Kirkwall was healing. It was a slow process, but a steady one. And as Amelle stepped outside into the sunlight — the sky above was dappled with enormous, puffy clouds that sent the occasional blanket of shade over the stones — she could not help but reflect how much a city could be so like a person. Kirkwall had a personality all its own; it had facets and layers and quirks like anyone else. It could be injured and sickened, and, like a person, a city could heal.
Since they'd cleansed the spring and removed the corruption from the water, the number of sick and injured appearing in the reopened clinic slowly began to diminish. Merrill had opened its doors and lit the lantern once Fenris had given her the all-clear, and found that a draught of healing potion warmed and added to medicinal tea — made with untainted water — eased the recovery of those whose symptoms lingered. People were well again, and though the clinic still enjoyed a steady stream of patients, the injuries and complaints were once again the mundane accidents they had been.
And though she'd never have thought it possible, given how exhausted, how aching and bruised she'd felt upon waking, Amelle was feeling once again like herself. Her energy replenished itself slowly at first, then faster and more thoroughly than ever before. Her mana pulsed and swirled and breathed within her, and as the strange ache faded, she found herself using her magic more and more. It was there, and though, as she'd told Cullen, it felt different, resonated differently inside her, it was right. More to the point, her link with Compassion felt stronger than it had previously; though the spirit's presence wasn't the same as a physical one, there was still a strange sort of awareness that tickled at the back of Amelle's skull. As if all she had to do was look over her shoulder and she'd spot an orange tabby with green eyes, flicking its tail at her.
Cupcake trotted dutifully alongside her, letting out an excited bark and running ahead when the dog realized where they were headed. He stopped and dropped his head to snuffle loudly at the door before scratching at it, then sitting back and barking once, loudly.
The door opened and Fenris looked out, and Amelle could see only too clearly that the elf was trying to appear unimpressed. In fact, it looked a great deal like he was trying not to grin.
"You could have knocked," he said, directing the question at Amelle as he ran one hand over the dog's head, letting the mabari sniff at his hand and lick it happily.
"Oh, but Cupcake was so looking forward to seeing you, Fenris. How do you think I could possibly disappoint that little face?"
Fenris arched an eyebrow and looked down into "that little face" before meeting Amelle's eyes again. "That is not his name."
"What, Cupcake?" The dog looked over his shoulder at Amelle and barked. "I don't know, Fenris," she replied on a laugh, "he says it is."
"It is a wonder you and Hawke have not confused the animal beyond all comprehension by naming it twice," he said, coming outside and closing the door behind him. He approached Amelle, and with a look that was awkward and apprehensive and affectionate all at once, took her hand in his and squeezed it once before lifting it and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.
Amelle smiled − it was hard not to smile these days, frankly, and she ducked her head as a blush warmed her cheeks. When she stole a glance at Fenris through her bangs, she caught the small, secretive smile at his lips as he watched her and Amelle's pulse skittered pleasantly in her veins. "Actually," she began, clearing her throat, "my brother named him."
"But he is Hawke's dog."
"Which was her argument at the time," she said, twining her fingers around his as they began to walk. It was such a simple gesture, and yet the feel of Fenris' callused hand against hers left her feeling unusually light and… Maker, almost giddy. "And she'd wanted to name him Cupcake. But Carver's logic was that it would be unfair if Kiara got the dog and got to name it, too. So we drew straws and Carver won. He called the dog Killer, but Kiara and I only ever called him Cupcake." Amelle paused and gave a soft chuckle. "Well," she amended, "she calls him Cupcake unless she's in the middle of fighting for her life, I've noticed. In any event, he answers to both."
Cupcake let out a bark that sounded as if he agreed.
"And what would you have named him, had you drawn the correct straw?" asked Fenris as their steps led them down a flight of stairs and across a wide courtyard.
Amelle smiled. "Kiara had already convinced me to name him Cupcake if I did."
Fenris let out a sudden chuckle and shook his head. "Somehow I'm not surprised."
Their walk continued on, as did the conversation — far easier and more companionable than Amelle could have imagined, though she couldn't help but notice she did most of the talking. Once they reached the tall, imposing doors leading into Viscount's Keep, they released each other's hands and allowed a few scant but significant inches of space between them both. It was something they'd silently agreed on, and rather than feeling slighted, the gesture made Amelle savor the secret of… whatever it was between them. Although, from the quality of looks Aveline had been sending her recently, Amelle wondered how much of a secret she and Fenris truly were.
It startled Amelle somewhat to note the subtle respect she was given. It wasn't that she'd been invisible in the keep, but… since everything had happened with Aveline, she noticed she was given just as many respectful nods and casual greetings as Kiara had ever been given. When they entered the barracks, Guardsman Brennan approached and actually went so far as to offer her arm for Amelle to clasp. Blinking, she hesitated only a moment before trading grips with the guardswoman.
"Not sure we've had a chance to properly thank you for all your help, Serah Hawke," Brennan said. Amelle almost glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Kiara. "We… all of us, we… you did a great deal for us. For Kirkwall. Please don't think we're ignorant of it."
"I trust Guardsman Renlan's made a full recovery?"
"He has. And… and the Captain. It's so good to see her… herself again."
Amelle smiled. "And I imagine it's nice not to have so many templars crowding your quarters."
Brennan huffed a brief laugh, inclining her head. "They're nice enough, most of them, but… if I'd wanted to keep close quarters with them, I'd've joined the Order instead of the guard." The woman glanced about, as if reassuring herself the barracks were still as she remembered. Amelle's gaze skittered over the spot where Fenris had lain bleeding, and she checked the urge to reach for the elf's hand, settling instead for a long look at him. He met her gaze and inclined his head, quietly reassuring.
"And your captain?" Amelle asked lightly. "Is she here?"
"She's been cloistered in her office with the Knight-Commander for some time, but she's here."
Amelle knew there might be any number of entirely rational reasons for Kirkwall's Captain of the Guard to confer with the templar Knight-Commander, especially with the city currently leaderless, but the faintest twinge of… something unsettled her. A hint of something similar skittered across Fenris' face, replaced by the cool, impassive mask Amelle was coming to know all too well meant troubled rather than indifferent.
She had to be impressed when Brennan picked up on the momentary unease. "You think there's trouble?" she asked quietly, pitching her voice low so none of the other guards could overhear.
Amelle shook her head, more because she wished there would be no trouble than because she actually believed it. "They're probably just discussing the… the balance of power in the city just now. I doubt it's anything to worry ourselves over."
She could tell Brennan didn't entirely believe her—the slight question Amelle hadn't entirely been able to keep from her tone likely didn't help—but to the guardswoman's credit, she pressed no further. Brennan offered her arm once again, and after another friendly clasp, departed.
"You don't believe that," Fenris stated.
"Is it obvious?"
"To me."
"Perhaps they are only discussing the balance of power in Kirkwall."
Fenris' eyebrow twitched. "Perhaps."
She rolled her eyes slightly. "You don't believe that any more than I do."
"I do not. Not with things as unsettled as they are. As they must be."
Amelle's brow furrowed. "Kirkwall's almost back to normal—"
Fenris shook his head, and his white fringe fell to cover his eyes. "Kirkwall is but a small part."
Her heart began to thump painfully in her breast, a strange mixture of hope and despair and fear. "They'd have told me if there was news out of Starkhaven. Surely. Surely."
Fenris didn't say anything, but Amelle saw it in the way his eyes met hers and his lips pressed together into a thin line. They wouldn't have told her if the news out of Starkhaven was bad.
"It is possible — if there is in fact news at all — it comes from elsewhere," Fenris said quietly. But that didn't bode well either. There were few places from which they could expect good news these days, Amelle knew.
She straightened her shoulders and pushed forward a bright smile. "Well. No one's told us we shouldn't bother them, and I did tell Aveline we'd be by to see how things were going. That's… almost as good as having an appointment. And Cullen's always glad to see me." The brightness of her smile faded minutely. "Except when it means more paperwork for him, of course."
Fenris exhaled a soft laugh as they approached Aveline's office. The heavy wood door was firmly shut, but Amelle could make out two differently-pitched voices deep in conversation. They didn't sound as if they were arguing, which eased Amelle's mind somewhat, but she still couldn't hear them. She tipped her head and closed her eyes, trying to listen more intently, then startling and jumping back — nearly out of her skin entirely — when Fenris raised his fist and rapped sharply against the wood.
"What are you—?" she hissed.
"Knocking," he deadpanned.
The door swung open, revealing Aveline — Cullen was folded into a chair opposite Aveline's own seat, but it was just as likely that the guard-captain had been pacing as she talked. She was not the sort of woman accustomed to standing still the best of times.
"Amelle," Aveline said, looking vaguely surprised to see her at all. "Are you early, or just eavesdropping?"
"Until a now, I'd had no idea you were discussing anything worth eavesdropping."
"That's not an answer."
"Early," replied Amelle on a sigh. For a second Aveline appeared almost amused, then stepped back and waved them in.
"You might as well join us. It's not as if this won't affect you, too."
"That, and you'll doubtless weasel the details out of us anyway," added Cullen, not unkindly.
"I do not weasel," Amelle sniffed, looking around and perching herself on one of the remaining chairs. Fenris claimed the other one. "I simply ask. It's my sister who's the master cajoler in the family, not me."
"Pull the other one, Amelle." The look Aveline shot her would have been entirely at home on Kiara's face, and though Amelle smiled, she felt a sharp ache. There had been no word from Starkhaven, no word at all, and though Amelle had tried not to worry, it was getting more and more difficult by the day.
"So what's the news — good, bad, or otherwise?"
Cullen and Aveline exchanged a quick look. "There's been no word from Starkhaven yet," the templar said. Amelle could hear the regret in his voice, could see it in his eyes. "No news at all, in fact."
"Which could mean anything," Aveline added. "No news is not necessarily bad news."
"Then what… is the news?"
Aveline went to her desk and picked up a stack of letters, the parchment rustling loudly in the quiet room. "A Thedas-wide manhunt for Anders is at the top of the list," she said darkly.
With a snort, Fenris muttered, "That hardly comes as a surprise."
"The Divine hasn't made any… proclamations yet," Cullen said, rubbing at the spot between his brows as if it ached, "but there is no doubt she knows by now what transpired in Kirkwall."
"Hence the mage manhunt," Amelle added, tapping her fingers against her thigh. She looked down suddenly, realizing it was very much a Kiara thing she was doing, and curled her hand into a fist before smoothing it out again and clasping both hands in her lap. She looked up and caught Fenris watching her hands intently.
Aveline leaned against her desk, crossing her arms. "I've got my ear to the ground, Amelle."
She could hear the unspoken So don't worry wrapped around Aveline's words, but it was difficult not to worry. In fact, for the moment, the triumph over the corrupted water source felt very far away and almost insignificant in the shadow of a much larger, much more dangerous threat.
Amelle swallowed hard, rolling impossible words on her tongue, trying to find the… strength to give voice to things she would rather pretend weren't real. Her fingernails were ragged, and she stopped herself from plucking at a particularly unpleasant hangnail on her right index finger. Gathering the fabric of her skirts between them, she curled her hands into fists.
As hard as she tried, she could not will herself to speak.
Fenris said the words she could not. "And Hawke?"
Amelle's heart stuttered. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, but she did flatten her hands once again. Now. Now she'd hear what she'd dreaded—that they'd have to run again, hide again, go back to playing full-fledged apostate on the lam again. Only this time Kiara would be considered as much a criminal as Amelle had ever been.
It was an equality Amelle would have been happy never to share.
Aveline sighed. "Is her name spoken alongside Anders', you mean? Has she been implicated in what happened here?" On Fenris' brusque nod, Aveline shook her head. "Not that I've heard. Yet. But… it's early days. Most of what's getting back to me is hearsay and rumor, made all the more convoluted by how… out of the loop I've been, of late."
Frowning, Cullen pushed his hand wearily through his hair. "For what it's worth—which may be very little at all, once all is said and done—I wrote a… very comprehensive report."
"Even though you hate paperwork?" Amelle's voice sounded strained, even to her own ears, and her attempt at a jest fell distressingly flat.
Cullen's expression was fond, but pained. "I… attempted to mitigate as much damage as I could. Your sister may have chosen to side with the mages in the end, but I know she was not responsible for what Anders did, and I know she made her choice because Meredith invoking the Rite of Annulment backed her into a terrible corner. I tried to explain things to the best of my ability. And then I… made copies. And sent them to several others in the Order, up to and including the Knight-Vigilant and the Divine herself. There is a paper trail. And one that cannot simply be erased if the Divine wishes it. Not easily, in any case, and not without questions from more than one quarter."
Fenris stiffened ever so slightly beside her. If she hadn't been quite so attuned to him, she mightn't have noticed at all. "And did you make mention of Hawke's sister in these reports of yours?"
"No," Cullen replied with some reluctance. "Though that is… part of the trouble. If—when, perhaps—news of the apostate sister I did not mention reaches Val Royeaux, as I think it must, it may be enough to discredit my report. I… cannot know what will happen then. But I think it would be safer if—"
"If we weren't waiting for them at the Hawke estate when they come?" Amelle murmured.
"It may be some time. Maker only knows what kind of bureaucratic mess Anders set in motion, and—at least for the time being—he and his confederates will be the priority. Stopping similar things from happening will be a priority. I painted as innocent a picture of Hawke as I could manage, but to even mention Amelle would have called everything I said into question. They would ask why I had not immediately apprehended her."
"You might have said she was dead," Fenris retorted. Amelle half expected to see his markings flaring to silver life, but though his hands were clenched and his jaw was tight, he still had control enough to keep from glowing.
Cullen bristled. "I did not lie. I omitted. And I feel guilty enough about that as it is. I… did what I thought best at the time, to the extent my conscience would allow."
"It is not—"
Amelle reached out, leaning across the distance between their chairs to press her fingers to the back of Fenris' hand. Even though the gesture was gentle, she still felt the jerk of his muscles beneath her fingertips. "Cullen did what he could, Fenris. More than… I don't like the idea of my name being bandied about in Val Royeaux any more than you do, but… it's not Cullen's fault."
This was enough to make Fenris subside with a glower and when Amelle looked up, she caught Aveline watching them both, brows raised speculatively. Amelle gave only a brief shake of her head, which the guard-captain acknowledged with an even briefer nod.
"The fact remains," Aveline said on a sigh, "while you don't have to decide anything now, it might be a good idea to start formulating… some sort of plan. Like I said, I'll keep my ear out and if I hear about anywhere that might be a safe place for you, I'll let you know."
"Thank you, Aveline." She turned her gaze to the templar, who still wore an incongruous combination of guilt, worry, and and pensiveness. Offering a small smile, she said, "And you, Cullen — thank you."
"I hardly did anything," he replied.
"Well, thank you for what you didn't do. I imagine it bought us a little time. I can start figuring out where might be the safest place for us, and when Kiara comes back from Starkhaven…" Amelle did not think about the fact that her sister had not written again, did not listen to the whisper of doubt that hinted perhaps Kiara might not even want to return from Starkhaven, if it meant seeing Amelle again. "When she comes back from Starkhaven," she repeated forcefully, "she and I will discuss it."
"You might consider Ferelden," Aveline said with a shrug. "I don't know if anyone's going to come out and oppose the Divine outright, but you and Hawke did meet with the king."
Amelle wrinkled her nose. "That might be overstating it slightly. His meeting was with Kiara. I was brought along as starstruck observer. Still, he did come across as a… tolerant sort."
"Something to keep in mind, then," replied Aveline with a nod.
Amelle could not help but notice that at the mere mention of Ferelden, Cullen's expression shifted slightly as he looked away, his eyes suddenly hooded. He added nothing — indeed, it looked as if he wasn't even listening anymore. She didn't think it had anything to do with talk of her leaving Kirkwall. If anything, her absence meant less of a headache for him. Perhaps it's something to do with King Alistair, she wondered, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. Maybe he's got strong opinions on an ex-templar taking up the crown? It was something to ask him about, later.
"I wonder…" Aveline paused, shaking her head. "No, perhaps it's too much a conflict of interest."
"Going back to Ferelden?" Amelle asked, confused. "It's… it is still where I'm from. It might be inconvenient, but it's hardly a conflict of interest."
Aveline's clear gaze shifted to Cullen, and remained fixed on him until he shifted ever so slightly in his chair. After a long, tense moment of this, Cullen sighed and hung his head. "You want to know where I think she'd be safest. Where they'd be safest." He tapped his fingers against his thigh. "I have… inside knowledge because of my connection to the Chantry, you think, and you'd like me to use it? Do I have the right of it?"
Amelle frowned, already shaking her head, "No one would ask you to—"
"Yes," Aveline interrupted, firmly cutting into Amelle's protest. "That's exactly what I'm wondering."
At first Amelle thought Cullen would not answer. The templar's jaw worked silently, until at last he swallowed hard and loosed another heavy sigh. "Nevarra, perhaps," he said. "They've been at loggerheads with Orlais for some time. Starkhaven's always been loyal to the Chantry, but if Vael… who knows. Starkhaven might be an option, and at least you already have ties to the rulership there. It's… it's a… it's not a pleasant option, perhaps, but there's always Tevinter—"
"Absolutely not," Fenris stated, so cool and low and dangerous, Amelle couldn't help the shudder that ran the length of her spine. She didn't like the idea of it any more than Fenris did, though of course her reasons where not quite as clear as his.
"I… don't think it would be wise," Amelle said. "Although…"
"No," Fenris repeated, his eyes flashing. "Tevinter is… no, Amelle. No."
She held up a placating hand. "I wasn't going to suggest it. I was going to say… well, I wonder if Anders might have…"
Fenris looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. But for all his ills, he rarely showed interest in Tevinter or the powers there. No matter how many… discussions we had on the subject."
Cullen nodded. "Still, it might be worth mentioning. In a report. Whether anyone actually reads the things is another matter entirely, but…"
"But in the meantime, Kirkwall is… safe?" Fenris interrupted, directing the question to Aveline, who nodded. Amelle tried not to think of it as a deflection. Note to self, she thought. Talk to Cullen about Ferelden. Don't talk to Fenris about Tevinter. Ever.
"As safe as it ever was. And take that how you will," she added wryly. "But… yes. It's… a little safer now." Then, as if correcting herself, Aveline made a face, grimacing as she rolled her eyes. "All right, a lot safer."
"We have already discussed this, Guard-Captain," Cullen said wearily. But Aveline's eyes were dark as she shook her head.
"Doesn't change what happened. And I'm still not proud of it."
"You were hardly the only one affected," argued Fenris. "And it was beyond your control."
Aveline shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's still rattling to learn I could be compromised so easily."
"Considering what it took to get rid of that mess, I'd hardly say you succumbed easily," riposted Amelle. "Your men are glad to have you back, Aveline. And the one actually responsible for this mess is… a bit beyond caring about things like retribution. The water's clear and people aren't going mad — well, madder than they were, at any rate."
The look Aveline sent her was a shrewd one. "So you're telling me to stop dwelling and move on?" She let out a little laugh and shook her head almost fondly. "Maker, you're starting to sound like your sister now. Don't tell me I just traded one Hawke for another."
It occurred to Amelle, however dimly, at one time such a comparison would have made her rankle defensively, but now it simply made her smile, perhaps a bit sadly. Kiara could be a pain, and she was a little pushy, and always loud, but Amelle missed her.
"I'm a lot less bossy than Kiara," was all Amelle said, grinning despite the ache in her breast.
Aveline's lips twitched in a brief smile. "You are somewhat less bossy than your sister, I'll grant you."
Cullen huffed a brief laugh, and Amelle sent him a horrified look when he said, "Time will tell. For my part, I think the longer you're parted from Kiara Hawke, the more your… natural tendency toward… shall we say wishing to get your own way? The more that may make itself known."
Amelle pressed a theatrical hand to her breast and widened her eyes. "Cullen. I'm wounded."
"Mmm," he replied, arching an eyebrow. "That you do more than Hawke ever did."
Amelle blinked at him, momentarily startled. Then she giggled. "Fine. To each according to her strengths."
A smile spread over Cullen's face, sweet and effortless, and Amelle noticed that although some of the exhaustion had eased from the templar's face, he still looked tired. Truthfully, the circles under his eyes were as dark as they'd ever been, and she had to curb her instinct to cluck and fuss and ask leading medical questions. She was part way through summoning rejuvenation magic when Cullen glowered at her. "Warning, Amelle. Warning. Old habits. Die hard."
Again she blinked. "Oh. Sorry. It's just… second nature."
He snorted. "Yes. Just as smiting mages is second nature to me, I imagine."
Fenris glared. Very, very pointedly. Cullen raised his hands in mock surrender, and Amelle found herself smiling again. "Cullen," she asked, "you look like you've barely slept in… well, in your whole life, actually. Rejuvenation spells won't carry you indefinitely, but would you like one now?"
The templar's smile widened. "Perhaps just a little. I do plan on getting sleep. Some time."
"When the paperwork's done?" she asked archly.
"Maker, no. Best be before that. I don't think the paperwork will ever be done."
Aveline nodded sympathetically. "There are mountains of it, to be sure. Even with a vacuum of power." She paused and shrugged, adding, "Maybe even because of the vacuum of power."
"For the time being, Seneschal Bran is… filling in is as apt a phrase as any, I suppose," Cullen said dourly; his color was improved by the infusion of rejuvenating magic, but his expression was still unpleasant at the mention of the seneschal. "But until the position of viscount has been filled, he wants records to be as complete and exact as possible."
Fenris frowned, asking, "Do you suspect the seneschal will… make an overture? He had not struck me as particularly hungry for power — or at least the power that comes with notoriety."
Both Aveline and Cullen shook their heads. "Truth be told, he seems as annoyed about it as anyone. But he's so bloody-minded when it comes to paperwork," Aveline told them.
Amelle cast a quick glance at Aveline's door, which was very firmly shut. "He's a bit bloody-minded about everything, isn't he?" she asked, remembering the number of times Kiara met with the man, and how… distasteful he seemed to find the Champion of Kirkwall. She smiled a little, recalling how cheerfully her sister seemed to bear it. Amelle had to wonder if Kiara simply enjoyed getting under the man's skin.
"I imagine the Order would love him," Cullen muttered darkly.
Amelle hid her smile. "You could make him acting Knight-Commander and put him in charge of all that paperwork."
"Don't tempt me."
"If Bran were a templar, he'd spend all his time hunting down missing reports instead of apostates," Aveline replied, smirking a little.
"I suspect," Fenris said, slanting a look at Amelle and sending her a small, knowing grin, "that is precisely the point."
"Honestly," Amelle said, grinning unrepentantly, "you wound me. All of you. I'm wounded. So very wounded."
Aveline shot a look at Cullen and shook her head. "You know, she's really not like Hawke at all. I'm starting to suspect she's worse."
#
Amelle never quite realized how loud her sister was.
That was the thing about Kiara — she filled a space with herself. For all their mother complained about Kiara's inside voice, or lack thereof, there was a vitality about her sister, an energy, that Amelle admired and loved, despite the fact it sometimes chafed. In Amelle's moments of more brutal honesty with herself, she wished she shared that quality with her sister. But Amelle did not, was almost certain she could not fill a room with her voice, and whether it was a natural facet of her personality or simply a byproduct of having been an apostate her whole life and clinging to those twin pillars of importance: discretion and secrecy, Amelle didn't know.
She did know that if Kiara had been home right now, Amelle would not be curled up on the divan in the library, an unread book lying open on her lap. Kiara would have burst in, letting the door rebound off the wall in her enthusiasm, laughing about some joke, or sharing an outlandish story of Varric's or insisting she come down to the Hanged Man to lose money at cards, promising to win back whatever losses Amelle incurred. And Amelle would shoot her sister a petulant look, insisting she was much better at Wicked Grace than that, thank you, but she would close the book anyway and let her sister pull her to her feet and out the door, their arms linked as Kiara Hawke's laughter rebounded off the stones, filling all of Kirkwall.
Now, though, no one interrupted her reading. The house was quiet, the fire crackled behind the grate, and the ticking of the clock warred with Killer's snores and sleepy whines as he dreamt by the fire. In fact, the entire house felt on the verge of something disturbing its peace, as if the structure itself was holding its breath, waiting for Kiara to come home and start slamming doors and filling it to bursting as she called out to Amelle with that voice of hers.
It was too quiet, and just a little lonely. Traffic at the clinic had slowed, and while Amelle was endlessly thankful that people were healing, Merrill had made so many potions, had rolled so many bandages that Amelle felt largely useless; there wasn't even busy work to keep her… well, busy. She tipped her head back against a cushion and stared up at the hideous statue mounted on the wall above the fireplace and exhaled hard through her nose. The flickering shadows made the thing look even more insidious.
"I really hate that bloody thing," she breathed. Killer blinked awake mid-snore and lifted his head to look at her, a puzzled sort of whine sounding deep in his throat.
"Well, look at it," she said to the mabari as she gestured at the wall. "It looks like a face. Like some kind of… war mask or something. It's creepy and don't tell me it isn't."
Killer's agreeable bark resounded through the rafters.
"We should take it down and use it for kindling, don't you think?" she asked the dog, stretching out and letting her slippered feet dangle over the edge of the divan, trying not to dwell on the fact that she was having a conversation with a dog. "Perhaps we'll tell Kiara a freak earthquake knocked it down, hmm?"
Killer barked again, leaping to his feet, hindquarters waggling excitedly, as if he'd been waiting his entire life for Amelle to make such a suggestion.
"Would you like a new chew toy, Cupcake?" she asked, grinning at the dog. "A creepy, creepy chew toy?" Another bark, and the mabari leapt around in a joyous little circle; Amelle couldn't help but laugh at the sight.
"Had I realized you were so starved for company and occupation," came a new voice by the library door, "I would have come sooner." Fenris walked in, arching an amused eyebrow at the sight of Amelle draped across the couch before looking up at the statue in question. "I confess, I do not know why Hawke insists on displaying that piece either."
"Kiara told me once it reminds you of Tevinter." Amelle looked up again and made a face. "Not that I had any urge to go before, but if that's the decor, I'm pretty sure I'm not missing anything by keeping my distance."
"No. You are not."
Amelle tapped one finger to her lip and shook her head. "The funny thing is, I don't even think she's particularly fond of it. It's so…"
"Looming?"
She grinned over her shoulder at him. "Yes. Looming. Precisely."
His expression turned thoughtful. "There were several of these in my mansion."
"And?"
"I used them for firewood. It was pleasing."
Amelle tilted her head, regarding the strange… artwork. "Maybe it could fall. Into the fire. By accident. Because of the freak earthquake."
"Entirely plausible." He quirked an eyebrow. "The—Merrill's magic is often earth-based."
Huffing an incredulous laugh, she shook her head at him. "We can't blame Merrill. She's been too helpful." Her smile faded somewhat as she slid her legs down, making space on the divan. With a moment's reluctance, she slid the letter she was using as a bookmark between the pages of her book. She felt Fenris' gaze on her, and knew he'd missed nothing. "It's been a week," she said.
"It has."
She held the book to her breast, wrapping her arms around it. "She's been gone for almost a month, Fenris. One little note in a month."
He crossed the room and sat beside her, not quite touching, but not nearly as far away as once he would have sat. Maker, not that long ago he'd have chosen one of the chairs by the fire, proximity to the creepy statuary be damned. "You are right to be concerned, Amelle."
Bowing her head, she said, "But you still think it's a bad idea to go to Starkhaven."
"I think, perhaps, the time has come to consider such measures."
Startled, she turned to face him, the book dropping to her lap with a thump. "What?"
"It is something we ought to discuss, perhaps, with Aveline. Even the Knight-Commander may have fresher news out of Starkhaven than we do. But if we go, Amelle, it cannot be blind. That your sister has not written is troubling. If she has not written, I fear it is because she cannot—"
"And if she can't, it means we have to be careful. Because she could—there could be danger."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, allowing his hands to dangle between his knees. "If we are to plan a journey, perhaps it is best we leave… other concerns until afterward."
"Other concerns?" Amelle asked. Her stomach twisted painfully. They were taking things slowly enough as it was, she felt, and the thought of slowing things further…
Fenris closed his hands into fists, and then released them in a strange, almost-nervous motion. "It is of no consequence. The matter can wait. It has waited this long."
"Oh," Amelle said, the word no louder than a soft exhale of breath. "Oh, you… you… considered it."
"I have." Fenris didn't say anything more and Amelle's stomach clenched again. In the ensuing silence the clock ticked and the fire crackled and twice more Fenris' hands clenched and released.
"That's… it, then? You've thought about it, but you… aren't going to say anything more?"
"If we are to plan any sort of journey, it is better not to invite any… unforeseen ramifications of such an experiment."
"Unforeseen ramifi…" Amelle trailed off as the words died in her throat. "You… you think I'm still not ready to attempt any magic usage."
Though he didn't reply right away, Fenris' scowl was enough. "There are more reasons than simply that, but… that is true as well — I am concerned you may be attempting something that will require too vast amount of mana, considering what happened at the spring. I am concerned you might not yet be fully recovered."
"Don't you think I might be a better judge of that than anyone?" And though it was difficult, Amelle kept the edge out of her voice despite the flare of irritation that blossomed beneath her breast. "Don't you think I learned my lesson regarding expenditures of power? Besides, this isn't a lyrium-corrupted water source, Fenris — I can do this. I know my power, and I know I've not only recovered from what happened at the spring, I'm… I'm stronger, I'm… whatever's inside of me, Fenris, it's better than it ever was before."
Again he sighed. "It is… tempting, Amelle. To know there is something left over from that time that still exists in me, to know some remnant of my years as Danarius' slave can be exorcised. It is tempting to let you do this."
"But…?"
He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes catching and reflecting the dancing firelight. "But I do not know what affects such an attempt will have on your own powers. I do not know what consequences exist beyond that attempt. If we are to consider Starkhaven, we must speak with Aveline and the Knight-Commander, possibly even Merrill, and set our focus on booking passage on a ship—"
"We're going overland."
Fenris just blinked at her. "You have decided this already?"
"Going overland is quicker. And there will be…" She cringed. "There'll be less vomiting if we do it that way."
Dark brows rose in comprehension. "Ah. Very well — in that case, there are supplies to pack and transportation to arrange. If you are in earnest about traveling to Starkhaven — and I suspect you are — that is what we must concentrate on doing."
This time it was Amelle's turn to sigh, and she leaned back against the couch, tapping her fingers against the book's cover. "You aren't… entirely wrong, Fenris."
He canted his head at her, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like consternation. "But I am… partially wrong? In what regard?"
"The part where you're worrying about my power stores." Tucking her legs up under her, Amelle twisted on the couch to face Fenris. Her knee brushed his thigh and sent a frisson of something rippling through her. She coughed, hoping he didn't notice the heat she was sure was coloring her cheeks. "I can do this, Fenris. I know I can. It's a careful application of power, but it's not power that I'm lacking. I have it. I can feel it."
"You asked me to trust you to know your limits before, Amelle. It did not end well."
"And it was a lesson hard-won, but a lesson I learned nonetheless. I'm never — never going to push myself like that again. I know now, better than I ever did before, the risks of such a thing." The memory of how empty she'd felt, how bare and hollow and dry still lived vividly in her memory, and simply recalling how she'd felt at that time was enough to make Amelle shudder and wonder why she'd ever even indulged the most fleeting thought that perhaps she would be better off without her magic.
She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes only to find Fenris was already watching her so very closely, still uncertain. She felt a momentary surge of defensiveness well up in her chest until Fenris said, so quietly, "I would not have you risk yourself for me, Amelle."
"No nosebleeds, Fenris. I promise."
"None of which changes—"
She interrupted him, blurting, "What if… what if there's a compromise?"
He blinked at her before leaning back, resting one arm along the back of the divan. Only the wary set of his spine kept him from looking entirely at ease, entirely comfortable. "I do not take your meaning."
Setting the book and its troublesome letter of a bookmark aside, Amelle scooted an inch or two closer to him. "If we leave for Starkhaven in a week that will give us adequate time to prepare—to find supplies, horses, I don't know, a tent—and a week would be plenty of time for any mana I expend to be more than replenished." Almost tentatively, she reached up and laid her hand over his, where it curled over the cushion.
After a moment he turned his hand beneath hers, the better to lace his fingers with hers. "Amelle."
She bent her head, closing her eyes, tightening ever so slightly her hold on his hand. "Magic did this to you. Magic wielded by a monster of a man, maybe, but magic nonetheless. I can't undo what he did. I can't—and I wouldn't—erase those parts of you. But there might be — I might be able to give you back some of what he, and his magic, stole. And if I can…"
After a moment, she felt the fingertips of his other hand beneath her chin, and she opened her eyes as he gently tipped her head up again. His eyes were peculiarly soft, and the faintest hint of a smile—gentle, not mocking—pulled at his lips. "This is important to you."
It was. She wished she had words to adequately explain herself to him, but everything felt too narrow, too trite, not quite right. Intellectually, she knew he had… come to terms with her magic, and even allowed it to be useful. She could not shake, however, the terrible fear he liked her in spite of her magic. Even as recently as the battle with Meredith, he'd questioned Kiara's decision to stand with the mages. If she could only prove to him, if she could only give him back a fraction of what magic had taken… perhaps some of the hatred would ebb. Perhaps he might begin—just begin—to see the beauty possible with magic.
But she didn't have the words to say it. Any of it.
She was her magic. Her magic was her. She… she didn't want to be liked in spite of it.
Fenris' fingertips drifted from her chin to her cheekbone, and she pressed her cheek to the palm of his hand.
"Very well," he said at last. "Let us make the attempt."
"Are you—?"
He raised one eyebrow. It made him look somehow both amused and exasperated. "Do not ask if I am certain, Amelle. I am as certain as I can be. That must be certainty enough, for now."
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, but his thumb caught at the flesh and he shook his head. "I don't want to pressure you," she admitted.
He gave a low chuckle. "You could not."
An answering laugh was pulled from deep in her throat, but it sounded thin and wan to her ears. "No, I probably couldn't. I must have forgotten who I was talking to for a second."
The backs of his fingers stroked her cheekbone and Amelle let out a tremulous breath at the gentle touch. "Perhaps I will have to remind you later."
Her tremulous breath turned into an even more tremulous huff of laughter. "I can think of worse things."
"Mm. As can I."
They stayed like that for nearly a full minute longer as Amelle put her thoughts in order. The possibility remained that any effort she expended wouldn't work — there was always that chance. She didn't want to try and get her own hopes up — objectivity was an invaluable tool at any time, but never more so than right now.
But still, the tiny voice whispered up from inside her, what if?
"Should I—" Emotion thickened her voice and Amelle stopped, clearing her throat. "Should we— would you prefer it if we—?"
"I have no immediate engagements. If it is better to attempt this sooner rather than later, then you have your answer. I have already told you I am certain."
"All right." She drew in a steadying breath and nodded. "All right then. I… it will be better if we go to another room. Better if you're comfortable and… better if we're not interrupted."
This time Fenris' smile did turn gently mocking. "You think constant interruption is a likelihood now?"
Amelle thought a moment how bloody quiet it had been the moments before Fenris had arrived, and breathed a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. "All the same. The library isn't…" She cast another look at the hideous statue and grimaced. "Another room might be better."
"Are there no… supplies you'll need?" Fenris asked, getting to his feet and drawing Amelle to hers.
She shook her head and showed him her two hands. "Just the same ones I always use, and they haven't let me down yet."
Taking hold of one of those hands and twining his fingers with hers, Fenris simply squeezed and offered a silent nod. Amelle found herself wondering if, despite his certainty, he mightn't be a little nervous. Maker knew she was.
I can do this.
They walked together up the stairwell and Amelle hesitated a bare moment before leading him to the room that had most recently been Sebastian's recovery room. In the intervening years, the scent of Mother's perfume had faded, and healing Sebastian within those walls had done a great deal to… change the room for Amelle. The bedding was fresh, and most of their mother's things had either by now been packed away in the Amell vault, or held places of honor in Kiara or Amelle's bedchambers. It was just another room with a comfortable bed, fresh linens, and, after a brief gesture from Amelle, a warm fire.
She gently disentangled her hand from Fenris' and clasped them behind her back, where she hoped he could not see the way her fingers twisted around each other. "Would you mind… lying down?" When he sent her a curious look, Amelle shrugged and went to the bedside, picking up one of the pillows. "Healing always goes more quickly when the patient is… comfortable." She sat upon the bed, placing the pillow in her lap.
Fenris sent the bed a vaguely wary look before approaching and sitting lightly on the edge. After another moment's hesitation he twisted around and lay back, resting his head gingerly upon the pillow. Amelle took a deep, steadying breath before brushing Fenris' hair away from his forehead.
"I know… I know I can't make you any promises, Fenris. But—"
His green eyes opened and he regarded her soberly. "I recall extracting neither a promise nor a guarantee from you, Amelle." He closed his eyes and remained perfectly still but for the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. "When you are ready."
Another niggle of doubt pulled at her, even as she placed a hand on either side of Fenris' head, cradling it gently. She stroked his temple with her thumb, as much to calm herself as to reassure him, and with a deep breath, she summoned her mana and felt her connection to the spirit of Compassion flare to life, closing her eyes in concentration as the thrum of magic tingled past her fingertips and surrounded her hands in threads of blue-white light.
As before, it took a little while for Amelle to even find what she'd discovered last time. And, as before, it still felt strange to her, as the threads of her magic reached out and brushed against that… that blemish. Again she wondered what it was — was it some sort of… residual scarring left by the trauma Fenris had undergone in receiving his markings? Or was it something more mundane than that? She frowned and reached deeper, letting her mana flow down her arms as she channeled it into Fenris, focusing it on that infinitesimal piece of him that felt so… wrong. She felt Compassion's presence like hands over hers, though she also felt his reticence — perhaps unsurprising, given the last time the Fade spirit had been in such close proximity to Fenris and his lyrium markings. But the white tattoos remained dormant, and that in itself was strangely reassuring, for as long as Fenris was at the very least comfortable and didn't feel threatened or, Maker forbid, angry, those markings would remain dark.
It was hard to find an analogy for this type of healing. There was nothing to stitch together, or to soothe with poultice, or to bandage and make whole. Instead, she allowed her power to resonate within him, seeking out the strangeness and scraping at it, ever so gently, as if it might be merely a scab with fresh, pink, new skin beneath. She felt Fenris tremble beneath her hands and she pulled back at once. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, though an incongruous smile played at his lips.
He shook his head gently, schooling his features back to quiet. "It… tickled."
"It… I'm sorry? It tickled?"
Fenris lowered his brows in a good-natured glower. "To own the truth, Amelle, it always tickles. It is only you've so rarely had to… focus your power so intently upon me for so long." This was true, but for some reason the thought of him silently suffering through intense bouts of ticklishness every time she'd had to throw desperate healing magic at him on the battlefield just made her shake her head wonderingly. Fenris huffed a disgruntled breath, and she smiled, running her fingertips delicately along his cheekbone. Turning his head, he pressed a brief kiss to her fingers. "You may continue. I will not be overcome again."
Her lips twitched involuntarily. "You won't be overcome by… by the tickling?"
"It is not as amusing as you think it is, Amelle."
"Fenris, it kind of is." She giggled, and pressed her hand to her mouth to silence herself. "It's just… oh, if only I'd been able to tickle Kiara or Carver with magic. If only."
He snorted. "Yes, I am certain you never found other ways to be troublesome."
Grinning, she bent and kissed his forehead. "Spoken like someone who never had a twin brother—a much stronger twin brother—who knew no mercy when it came to tickling."
"Mmm. And you were entirely innocent."
"I was."
"You never hid his shoes or stole his things or…" A strange look passed over his face as he spoke, and she wasn't certain he realized he'd fallen into silence until his inhaled deeply and blinked up at her. "Forgive me."
Concerned, she reached out again, tentatively, with her magic. "What was it?"
"A ghost, perhaps. The faintest… recollection. Of something. It was gone before I could name it." His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. "Perhaps… perhaps it is working, this idea of yours. Do continue, Amelle."
This time she made no jokes about childhood or tickling. She laid one hand on his forehead and the other over his heart, once again seeking out the worrisome knot of unrelenting psychic scar tissue. After one minute or ten—it was so hard to judge time when she worked this way—she felt him tremble again, but this time she did not pull back. She redoubled her efforts, trying to heal him before discomfort bade her stop again. There it is. There.
Triumph lasted only a moment. She pointed her power at the reluctant little spot, Fenris' shaking stilled, and something snapped. At first she couldn't tell if the snapping was in her or him, but she felt it acutely, like a lash against her hands. Like a brand. Like a brand against my flesh. The sensation shot up her arms and suddenly her senses were filled with the choking combination of burning flesh and lyrium, the coppery taste of blood, the sound of a voice screaming in wordless agony — her own throat was raw with it, and for the barest dizzying instant she wondered if the screams were in fact her own. It was too much, all of it, and Amelle sucked in a gasping breath—this was no mere ticklishness; this was indescribable —and pulled her hands away from him just in time to see Fenris' markings flare to sudden brightness as his back arched from the bed and his mouth opened in a silent scream. There was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as he clutched at his head, teeth gritted, lips curled back in a snarl — but still, for all his agony, he made not a sound.
Then, as unexpectedly as he'd started, Fenris went suddenly still, the brightness of his markings stuttering into darkness. Amelle glanced down at her own hands for an instant, shocked to find them unmarred — she'd felt something, a scalding brand, her flesh sizzling with it. She dropped her hands to her lap, that instant of blinding, excruciating pain far from forgotten, but at the least pushed aside for the moment. The only sound within those walls was the ragged rasp of labored breathing — Amelle's as well as Fenris'. Then his eyes snapped open and he stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling. His body still trembled, but Amelle knew far better than to think for a moment it was because anything tickled.
"Fenris?" she breathed. How strange, she'd been sure her throat would feel sore and raw from all the screaming, from the smoke, from the lyrium—
But that hadn't really happened, had it? The only fire was in the hearth, she hadn't so much as a drop of lyrium potion on hand, and no one was bleeding.
Correction, Amelle thought, feeling suddenly and almost violently ill, it didn't happen to me.
Fenris didn't look at her as he sat up unsteadily; in the firelight Amelle saw his face was damp with perspiration, his eyelashes spiky with moisture. He was grey beneath his tan, and sat staring into the fire as if he'd never seen it before. Then he got to his feet, slowly, but strangely determined as he walked closer to the fire, hands clenching and releasing slowly, reminding Amelle painfully of that very gesture he'd exhibited before — before when he'd only been nervous about this undertaking. Before.
After an interminable bout of silence Fenris turned and stared at her, his chest heaving now and the look in his eyes was so wounded, so haunted, so tortured it was almost better when he hadn't been looking at her. Swallowing hard, Amelle pushed to her feet, letting the pillow fall to the floor. She took a step closer but dared not an inch beyond that, wanting to reach out to him, but something telling her she shouldn't dare that, either.
"Fenris? What happened? What is it?"
He blinked and tried to speak, but the words… simply would not come. He swallowed hard, and with visible effort, and tried again.
"I remember." His voice was an awful croak of a whisper, dry and cracked. "I remember… everything."
Amelle's thoughts vaulted to the stink of burning flesh and lyrium and the stench of blood — and blood magic, her mind whispered — and all the screaming, and if that was even a fraction of what Fenris remembered…
Amelle felt cold, suddenly. Oh, Maker, what have I done?
"You… you remember?" she asked, her own voice a whisper.
"My memories," he said with a shudder, turning away and pressing his fingertips against his eyes, rubbing as if he might erase whatever it was he saw behind closed lids. "Amelle. You restored my memories."
Amelle stared, the icy feeling in her gut only growing colder and tighter. Truth be told, she hadn't expected the experiment to work. But it had. It had worked horribly, horribly well. She took another step and reached out a hand to touch his forearm, but Fenris jerked away from her, shaking his head mutely as he took a staggering step back.
"I… I am sorry, Amelle. I must—I can't. I can't. I must go."
#
Fenris saw Amelle reach for him, her fingers tentative, her hand curled toward him the way one approached a frightened animal, and he staggered away.
The sunburn across her nose was fading.
He saw Amelle's lips open—
—the taste of sweat against his lips as he kissed her shoulder, her back; her throaty cry as she came, her body trembling against him; her sleepy sigh and whisper as she drifted to sleep in his arms: I love you, Leto—
He knew Amelle must be speaking, but everything was clamoring in his head and he couldn't make himself understand her. Eighteen years of voices and images and memories all battling for dominance, all pushing and pulling and fighting to find a place again in a mind that had once been wiped clean of them. It was too much. It was too much.
Riding on his father's shoulders, laughing, hands fisted in his hair; Mamae whispering stories of her elven gods; Varania holding his hand, showing him the funny little treasures she'd collected—a broken comb, a dirty ribbon, a stone in the shape of a heart.
He couldn't bring himself to look at Amelle's face. Her eyes were wounded. He couldn't bear it. He didn't deserve it.
Liaria.
He reached blindly for the door, his fingers grasping fruitlessly at the air, but when she tried to step forward he flung his hand up defensively. She flinched. He made her flinch.
Hot sand beneath his feet. Heart pounding. Ears ringing with the cries of the crowd. They didn't care if it was his blood they saw spilt; they didn't care for him at all. Kill or be killed, Leto. Kill or be killed.
"I… I am sorry, Amelle. I must—I can't. I can't. I must go."
Pushing open the door, he caught a last glimpse of Amelle's expression, her tragic eyes, her too-pale skin, before he stumbled out into the hall and down the stairs. For a moment, he thought the maid was Varania. No. Orana. Varania was—no, not Varania. Orana.
Should I win this contest, the women in my life will have no cause to worry about anything, ever again.
He could not stop the moan from escaping his lips, but by then he was already out of the house and no one was nearby to hear it. It was raining. It had rained that day, too, at the end. Water in his eyes. Blood washing away, as if it had never been. But oh, it had been.
Home. He had to go home.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry. I had to. Forgive me. I beg you, forgive me.
But there was no forgiveness for him, he knew that. He did not deserve it. Not after what he'd wanted. Not after what he'd done.
