Sebastian woke with a splitting headache, thinking about family.

It wasn't a new topic. He had, perhaps, spent more time than most considering it.

He wished the question of family could be dealt with as easily as the headache, but somehow he doubted—in spite of her many skills—dealing with the latter would be as simple as asking Amelle Hawke to wave her hands and snap her fingers over it.

Magic couldn't fix everything. Even magic as helpful and powerful as hers.

For many years, he'd believed all his family gone. He'd even grown accustomed to the strange loneliness, the pervasive sorrow of it. Goran had never been family, not really; his connection to the Vaels was found in very diluted blood and an incredibly tenuous connection to the surname. 'Cousin' when applied to Goran had been a generous nod to a connection many generations and bad marriages from the immediacy of Sebastian's own family. If he remembered correctly, Goran hadn't even had the blue eyes so distinctively Vael. They'd been a muddy hazel. His hair hadn't even had reddish highlights.

Morven was the son of Sebastian's father's brother, and though the man's actions were reprehensible, it was too close a connection to merely brush away or ignore. 'Cousin' meant a great deal more when applied to him. Sebastian stood on the cusp of starting a new family—of joining rather permanently a family he'd cared for a very long time—and it was still the question of the old, the memory of the old, that plagued him.

The punishment for treason is death, he thought, but the words rang cold. Instead, he found himself remembering Kiara's words, "Earn your forgiveness from those you wronged?"

Mercy felt too much like weakness. More than that, mercy felt too much like forgiveness, and Sebastian—in his heart of hearts—wasn't quite ready to forgive. Blood or not. Family or not. Cousin or not.

Around and around his thoughts raced, until finally he blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and rose, stretching the kinks from his shoulders and pinching the bridge of his nose.

He didn't know what to do. It was as clear as that.

He didn't know what to do, so he stumbled through his morning ablutions, allowed his manservant to choose his clothing, donned the thin gold circlet as a matter of habit, and was halfway to Amelle's chambers before he realized he was merely turning the problem over and over and over, without seeing anything resembling an answer.

He very nearly laughed when he knocked on Amelle's door and Kiara answered. Her smile was wide and bright and had most certainly already benefitted from one of Amelle's hangover cures. "We're having tea," Kiara said sweetly, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Tea and bacon and biscuits. Would you like some?"

His stomach, still unsettled from the evening of indulgence, protested. On his frown of dismay, Amelle said, "Oh, come here. I'll have pity on you even if my sister won't."

I'll have pity on you.

Was pity the same as mercy? They felt the same, tasted the same upon his tongue, but the more Sebastian thought about it, the muddier the waters became — uncomfortably like justice and vengeance. Pity and mercy were rooted in compassion, but the nuances were different, difficult to separate, like strands of a spiderweb, gossamer-fine and too sticky by half.

Pushing out of her chair, Amelle stepped away from the small table bearing more food than Sebastian thought any two people could possibly eat in a day, never mind in one sitting. Sunlight streamed in from the windows, making Sebastian's pupils contract painfully and he winced, turning away.

Amelle chuckled, but not unkindly. "Remember this moment the next time you brag about 'the good stuff.'"

He grimaced, squinting at her. "Maker. Don't remind me."

"Don't count on that, beloved," chirped Kiara, plucking up a piece of bacon and crunching down on it.

Amelle sighed and made a face at her sister. "Stop rubbing it in, Kiri. If he gets sick it's my floor he'll be sick on. And it's you who'll be cleaning it up." Kiara made a horrified face, and Amelle laughed, crossing the room to place a hand on either side of his head. After a moment, she closed her eyes. "Once you're feeling better you can help make a dent in the mountain of food my sister brought."

The very thought of food — of actually eating anything at all — made Sebastian's stomach flip again. The protest was poised upon his lips when he felt the telltale rush of Amelle's healing magic, so incongruously hot and cold at the same time. The feel of it stirred a host of memories and Sebastian thought the scar on his chest prickled, as if Amelle's magic, having made the trip to that spot so often, was like an old friend visiting after a long absence.

His hangover was gone before the sensation at his chest faded.

"Better?" she asked, smiling as if she knew the answer.

"Much," Sebastian said on a sigh. His stomach, which had been protesting only moments before, let out a growl. Kiara, having reclaimed her seat and now cradling a cup of tea in her hands, laughed.

"Care to join us now?" she asked. It was at that moment Sebastian realized there were more cups on the tea service tray than there were people in the room. Of course Kiara would have anticipated others coming to see Amelle on a morning such as this.

"I'd be delighted," he replied, claiming an empty chair and taking the cup of tea Kiara handed him. Amelle sat as well, holding her own cup out, tacitly asking her sister to refill it, which Kiara did without comment. Kiara helped herself to more bacon and another biscuit before passing the former to Amelle and the latter to Sebastian.

"I'm fine, Kiri," replied Amelle, waving off the platter of meat. But Kiara held it steady.

"Come on, eat up. That's barely enough to sustain a rabbit, rabbit."

Amelle looked as if she wanted to argue, but took a small portion of bacon instead. "You're as bad as Fenris."

Kiara was unrepentant. "You say that like it's a bad thing," she tossed back, handing the platter over to Sebastian.

"How you can eat anything in these bloody fashions is beyond me," grumbled Amelle, crunching on a crisp piece of the smoked meat.

Her sister's smile was a sunny one. "You'll get used to it."

Sebastian wasn't sure Kiara saw the cloud that passed over her sister's face. Lowering her head suddenly, Amelle took a biscuit and began smearing it with jam to cover. Sebastian waited for Amelle to say something, but when it became evident she wasn't going to, he nodded at the empty cups.

"Expecting company, are we?"

"Amelle's always popular the day after a good party."

At this Amelle did raise her eyes, but only to roll them, the shadow gone as though it had never been. "I swear, Kiara… one of these days I'll just say no. Maybe then you'll learn your limits."

Kiara made a face. "Oh, I know my limits. I just… ignore them, most of the time."

Sebastian chuckled fondly. "Maker but if that isn't the truth." Aghast, Kiara rounded on him, bacon still clutched in one hand. "You mistake me, love. Most of the time I am all admiration for your willingness to exceed mere mortal limitations."

"Just not when it comes to drink," Amelle admonished.

"Or attempting to sneak about without guards," Sebastian added.

Amelle nodded in agreement. "Running headlong into battle without surveying the situation should probably be avoided, too."

"And though I appreciate your wit and your unwillingness to be intimidated, you are, at times, worryingly insolent with people who might kill you for it."

Kiara sighed a deep, tragic, hard-done-by sigh. "This is how it's to be then? With the mocking and the ganging up upon?"

Sebastian and Amelle exchanged a look and a smile. "Aye, I imagine so. I, for one, am glad of the ally."

"Especially if it keeps you safe."

Kiara scowled, pilfering a piece of toast and piling bacon on it.

"You might think about going a little easier on the bacon, too," Amelle chided.

Kiara shook her head, taking a vast bite and savoring it with her eyes closed. "Mely, I will forgive many things, but if you attempt to come between me and my bacon, there will be words. And blows. And possibly death."

A knock at the door ended the death threats, and permitted Kiara to return to her bacon in peace. "Isabela?" Sebastian asked.

Kiara and Amelle gave him identically incredulous looks. He suspected the only reason the former didn't burst out laughing was because her mouth was still full of bacon. Nothing prevented Amelle's snicker, however. "We will not see Isabela today, Sebastian. We may see her tomorrow. Evening. Maybe."

Kiara swallowed and asked, "Cullen? Or Fenris?"

Amelle's lips twitched. "Fenris dislikes mornings only a fraction less than Isabela does. My money's on Cullen."

"A templar coming to a mage for a hangover cure," Kiara said, with evident wonderment. "Who said the two can't coexist in peace and harmony?"

Amelle snorted before opening the door. Glancing over, Sebastian saw not the templar but Fenris standing there. In a soft voice meant only for Kiara he murmured, "It appears he likes mornings more now he has something to look forward to."

Amelle sent a glower over her shoulder.

Kiara laughed and swatted lightly at his arm. "Hush, you. You'll embarrass them." Then, using her decidedly-not-inside-voice voice, she called out, "Do come in, Fenris. Amelle hasn't eaten enough."

"Whose room is this again?" Amelle retorted.

Kiara shrugged. "Sebastian's? What's his is mine? Or will be, as soon enough as makes no difference? Besides, it's not like you're not going to let him in. I'm just… keeping him apprised of a situation that is of concern to him."

"You are being a nuisance," Amelle volleyed back. "And a busybody."

"You two are bringing my headache back," Sebastian stated.

Fenris added glumly, "And exacerbating mine."

"She's doing it on purpose," said Amelle, taking Fenris' hand as he came inside. She closed the door behind him and, with significantly less teasing than Sebastian had undergone, Amelle released the very same healing magic on Fenris. Sebastian had never seen the spell performed on another, and to see the change firsthand was utterly fascinating. When Amelle stepped away from the elf — though she did not relinquish his hand, and Sebastian caught Kiara smirking at that — his color was much improved, and his face lost the sickened, pinched look Sebastian was confident he himself had walked in wearing.

"Come on, Fenris. The bacon isn't going to last all morning," sang Kiara.

"Especially the way you're putting it away, sister," Amelle riposted, taking her seat. Fenris, unsurprisingly, sat next to Amelle and began helping himself to the breakfast laid out on the small table.

"Is Hawke correct?" the elf asked, casting a cursory glance at Amelle's plate.

Amelle shook her head. "She's exaggerating. Pay her no mind." Kiara frowned and Fenris looked unconvinced, but neither said anything. Sebastian couldn't blame them — Amelle was starting to look mutinous.

"Are you feeling all right, Amelle?" Sebastian asked cautiously. Kiara could be somewhat… well, bossy at times, and as a younger sibling himself, Sebastian knew how much that could grate. He also knew the mage had been through a fair amount of distress and upheaval. She'd stretched herself too thin healing Fenris.

Though her efforts had worked against all odds, they had taken their toll. Sebastian felt a sudden stab of guilt — perhaps these little hangover cures weren't so little a strain on her mana.

"Sebastian," Amelle sighed, "I know that look. Stop overthinking. I'm fine. I will be fine. These two," she gestured at Fenris and Kiara with a piece of toast, "are blowing things wildly out of proportion. I'm eating. See?" She bit into her toast with a crunch and talked around the bite. "Overreacting."

Sebastian wasn't convinced, and by the way Amelle rolled her eyes, he knew she could see it.

"Kirkwall was difficult," she explained, sipping at her tea. Fenris' dark look told Sebastian just how difficult it had to have been. "I won't lie. The journey here was hardly restful, and I probably hadn't fully bounced back by the time…" She swallowed hard and this time a shadow did cross her face as she set her jaw. Jessamine was dead, but the memory of her would not be so quickly or easily forgotten. "In any event," Amelle went on, inclining her head, "now that things have slowed down and are restful, everything will sort itself out."

"And are you resting?" Kiara asked lightly, her tone belying the concern Sebastian saw in her eyes. "You were awake and dressed when I got here."

Amelle shot Sebastian a look of long-suffering patience. "And you're sure you want to live with this for the rest of your life?" She leaned closer and, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, said, "It's still not too late. Run while you—" There was a sudden thump beneath the table that made the tea slosh drunkenly in the cups. Amelle let out a sharp yelp and rubbed at her shin. "Hey! You kicked me!"

Kiara sipped placidly at her tea. "Sorry," she murmured, looking not at all apologetic. "Nervous twitch."

Amelle was clearly unconvinced. "Really? Perhaps it's the symptom of a disease. You should see a healer about that. A kind, forgiving, sweet-natured healer who will absolutely not knock you unconscious at the first opportunity and shave your head bald out of sheer annoyance."

Kiara huffed a laugh, turned to Fenris, and mimicking her sister's voice with eerie accuracy said, "And you're sure you want to live with this for the rest of your life?"

Fenris' lips twitched the instant before he opened them to devour a piece of toast stacked just as high with bacon as Kiara's had been. Amelle blushed, busying herself with preparing Fenris a cup of tea.

This was family. Bickering over breakfast. Laughing. Even kicking each other under the table—Maker, Connall and Angus had nearly driven their parents mad with their antics. Sebastian smiled sadly, tracing the whorls of the table's grain with a fingertip.

Kiara reached over and curled her fingers around his. "What is it, love?"

He frowned. "He ordered your death. He sat back and did nothing while the city turned on itself. He drank wine and bedded girls instead of tending to his responsibilities. He ordered your death, and then his reluctance to provide the antidote nearly cost you your life. I don't know how to be merciful."

Her grip tightened briefly, and when he looked up he saw three sets of eyes all staring at him very intently. "Forgive me," he said softly. "This is hardly conversation for breakfast."

"We've had worse," Amelle replied lightly.

Fenris nodded, but Sebastian knew at once it wasn't in response to Amelle's attempt at levity. If anyone could understand, it was Fenris.

Kiara shook her head. "I don't like him. I don't approve of what he did… or didn't do. I won't be inviting him around for feastdays and festivals. But I don't think he should die for his mother's crimes."

"He committed crimes of his own," Sebastian insisted.

"Tell me truly," she said evenly, her gaze so intent she hardly blinked, "in a world where you never went to the Chantry, where you never learned from Elthina, if the boy you were had been made prince would he have done better? If your family had died and you'd been surrounded by sycophantic, power-mad fools like the Caddells or the Harimanns telling you to serve yourself first and your people later because you deserved it by your blood and birth alone, would you have done better?"

Stung, Sebastian tried to pull his hand away, but she would not release him. Fingers that could draw and release with deadly accuracy held tight. He protested, "I would never have ordered the death of an innocent."

She smiled sadly. "I wasn't innocent when he ordered my death. He thought the Champion of Kirkwall was come to steal his precarious hold on something he wanted very, very badly, and which he'd been convinced was his to keep. I was a threat. A different you might have seen me as a threat, too."

And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!

Fenris' frown deepened. "It is unwise to let him live, Hawke. There is no saying he will not continue to plot. You would put Sebastian's life at risk. Your own life."

"He'll be mucking stables from dawn until dusk. How much time will he have to plot? How much energy?" She sighed. "I'm not saying he ought to be allowed to run loose—you'll notice I in no way supported a banishment—but he'll be working here, where at the very least the Eyes will always be watching. If he breathes a word of treason again, we'll know the poison ran deeper than his mother's influence. That is mercy."

"He didn't expect mercy," added Amelle, handing Fenris his tea. "They both knew they were guilty. They both knew the sentence for their crimes." She spoke slowly, choosing her words with infinite care as she picked up a crust of toast and then used it to push a sliver of bacon around her plate. "She… wanted to take you down with her. She would have taken us all down if she could. But he…" Here she looked up. "He… was expecting death. Maker, I think part of him still is."

"How can you be so sure it wasn't simply an act?" Fenris asked, dark brows drawing together — it was clear by the tenor of his question he believed Morven to have been acting. In truth, the idea had occurred to Sebastian as well.

"Because," Amelle said, "he knew what he would have done if he'd been on that throne. He didn't expect mercy because he wouldn't have been merciful himself."

Kiara took a sip of her tea and shook her head. "Mely's not wrong," she said, setting the china down with a soft clink. "He was resigned to his fate. Couldn't even imagine a different end for himself. Someone hoping for leniency would have seen behind what I was asking him and jumped all over it."

This, too, had occurred to Sebastian. It was the driving reason why Morven's body was not now keeping Jessamine's company. He frowned into his teacup before refilling it.

Amelle looked pensive, and with a little flick of her fingers steam rose up from the tepid liquid as well as the spout of the teapot it came from. "Besides," she said, "it seems as if the people of Starkhaven are… displeased enough with him. Some may even… disagree with Sebastian's idea of mercy."

"You think Morven's life is the one in danger?" Fenris asked, more than a little dubious.

Kiara rested her elbows on the table and laced her fingers, propping her chin upon them. "I don't think that's out of the realm of possibility," she murmured on a little sigh. "Someone who suffered under his rule catches him alone in an alleyway? Happens all the time. Maker, I have been the one meting out that brand of justice."

"But that's not right either," Amelle said with a frown as she tapped restless fingers against the side of her cup. "Sebastian's word should be law. All it would take is one rabble-rouser to utterly undermine his word." She turned her eyes to Sebastian. "You have already commuted Morven's sentence of death in front of all the court and assembled witnesses. You can't change that now. If you grant him leniency, and his sentence is the one he chose for himself—to work off his debt to Starkhaven—what does it say if a week from now someone knifes him in the back of a tavern?"

Sebastian felt his headache returning — or perhaps it was a newer one. That was a jolly thought. He rubbed at his temples, grimacing. "Then the word of the prince means nothing. Maker's blood, don't tell me I have to protect the bloody bastard, too."

"Surely he is aware enough of the precariousness of his own wellbeing," Fenris mused.

Kiara nodded grimly. "I think it's safe to say he knows exactly where he stands with the people of Starkhaven. I wouldn't be surprised if half the horses in the stables kick him on principle."

His headache was most definitely coming back. And yet, there was still no clear-cut answer to his conundrum. There had been enough death in Starkhaven, and he did feel this was the best way to rule. Jessamine had been an infection, deep in the heart of his city. She had used and manipulated and poisoned the people — good people. People like Maisie. Of course the possibility that Morven was merely one of the symptoms of that infection existed — but so, too, did the opposite.

Amelle brushed the crumbs from her fingertips and clasped her hands in her lap. "You can't know for certain what he'd do with his fate back in his own hands, Sebastian. Like Kiara said — he'll be watched."

"Closely," added Kiara firmly, but Fenris still looked unconvinced.

Several beats of silence passed before Sebastian looked up into Kiara's grey eyes and asked, "Do you ever regret it? Not killing Anders?"

He could tell she hadn't been expecting the question — she tensed, and her eyes shuttered, the bow in her upper lip vanishing as she pressed her lips together tightly. "Sometimes," she said after a too-long silence. "I hate knowing he's out there somewhere." More silence came, and he saw Kiara gathering her thoughts, forming them into words. "But I have said it before and I stand by it now: he wanted to die. More to the point? He wanted me to kill him. What kind of target would that have then made me, to those who followed him? He wanted me to make him a martyr and grant him some kind of twisted version of immortality with his death."

"And he was counting on it," Amelle added softly. "He was counting on Kiara being furious enough to kill him and… essentially freeing him." Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Separating him from that… thing inside him."

"So, on the one hand," Kiara said with false brightness, "there's an abomination walking around I failed to kill. Don't tell Cullen. On the other, he isn't a glorious hero, and he's forced to wake up every day and live in the world he helped create. I'm not sure that was merciful of me." She let out a breath, glancing down to her lap, where her fingers were picking at a cuticle of their own volition. Stilling them, she looked up again. "You didn't give Morven what he wanted, and you sure as the bloody Void didn't give him what he was expecting. This gives him something harder than dying, love. He may think he's thankful for it at first, but I suspect he'll realize sooner or later it isn't really much of a favor."

After a long moment, Sebastian said softly, "He ordered your death."

Kiara replied with tenderness. "And if he'd been successful, there would have been no room in your heart for mercy. I understand that." Leaning near, she raised his hand and grazed her lips over his knuckles. "Choose the blood on your hands, my heart. I don't think his is necessary. You saw the heart of him when we threatened to cut his thumbs off—he's craven. Craven men don't rise up once they've been threatened."

"You threatened to cut his thumbs off?" Amelle yelped. "That's—"

"—Effective," Fenris finished, with an approving nod.

"I was going to say macabre."

"I wasn't actually going to do it," Kiara admitted. "Sebastian, however, was."

Sebastian sighed, reaching up to run the ball of his thumb over Kiara's lips. She smiled and kissed it. "I'm not saying he didn't deserve it, love," she said lightly. "He really did call me the most abominable names."

"I am not entirely rational when it comes to those who would threaten you," he said softly. From the corner of his eye he saw Fenris and Amelle exchange a look before studiously turning their attention elsewhere.

"Let those who would harm me beware."

"It was a clever trick, having him name his own punishment."

She tilted her head and gave him a wink. "I am occasionally clever."

"Though not quite as often as you think you are," Amelle mumbled.

Kiara ignored her sister entirely. "Send for him, love. Pass your judgment. Let him stop taking up your time."

He raised querying eyebrows at Amelle. "Do you mind? In spite of your sister's selfishness, this is your room." He groaned slightly. "Though I do have serious doubts that my office will be in any way inhabitable today."

"Ahh, all part of my master plan to keep you away from your desk and all those tedious decisions about curtains," Kiara said on a grin. "I am so clever."

"And humble," Amelle added, in the same low mumble. "Mustn't forget humble." She took her teacup into her hands and leaned back in her chair, turning her gaze to regard Sebastian as she sipped. "Frankly, I imagine just entering your office again would be enough to bring your hangover back." She grinned and shot him a quick wink. "Besides, my sister isn't wrong; this is your room — I'm just staying in it for a time."

Sebastian returned the smile, but only just barely bit back the words, Aye, but for how much time? Amelle would keep her own counsel until such time as she decided not to, and that would have to suffice.

Kiara rose and rang for a maid to clear away the remains of their meal, taking care to ask the young woman to bring another pot of tea later. "After the prince has finished his… business."

She looked at them all once the young woman was gone and shrugged. "Like we weren't all going to talk about him afterward. Might as well have refreshment for it."

"I only hope you don't plan ahead to talk about me after I've left a room," remarked Amelle, giving her sister a look.

"When have I ever waited until you leave to talk about you?" Kiara tossed back, taking her seat again.

"This… is an excellent point."

Sebastian sent for Morven to be brought to him, and in the interim found that he was excessively restless. Pushing out of his chair, he strode across the room to partake of Amelle's excellent view. As he stood by the window, he noticed Spero, stretched out on the sill. Smiling a little, he reached down and ran a gentle fingertip down the kitten's side. Spero blinked and mewed, rolling onto her back.

"The better to scratch her belly," murmured Amelle. "She knows what she wants."

"She's not half as thin as she was."

"Because she's got an appetite to rival Kiara's."

"And excellent taste, too," Kiara sniffed. "She took the bacon I gave her."

Fenris looked displeased. "You fed the kitten bacon?"

"And she ate it."

The good-natured bickering continued behind him as Sebastian picked the kitten up in his hands. She had more weight to her, certainly — in fact, coloring aside, Spero barely resembled the half-drowned wretch he'd brought to Amelle in the first place. It was difficult not to smile as the warm fuzzy body stretched and wriggled in his palms, tiny paws batting at his fingers.

Then, all at once, the kitten stopped. Going entirely still and tipping her head back, Spero looked at him and held his gaze for a long moment before blinking those bright jewel-green eyes once and letting out a single mew.

Cradling the kitten in his hands, Sebastian turned to Fenris. "What did you say spero means?"

Fenris blinked at the non-sequitur. "The word means hope."

Sebastian ran a thumb over the feline's head until those eyes closed and a soft purr issued forth from her throat. "Mm. That's what I thought."

There came a low shuffling sound from the other side of the door and Sebastian set the kitten back down on the windowsill and turned, linking his hands behind his back as the door swung open, revealing Morven and two guards escorting him. Sebastian kept his pace even as he stepped ever so slightly away from the window, meeting this man — pretender, traitor, cousin — eye to eye.

For his part, Morven appeared confused at the change in venue and Sebastian explained, "My office is indisposed at the moment. I trust you have no objections to an alternate location for this conversation."

Morven's confusion faded — but only minutely — as he shook his head. His throat worked a moment as he swallowed before he gave his hesitant reply: "No."

Nodding and breathing in deeply through his nose, Sebastian took a hard look at his cousin. The man's health was still questionable. He didn't look as if he'd recovered fully from his poisoning, and he was still unnaturally thin. The hand that had been shot—and then cut—was still bound in white bandage. Shadows made dark smudges beneath his eyes as his gaze twitched nervously around the room, as though searching for an executioner in every corner, or the cold kiss of a dagger or the sharp whistle of an arrow lurked in the sunny room's few shadows.

"Your sentence of death was commuted," Sebastian said with the faintest hint of impatience. "You can stop looking for the hangman."

Morven startled and flushed suddenly, the color too red and mottled and out of place on his pale cheeks. "I doubt you'd blame me for thinking that particular decision was a little good to be true."

"It so happens we were just discussing that."

"Not much of a surprise." Morven paused, his eyes taking in the others in the room. "Well. The audience is a bit unexpected."

"These are my trusted advisors," Sebastian replied, indicating Amelle and Fenris. "You'd do well to have them on your side."

Morven bent his neck, shoulders hunching. "Maker, but she underestimated you." His voice cracked slightly when he added, "She's… gone?"

"Aye," Sebastian replied. He was still standing close enough to the window that he started a little when he felt Spero's small head butt into his clasped hands. Sebastian swallowed and added, "She was your mother. You are allowed to grieve her."

Morven gave a low, broken chuckle. "She's still the one I went to when I fell and skinned my knees, who soothed me with lullabies when I couldn't sleep, who made me soup when I was ill. I… know what she was. But she was these things, too."

Again Sebastian felt the kitten's insistent head, followed by the faintest pressure of sharp, little teeth. "You will report to the stables tomorrow morning. Stablemaster Colin's word will be your law. You will be given quarters with the other stablehands. You will be watched, closely, and at all times."

The shudder that ran through Morven was so violent Sebastian noted it from across the room. This time when he bowed his head, it was to hide the relief and surprise that had brought tears to his eyes.

"Do not give me cause to regret this mercy, Morven."

"I will not," the man mumbled, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice. "I—Your Highness. I don't deserve it."

"Then strive to," Sebastian replied evenly.

"May I ask a question?" Kiara asked. Sebastian felt his brow furrow, but nodded. "How… how did your mother know about Amelle? About her being a mage? About her healing Sebastian? It's always… bothered me. Did she have some contact in Kirkwall who knew somehow?"

Morven raised his chin. His skin was even more mottled with emotion, and his cheeks were damp. "She did have contacts in Kirkwall, but it wasn't from them she learned it. You talk in your sleep," he said hesitantly, as though he feared reprisals for the words. "She gave you the antidote… to, to the Maker's Light. But she knew she could keep you sedated. When…" Morven's eyes flicked to Sebastian, who nodded for him to continue. "When the prince was not with you—with her—she allowed you to wake from the sedation enough to speak. I think she would have kept you that way indefinitely, if she hadn't forgotten… forgotten the three day death sentence Maker's Light carries. You—you thought she was your sister. Evidently there is… very little you won't discuss with her." Morven closed his eyes, wincing. "M-mother was… euphoric. So much information. But she underestimated you. She underestimated Starkhaven. She thought they would turn against you at the first opportunity. They… didn't."

Sebastian remembered then that horrible vigil, sitting at Kiara's bedside, expecting her to die at any moment. Waiting for it. And he remembered that when she'd woken, blinking and bleary, she'd asked for Amelle—believed Amelle was somewhere nearby. Knowing that Jessamine had been… playing him—letting him believe Kiara would die—only made him wish he could kill her all over again. His heart thudded in his chest, beating an angry tattoo. Behind him, Spero mewed plaintively.

At the table, Kiara had gone dreadfully pale, her hands clenched tight around the edge of the table. Silently, Amelle rose from her seat and moved to stand behind her sister, laying a hand on Kiara's shoulder. The dark head bent to the red, and though Sebastian couldn't hear Amelle's words, they did appear to go some way toward returning the color to Kiara's cheeks. After another second, Kiara nodded, and Amelle pressed a kiss to the top of her sister's head. She remained standing behind Kiara, not yet pulling her hand from her sister's shoulder. After a moment, Kiara's hand crept up and clasped Amelle's tightly. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, broken only by another of Spero's mews. Morven bowed his head again, either intensely uncomfortable after revealing such information or simply waiting for Sebastian to dismiss him.

Sebastian was on the verge of doing precisely that when Spero head-butted his hand again and began to nibble on his pinky finger. Sebastian frowned and stretched his fingers out to discourage the kitten, but the next thing he felt was a tiny paw batting at the same finger that had been nibbled. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to see the kitten sitting on the windowsill, looking up at him intently, white whiskers twitching.

Across the room, Morven cleared his throat and when Sebastian turned, he saw the other man still staring at the floor. He cleared his throat a second time and closed his eyes, drawing in a breath and saying, "May I… may I ask a question?"

Sebastian exchanged a look with Kiara, whose color was returning, however slowly. "I think that's fair," she answered, looking briefly up at Amelle, who shrugged and offered a small nod.

It took a moment for Morven to find the words — or gather his courage — and when he finally spoke, the words came haltingly. "Her cell was only a few down from mine. She… she spoke at length—" he winced again, "—bragged about striking a blow against one of your own." He swallowed hard and glanced up only briefly before looking again at the floor. "An… an elf, she said. That the antidote window had passed."

"That would be me," Fenris said, his voice low and even, but a warning lurked beneath the words, daring Morven to speak foolishly at his peril.

At that, Morven did look up, his eyes wide as he blinked. "Then it's true? You… you survived Maker's Light?"

Fenris and Amelle exchanged a quick glance before Fenris addressed Morven again. "I was poisoned and then I awoke. I know little more than that."

"That's…" Morven trailed off, bafflement still clear on his features.

"Yes," Amelle replied dryly. "Impossible. We know."

There was no mistaking the uneasiness when Amelle spoke; Morven flinched, then looked ashamed of himself for having done so. With another mew, Spero hopped down from the windowsill. She wound around Sebastian's ankles before making her way across the room with the nonchalance only a cat could properly project. She didn't, as Sebastian had expected, head for Amelle. Spero stopped at Morven's feet, sat primly, wrapped her tail about her small body, and stared at him.

After an eternity, Spero turned and blinked at Amelle, uttering another of her small meows. When Amelle did not—evidently—immediately understand Spero's wishes, the kitten flicked the end of her tail and meowed again. The fingers on Morven's wounded hand twitched, for a moment miming the action of scratching. Spero glanced slantwise up at him, and for an eerie instant Sebastian was certain if cats could smile, Spero would have been smirking.

When Amelle crossed the room and bent to retrieve her kitten, Spero darted away, hiding herself beneath Kiara's chair. Amelle laughed under her breath and brushed her hands down her skirt. "Fine," she said. "Be that way. See who gets treats now."

Spero poked her head out from beneath Kiara's voluminous skirts, looked directly at Kiara, and meowed expressively. "That's right," Kiara cooed. "Auntie Kiri will always have bacon for you, sweetling."

With Amelle standing less than an arm's length away, Morven went very, very still. Even the blotchiness faded from his cheeks as he stared at her, and Sebastian could see the instinct to flee etched in every line and muscle of his body. Amelle blinked at him. "Oh," she said. "Really? That wasn't all theatrics? Maker, I can hear your heart pounding from here." Amelle glanced at Sebastian, and he saw an instant of something like pity in her eyes. "He's terrified of me."

Sebastian sighed. "Give them time and opportunity to overcome their fear. Most have no way to understand."

Amelle looked down at her hands, a frown etching its way across her forehead. Sebastian could almost see her thoughts forming — how could she undo so much damage done by so many different mages? Not only had Anders single-handedly cast an unfading shadow across the Free Marches—perhaps all of Thedas—but Starkhaven was doubly traumatized by events both at home and abroad.

Amelle snuck a look at Morven, then looked glumly back at him. "I'm only one person, Sebastian. People are going to believe what they want. We've seen evidence of that often enough."

"You can't undo it in a day, Mely," said Kiara. "But that doesn't mean you can't undo any of it at all."

The same shadow Sebastian saw earlier clouded Amelle's features. "Tell that to the Divine."

Fenris pushed out of his chair and stood, his expression impassive, almost angry. "Amelle, you must cease this. If you wish to change an opinion, you must take measures to do so." The anger faded minutely as the elf's lips twitched. "You can change such opinions, as you have daily proof."

"How did she do that?" Kiara asked, reaching down to retrieve the kitten. Spero walked several circles before settling contentedly into her lap.

Fenris was inscrutable as ever as he looked first at Amelle, then back to Kiara as he sat again. "She was herself. Nothing more."

Snorting, Kiara gestured at her sister as she petted the kitten. "Well, that is one thing you do better than any other."

Amelle pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and frowned, brow furrowing. Sebastian watched the thoughts shift across her face, too quickly to name. Finally she swallowed and, without moving the slightest bit nearer Morven, said, "May I see your hand?"

Morven jerked, jaw clenching so hard even Sebastian could hear his teeth grinding. A bead of sweat formed at his hairline and trickled down the side of his face. He pressed the wounded, bandaged hand even closer to his side. "P-please," he stammered. "I-I won't cause trouble. I p-promise."

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly. It was the voice she used with patients. Sebastian recognized it at once. He glanced over and saw Kiara and Fenris watching with equal intensity.

Morven's breath was coming in little gasps now, harsh and quick and clearly frightened, but he didn't run. And Amelle didn't press. She chewed thoughtfully on her lip and waited. The only sound in the chamber was the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, and the sound of Spero's tongue rasping against her fur as she cleaned herself. Finally, with a wrench and a brief cry Sebastian thought was involuntary, Morven lifted his hand.

Very, very slowly, Amelle reached for it. Morven's arm shook. Indeed, his entire body trembled, but still he stayed, still he did not run. Tears of strain joined the sweat on his cheeks as Amelle gently unwound the bandage. She inhaled sharply when the last of the linen was peeled away, and Sebastian smelled the infection before he saw it.

"Maker's breath," Amelle breathed. "This must be horribly painful."

Morven still looked as though he expected death by lightning bolt to strike at any moment, but he managed to say, "W-what's a little pain to a dead man?"

Amelle shook her head, still frowning. "Sit down please," she commanded, still lightly holding onto his wrist and gesturing toward one of the chairs at the table with her other hand.

Morven swallowed hard, looking first at the chair, and then rapidly between Amelle and Sebastian, looking entirely too much like a trapped animal. "I-I don't—"

"Do as she says, Morven," Sebastian told the man. The panic in his eyes was wild, and Sebastian could see the fear of which Amelle spoke clear as day. Morven was indeed terrified and trembling, and he looked for a moment as if he might ask Sebastian to intervene on his behalf.

Finally, with another shudder, Morven sat gingerly, keeping his eyes averted as Amelle stood before him, his wounded hand still trapped in both of hers.

"I don't imagine you'll be much use to the stablemaster with a hand like this," she murmured, turning the injured hand this way and that, frowning at it, and gently soothing Morven when she tried to extend his fingers and he hissed in pain at the effort.

"I'll make do," he said with a whisper of defiance that reminded Sebastian incongruously of a child trying to prove isn't afraid of the monster under the bed.

Sebastian remained silent. No one but Amelle herself could convince Morven that she wasn't the monster responsible for Starkhaven's fear. Pursing her lips, she looked hard at Morven, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He suffered it when she placed her hand against his forehead, but it was a very near thing indeed.

"Is his fever due to the infection?" Amelle asked quietly. Sebastian shook his head.

"He was poisoned." At Amelle's arched eyebrow, Sebastian sighed, adding, "Jes—Laymia was… assuring herself of his silence. Something went… awry, I imagine."

Amelle's expression reminded Sebastian powerfully of her sister — disgust and anger flashed in her eyes, and he could see in the way she clenched her jaw she was struggling to remain silent. "I see." Amelle looked again to Morven. "So was that your plan? Volunteer to take care of the horses so you could work yourself to death?"

Morven started and stared at Amelle, blinking hard, trying to process what she'd said. "I… no, I didn't—not at all." He looked at the hand she still held and said, with that same air of defiance, "What are you talking about?"

"Your wound is infected, and you're running a fever on top of that. And the two are not — well, not directly related, at any rate. So I ask you: are you attempting to work yourself to death?"

"…No."

"Well, at least there's that." With that, Amelle pressed one hand above the wounded hand, and her other hand below. She took a breath and soon a soft blue-white light began emanating from her hands.

"What… w-what are you doing?" Morven asked, but appeared not to be trying to yank his hand away from her.

She offered him a small, but genuine smile. "Giving you your hand back, for a start."

Morven didn't pull his hand away, but the moment the glow began to once again emanate from Amelle's hands, he gave a horrified yelp and cried, "Please. I—please, don't!"

Frustration twisted Amelle's features, followed quickly by something akin to understanding. "Forgive me," she said. "I-I should have asked. And I should probably explain things as I go along."

"I don't—I would rather death than life as a mage's thrall," Morven looked pained as he admitted this—and a strange admission it was, particularly after his display during the trial—and he turned his face, tucking his chin close to his chest. Sebastian thought it was instinct—and instinct alone—that kept Amelle from dropping his hand in complete and utter astonishment.

"She is no blood mage!" Fenris growled, halfway to his feet before Kiara's hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. His markings flared bright until Amelle raised her eyes to meet his and shook her head ever so slightly. The elf continued to scowl as he sank back into his seat, and he glared at Kiara's hand until she released him.

Amelle lowered Morven's hand, before loosely clasping her own neatly—and visibly—before her. A moment later, Spero jumped down from Kiara's lap and hopped onto Morven's thighs, walking in a circle before twisting herself into a tiny knot. He stared at the cat. Amelle stared at him.

"Okay," she said at last. "Here's the thing. You're going to lose that hand if I don't treat it. A healer without magic would be telling you to amputate now. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly he nodded, his unwounded hand drifting nearer the kitten.

"You've already dug yourself a pretty deep hole. Do you really want to be a cripple on top of it all? Do you want to die?"

"I don't want to die," he retorted sharply. "Stop asking me that."

Amelle nodded, ignoring his tone. "I don't use blood magic," she said. "And without blood magic, I can't control you. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do." She sighed, as if her words were costing her something dear. "I… I won't use magic to heal you if you do not wish it. I know you're frightened. I know this is… new for you. But I can help you. You'll be able to keep your hand."

"You're… you're a mage. I-I don't know how to—"

"To trust me?" Amelle inhaled, glancing toward the ceiling as if for guidance. "You know I healed Sebastian, right? Believe me when I say I poured far, far more power into him than I'd have to use for you, and he's not in thrall to me. Are you, Sebastian?"

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "Tell me that's not a question you honestly want an answer to."

Her lips twitched. "Very well. Sebastian Vael, I command you to do a jig."

The other eyebrow rose to meet the first.

"That's a 'no' then, I gather? Very well." She returned her attention to Morven, now very gently running one fingertip down Spero's spine. "Please, Morven. Will you let me help you?"

This time when he extended his arm, there was no trembling, there were no tears. On his lap, the kitten purred.

The tension that had been building in Amelle's shoulders released slowly as she pulled a chair close, exhaling a deep breath as she sat and took Morven's hand. "Thank you," she said softly, clasping the injured hand gently.

Morven still watched Amelle warily, but his uninjured hand continued petting Spero, whose bright green eyes were closing lazily. "What… are you going to do?"

"Every mage has an affinity for certain aspects of magic," Amelle explained. "I had a knack for basic elemental and healing spells when I was young. I practiced, as you would any skill, and developed the necessary skills to make me a spirit healer. That means I can channel some of the power of the Fade and use its restorative properties to heal."

With that, Amelle bowed her head and drew in another breath. Before long, the tell-tale blue-white glow pulsed from her hands as thin strands of light wrapped around their joined hands. Morven gave a start and stared at Amelle as she worked. But for all he looked so unnerved by the light emanating from Amelle's hands, Morven continued petting Spero, apparently finding some measure of solace in the fact that the kitten seemed to utterly unimpressed by the show of magic.

It didn't take long before the sickly stench of infection began to fade, but Amelle didn't stop when Morven's hand was healed. The thin strands of light crept up his arm, and though he appeared to have stopped breathing for a moment and his eyes widened, he did not pull back and did not utter a sound. Spero rubbed against him, dragging her tail across his fingers, distracting him.

When Amelle released his hand, the flesh was no longer angry and red. The skin was shiny and new, and all that remained of the wounds were two small scars, one at the base of his thumb, the other at the center of his palm.

"There," she said, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap. "How do you feel?"

Spero leapt lightly from Morven's knee to Amelle's lap. The kitten collapsed onto her side and stretched out before starting to clean one paw. Amelle smiled and traced her fingertips along Spero's markings as the kitten rolled onto her back, showing her belly.

Morven watched this in silence for a moment before he seemed to remember he'd been asked a question. "I…" he looked at his hand, flexing his fingers. "It… doesn't hurt at all."

"You still ought to be mindful of it for a little while longer. That was quite an infection. The new skin and muscle may be… weak for a few days, so be patient. And for the Maker's sake, eat. Magic can't put flesh back on your bones, and you're dangerously undernourished."

Morven nodded slowly, still staring at his hand, turning it over this way and that, running his thumb over the scar. Sebastian was fairly certain it wasn't a trick of the firelight that the man's color had improved as well. The look on Morven's face when he slowly curled his fingers into his fist and out again said a great deal: he'd never expected to be able to do so again. Wonderment overspread his face, and in that instant, in spite of the weight he'd lost and the lingering shadows under his eyes, he did look a great deal like Connall.

Suddenly overcome with sorrow, Sebastian had to turn away.

"I… I don't feel different," Morven said. "It is… it is nothing like she said it would be."

Amelle gave a rueful little chuckle. "Do you want me to order you to do a jig, too? Just to make sure?"

Before Morven could reply, Sebastian turned on his heel and said firmly, "Perhaps you have lingered long enough, Morven." Nodding toward the guards, he added, "Take him to Corwin. Have rooms found."

Amelle blinked at him, eyes wide and startled, and even Spero raised her head and gave him a look that positively yowled disappointment. Morven, however, scrambled to his feet and bowed deeply. "Your Highness," he said. "I… thank you. I will not give you cause to regret this clemency."

"Words are words, Morven. Give me deeds."

Once more Morven bowed, and then he left. A free man. Sebastian's stomach twisted at the thought, but he did not call him back again, did not unspeak the words he'd already spoken. Amelle looked poised to say something—and nothing particularly flattering, if her expression was anything to go by—but this time it was Kiara who rose and laid a hand on her sister's shoulder briefly. Then she joined him at the window. She didn't attempt to touch him, and yet still he felt the desire to twist away from her, to hide from the openness of her gaze and the concern on her brow.

"That was harder than yesterday, wasn't it?" she asked softly, pitching her words low. "For you."

He nodded once, brusquely.

"Tomorrow will be easier."

Swallowing past the sudden emotion caught in his throat, he said, "You. You are my family."

Her fingers reached out and wove through his, squeezing gently. "Always." Then, louder, she declared, "Now. Where's the bloody tea I ordered? If ever a person needed tea, it's me. Right now."

Amelle's gaze flickered over him quickly, but the admonishment he'd thought he'd seen earlier was gone now, replaced by compassion. Understanding. "This about-to-be-princess business isn't helping with the bossiness, Kiri. I'm afraid it falls on me to point out that you are well on your way to becoming utterly insufferable."

Kiara grimaced. "Don't remind me. I have to meet with the wedding planners this afternoon. Mely—"

"Fenris and I have plans," Amelle retorted at once. "Very important plans."

Fenris lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Wise man, Sebastian thought.

Kiara only snorted indelicately. "All I can say is it's a good thing Isabela's not here. You left the door wide open there. Please note that this is me not walking through it. See what a good sister I am? Surely such a good sister deserves a little help planning her wedding?"

"Plans," Amelle murmured feebly. "Important ones. Oh. Fine. But I'll have you know I refuse to sit through conversations about bunting. Or seating arrangements."

Kiara smiled. "Oh, don't worry. The seating arrangements are all mine."

Sebastian huffed a breath of laughter, wondering just how unpleasant a table his beloved would find for the Caddells, but was wise enough not to speak the words aloud.