It seemed, to be perfectly honest, a strange place for a trader to set up shop. Or, at least, it had seemed so until Varric and Isabela strolled up to the dwarven merchant, greeting him by name, Varric chatting up the trader until he'd offered them all a discount on his goods. Something about a cousin they had in common on the Merchant's Guild, she thought. The trader, Kaldrec, had seemed less than convinced until Varric flashed his signet ring. Amelle was fairly certain she'd never seen so sudden a change in attitude before any money had changed hands. Within minutes, Varric Tethras had negotiated enough winter gear to outfit their entire party and Isabela had mysteriously vanished.
"Are you quite certain this is going to be necessary?" Amelle asked Varric as she dug through the coin in her purse and handed over several pieces of gold and silver to the trader who watched them all with beady, greedy eyes.
Varric snorted as he pressed a fur-lined cloak and gloves into her arms. "Trust me, Firefly. Doesn't matter how much fire you can make fall out of the sky, you're gonna want to be bundled up for this."
"If there's one thing I hate more than bloody horses," announced Isabela as she came around a rocky outcropping, "it's bloody snow."
Fastening her own cloak and pulling up the hood — the fur tickled her cheeks — Amelle stared and then gaped at the glowering pirate, who likewise had donned a fur-lined cloak and heavy gloves. "Isabela—"
"Don't even say it, kitten."
"Isabela, are you wearing pants?"
From behind her, Varric chuckled. "Rivaini learned her lesson the first time through."
Cullen sputtered, dropping one glove. "You traveled through the mountains dressed like—dressed like that?"
Isabela's glare slid into a smirk as she sauntered closer to the templar. Amelle had to admit the addition of pants did absolutely nothing to detract from Isabela's saunter, and she felt a flare of envy when she realized the pirate could have been decked head to foot in burlap and it wouldn't have made a bloody bit of difference.
"It was terrible, too," Isabela pouted. Cullen's flush was instantaneous, coloring all the way up to the tips of his ears, the pink turning pinker when Isabela leaned closer and looked up at him through her lashes. "And I didn't even have someone like you, Handsome, to help keep me warm."
"Yeah," Varric said, his voice flat. "Real pity, that."
Isabela threw a wink over her shoulder, but Varric's expression remained patently unamused. Then again, little in the day and a half since they'd departed the inn had seemed to amuse Varric. He was almost uncharacteristically solemn, which unnerved Amelle a great deal more than the vague threats of what lay ahead of them. Almost as if to spite him, Isabela remained relentlessly lighthearted.
Bending from the waist in a way that made the curve of her bottom distractingly evident, Isabela retrieved Cullen's fallen glove. He blinked. Amelle didn't think it was the glove he was concerned with. Behind her, she heard Fenris make a brief sound of displeasure—probably at how much time they were wasting.
Isabela admired the glove a moment before pressing it into Cullen's hand. "You're tall," she purred.
Cullen shot Amelle a terrified look. She almost laughed. It was the kind of expression a drowning man might wear. If they'd turned a corner and found an entire horde of darkspawn, she thought Cullen might have been less distressed.
It was Fenris who spoke, his voice sharp and cool. "You are acting even more foolish than usual, Isabela. We have no time for this."
The pirate grinned, stepping away from a still-pink Cullen, clasping her hands loosely before her. "Jealous, are we?"
Fenris glowered. "You know I am not."
Amelle didn't think she imagined the all-too-knowing glance Isabela shot her way, but she ignored it entirely, fussing instead with the fit of her own glove. The pirate sighed, loudly and with gusto. "If you lot knew half of what we went through getting here, you'd none of you be quite so eager to set off."
"Avalanches," Fenris said dryly. "And darkspawn."
"To say nothing of the bandits, the rain, the snow, the broken crossbow—"
"She's fixed now," Varric interjected, giving Bianca a fond pat.
"—The pickpocket who stole most of our coin, the lame horse, and the people burning mages alive in Starkhaven," Isabela finished. Her cheeks were pink, and Amelle had to admit it was the closest she'd ever seen the pirate to genuinely distressed. "So no, I'm not keen on a repeat performance."
"We are well-armed, and as well-prepared as might be," Fenris said, but his calm only made Isabela stamp her foot in anger.
"Tell that to the mountain just before it shrugs its shoulders and dumps a load of rock and ice and Maker knows what else on our heads," she retorted.
"Isabela," Amelle said, as soothingly as she possibly could, "Fenris does have a point. You were alone before." She gestured at Fenris and Cullen, their own cold-weather wear doing nothing to hide their weaponry. "This time, you've two extra swords handy in the event of darkspawn or bandits, and, for no extra charge, ice-and-snow melting fireballs, protective barriers, and for a limited time only," here, Amelle spun her staff loosely in her hand, "paralysis glyphs guaranteed to stop even the peskiest pickpockets."
Isabela sighed, folding her arms over her bosom. "You're leaving out the part where an entire city would come out to watch you roast like a suckling pig, kitten."
"I'll be careful," she said placatingly. "I promise. Besides — healer."
"And it's bloody cold," Isabela added.
"Fireballs," whispered Amelle, grinning and wiggling gloved fingers at her.
Finally, Isabela's distressed expression wavered, and for all that Amelle believed completely that Isabela had no desire whatsoever to return to Starkhaven at all — much less tromping through ice and snow to do so — she could see the other woman's resolve weakening slightly.
"Well," Isabela began, slightly mollified, "I suppose there is something to be said for adequate preparation."
"Exactly."
But then Isabela's lips twitched and one eyebrow arched gracefully. "So tell me, kitten."
Amelle had a bad feeling. "Yes?"
"Does handling all that fire make your hands… hot?"
Amelle felt her own cheeks grow warm and she took a wary step back. "Um." But Isabela only sauntered closer. And this time when she looked to Varric for help, she saw the dwarf looking less somber than he had been. Varric looked, in fact, on the verge of being amused.
"Because if that's the case, kitten," she murmured, moving indecently close and invading every ounce of Amelle's personal space, "maybe I won't be looking to Handsome to keep me warm on those cold, cold nights."
"Isabela," Fenris snapped, "if you are quite through playing games, might we finally depart?"
She shot him a long, unreadable look, then pulled away with a flourish and winked at Amelle before going back to Varric's side. "By all means, Broody," she retorted pertly. "Just remember: I tried to warn you." She sighed. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can kick the arse of whatever it is that wants to kill us horribly."
"That's the optimistic spirit, Rivaini," Varric replied, and the two rogues started up the path toward the clearing where they'd tethered the horses.
"Yeah. I'm really growing as a person, aren't I?"
"It's the pants," Varric remarked.
Without pause, Fenris stalked after them. They'd been giving each other a wide berth since leaving the inn. Except for the briefest of moments—mistakes, she was certain—Fenris still kept his distance. They'd been on cooking duty together the night before, and Amelle could not help but marvel at how the two of them had managed to prepare a meal together exchanging no more than a dozen words through the whole process. Difficult, but not impossible.
If anything, it reminded Amelle of the old days, and she could almost fool herself into forgetting anything had ever been different between them. This Fenris was a familiar Fenris, taciturn and aloof as ever—and it wasn't even that his silence was cruel, because it wasn't. If anything, it was protective, and she wasn't about to begrudge him that.
Cullen tugged on the offending glove as he fell in beside her, and his presence was enough to halt the downward spiral of her thoughts. In a low voice, he said, "She's not… why does she call me that?"
"What?" Amelle asked. "Handsome?"
Cullen ducked his head, embarrassed, and Amelle felt improbable laughter at her lips. "Honestly, Cullen? The Chantry doesn't let you have mirrors?"
The persistent pink tinge darkened. "But she's not serious."
Amelle punched him lightly on the arm. "Probably not. I think she likes to make you blush."
"I'm not—"
"Cullen, please."
He grimaced. "I'm not… I'm not precisely accustomed to…"
"Flirtation?" Amelle offered. "Brazenness? Isabela? You'll get used to her. The rest of us have."
Ahead of them the others had disappeared around a corner, but Cullen slowed and paused, thoughtful. "I thought perhaps she and the dwarf—"
Amelle did laugh aloud at this, startling them both. "Maker, Cullen. No. They're just like that. I think because they've been sharing the roof of The Hanged Man for years. Breeds a certain conviviality. But no."
Cullen's brow lowered. "If you're certain…"
"Oh, I'm certain." She smirked at him. "Why? Are you interested? I could put in a good word…"
Cullen stumbled, his eyes widening. "You're mad. The lot of you."
Amelle huffed another brief laugh. "That's not the worst that's been said of us. It's not too late for you to turn back."
"Amelle…"
She raised a hand, waving away her own comment. "Joke, Cullen."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Isabela will be glad to hear it."
He raised a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That has nothing to do with it."
She smiled as she nudged him with her shoulder. "The more you react, the more she'll push. And the more you blush, the more flagrant her attentions will be."
He gaped at her. "How can I not react? Did you see her—"
"Pants?" Amelle interjected. "Yes, I did. Shocking."
Whatever response Cullen might have made, however, was stolen by the shrill cry of a horse, followed by the unmistakable crash of metal on metal. Amelle swore under her breath and broke into a run, taking a breath and funneling her mana into the staff she gripped. She heard Cullen running alongside her, his long-legged strides pushing him around the corner faster than Amelle by at least three paces.
The horses were rearing wildly, whinnying and stomping the ground — entirely unsurprising given the animals were surrounded by bandits attempting to make off with them.
"I told you so!" Isabela yelled out over the din. She was in the thick of it, her dual blades flashing in the sunlight. Varric hung back, Bianca settled in his hands, shooting off bolt after bolt, as Fenris rushed up behind Isabela, drawing his blade on a bandit attempting to sneak up behind her. His markings flared bright as he swung his blade and cleaved the man in half. Pulling free both sword and shield, Cullen likewise ran into the fray, situating himself so he and Fenris flanked Isabela, and the three worked outward, separating the bandits and cutting them down.
Amelle remained with Varric, casting barriers and glyphs to protect Fenris, Isabela, and Cullen — not so much from the bandits, but rather from the terrified horses, some of which were rearing up on their hind legs while others spooked, bucking and kicking anything in their path.
"Can you do something about those sodding beasts, Firefly?" Varric grumbled after one of his bolts grazed a horse unlucky enough to race past; the injury only sent the animal further into a furor and it bucked suddenly, missing Fenris by mere inches.
Amelle hissed a colorful curse and slammed the staff hard into the ground, breathing and focusing her mana until the animals were caught in the glowing green light of several paralysis glyphs. Their screams and snorts still filled the air, and Amelle let the power within her shift slightly as she exhaled a mild sleep spell.
A strange tremor filled the air, and Amelle whirled, seeking it out. Sure enough, half-hidden behind a rocky outcropping, a mage was casting. She caught the glint of sun on his blond hair even before she realized his hands held a staff, and she felt her stomach clench hard. Then she looked closer—looked harder. The mage was thin and bedraggled and blond, yes, but she did not recognize him. For half a heartbeat Amelle was simply glad it wasn't Anders. Then she moved to add the man to her net of sleep—and found she couldn't. The paralysis glyph he'd thrown her way was neither particularly strong nor particularly gifted, but it had caught her unawares.
Across the battlefield, Isabela was making short work of another bandit. Fenris was flanked by a pair of dual-wielding rogues, but neither posed him much of a threat. Cullen met her eyes, and she could see his confusion—he must sense the magic—but she was still frozen and could not point the other mage out. She saw him shout something before he abandoned Fenris and Isabela to the ebbing battle. His eyes scanned the area where she was still looking—where she was forced to still look—and then he went oddly still.
It was so very strange to see a templar prepare to smite. She had so little experience with it. Even now, a twisting fear in her belly bade her run, run, run, rabbit, hide but she silenced it. Her fingers twitched around her staff just slightly. Another minute, she thought, already focusing on the string of spells she wanted at the ready.
Cullen's eerie stillness ended with a shattering pillar of white light. Amelle was glad to be on the other side of the clearing; the force of Cullen's smite pulled at her senses even from twenty feet away. The mage fell backward with a scream, but was still foolish enough to futilely swing his staff at the templar as he drew near.
The mage died as the last of his paralysis glyph faded away, but by the time Amelle turned back to the fray, she found it ended. New winter clothing was blood-spattered, the horses swayed on their feet, and blades were surreptitiously wiped clean on the clothing of dead men.
And Fenris met her eyes for the first time in days.
Her breath caught as her pulse gave a hard thump, and for the space of several seconds, her lips parted and she struggled to say something, but no words came. Finally, Fenris gave her only the briefest nod and turned away again. She swore silently and turned away as well.
"Is anyone hurt?" she asked, taking a moment to heal the accidental wound Varric had inflicted on one of the horses.
The animal's flesh knitted together neatly, for all it seemed entirely unnerved by her magic, stomping at the ground in agitation. She realized it was Fenris' horse she'd just healed. It turned its dark head to glare at her and snort, hot breath steaming the air. Amelle just sighed and shook her head, patting its flank.
"You've something in common with your rider," she murmured under her breath before turning to the other animals and her companions. Another of the horses had a deep gash along the shoulder, which healed up neatly enough as well, but this had been an altercation with thankfully few injuries.
"Blast it," Isabela muttered. "I broke a nail." She looked at Amelle. "Can you heal that?"
"Only if your finger came off in the process, I'm afraid."
Isabela made a face and then began checking the dead men's pockets for anything worth taking. Cullen looked mildly horrified by this, but Amelle only shrugged.
"It's not as if they'll be making use of whatever she finds," she said mildly, checking her horse's saddlebag. Nothing had been taken, though she knew — other than healing potions and stamina droughts — she hadn't left behind much a bandit would have been interested in stealing, other than the horse.
"But isn't it…" Cullen trailed off, his brow wrinkling.
"Disrespectful?" Amelle supplied, her own smile turning vaguely wry. "I suppose. And yet…"
"Maker's balls." Isabela's voice cut through the silence in the clearing as she crouched over the fallen body of one of the bandits. "What is it with people these days?" They all looked over to find Isabela, her expression dark with fury, a scrap of something red clutched in her hand. "That bastard," she pointed down at the dead man, "tried to steal my underpants."
Beside her, Cullen went still again—but not the stillness preceding a smite, mercifully. Amelle was close enough to hear him swallow. Hard. On her other side, Varric was checking over Bianca, paying extra attention to her trigger. Without looking up, he drawled, "You want I should kill him again for you, Rivaini?"
"If you wouldn't mind," Isabela shot back archly. "Looks like Broody got this one. Getting split in half is too easy a death by far. He probably didn't even feel it."
"At least the underwear made it through unscathed?"
Isabela huffed and held it aloft. Even Amelle found herself flushing slightly. And wondering, just a little, where something so pretty might be procured. If one was so inclined.
Cullen shook his head slightly, looking anywhere but at the pirate and her… booty. "Looting. And… jesting."
"Stick around for the drinking and the orgies," Varric replied. Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait, scrap that. You're not invited."
"Ooh," Isabela said, eyes widening theatrically, "yes, please."
"You two are incorrigible," Amelle groused.
"Only if that word means what I think it means," Isabela remarked.
"It doesn't," Varric replied.
"Clever and tantalizing and devilish in bed?"
Varric snorted. "Yeah. That's it exactly."
Isabela beamed at him and pocketed the nearly-pilfered scrap of lace. "Unless you want to hold onto it for me, Handsome?" she offered, raising one eyebrow.
"Not this again," Fenris growled.
Cullen said nothing, but Isabela only laughed, reaching up to pat him gently on one blushing cheek.
For all of her dislike of horses, Isabela was a more than competent rider. All Varric had to say about the stocky, hardy horse acquired for him was that it was better than "any sodding boat," which Isabela took particular offense to, but Amelle had to agree wholeheartedly. They picked their way through the mountain pass, and it wasn't long before Amelle was exceptionally thankful for the cloak and winter gloves, for the higher they got, the stronger and more bitter the winds became, sharp gusts carrying the sting of snow and ice.
Once darkness began to descend, it became nearly impossible to see, and the wind blew harder, making Amelle's eyes water as she squinted and strained her eyes to follow the trail before them.
Suddenly, Fenris' voice came from beside her — she'd been pouring so much concentration into peering along the dark, uneven path, she hadn't even realized his horse now walked steadily alongside hers.
"We've lost too much light. We must stop."
Amelle looked over sharply. "I can light—"
"Oh, thank the Maker," Isabela announced, reining her horse to a stop and dismounting, heedless of anyone else following behind her. "My back," she complained, pressing both hands to the small of her back and stretching and then grimacing. "And ow, my arse."
Varric swung himself off his mount with far more grace than she'd have expected the dwarf to possess. "Talk to me when you're puking up your shoes, Rivaini." He looked up at Amelle, Cullen, and Fenris, all still seated firmly in their saddles. "Good call, elf. We're gonna need plenty of daylight to get through what's ahead. There's a cave not too far ahead—"
"You remember all this?" Amelle said, impressed. Varric shrugged.
"Once you see what's farther on down the line, you'll see what makes this little route…memorable." And from the tone in his voice, Amelle could tell they weren't especially pleasant memories. "Anyway. There's a cave not too far ahead. Firefly, how about you and Broody set up camp, and me, Rivaini, and the Turnip will see what we can do about some firewood?"
From behind her and just to the right, Cullen sputtered. "I—I beg your pardon? Turnip?"
"Smite or no smite, kid, I've never seen anyone just stop in the middle of a fight like that." He paused. "You went still as a turnip. So: Turnip."
"It takes a great deal of concentration and focus to—"
"C'mon, Turnip. We've got wood to gather."
Still looking scandalized, Cullen slid from the back of his horse and handed his reins off to Amelle. She gave him a sympathetic look. "It could be worse?"
"I fail to see how," he retorted.
"Potato?" she offered.
"Don't give him ideas."
But he was smiling when he turned to follow Varric and Isabela's tracks. Just as Amelle was turning to lead the horses up the slope to the cave, Fenris appeared from within and held out his hand. "I will see to the animals," he said. "There is a pool within."
Amelle blinked at him. "And?"
Fenris' eyebrow twitched as he reached for the reins she held. She tried not to react when his fingers brushed hers, but the quiver of longing was stronger than her willpower and she glanced down at the ground to keep him from seeing the blush at her cheeks.
"You might… bathe, if you wish," Fenris explained. "While you have privacy."
At this her chin jerked up and her eyes widened. Fenris' expression remained inscrutable. She very nearly told him as long as Isabela was in the vicinity, privacy was not a concept she'd count on, but instead she said, "Somehow I don't think that's what Varric meant when he said set up camp."
"It is a cave," Fenris said, as if this explained everything. On her baffled look he added, "There is little to set up. Wood is required before we can have a fire, or do the cooking. Varric knows your proclivities, and he knew the cave would have a bathing pool. Make use of it."
"Cleanliness is a proclivity now?"
"Your fondness for baths is well-known."
It is?
"As is your distaste for being filthy any more—or any longer—than you must."
Amelle blinked at him. "I should… I should help with the horses."
Fenris' eyes narrowed so slightly she would have missed it altogether if she'd not been looking right at him. Then he shook his head once, and said, "It is a task I prefer to complete on my own. Have your bath now, or I imagine you will have to share with Isabela later."
A furrow creased her brow. Fenris' expression gave nothing away, but she wondered if perhaps Isabela hadn't been telling tales—exaggerated tales—of shared bathtime. Finally, sighing, Amelle loosened her saddlebags, swung the straps over her shoulder, and walked toward the cave. When she'd almost reached it, she turned her head slightly and called out, "Fenris?"
He was already unsaddling the horses, but he glanced her way when she spoke.
"Thank you," she said.
He nodded, running a hand down the horse's flank.
For a moment Amelle felt distressingly jealous of the beast. Then she shook her head firmly and headed for the mouth of the cave.
#
On one hand, Fenris was glad to have run across Varric and Isabela on their travels. They added — ironically enough — a degree of normalcy to the group dynamic, and kept conversation from sliding into awkward silence. Fenris did not mind silence, but Varric and Isabela made no demands that he contribute, and were just as happy to talk amongst themselves. Truly, there were moments when this journey felt no different from any of their other adventures and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Hawke and Sebastian far, far ahead of the group, scouting the path.
On the other hand, however, Fenris was beginning to grow weary of what he strongly suspected were… machinations designed to place him and Amelle within close proximity to each other. In… theory he was annoyed to find he did not mind it, precisely. It was still difficult to look at her, for he knew if he met her eyes it wouldn't take long for him to see the disgust in her gaze — the same disgust with himself that burned hatefully in his gut.
But he would not fool himself, would not indulge in illusion and fantasy, and so he kept his distance as much as Varric and Isabela's interferences would allow.
But even now, as brilliant morning sunlight streamed down upon the clearing, and Fenris placed the saddle upon Horse's back, he remembered all too clearly the gentle splashing sounds coming from the cave as Amelle bathed. He remembered thinking it a brilliant plan to provide a measure of comfortable distance between them while the others were occupied. What he hadn't counted on, however, was the cave's acoustics… amplifying those sounds. And so he busied himself with the horses, not daring to leave Amelle so… exposed and discoverable, and not daring to move any closer to the cave.
Dinner had been a reasonably pleasant affair — during their search for firewood, Varric, Isabela, and the templar had happened upon a buck. A well-aimed bolt from Bianca had pierced the animal's heart and the three returned not only with wood for a fire, but meat to cook upon it.
Everything had been fine — pleasant, even — until it was time to retire. Amelle had claimed first watch, and Varric had suggested with somewhat less than his usual subtlety that Fenris take the second. He'd relieved her with as little interaction as possible, but she still smiled a hesitant sort of thanks at him as she relinquished her post for the night and crawled into her bedroll. And when Isabela relieved Fenris and he returned to the cluster of bedrolls by the fire, he'd found someone had moved his, situating it neatly next to the slumbering Amelle's own bedding.
If I do not react, they will lose interest in this game soon enough, he thought with a scowl, tightening the horse's girth and checking the billet straps, looking up in time to spy Amelle hoisting herself up onto her own beast's back. He looked down again, checking the girth a third and — Fenris dearly hoped — final time.
They had better lose interest.
"Good sleep?" Isabela asked as she walked her horse past him. "Comfortable? Warm enough?"
Fenris said nothing, vaulting onto Horse's back so suddenly the animal sidestepped and startled, gazing back at him with huge, betrayed eyes. He gave the horse an absentminded pat to the neck, and ignored Isabela entirely. Her laugh, however, gave every indication that if she planned on giving up the game, it certainly wasn't going to be any time soon.
They were on the path less only a short time before they turned a corner and came across a wall of snow and ice and fallen rock. Varric, at the head of the procession, turned and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Isabela shuddered visibly. Amelle simply gaped.
"You… that… Maker's breath, Varric!" Amelle cried. "If anything you were playing it down."
"You make sure to tell your sister that," he shot back, grinning. "She believes I'm incapable of it."
The mention of Hawke brought a swift shadow across Amelle's face, but even as he watched, she fought it off. If her smile was a little brittle, or her tone a little dispirited, no one called attention to it. "That's only because she's horrified at the way you inflate her breasts in your stories. She says if she was that top-heavy she'd never be able to pull a bow properly."
"Know your audience," he said wisely.
The Knight-Commander frowned, and Fenris felt some sympathy for the man. He'd had years to grow accustomed to the strange blend of humor and insouciance and impertinence in the face of horror beyond reason, but the templar was new to it, and seemed constantly taken aback by the incongruous jests and amusement. "And how are we to pass this?" he demanded. "We ought to have taken a different route, if you knew this was here."
"Different route would have added a week to the journey," Varric said, as if this explained everything. "What's a little snow and ice when we've got Firefly?"
Fenris opened his mouth to protest, but once again the Knight-Commander beat him to it. "You expect Amelle to clear this?"
"A little fire goes a long way," Amelle offered. Fenris could see the calculation on her face as she slid from her horse's back and began pacing the breadth of the pass. "We'll have to be careful about it, though. Don't want to make it worse. Or cause a second slide."
There was—for a change—nothing feigned about the horror on Isabela's face. Her cheeks were pale and he could clearly see the whites of her eyes. Even her mount seemed disconcerted by it; the mare skipped sideways and tossed her head with a dismayed whinny. "Very careful," she breathed. "Very."
The Knight-Commander was not dissuaded. "A week would be a small price to pay if it means Amelle's health—"
Amelle glared at him. "I'm fine, Cullen."
"Amelle, look at what—"
"Yes," she shot back, and Fenris could hear her patience fraying, "I see it. And I am going to find a way through it. Very carefully."
The Knight-Commander clenched his jaw and glared at her, then looked to Fenris, raising his eyebrows as if to say, Aren't you going to say anything?
Fenris sighed and shook his head. "Amelle."
She stiffened and turned her head, only barely acknowledging him, as if she knew what he was going to say, as if she were preparing to battle him if need be.
"Yes?" came her reply, in as measured and calm a tone as he'd ever heard from her. But Fenris didn't believe it for a moment.
"I would advise you to consider the demands you've placed upon your powers recently and whether or not clearing this… impediment is particularly wise."
She turned to look at him, meeting his eyes without hesitation. He held her gaze, but his fingers tightened around the reins he held. "I've said I'm going to be careful, and I will," she replied calmly. "But I am not adding another week to this journey, Fenris." She then looked again at the templar, lifting her chin in the same gesture of defiance Fenris had seen her sister wear more than once. "And you're going to have to smite me to the Void to stop me."
A peculiar expression slid across the man's face, long-suffering tinged with something almost like amusement.
"And I really wouldn't recommend doing that, Turnip," drawled Varric, casting a cold eye on the templar. "Firefly knows her limits, and whatever else you might think of us, we take care of our own."
Fenris suppressed the urge to sigh. "The Knight-Commander's concerns are… valid," he said evenly. "Amelle… overtaxed her abilities to deal with a certain… incident in Kirkwall."
Varric arched an eyebrow and looked down at Amelle. "That true?"
"It is true, but I'm fine. Maker's blood, it was ages ago, anyway. I've had ample time to recover, and I'm fine."
Fenris noted she didn't look at him when she said that. Scowling, he slid easily from Horse's back and strode across the packed snow to Amelle's side. Her eyes widened as he drew closer, and her mouth tightened in a tense line.
"…Something to add?" she asked, forcing her tone to lightness, but there was a tremor beneath.
Fenris pitched his voice low, keeping his words for Amelle's ears only. "Are you certain?"
Several seconds ticked past before Amelle closed her eyes and nodded. She was resolute, that much was clear, but she was certain.
"Very well," he said, turning back to the horses. "Proceed."
"Fenris, I…" He turned in time to see whatever words Amelle was going to speak die on her lips. "I'll be careful."
"That is all we ask of you."
Fenris stood by Horse's side while Amelle paced. He saw her counting steps. She squinted at the wall of debris and measured with her arms. Then she turned and regarded the Knight-Commander, still sitting on his horse. "You are tall," she muttered. Without explaining herself, she moved to stand near him, gauging his height on horseback by holding her staff aloft. Then she moved back to the snow-wall.
"Okay," she said at last. "I have an idea."
"Go home, drink booze, profit?" Isabela asked hopefully.
While Fenris fought down the urge to shake the pirate, Amelle gave the woman a fond smile. "Tunnel," she said.
"Through that?" Isabela cried. "Did this mysterious something that happened in Kirkwall addle your wits, kitten?"
Amelle gave a low chuckle. "A little bit, yes. But this plan's sound, I think. We'll have to work slowly. And yes, carefully."
"You're not going to drop fireballs from the sky, then?" Varric remarked.
Amelle lifted an eyebrow. "And risk a flood of ice carrying us all back down the mountain? Hardly. I think if I use controlled heat in small sections—with you lot clearing out the inflammable rocks and debris as I go—and then freeze the surrounding snow into hard ice, we can make a sturdy passageway."
The Knight-Commander was not so easily swayed by her hopeful optimism. Fenris found himself almost approving of the man, if only for that. "That sounds like an awful lot of very precise, very tricky power, Amelle."
"I won't rush. But losing a day to this is still better than losing a week."
The templar's expression remained unconvinced, but he slid off the back of his horse, tethering the animal nearby. "All jesting aside, Amelle, at the first sign of a nosebleed, I will smite you. If not to the Void, at least until you see reason."
"Andraste's tits," Isabela breathed. "I do love a man who's not afraid to be firm. What do I need to do before you'll smite me, Handsome?"
"Be a mage, for starters," Varric said.
Isabela looked unconvinced.
"Smiting's a whole lot less fun than it sounds, Isabela," Amelle murmured, tugging off her gloves and going to the horse's side and slowly examining each staff she'd brought until she loosened the tethers fastening them and pulled one stave free from the lot. "Generally it leaves you feeling hung over without the benefit of getting to be drunk first."
Isabela wrinkled her nose. "Maker. Why would anyone want that done to them?"
"We generally don't." Amelle propped the staff up against the barrier, and cracked her knuckles before placing both hands against the wall of snow. Amelle closed her eyes, and soon a warm orange glow slid forth. It wasn't quite flame, Fenris realized, but heat all the same. It wasn't long before the heat issuing forth from Amelle's hands began to melt the snow. Steam curled upwards and water trickled down, forming a dent in the wall.
"So what's this about nosebleeds, Turnip?" Varric asked, keeping one eye on Amelle as she worked.
"There was… an illness. Curing it strained the limits of Amelle's healing powers."
The dwarf raised one eloquent eyebrow. "That can happen?"
Fenris frowned. "Frequently."
"Well, the kid's done some pretty intense battlefield healing. So what was it about this that messed her up so—"
"You do realize I'm standing right here?" Amelle called back over her shoulder.
Fenris' brows lowered. "In which case you are near to hand in the event either of us misrepresent what happened." He turned back to Varric. "Residue from the idol infected—"
"Wait, wait — which idol?" asked Varric, his voice heavy with dread. "No. On second thought, don't tell me."
"I have a bad feeling you already know the answer to that, Fuzzy," Isabela said, frowning. "Didn't we deal with that already?"
"If by deal with you mean watch as Meredith's sword shattered into dust," Amelle added, carefully sculpting an outline for the tunnel, "then yes. We did. We just did a somewhat pisspoor job of it."
"The infected water," Fenris explained, "made people ill."
"And of course they went to Firefly," Varric said, nodding. "And I'm guessing all this talk about ignoring your limits and getting nosebleeds is because someone did exactly that."
"And then there was smiting?" Isabela asked.
Another look of long-suffering settled on the Knight-Commander's face as he shook his head. "Though I did come close a number of times."
From behind them all, Amelle snorted. "You did more than come close, Cullen."
The templar went rigid, his eyes going wide with something that looked akin to embarrassment. "Oh— oh, come now Amelle, t-that hardly counts!"
When Fenris looked, he saw Amelle smirking as she said, primly, "A smite's a smite, Knight-Commander, ser."
Fenris turned and leveled a glare at Cullen. Anger, however, dried up the moment he caught sight of the templar's face. The man had gone pale—certainly too pale for mere embarrassment to be the cause—and Fenris was familiar enough with distress to realize the Knight-Commander was caught up in something far beyond an inappropriate jest. His haunted gaze was fixed on something in the middle distance, and whatever he was seeing, it was certainly not a snowy hillside or a pile of debris or even an impertinent mage.
Her pert nose was still sunburned, and the freckles still stood out against the skin. Her lips were parted, and blood stained her teeth — a tiny splash of red showed at the corner of her mouth.
With a grimace, Fenris pushed his own thoughts away. Whatever the Knight-Commander saw, it wasn't that, either.
He was the reason she was dead in his arms now, her skin growing slowly colder. The sunburn across her nose was fading.
When the templar didn't react right away—doubtless Amelle was expecting him to return her teasing in kind—she turned. Her magic flared hot, and the few feet of tunnel she'd managed to carve out caved in abruptly. Cursing under her breath, she said, "Cullen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Leave him be," Fenris snapped, stepping between her and the templar. "You have done damage enough already."
Amelle recoiled, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth even as her own cheeks drained of color and her eyes widened. Fenris felt a pang of dismay at having caused her pain, but it was nothing to the expression the Knight-Commander yet wore.
Varric sighed. "And I think we can safely file this one under taking things too far. Rivaini, you want to see to maybe getting some tea going?"
It was some measure of the seriousness of the situation that Isabela acceded to the demand without protesting. Or jesting. Or protesting jestingly. Varric stepped close to Amelle and said lightly, "Come on, Firefly. Let's you and I go for a stroll. Get some fresh air."
They were, of course, surrounded by fresh air. Amelle cast a last mournful look at the Knight-Commander before letting Varric take her arm and lead her away.
Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and waited. After another minute or two—Fenris could hear Isabela swearing as she attempted to start a fire, so it couldn't have been that long—the templar blinked and shuddered. "It was an accident," he whispered. "A nightmare."
Though it was not his nature to be comforting, Fenris attempted to temper his usual brusqueness when he replied, "She should not have made light of it."
Though he still looked quite stricken, the Knight-Commander managed to send him a somewhat wry look. "She was making light of it right after I'd done it."
Fenris sighed and rubbed hard at his forehead. "Still. She should not have spoken so thoughtlessly."
"I… do not believe she intended any harm."
"Such is the consequence of speaking thoughtlessly." And if Amelle's reaction was any indication, she regretted the words the moment she'd spoken them. The Knight-Commander looked for a moment as though he were going to argue the point, but shook his head and sighed.
"It was an accident," he said again, lowering himself to sit upon a large rock, resting his elbows upon his knees and raking both hands through his hair.
Fenris shifted his weight, but said nothing. If the Knight-Commander wished to fill the silence, he would. Otherwise, he would receive enough peace to collect himself once again. But he would not pry. He was certain there would be no thanks if he did.
The templar sat in silence for several minutes, during which time his color slowly returned. He took a deep breath and let it out again, slowly. "I knew an Amell once," he said quietly, and for a moment Fenris wasn't certain the man was speaking to him at all. But he looked up and addressed Fenris directly. "Cousin to the Hawke sisters. They… they don't know." His gaze lowered to the middle distance again. "She was a mage in the Ferelden Circle. Solona Amell."
Fenris gave a slow nod. "That is… where you were stationed before Kirkwall."
"Yes. Seems a lifetime ago, but yes. Amelle reminds me of her a little, sometimes. And sometimes… not at all." He tried a laugh, but it sounded broken, discordant.
"There is no need for explanation, templar," said Fenris, turning to busy himself with Horse, checking the bridle and the reins, tethered to a low tree. "It was, as you said, an incident beyond your control."
The Knight-Commander scrubbed one hand across his face again. "The dream. I… I couldn't tell them apart. Solona and Amelle. They were too… too similar, but—but they were wrong. Wrong versions of themselves." He clenched his eyes shut, the next words coming out no louder than a breath: "No good can come from granting mages leniency."
That caught Fenris' attention, and he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "If that is truly what you believe, why have you come this far?" He remembered the templar's words at the inn: I am here for Amelle.
He shrugged and shook his head. "Because she is… my friend." After a moment the Knight-Commander gave himself a shake. "Her cousin died at the hands of a blood mage — a man she'd trusted, one she'd called a friend — and I wasn't there to stop it. I wasn't there to help. I… I want to be a better friend than that to Amelle." A mirthless smile twisted his lips. "For all that my training may… disagree with my inclinations."
"You would not be the first to stand with Hawke—or with Amelle, for that matter—in spite of… beliefs at variance with those you once held."
The templar looked at him then, genuinely looked at him, and Fenris forced himself to meet the man's gaze. After a pause, the Knight-Commander said, "I suppose I wouldn't."
Fenris inclined his head slightly. "This dream. Do you think it will be repeated?"
"Maker, I hope not," the templar said with a visible shudder. "I think it was… largely induced by stress. We left Kirkwall so suddenly, and I had such a short time to prepare…" For a moment the man's expression bordered on the sympathetic, which felt wrong to Fenris.
"I… must thank you. For the message."
The Knight-Commander scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. "I went to your house, but you weren't there. I'm glad you got the note, honestly. I wasn't sure you would."
"It would have troubled me to find her gone. I suppose the maid might have known, but the note was better. With both Hawkes gone, the elf might simply have hidden from me. I believe I… unnerve her."
Again the templar met him gaze for gaze, and again those eyes held something too close to pity for Fenris' comfort. He found himself scowling in response. "I felt sure it was what… what Hawke would have wanted."
"Yes," Fenris replied. "Hawke."
The Knight-Commander sighed. "You heard what Varric and Isabela said. Starkhaven's not going to be safe."
"And that will not deter her."
They exchanged looks of exasperation, and Fenris almost smiled. "At least we outnumber her?" the templar offered, with just a hint of desperation.
Again Fenris' eyebrow twitched. "I would rather not resort to your powers, templar."
"Neither would I." Resolve hardened his features, and he pushed himself once again to his feet, dropping a hand to Fenris' shoulder. "But I'll do it if it means her life."
"Then we are agreed. She will not… put herself unnecessarily in harm's way."
"If we can help it."
Fenris blew a dismayed breath. "That is the challenge, yes."
"Fenris?" the templar added. On Fenris' brief nod, he said, "It's… not really 'Knight-Commander' or even 'templar.' It's just Cullen."
"Perhaps," Fenris replied.
For want of anything else to do, Fenris and the Knight-Commander worked together clearing away some of the debris already worked loose through Amelle's efforts. A short while later, they were interrupted by the crunching of footsteps against snow, and Fenris could tell one set crunched far more heavily than the other. When he turned his head and watched through the fall of his hair, he saw Amelle and Varric, the former approaching far more reluctantly than the latter. In fact, it almost looked as if Varric was nudging Amelle along.
"See, Firefly? I told you — Turnip's still here," he said, thumping his hand against her back. Varric shot both men a grin. "She was convinced you'd be halfway back to Kirkwall by now."
The Knight-Commander turned, eyebrows lifting. "You thought I'd have left? Over that?"
Amelle wrapped her arms around herself, looking not only miserable, but ashamed. She scuffed her booted foot against the snow and took a deep breath, preparatory to saying something, but it took no fewer than three attempts for Amelle to find the words.
"Well… I. I thought—" she stopped and grimaced. "No, I guess I didn't think. That… that was part of the problem. I—I'm just—I'm sorry, Cullen. I spoke without thinking and—"
"And it hadn't bothered you that I'd done it, so why ought it to bother me?" he asked, lightly and evenly, but Amelle winced, all the same.
"Something like that. I didn't— I didn't mean…"
The templar sighed and crossed the distance to where Amelle still stood. "You spoke without thinking." When she nodded miserably, he reached up and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "An accident."
Again, she nodded, hesitating when she met his eyes. Her gaze slid over to Fenris, but snapped away almost immediately. "I am sorry," she said. "It was… stupid."
Varric looked between them, rocking back on his heels. "Firefly here thought that maybe if she offered to let you take a freebie shot at her, it might even the scales."
"Some other time, perhaps," he replied, letting his hand drop from her shoulder. "I fear doing that will only delay us further." The templar then nodded at the progress he and Fenris had made in their absence. "Better to lose a day than a week, right?"
When Amelle saw the debris and rocks they'd cleared away, she turned and sent a smile up to the templar, and for the barest sliver of time, Fenris felt the faintest prick of jealousy — but then he saw the quality of Amelle's smile: crooked and rueful, and maybe the tiniest bit sheepish, and jealousy's sting melted away.
"Thank you." She sent a cautious look Fenris' way and hesitated a moment before adding, "Both of you." Amelle drew in a deep breath and pulled off her gloves again. "Right. Back to work, then?"
The templar nudged her nearer the wall of snow and ice. "I should say you're just in time. We've run out of rocks."
From around the corner, Isabela's voice carried: "Now that I've given you all time to have your moving heart-to-hearts please tell me no one actually wants tea."
"All that time and you didn't even make the tea, Rivaini?" Varric asked, chuckling.
The pirate sauntered back into view, arms folded. "Oh, I made it. I'm just not sure it's drinkable, you see."
Varric blinked at her. "What'd you do to the tea, Rivaini?"
"I'm not sure exactly. Is the spoon supposed to stand up straight in it?"
"So I'm thinking we can do without the comfort beverage this time."
"I've got a bottle of rum?" Isabela offered.
