulled to grey over the years. It made sense — rock would erode with age and water, but with such a steep decline, a dirt path was far more dangerous, particularly if the spring ever flooded.
"Well, well. At least there are stairs," she murmured. Cullen had paused to wait for them, and she was grateful when he only nodded and said nothing of the discomfort she was certain was evident. "This is positively civilized compared to the Wounded Coast."
"You know, before the wells were dug, this was likely how people fetched their water," Cullen said.
Amelle blinked, imagining every bath or pot of tea originating here. "It's no wonder they dug the wells, then."
"Thank the Maker for modern conveniences," Fenris intoned dryly.
Amelle heard what he wasn't saying: that it would have been slaves sent for the water that long ago, a time when Kirkwall had been a part of the Imperium. Day in and day out, there would have been people whose entire lives revolved around these stairs and the spring below, to keep Magisters in baths and pots of tea. She turned and sent him a meaningful look. "Except for when the modern convenience gets poisoned by a crazy woman's crazy-making sword, I suppose."
"Indeed." He tilted his head and looked down into the tunnel, frowning at the torch-lit shadows. She read every one of his doubts and reservations as they passed across his face. They mirrored her own.
"It really does look as if we're the first ones down here in years," Cullen observed.
"Lucky us. I'm sure nothing dangerous or creepy has taken up residence in the meantime," muttered Amelle.
They continued down the stone steps, the only noise all around them coming from their own echoing footsteps and breathing. The torchlight was better than nothing, of course, but it cast long shadows and did little to ease the chill of the air. A soft rush of sound traveled up the tunnel, and though it was soft, it sounded like claws — thousands of tiny claws — scratching and scrabbling against the stone. Amelle felt a shudder slide down her spine.
"Rats," she breathed. "I hate rats. Maker, the best part about getting out of Lowtown was getting away from those bloody, flea-bitten nuisances." She readied a fireball, letting the magic build and buzz at her fingertips, her hand growing warmer as the spell built.
"Amelle," Fenris said warningly, "the torches perhaps, but wasting your mana against mere vermin—"
Fenris didn't get a chance to finish his admonishment. A rat the size of a small dog leapt out of the shadows, landing on Fenris' shoulders. This beast was followed by half a dozen compatriots. She felt somewhat gratified to hear Fenris yelp as the first rat scrabbled at him. Mere vermin, indeed. Cullen was already dispatching as many as his sword could reach, a precise application of fire took care of the rest, and by the time Amelle turned back to him, Fenris had wrenched the huge rat off his body and flung it, twitching, against the wall.
"What was that about vermin?" Amelle asked archly.
Fenris turned and glared at the remains of the animal that had been on his shoulders only moments before. "Once a rat grows to the size of a mabari pup, it ceases being vermin."
"And dealing with them is no longer a waste of mana," she teased. "As long as we've got that cleared up."
"And if this," Cullen said, indicating the slain rats all around them, "is any indication of what is waiting for us, I think it might be best if we temporarily remove the word mere utterly from our collective vocabulary."
"Andraste's ass," Amelle grumbled. "Do not tell me giant rats means giant spiders."
Cullen exhaled hard through his nose. "Let's put it this way — if these… rats were at the top of the food chain, do you really think they'd be this far up?"
"A pleasant thought, templar," Fenris growled, and unless Amelle missed her guess, he shuddered slightly as he said it.
"That's our Cullen," Amelle said cheerfully as she clapped the Knight-Commander on the shoulder, the light blow against his plate armor echoing dully around them, "always pointing out the bright side."
Fenris frowned more deeply before remarking, "Then let us continue. The sooner we face any more such creatures, the sooner we may dispatch them."
"And even more shining optimism," drawled Amelle, leveling a smirk at Fenris. "At this rate we hardly even need these torches." It was strangely reassuring they were both as unnerved as she was. Misery loves company, she thought, but perfectly rational, perfectly bone-deep terror loves it more.
"Fenris has a point," Cullen said, sheathing his sword. "We haven't even reached the spring yet."
Amelle adjusted her grip on her staff. "Then I assume we'll have no more talk of me wasting my mana." Both Fenris and Cullen gave her identically disapproving looks and she sighed. "Okay, you two," she said, her sharp tone echoing dully off the stone as she slung the staff on her back and folded her arms. "A rats-the-size-of-dogs-infested tunnel isn't the ideal locale for this discussion, but it looks like we haven't a host of other options available."
"Amelle…" Cullen began, but she shook her head at him.
"No, Cullen. If we're going to do this? If we're going to succeed, I have to know you both trust me. And that you trust me to use my abilities without wondering every other moment if I'm overextending my mana. I understand what happened to me — I understand it better now than I think either of you know. I know the damage I nearly did. I know. But if you're both going to look at me and wonder if every fireball I throw is going to end in nosebleeds and fainting spells, then we're doomed even before we begin. I know this isn't going to be easy, and I know it's going to take a significant expenditure of power. I know that. But I also know that I can do this. I'm strong enough to do this. And there's no room for doubt—there can't be room for doubt, because once something like doubt or fear worms its way in…" The little Fade garden flashed through her mind, the weeds that had taken hold, their horrible twisting roots driving so far beneath the surface. "Once you let in doubt, it'll only choke out everything good, everything strong and certain." Narrowing her eyes shrewdly, Amelle looked pointedly at Fenris, then Cullen. "And if that's the way it's going to be, then I might as well go back above where there are no terrier-sized rats and Maker knows what else and enjoy a nice steaming cup of tainted tea while you two figure this mess out without me."
"You can hardly blame us for our concern, Amelle," said Fenris, brows lowering as they knit together.
She shook her head. "I don't blame you for your concern. Either of you. Believe it or not, I…" A hint of heat touched her cheeks as she swallowed. "I… I'm thankful for it. But you can't both treat me like I'm—I'm fragile, or worse, some kind of invalid." And how could she explain it to them — how good she felt, how whole? She felt alive. Well. Healthy. "I feel better than I have since… since before." With that, she planted both hands on her hips and leveled her own glare at both elf and templar. "And the next one to ask me if I'm sure, or to question my own mana usage in any way, is going to be treated to a fireball to the face so you can experience for yourselves just how much better I'm feeling."
Fenris was the first to speak. He let out a long, deep sigh. "Very well."
Amelle blinked. "Just like that? Maker, I'd expected more of a fight over this."
Cullen shifted his weight from foot to foot and raked a hand through his hair. "If your mana is replenishing itself as it ought—"
"And it is."
"Then perhaps… you… possibly have a point."
"The templar's saying the apostate's got a point?" mused Amelle, frustrating fading from the tight line of her mouth as it relaxed into a smile. "Oh, we've got to survive this, Cullen, if only so I can mark this day on the calendar when we get home."
#
When all was said and done, Cullen would have preferred actual enemies to fight. Instead, after that first swarm of too-large rats, they met only with the sounds of creatures in the dark. When there were no eerie scritchings or scrabblings, even the silence felt heavier, weightier than normal silence, as if the lack of sound was only a preparation for more rats or spiders or Maker only knew what. He could feel Amelle's power, coiled near the surface, ready to spring, but he couldn't tell her how much that ever-ready power bothered him. A glance at Fenris revealed a similar kind of tension in the elf's stance and the way his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. His greatsword gleamed in the firelight. Cullen knew the elf would not allow himself to be caught off guard again.
Cullen felt unsettled, but he feared it had little to do with rats—even dog-sized rats—or darkness or even corruption-tainted water and everything to do with whispers and memories and the icy grip of a fear he'd thought he had control over.
Truthfully, Cullen had felt… disconcerted since Amelle had woken, and the close walls, long shadows and uncertainty of their current venture did little to alleviate that discomfiture. It wasn't that he feared her compromised—he did not. He was still templar enough that even friendship would not have stopped him from doing his duty if he'd thought an abomination had woken instead of Amelle Hawke.
I did have to take out a very determined desire demon.
His breath caught when he heard yet another skittering sound in the gloom.
"Sorry," Amelle said sheepishly. "I kicked a rock."
You didn't think you could escape me, did you, Cullen? whispered a cruel, sweet, sibilant voice in his head. You can't ever escape me. I still know what you want. I can still give you what you want. And I'm still here, just waiting for you to fall asleep.
Cullen gripped the hilt of his sword all the tighter and blinked rapidly. Now was not the time. Real was the torchlight, the tainted water, the small-dog-rats. Real was the stone beneath his feet and his hand on his weapon. Real was the mage behind him and the elf behind her.
The voice in his head was an echo, a memory, a nightmare, but it wasn't real. He knew it wasn't real. He wasn't trapped in a violet cage of dreams and desires and a thousand little deaths. He was beneath the Gallows, following the twisting tunnels deep, deep below the earth. It was uncomfortable, but it wasn't a trap. He wasn't held. The scratching was the sound of rats—just rats, nothing but rats—and not a desire demon's long talons scraping along the inside of his skull.
"Templar—" Fenris began.
Cullen snapped, "I'm fine."
Amelle blinked. Her hand twitched, as though she wished to reach out and soothe him; he was grateful when she did not. "I think Fenris was only going to ask which path we should take. We've reached a fork."
"Left," he said at once.
She frowned. "Are you—"
"I'm fine," he repeated, turning toward the left. "And the other passage leads to one of the escape tunnels. It's this way."
Amelle and Fenris exchanged a brief look, but Cullen bit back the retort that felt like acid upon his tongue. They didn't know — they couldn't possibly know — and now was not the time to admit that he was hearing voices, whether they were imaginary or not. He took a deep breath of dank air and let it out again.
"You know," Amelle began, almost achieving the conversational tone Cullen was fairly sure she was hoping for, "I've never seen rats that big. How do you suppose they got to be that size?" she asked. "Since I'm pretty sure fresh air and sunshine isn't the answer."
Fenris snorted. "We have seen any number of strange things in any number of caves and tunnels, Amelle. You ask this now?"
"I ask now because this tunnel is closed off from all the rest. It's isolated. Did the templars know there were giant rats beneath the Gallows, Cullen?"
"You saw the doors we came through, Amelle," he answered, almost relieved for the conversation — it made the silence less oppressive, even if their words did echo strangely all around them. "Did it look as if anyone had even been down here to discover the giant rats?"
"True, but if living in Lowtown taught me anything about rats is that they tend to go where the food is. So why hadn't those things tunneled up to the Gallows larder?"
"How do you know they didn't?" Fenris asked.
Amelle's answer was dry and almost humorously flat. "Pretty sure that's the sort of thing Knight-Commander Meredith would have paraded out as proof of blood magic threatening Kirkwall and the whole of the Free Marches."
Cullen shot the mage a stern look over his shoulder. "Amelle."
But Amelle looked entirely unperturbed. "Oh, please. Tell me she wouldn't. Giant rats in the larder? And you think for a second she wouldn't have put one out on a pike in the square for all to see, railing about," and here Amelle slid into an eerily passable impression of his former superior's strident tones, "blood mages working their evil magic at every turn!"
He'd opened his mouth to argue the point, but he could all too easily see the scenario Amelle was putting forth, could all too easily imagine Meredith Stannard's voice shouting those very words. And for a moment, just a moment, the imagined voice of his former superior drowned out that other, softer, far more insidious whisper.
"Does it not stand to reason that if exposure to the corrupted lyrium affects people then it likely affects any other living thing near it?" Fenris asked.
"Are you suggesting those rats were… sick?" asked Cullen, glancing at Fenris over one shoulder.
"It's… definitely possible," Amelle mused. The tunnel took a sharp turn and an even sharper descent. Evidently Amelle's earlier attempt to light every torch fell a bit short, and had Cullen not felt the swirl of magic as she reached for her mana and lit the corridor, he would have believed the mage had mustered the fire with the power of one very annoyed look.
"I suppose," Cullen replied. "The area is far more contained, and a rat is much smaller than a human—"
"After seeing those rats, I'm not sure I'd say they were much smaller," Amelle interjected. "And I think I'm rather thankful the effects on the rats weren't echoed in the human victims. Dealing with fevers and madness is far preferable to dealing with—aaagh!" There was a sudden bright surge of power, white and crackling — not quite fire, not quite lightning — that lit the tunnel to blinding brightness for the course of barely a second or two before fizzing out again. With a rush of adrenaline Cullen turned, sword drawn, ready to cut down Maker only knew what — behind Amelle, Fenris had already drawn his and was every ounce as alert as Cullen himself.
Heedless of either of them, Amelle was stomping her booted foot down upon the stones looking for all the world like she was trying to put out the tiny blaze she had undoubtedly started. There appeared to be a pile of… something that looked to be the consistency of dark paste smeared across the stones. Cullen felt his eyebrow creep upward.
"Amelle, what in Andraste's—"
"Spider," she supplied tersely. "Spider. On my arm. There was a spider. On. My. Arm." Her foot came down emphatically with each syllable.
Fenris watched Amelle a second or two longer as she brushed imaginary bugs from her robes, even ruffling her fingers through her hair. "I could be mistaken," he said evenly, "but I believe you've dispatched it thoroughly."
Cullen was just turning away again, headed deeper into the tunnel, when Fenris shouted, his voice jumping half an octave. "Venhedis! Get it off!"
By the time Cullen whipped around, sword already at the ready and shield raised, Amelle had already released another flash of magic. Her lips were also twisted in a very decided smirk. "Maker, Fenris. You seem to be inviting retribution with every sarcastic remark."
"What was that?" Cullen asked.
Fenris had gone as pale as Cullen had ever seen him, his green eyes wide in the flickering light. "Spider," he gasped. "Bigger than the rat."
"On his head," Amelle added smugly. "Which may stop him from pointing fingers."
Fenris muttered a string of syllables so violent and harsh, Cullen could only presume they were very, very spirited curses. "The spider on your arm was an entirely normal spider," Fenris retorted. "It was not the size of a dog."
"Medium-sized dog," Amelle supplied helpfully. "Not even a small dog."
"Pray, then," Cullen said, "we run into nothing the size of a mabari, if dog sizes seem to be the trend."
Amelle and Fenris fixed him with identically horrified looks. "W-why would you even say something like that?" Amelle whispered.
"Have no fear, Amelle," Fenris added wryly, "whatever it is will doubtless attack my head first."
"There is that," she replied with a hint of cheer. Fenris rolled his eyes at her.
Cullen blinked at them. "Really?" he asked, incredulous. "Joking?"
Amelle huffed a laugh. "Oh. You run in Kiara's circles long enough, you get used to laughing in the face of danger. It's… sort of her thing."
He felt his eyebrows rising. Fenris only shrugged and said, "Hawke is Hawke."
Cullen tried to remember if he'd ever heard either Greagoir or Meredith laugh about anything and he drew a complete blank. Then he saw the easy way Fenris brushed at Amelle's sleeve, and the way Amelle nudged the elf with her shoulder and thought maybe—just maybe—Hawke was on to something.
Laughing was better than terror, after all.
#
Fenris was grateful when—in spite of the Knight-Commander so clearly tempting fate—nothing mabari-sized came bounding out of the darkness. They dispatched an additional swarm of too-large rats, and once he caught a glimpse of skittering movement in the darkness above them that might have been another spider, but it remained where it was. Just as well. He did not care for rats or spiders, but his dislike was nothing to Amelle's. He could read her hate—and her fear—in the tense line of her spine and in the whiteness of the knuckles clenched around her staff.
Still, every once in a while she turned and offered him a smile, and every time it caught him off-guard. He had to stop himself from peering over his shoulder to see who might deserve such a look from her. Each time, he found his breath catching when he remembered he was the one she was looking at, smiling at.
Another sound whose source he could not see in the dim firelight reminded him that now, however, was perhaps not the time to think of kisses against walls or fingers tangled in soft hair or promises of later, later no matter how much he wished it to be so. They would do this thing—like her sister, Amelle was nothing if not determined, and Fenris had yet to see the force that could successfully stand in the way of a Hawke—and there would be time for talk later. Talk and—
"Do you hear that?" Amelle asked softly. "I think it's water. The spring?"
Fenris saw the Knight-Commander nod, though he noted the templar had not so much as lowered his blade since the first rats.
For all that he had been incredibly wary of Hawke's choice in protector when first he'd discovered it (and just a little affronted that she thought him incapable of watching Amelle on his own), he now found himself pleased with her foresight. Now that his… jealousy had faded, Fenris could appreciate the templar's steadiness. The Knight-Commander had proven himself able, and his insight, while… different, was no less valuable.
It was strange, thinking they would not be here without him.
"Watch your head, Fenris," the templar said, strain evident under the lightness of his tone, brow knitted over the faint smile, "animals congregate around water, too."
Fenris snorted. And checked his grip. Just to be certain.
The tunnel they'd been following gradually widened, its ceiling growing slowly higher — and the sound of rushing water growing slowly louder — until it opened into an enormous cavern. It was lit only by the torches lining the tunnel behind them, revealing little more than shadowy darkness. Amelle lifted her hand and with a swift gesture, orange flame flickered into existence, latching onto yet more torches on the wall, flames jumping from one torch to the next and on to the next until the entire cavern was ringed with fire.
"Maker's blood," breathed Amelle, staring at what the torches revealed.
The cave's walls and ceiling were not rocky, but smooth, with a finished look that implied nature had not done the work, but hands. Whether they'd been the hands of dwarves or slaves, Fenris could not say. The entire cavern reflected the cold grandeur so favored by the Imperium. High above them, jutting out from the rock, was a circle of bronze statues, not unlike the ones that graced the rest of the Gallows. Featureless slaves seemed as if to float above them, their arms stretched out in supplication. Beneath their feet, intricate stonework composed a high, circular ledge around the pool of rushing water, fed by a series of square holes lined with shimmering silverite, through which foaming, rushing water cascaded into the the rest, making the water churn with an angry current, swirling with any number of tiny whirlpools. Fenris could picture all too easily the water gathered here, carried up countless steps and delivered to countless magisters by countless slaves. Some slaves had likely seen nothing but the inside of these walls, these tunnels, every day spent in an agony of repetition.
He turned away with a jerk, but not before catching Amelle's concerned look. She lifted her eyebrows inquisitively, but he shook his head. Perhaps it wasn't nothing, but it was nothing he could change, nothing he could do anything about now. She reached out, fingertips brushing his elbow briefly.
Yes, he thought. Later.
The Knight-Commander nodded at the other end of the pool, where the water swirled and seemed to be pulled smooth. "Look there. I imaging the water travels out to the wells through a… waterway of some sort beneath the surface."
Amelle looked up and then down again. "How do you suppose the water level stays constant? Why doesn't it flood?"
"A dwarven craftsman could explain it better than I could hope to, Amelle," he replied, shaking his head. "I imagine it recirculates… somehow."
"Of course it recirculates," Amelle said on a grimace. "All the better to spread the death and destruction in the form of corrupted lyrium dust."
Fenris looked behind them at the stone steps, at the high ledge upon which they stood — safeguards, he was sure. He looked at Amelle and said, "Just because it has not flooded in recent memory does not mean such a thing is impossible." He saw her look up again at the high, domed ceiling, barely suppressing her shudder.
"Pleasant thought," she muttered. "Forget I mentioned it."
For his part, the Knight-Commander had lapsed into a thoughtful sort of silence as he walked partway around the reservoir. He turned back to them, shaking his head. "That's a great deal more than a glass of water, Amelle."
Amelle looked similarly troubled as she rubbed one hand over pursed lips and nodded. "Believe me, I'd noticed."
"The water is also moving," said Fenris, giving Amelle a pointed look. "Another factor out of your favor."
"Maybe, but maybe not — it's possible the current will carry the healing energy to the rest of the water."
"Possible. Not probable."
Letting out a deep sigh, Amelle twisted one of the enchanted rings upon her finger as she went to the edge of the ledge, staring down into the churning, tainted water. "You know," she said, frowning into the depths, "It's a damned good thing no one told me this was going to be easy."
"Amelle…" he began. On her very pointed glare, he inclined his head. "I was not intending to voice doubts."
She arched an eyebrow.
"Not precisely. I do understand the importance of the undertaking."
"But?"
He frowned, considering. "Once you have begun, I believe it will be… more difficult for you to remain objective. We must decide when… when enough is enough. That is, after all, why the Knight-Commander and I are here."
Her eyes narrowed, and he saw anger and disappointment and worst of all betrayal flit behind them. "You think I'm going to fail. Maker's balls, what did I just tell you both—"
"I do not think such a thing," Fenris broke in, cutting her off. "But nor will I see you… martyred to this cause. If the worst happens, Kirkwall can be evacuated."
She uttered a mirthless laugh, shaking her head. "Sure. We'll just take them all… where, exactly? Starkhaven? Val Royeaux?"
"Refugees once arrived on these shores," he countered, "and Kirkwall absorbed them. There are other cities in the Free Marches. There are ships in the harbor."
From the way the Knight-Commander was gazing at him, Fenris knew the templar had been considering similar thoughts, and likely making similar plans.
"Cullen?" Amelle asked sharply. "You can't think abandoning the city is a good plan."
"It is better than losing the city to madness," the templar replied. He sighed. "There is a chance—a very slim chance—this may work. But Fenris is right. If it doesn't, you have to be prepared."
"To give up?"
"To admit defeat." The Knight-Commander looked as though he wished to cross his arms across his chest, but he was still hampered by his drawn sword and the shield on his arm. "Please don't misunderstand me. We're not defeated yet. But this is…"
"A lot more than a cup of water," Amelle finished wearily. "I know."
"And it stinks of corruption," Cullen said.
Fenris smelled only earth and stone and dampness, but he knew the Knight-Commander was not speaking of physical scent. Even without templar skills, Fenris couldn't help feeling uneasy, and it had little to do with thoughts of the Imperium or darkness or even too-large creatures on the prowl. Instead, it had everything to do with the foulness he'd sensed in the shard they'd once found in Bartrand's house, and in the blade Meredith had carried. His markings flared, illuminating the shadows, casting back that faint echo of yearning song pulling at him, drowning out its sinister sweet voice.
Amelle shivered, running her free hand along her other arm in a vain attempt to warm it. "It's a taste to me," she explained, pulling a face. "Like ashes. And thirst. A dryness no amount of swallowing eases." Closing her eyes briefly, she added, "You're right. I… hope it does not come to it, but you're right. I… there is a chance may not be able to remain… objective, as you say."
"I'd rather we didn't come to nosebleeds," the Knight-Commander said.
Amelle's lips twisted in an unpleasant smile. "Magic and blood are always… uncomfortable bedfellows. I'd really rather it didn't come to that, either."
"That is out of your control, however," Fenris remarked. "It only occurs when you have already gone too far."
Lowering her head, Amelle shuddered again. "You… aren't wrong. But neither do I want either of you… stopping me before I'm ready to stop. You are neither of you mages. You are neither of you me."
Sheathing his sword, the Knight-Commander dropped a hand on Amelle's shoulder. When she looked up, Fenris could see the strain writ clear upon her face—the strain, and the desire to succeed.
She was too much like her bloody sister.
"I've felt you go too far twice," the templar said simply. "I will know."
"And you'll stop me."
"I'll protect you," he insisted.
A strange smile played at Amelle's lips and her eyes shone with sudden tears. "It's what you know how to do."
The templar's answering smile was a mirthless one, almost sad. "Would that more of my fellows and yours understood that a little better."
"This apostate daughter of an apostate understands it."
"It took her long enough," he replied gruffly. Then, turning, the Knight-Commander looked out at the water, dark but for the reflected firelight that shone upon its tumultuous surface. "Out of curiosity, what is your plan?" Fenris had been wondering the same thing.
Amelle followed the templar's gaze out to the water and exhaled hard through her teeth. "I keep reminding myself the theory isn't that different — a human's heart beats and the blood moves through the body. It moves. So does this."
"On a much larger scale," added Fenris. Amelle nodded.
"I did bring lyrium with me — it's a large task, as we've discussed. Better to have the extra boost should I need it." Amelle didn't say it, but Fenris could almost hear her unspoken And I probably will, in the ensuing silence.
"Then… whenever you're ready, I suppose." With that, the templar stepped away, holding his hands behind his back, looking watchful. Wary.
Amelle nodded and hefted her staff, still looking out at the water. She was perfectly still a moment, and then a thought seemed to occur to her and she looked over her shoulder at Fenris, a faint smile at her lips, as if she were trying to push aside her own concerns for his benefit. In truth, Fenris was harboring enough concerns for both of them.
"Fenris?" she asked. "Do me a favor and… keep an eye out for any more rats or spiders? I'd rather not be in the middle of this spell and have something land on my head." Her eyes widened as another thought occurred to her, and she added, "Or run up my robes. Andraste's ass, why doesn't anyone make enchanted pants?"
"Nothing will touch you, Amelle. I give you my word."
The smile she sent him by way of answer held a peculiar quirk around the corners as she arched one eyebrow almost… playfully. As she turned away she said — so softly that the words were nearly lost under the rush of water — "Maker, I hope that's not true."
If the templar heard any of this exchange, he didn't reveal it — much to Fenris' relief.
After what felt like several minutes of silent preparation, Amelle breathed in deeply, one arm outstretched, her other hand gripping the stave tightly as the blue-white glow began emanating from her hands, thin strands of light circling them like — appropriately — so many fireflies. The pale stone at the tip of her staff began to glow with the same energy as the light began to creep slowly up both arms, nearly to her shoulders as it gathered and built and brightened — truly, there was no need for the torchlight anymore — before Amelle finally released the spell into the dark, churning water, which began to glow, but faintly.
The entire cavern was bathed in the glow of Amelle's magic, chasing away shadows as those threads of light pushed through the water. And as Fenris looked more closely, he did see that the spell was pushing through the water, as if fighting resistance — or infection. The light surrounding her pulsed brighter — she was pushing harder — and more of the watery shadows vanished.
Narrowing his eyes, Fenris watched the water cascading into the reservoir — it was still dark, and though he knew that did not necessarily mean the incoming water was tainted — only that it wasn't illuminated by the spell — he could not help but notice that the newer water made darker shadows dance and tease along the outer edges of the pool, as if the corruption was pushing back, fighting her.
A bead of sweat trickled down the curve of Amelle's cheek, though the cavern was clammy and cool. Fenris was, for a moment, so transfixed by the droplet—was she already pushing herself too hard?—he almost missed the large spider descending from the ceiling, its eight eyes glowing blue-silver in the light of Amelle's power. Fenris leapt, spinning, and his blade caught the creature squarely, sending it halfway across the chamber, far from Amelle.
She was so focused she did not even seem to notice.
Fenris stalked across the cavern, but the spider was dead, its limbs bent and twisted beneath it. The Knight-Commander sent Fenris a grateful nod, but did not move; he, too, was bathed in a ghostly glow, but it was the white of a templar's power, not the blue of Amelle's.
Another sweep of the room revealed no more beasts waiting to spring, and Fenris returned to Amelle's side. The first bead of sweat had been joined by more, and Amelle's hair now clung in damp tendrils to her neck. Fenris frowned, but did not interfere; exertion was not over-exertion, after all, and he trusted the Knight-Commander to intercede if things went awry.
With a heavy sigh, the light around Amelle began to fade, until even her staff went dark. The water still glowed faintly, and the templar did not relax simply because Amelle did.
"It is working, I think," she said softly. "There's just so… much of it." Dashing the back of her arm over her forehead to catch the errant moisture, she squinted into the reservoir. "One sodding idol."
Fenris said nothing. Amelle winced when she glanced around and saw the dead spider. Then she said, "I think… it feels like it's lessening. Cullen?"
The templar nodded briefly. "Yes. And no. Even now, the corruption swirls into the… the healed water, tainting it again."
Amelle scowled down into the pool. "Tainting it less, maybe?"
On an unsure frown, the Knight-Commander shrugged one shoulder. "Even a little salt makes water undrinkable."
Leaning her staff against her shoulder for a moment, Amelle stretched out her arms and cracked her knuckles. "Just as well I've got plenty of life left in me yet. And it is working."
This time the Knight-Commander added nothing, but Fenris saw worry in the other man's eyes. Working, perhaps. But for how long?
#
Closing her eyes, Amelle sought out the still, safe place where her magic resided. It was there, waiting for her like an old friend. It felt hopeful, and Amelle found she dearly needed the hope. She hadn't lied—she could feel the corruption receding like a reluctant tide.
But there was so much of it.
It was as though the particles of idol had slipped into the water and agitated all the rest into joining it. Perhaps it had gone something like that. If the idol could push a person toward insanity, perhaps it could do the same to… other things. She remembered—and wished she didn't—how quickly Varric had begun to fall to the shard's lure. Perhaps one grain of corrupted lyrium was enough to taint all the water around it. Like salt, as Cullen had suggested.
It was an unpleasant thought. It was the kind of thought that bred doubt, and Amelle had no room for doubt. Wrestling it away, she focused instead on the warmth and life and resilience of her power as it gathered at her fingertips and spread once again up her arms. She felt it amplify as the staff took her raw magic and focused it further. When she'd gathered as much as she felt able to control, she released it once again toward the water.
For an instant she felt bereft, heartbroken, as though such power would never be hers again. But almost as swiftly as she identified the feeling of longing, she felt her mana begin to pool once again in that still, safe place. If it did not fill quite as quickly, or quite as full, there was still plenty to work with. Now that she knew what to look for, she could almost sense the aid from beyond the Veil, like a comforting hand on her shoulder or arms around her waist. The image of her father sitting in a perfectly manicured garden with a small grey and white rabbit on his lap flashed through her mind and she smiled, redoubling her efforts.
The longer Amelle pulled at her mana, the more she felt the enchantments in her rings and amulet — even the magic-imbued material of her robes — buzz and hum against her skin, augmenting her abilities, feeding her as she used the staff to focus it, direct it into the water. The pool seemed to be glowing more completely now, though she was still troubled by the new water coming in, dark and churning, a constant influx of shadowy corruption. Amelle breathed in and felt her mana swirl and pulse in answer as she tried to push her healing magic up into the new water coming in. The force of the infected water resisted Amelle's efforts, though, and she dug deeper, pushing harder against the current.
Easy, rabbit, a voice whispered. There was a time she would have thought it nothing more than her own conscience, but Amelle found she wasn't quite so secure in that belief anymore. It's fighting you. Don't wear yourself out when there's so much yet to be done.
"Almost… there," she ground out under her breath.
Rest, rabbit. The corruption will be there after you have rested yourself.
Amelle thought suddenly of the little kitchen in Lothering, of plate after plate of all of her favorite foods, of how ravenous she'd been, of how utterly empty she'd felt.
No, she would not walk such a line ever again.
But just as she was pulling back her magic — only a sliver of a second before, in fact — there was a sudden whoosh followed by a wave of brightest white light. The glowing energy in the pool pulsed suddenly, making her ears pop, and for an instant the light was brighter, stronger — but then Amelle's power guttered out like a candle left in a draft. She whirled around to face Cullen — for it could only have been Cullen, flinging out one arm and pointing to the pool.
"Did you just see that?"
#
It was perhaps not the reaction Cullen had expected when he let loose the rush of cleansing energy — but neither had he expected to see the pool react so abruptly to Amelle's healing spell. In fact, the very moment after he'd released the cleanse, there had been the briefest span of time when he'd very nearly given himself a mental kick for it. If Amelle had been that close to such a marked change in battling the corruption, had his timing compromised it?
No, Cullen had to believe that was not the case, even if Amelle was now glaring at him, arms folded over her chest, betrayal fairly radiating from her eyes, her jaw set.
"Did you see that?" she asked again, and despite her obvious displeasure, there was something else lurking in her voice, in her eyes — something like hope. She walked closer, narrowing the distance between them. "Something… something nearly happened down there."
"I… I saw," he replied, still staring hard at the water, the depths of which still glowed gently with healing energy. "What was that? I suspect that's the better question."
"I have no idea, but—" And here Amelle jabbed her finger against Cullen's solid breastplate, "what's the bloody big idea, Cullen? A cleanse? Really?"
He pulled his attention away from the pool to level a glower back at the mage. Whatever happened to "It's what you know how to do," I wonder? "Amelle, I did warn you I'd—"
But Amelle didn't let him finish. She was already shaking her head as she cut him off, saying, "I was pulling back, Cullen. I was about to rest — of my own volition."
"I… ah."
Fenris strode up, looking between them before frowning at the water. "Then perhaps the Knight-Commander should be commended on his timing." Amelle exhaled hard, her brows knitting further together before the displeasure and betrayal gradually smoothed out of her expression.
"Timing," she mumbled. "Timing, he calls it."
What could he tell her? How could he make her understand that by this point he knew the way her magic felt, he knew its unique resonance, knew precisely in the way it alerted his senses that it was Amelle's energy and hers alone? Not only that, but he could sense her strain, like a note held too long on too little breath. He'd felt it, and he'd known beyond a shadow of doubt that Amelle was in dire need of a rest. And the longer she did not take one, the more his concern grew.
But apparently Amelle had been all too aware of it, too. Cullen regretted acting too soon, but he could not find himself overly concerned, even if the cleanse was a premature measure; the result was the same — Amelle would rest and let her mana replenish itself.
Setting her staff down, Amelle sat upon the stones and began rifling through the supplies she'd brought with her. From within the pack he spied the sheen of lyrium potion, but it was a skin of water she pulled out first.
"So, any ideas on what happened just now?" she asked, taking a long drink.
"Did you… alter the application of your magic at all?" asked Fenris, frowning first at Amelle then at the water, as if trying to search for some echo of the strange pulse of light.
"Not even a little. Like I said, I was planning on pulling back and taking a rest." She looked up at Cullen, offering him the waterskin. "Maybe it finally started to respond?"
"That would make everything about this errand much easier," he replied, taking the waterskin. "And something about that makes me deeply suspicious."
"Come on, Cullen," Amelle murmured wryly, "where's that renowned templar faith?"
He gave her a slightly sour look. "Forgive me my skepticism, but if I've learned anything recently it's been suspicion of anything happening too easily."
Amelle frowned. "It was hardly easy."
He shook his head. "But you just said you did nothing differently."
"Might it not have been some—interaction between your powers?" Fenris asked, still gazing down into the water. The froth of the falling water swirled on the surface as the last of the light from Amelle's healing faded. Cullen didn't think it was simply desire that made the water feel different.
Cleaner. Clearer. He scowled, as though scowling might somehow bring answers forth.
Toying with a small bottle of lyrium potion, Amelle gazed up at Fenris, thoughtful. "I don't know. By nature they… sort of cancel one another out, don't they? I mean, isn't that the point of a cleanse? It stops what I'm doing and uses itself up in the process? Unless…"
"Unless?" Cullen asked.
"Well. It's cleansing, isn't it? It's not… once you release the power, it's not exactly specific, right? I mean, if Merrill was standing beside me, it would stop her power as well as my own?"
"Within a certain radius, yes."
Amelle nodded, still contemplative, fingers still twisting the neck of the little vial. "Can we try it again?"
Cullen blinked at her, jaw dropping. He made a choked sound, swallowed, and then managed a less strangled, "What?"
"I want to try an experiment."
"You… want to try an experiment," he repeated slowly. "I'm sorry, Amelle, are you asking me to use my powers against you?"
A quick smile flashed across her face. "You sound so scandalized, Knight-Commander. There was a time you would have smote me for, I don't know, opening a door too quickly."
Cullen's cheeks burned hot. "I—it wasn't a smite. And it wasn't because you opened the door too quickly."
"What is this?" Fenris growled.
On a heavy sigh, Cullen explained, "It wasn't recent, it wasn't a smite, I did not know Amelle, and it was my duty. Stop making trouble, Amelle."
Fenris still looked borderline murderous, but Amelle only smirked. "I want you to try cleansing the water."
"But it's not… it's not magic the same way your power is magic. There's no mana to drain or connection to the Fade to sever."
"Humor me?"
"Humor her," Fenris added. Menacingly.
Cullen glared helplessly at the elf. "Fenris, it wasn't recent."
Fenris only jerked his chin toward the water. Rolling his eyes, Cullen gathered his will, ignoring the weariness already beginning to tug at his senses, already gathering in his limbs. It mightn't have been tied to mana the same way Amelle's was, but his power did not come without a cost. He heard Amelle sigh when he released the cleanse—the cavern was not quite large enough for her to avoid the aforementioned radius. Nothing out of the ordinary disturbed the darkness or the silence; whatever had happened the last time had evidently not been solely down to him.
And yet the water did feel… different. Not clean. Not… untroubled. But different.
"Okay," Amelle said. "I definitely want to try the first thing again."
Cullen stared at her. "What precisely do you mean by the first thing?"
"I want to try healing it for a while, and then you, Cullen," she said, pausing to down the contents of the vial of lyrium, grimacing and shaking her head "are going to release a cleanse."
Cullen knew perfectly well what effect that would have on Amelle and her healing spell, and he was shaking his head even before she'd finished. "I don't think—"
"We need to try this. Even if it's just to rule it out as a possibility." And then she grinned at him, and he saw for what was possibly the first time just how deeply she trusted him.
Somehow, that made him feel worse about it all. "Amelle…"
"Amelle realizes what she is asking of you, templar," Fenris broke in, a trifle impatiently. "If she is asking it, there is a reason."
"An excellent reason," Amelle added, pushing to her feet. "Shall we?" she asked, tipping her head at her staff.
"You're quite certain you're recovered?" Cullen asked. "You cannot rely too heavily upon lyrium potion to replenish—"
"Fireball to the face, Cullen. Remember?"
"Right, then."
Striding to the edge of the walkway, Amelle looked down into the churning water for a moment. He wondered how much of the corruption she could sense — was it a ghostlike whisper, a subtle flash of uneasiness passing too quickly to properly identify? Or did she sense things differently? After a little while, she squared her shoulders and hefted her staff. Once again the healing energy pulsed out from her hands and made the stone at the top of her staff glow brightly. Once again the magic built and built and built, the light engulfing her arms, pulsing with that same pale luminescence, threads of illumination twining around her. And once again she released the spell, sending it into the pool.
Cullen waited as Amelle worked, watching intently as the water slowly came alive with the spell. More than that, he thought. He knew all too well what Amelle was hoping would happen — the water would be cleansed and healed, all corruption removed — but he didn't understand how such a thing could happen.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to try, however. When the pool was entirely alight, save for the dark tendrils of new water rushing in, he stepped to the edge and looked down, then drew in a deep breath and focused his will, gathering it and shaping it, visualizing that white energy, brighter than sunlit snow on a winter morning.
Then, beneath the buzz and hum of their respective powers — Amelle's filling the space, resonating everywhere, while his own was still so contained — he heard Amelle's voice whisper, "Now, Cullen."
He released the wave of cleansing energy, trying to sent it directly into the water, but what he'd told Amelle about a certain radius held true even in this instance. But before the holy energy counteracted the healing spell, Cullen saw the water in the reservoir pulse with light — white light, flickering strangely in the depths of the pool, rather like watching lightning flash and dance deep inside a thundercloud.
"Quickly, Cullen — what do you feel? What do you sense?"
He closed his eyes and stretched out his senses, trying to find it, the ghost, the whisper, the scent, but for that moment, Cullen sensed nothing but… water.
"I… think it — Maker's breath, I think it worked."
But as the light faded and as more new water rushed into the pool, bringing fresh corruption and lyrium with it. From the look on Amelle's face, Cullen was sure she sensed it as clearly as he did.
"It did work," she said, peering down at the water as if the secret to vanquishing its infection could be seen if one just looked hard enough. "It worked," she said again, "but it didn't last."
"Templar." Cullen looked up to find Fenris watching him with an inscrutable expression firmly in place. "Have you any control over the… intensity of such energy?"
"Are you asking me if I can produce a… very little cleanse?"
Shrugging, Fenris said, "It is a fair question. A holy smite is a much more powerful… event, after all. It stands to reason the opposite would be true as well."
"A less experienced templar would produce a… a weaker attempt, certainly. But it wouldn't… do what it's supposed to do, then."
Amelle whirled around then, her green eyes wide. "Which means I'd be able to maintain the healing spell." She sent a radiant, beaming smile the elf's way. "Maker, Fenris, you are a genius."
#
The longer Amelle looked at Fenris, the more she became acutely aware of the fact that she was looking at him. Her pulse skittered in her veins and a sudden warmth flooded her cheeks when she realized he was looking back at her and then her heart beat just a little harder in her chest.
Oh, Maker, this is not the time for this. Later, she promised herself. No, not later. Soon. Very, very soon.
It was excellent incentive to clear up the matter of this blighted spring as quickly as possible.
She turned to Cullen, who still looked puzzled, and said, "If you keep the cleanse at a very low — but constant — level, you'll still be affecting the water without affecting me. I can push my way through a weak cleanse, Cullen. I just can't quite manage it when you're trying."
"Good news for me," he replied dryly. "Not quite so good for my recruits."
She knew what she'd seen in the water that time — and whatever had happened, it had been Cullen's cleanse that had done it right before killing the spell entirely. For that moment, something unbelievable was happening — something vital, she was sure of it. But it wouldn't work as long as Cullen kept counteracting her magic.
"Can you do it?"
"Yes, Amelle. I can." But every one of Cullen's misgivings were etched clearly on his face. Amelle recognized them all. Keeping a spell alive despite even the weakest cleanse would use up her mana quickly. And she'd brought as much lyrium as she could carry, but once that was out, she was out. And Amelle already knew perfectly well what happened then.
"Fenris?" she asked, nudging her pack nearer to him with her foot. "If this has any hope of working…"
"You wish me to… keep you in lyrium potion."
She nodded, frowning down at the sack. "I'll put my hand out."
For all that Fenris was attempting to keep his face expressionless, Amelle could see concern in the faint tilt of his brows and the tightening of his lips.
"I promise I'll rest after this," she said softly. "I am aware of the risks. I won't so much as light a candle for a week. Lyrium will be off-limits for the foreseeable future. But this… this might work. It… it does work, but I—we—need to sustain it."
He nodded reluctantly, bending to hook the straps of the bag over his forearm. The bottles within clinked ominously.
With a forced smile, Amelle stretched, cracked her knuckles once again, and retrieved her staff.
"Cullen?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."
Amelle huffed a laugh. "You and me both." With her free hand, she reached out and touched the back of Cullen's hand. He smiled down at her, but, like Fenris, was unable to completely hide his concern.
"You know I may not be able to stop you if you go too far," he admitted. "Not if I'm using my own abilities this way. And… and taking so much lyrium…"
Amelle bit her bottom lip, nodding. "I know. I'm hardly going to be the best judge. But we have to try. It works."
He closed his eyes. "Very well."
This time when Amelle began to harness her power, she felt the faint tug of Cullen's cleanse like a fly buzzing about her ears. It was a faint irritation, but not so distracting she couldn't work.
Working took a great deal more effort, however. That she could not ignore. Every wave of healing magic she poured into the spring had to fight past the white barrier of Cullen's abilities. Wisps and threads of silver-blue were sucked into oblivion before they ever touched the water.
She felt her stomach sink when she was forced to reach for the first lyrium potion much sooner than she'd expected. The glass was tucked into her fingers as soon as her hand darted out, and she drank it down gratefully.
It wasn't going to be enough.
#
The pack was growing too light too quickly. Fenris could see the strain in Amelle's eyes, and every time her hand reached out for another potion, he knew she was reaching her limit faster than she'd expected to. He had no idea how much time had passed, or how much water had circulated through the strange combination of healing and cleansing, but even the air felt clearer and cleaner around them.
This time when Amelle's hand shot out he noted that her fingers were trembling, and it took twice as much effort for him to get them to close tightly enough around the neck of the vial. Fenris kept his hand around hers, guiding the glass to her lips. She swallowed hard, reflexively, and caught even the errant drips on her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes were wide, pupils far too dilated, dreamily unfocused.
Fenris had seen such things before. Danarius had always… enjoyed his excesses, and lyrium was no exception. The intoxication had always heralded unpleasantness for Fenris. And it had been dangerous.
"That's the last one, Amelle," he whispered.
She uttered a horrible, choking cry and shook her head in disbelief. The lyrium intoxication made her voice thick, the vowels heavy on her tongue. "It can't be. We're so close."
They were. But Fenris, observing, wasn't certain his idea of close and hers matched up. Clearly she believed they were close to healing the spring entirely. Fenris feared she was close to losing her life to a fruitless task. Neither she nor the templar had power enough to sustain the effort, for all that the effort was effective.
The Knight-Commander had driven the point of his blade between the stones, and his hands were clenched tight around the hilt; Fenris suspected this was as much to keep himself upright as to act as a focus. The templar was murmuring broken prayers under his breath, and his sweat-damp face was ashen and grim in the white glow of the holy light.
Amelle looked worse.
Sweat plastered her hair to her head and made her pale skin glisten in the glow of her magic. The blue-white light cast an unnatural pallor across her skin, making her hair look unnaturally dark as it streaked across her forehead. The robes she wore were stained with perspiration, and as Amelle trembled with effort, the flowing material quivered as if with the sheer force her magic. A droplet of sweat dripped from the tip of her nose and splashed upon the stones. Suddenly Amelle shook her head and sent more droplets flying as she blinked sweat from her eyes. Those eyes now had shadows under them, deep and dark as any bruise.
But it was her eyes themselves that truly sparked Fenris' concern. The pupils swallowed up nearly all of the iris, leaving only the thinnest ring of green around too-dark depths. And the green barely looked green anymore: there was a strange silvery-blue sheen to her eyes, as if the power she was expending was growing too unfocused — or worse, as if she was losing control of her magic or herself.
Amelle's fingers were clenched tight around the staff, but her grip was definitely slipping. How far had she left to slip? Not far at all, was Fenris' guess.
Frowning, Fenris looked out at the water, magic and holy energy clashing in a kaleidoscope of light beneath the surface. Flashes of white lit the depths of the pool as the threads of Amelle's healing magic circled and swirled, illuminating not only the reservoir, but the whole of the cavern. It was too much — they were both pushing themselves too far, and while the water was undoubtedly clearing, the corruption was fighting them — the new water pouring into the reservoir was still shadowy, still had the element of infection to it. Their combined efforts were working, but they were working far too slowly.
He knew — he knew — Amelle had not the mana left to maintain that level of healing energy for much longer.
He thought of the templar's tale of that other healer, straining and stretching his limits until he perished. Fenris could not let that happen. He would not let that happen. There was yet something he could do.
"Amelle," Fenris said, his voice echoing dully off the stones. But Amelle did not respond; she only kept staring straight ahead — she barely blinked. Fenris then strode in front of her, forcing her to look at him — to see him. "Amelle," he said again, sharply as he let his markings flare bright as daylight. Suddenly Amelle blinked, her eyes clear again.
"…Fenris?" she murmured weakly, staring at him as if she had no idea how he'd come to be there.
There was no time for talk, no time for explanations. Fenris doubted Amelle was in any condition to understand anyway. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the water, then back at Amelle. "Do you trust me?"
#
Amelle stared at Fenris. His markings were so bright, he seemed to glow with not only the twining lyrium brands, but also with the light of her own magic. So bright. It was hard to look at him. He glowed so brightly. Bright like the sun, silver like the moon.
There wouldn't be very much light at all, soon. Her head was throbbing, pulsing, aching the more she pushed, the more she fought against the resistance all around her — like holding a door open in the wind. She could hear little more than the buzz of her magic and the pounding rush of blood in her ears, and when Fenris said her name, she barely heard him. He seemed so far away, too far away — too far away to hear, to touch, to speak to, certainly.
He looked so angry.
No. Not angry. He looked worried.
He is afraid for you, rabbit.
"We're so close," she whispered, not knowing whom she was telling.
Then his hands were on her arms, fingers scything into her flesh and he wasn't so far away anymore. He was close enough that she felt the heat pour off of him — or was she simply that cold? She couldn't feel her fingers anymore; the hotcold thrum of her magic had dulled her to everything else.
We're so close.
Fenris' fingers tightened and she looked up. Her head felt heavy — Maker, and it ached so. But he was there and he was holding on to her — not too far away to reach, not at all — and he was saying something. But her pulse was echoing through her head. Her magic buzzed in her ears. She couldn't hear him. Then Fenris' gauntlets clattered to the ground, the sound filling the whole cavern — she heard that, certainly, and it made her head ache even more.
His gauntlets were gone. Bare fingers dug into her flesh now, not sharp metal.
Then, clarity. As if the pain pushed everything else aside for a moment — for just long enough of a moment — and she shook her head, sending the cobwebs flying. Fenris then lifted his voice above the noise and shouted:
"Do you trust me?"
Trust yourself, choose well and wisely, but remember that all trust requires a leap. And with every leap comes a landing.
The white wolf flashed in her memory, the strange sight of it standing over her still, pale body, head thrown back in a mournful howl. Eyes that were moss-green and forest-dark were watching her now, but the wolf wasn't howling, not yet.
Amelle stared dumbly at Fenris for a moment before finally breathing a single word as she exhaled, "Yes."
He nodded once, his markings flaring impossibly bright. It hurt, that much light. She could barely look at it.
Amelle had only a second to think before Fenris' glowing hand reached into her chest.
Are you so sure he'd never turn on you?
With every leap comes a landing.
And then—and then—oh, Maker. Whatever she'd thought was power, was joy, was life before this moment was dashed to dim memory. She wanted to weep and scream all at once, but instead she only gasped, and focused her magic—oh, oh, such magic—on the spring. Either the light was bright unto blinding, or Amelle herself was blind, but in that moment she found she couldn't care. Lyrium sang in her veins, burned from toe-tip to hairline, igniting everything in its path.
She felt the power sweep through the water—for an instant she was the water and she was pure and clean and perfect so bloody perfect—and then she heard a voice in her ear, in her head, all through her, whispering a word she dimly recognized as her name.
"Amelle. Stop."
She wasn't the water. She wasn't even the magic. She was a girl with fingers around her heart.
And then she was darkness.
#
By the time Cullen felt the change, it was already too late. The sudden spike in Amelle's power—Amelle's power laced with something else, something so much more—startled him so intensely that he lost control of his already-flagging resources and released the remainder of his own power in a flash of holy fire caught somewhere between a cleanse and a smite. He cried out—in warning, in fear—and opened his eyes. The cavern was not merely bright. At first he could see nothing except the spring engulfed in cascades of silver-blue-holy-white fire.
And then he saw Fenris, glowing just as bright a white as the spring, with his hand—oh, Maker, Maker his hand—
"What have you done?" Cullen whispered. His own hands trembled around the hilt of his blade, and his arms were like lead when he heaved the weapon up. He held it as he'd held his greatsword, back in Ferelden when that had been his weapon of choice; the shield on his back was impossible for him to even consider. "Fenris, what have you done?"
The elf said nothing. His gaze was fixed on Amelle's. Cullen managed a staggering step toward them before falling heavily to one knee. Every breath came harder than the one before, ragged and harsh in the eerie silence.
A voice, sibilant and cruel, laughed in his head. You were watching the wrong one all along, weren't you, my sweet, foolish templar? Always looking in the wrong direction when the ones you care about fight their battles. Give up, dear Cullen. Give up. Sleep. Give in.
Cullen growled a curse under his breath that would have startled his recruits, were they present to hear it, and dragged himself another foot closer to Amelle. She was still wrapped in more power than Cullen had ever felt. Every instinct bade him silence it; all his training told him smite, smite now but he had nothing left to give.
And then all that power snapped, sudden as a branch breaking. Cullen gazed up at Fenris through tear-blurred eyes in time to see his hand leave Amelle's chest. If not for his other arm wrapped tight about the small of the mage's back, Cullen felt certain Amelle would have fallen.
It didn't matter. He was too late. He was always too late.
Cullen couldn't feel her. Her magic had blown out like a candle caught in a breeze.
"Fenris," Cullen whispered again, brokenly, "what have you done?"
