The candles had burned down to nearly nothing when, finally, Elinora Cousland pushed her chair back and gave a mighty stretch. "Well, ser dwarf," she said, placing both hands at the small of her back and groaning, "I think that should just about do it."

It was the best news Amelle had heard all day—the best news she'd heard in several days, as a matter of fact. Not that she was one to linger on bad luck, but they'd had a fair bit of it this trip. Still, she was going to feel a whole lot better about things once their little bit of theater was over and done with and very much in the past. Better and worse, because once it was over, there'd be nothing left to do but finally go to Kirkwall and see her brother. And no matter what Isabela thought about the matter, tucking tail and running wasn't anywhere on Amelle's list of viable options.

"Glad you approve," Varric replied, pushing himself away from the long table around which they'd gathered.

"I more than approve. I believe I'm looking forward to it."

Isabela drained the last winking drops of amber liquor from her glass. "Though I'll admit, having the local law on our side—so to speak—is something of a change for us."

"Shall we make attempts to appear surprised at such news?" Howe murmured.

"Might be good practice," Anders chimed in. "Since we're to be acting anyway."

"Leave the dramatics to the professionals, sweet thing," Isabela drawled, giving Anders a wink. "You just stand there and look menacing. Try to, anyway."

Howe stifled a chortle—badly—and Anders looked wounded. "I most certainly can look menacing," he argued plaintively, but not before shooting a sly grin Amelle's way. "Can't I, Miss Hawke?"

Amelle wasn't particularly sure she was in favor of the quality of smile Anders was sending her; a rush of discomfited color heated her cheeks.

"Well," she began as noncommittally as possible, "I do recall finding you somewhat intimidating at first, though that may have been the uniform."

"I had been under the impression you rather fancied the uniform."

In Amelle's peripheral vision, Fenris had gone still, his expression patently inscrutable even while another flood of heat rushed to her face as she cast about her brain for some manner of witty reply. As it turned out, Isabela—reading the writing all too clearly on the wall—managed it for her.

"That was rather the idea, sweet thing."

"All a farce, then?" Anders asked lightly, brow arching.

"You can't be so surprised," Isabela countered, matching his tone. "Aren't we all players of a sort?"

Anders' expression shifted into some heightened melodramatic kin of melancholy. "Ah, it's as I'd feared, sadly. So much time wasted mooning over a love that was never to—ow!" He ducked, belatedly, bringing his hands up to ward against Howe, who'd cuffed him across the back of the head.

"Ignore him," the darker man said to her—Isabela hadn't been the only one to read her. "He's an idiot."

"No harm done," Amelle replied, though her face was still flush with warmth.

"On that note," Elinora announced, "I suppose we all ought to call it a night." She glanced at a gently ticking clock and grimaced. "And not a moment too soon. You're all more than welcome to rest your heads here for the night, or, if you'd prefer, I'll have one of the carriages take you back round to the hotel."

"That's a generous offer, 'Nora," drawled Isabela, "but you'll understand if I have some…" she trailed off, coughing. "Shall we say personal items in my room I'd rather not leave unattended for longer than absolutely necessary."

Personal items of a Tevinter nature, Amelle knew.

Elinora looked entirely unsurprised as she stood. "A carriage it is, then. If you'll make yourselves at home while I ask someone to ready the horses, I'll only be a moment."

Isabela took the words make yourself at home to mean she had time and opportunity to pour herself another drink, while Varric thumbed through the notes he'd taken, muttering quietly to himself. Getting to her feet and stretching, Amelle walked a circuit around the library, pausing here and there to peruse the books on the shelves. Opposite from the fireplace, at the far end of the room stood a set of tall glass doors; beyond them, the warm glow from inside the house illuminated shadowy, leafy outlines. Amelle pushed one door open and immediately breathed in a cool breeze, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle, lavender, and roses. A fountain gurgled softly nearby, and beyond that came the chirp of crickets. Amelle stepped out into the late night; spring still carried with it a chill, the flagstones cold even through her shoes. Overhead, stars dotted the night sky and Amelle tipped her head back, watching as speck after speck of light winked into existence.

Behind her the door creaked and she smiled to herself. "It's a clear night—all the stars are out."

"Spring's always a beast when it comes to travel. It rains for weeks on end—I'm sure I don't have to tell you that—and when we finally get clear skies, it's like the whole world's transformed."

Amelle startled and turned—she'd been so sure it was Fenris who'd joined her that the sound of a female voice caught her wholly by surprise. Elinora Cousland stood in the little garden, arms crossed, head tilted back as she admired the sky.

"That said," she went on, "pretty skies don't undo the rest of the mischief the weather gets up to. Flash floods, mudslides—I've even heard tell of sinkholes in some parts."

"The river flooded just outside of Kinloch Hold on our way here."

Despite the dimness, the other woman's surprise was evident. "You stopped over in Kinloch Hold?" At Amelle's nod, she shook her head, breathing a chuckle. "I can't tell whether that's brave of you, or insane."

"All things considered, it turned out all right," replied Amelle, keeping her demeanor disinterested enough that the other woman's line of questioning wouldn't eventually lead around to just how things had unfolded in Kinloch Hold.

But no such line of questioning ever came.

"We came perilously close to some rather unpleasant weather events ourselves." Elinora still looked upward, entirely unaware of Amelle's thought's. "Well," she said, with lightness that sounded somewhat forced—a surprise, given the ease she'd displayed the rest of the evening. "I suppose that's enough polite talking-about-the-weather."

A trickle of adrenaline slid through Amelle's veins, just enough to leave her unsettled and vaguely queasy. Swallowing once, she glanced over her shoulder at the others, still in the library. Only Fenris seemed to be aware she wasn't in the room; he sat watching the door she'd gone through, but though his posture was alert, he made no move as if to come join her.

"Oh?" she asked, keeping her reply as guileless as she could manage. "There was something more you wished to discuss?"

"As it happens, I'd like to talk to you about the mines. Mister Tethras' plan has you… acquiring them."

Well, that made a fair bit of sense. She was the governor's wife, after all. There was only so much they could hope to get away with in light of that.

"Ah," Amelle said, nodding. "I rather figured you might have opinions about that." She gave a rueful shrug. "To be fair, I'm not a known mage. We aren't… technically breaking the law. Or… well. Perhaps we are. But only very technically."

The other woman frowned thoughtfully, her expression barely discernible in the dark. "…I think you misunderstand me. I only wished to know—hmm." She paused, looking down at the flagstones, as if figuring out how best to articulate herself. Given the woman was the Chief Director of the Grey Agency, to say nothing of being intimately acquainted with the governor of Ferelden, Amelle didn't believe for a moment Elinora Cousland ever experienced any difficulty choosing her words.

"Tell me," she said after another long moment, "do you actually want them?"

Amelle's adrenaline rush dissipated into confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"The mines," Elinora said again. "Do you have any interest whatsoever in owning them? Do you want them?"

Amelle's gaze went to the window again. Fenris hadn't moved—he still watched the doorway. Varric and Isabela were in close conference with the two Wardens over something. "…Why do you ask?"

Elinora walked across the flagstones to the dense honeysuckle bush, but didn't reply right away. Beside it, roses had blossomed, some silvery in the moonlight, others dark as jet. The honeysuckle was beginning to encroach on the roses, and Elinora diverted a twisting vine that threatened one of the fragrant blooms. "Because I'm not entirely convinced you do," she finally said, sitting on a low stone wall, kicking her heels against it. "I confess I might be wrong, but you don't seem entirely enamored with the idea."

Amelle didn't say anything for a moment; instead, she took several slow steps closer to the other side of the honeysuckle, its yellow flowers dull silver in the moonlight. Somewhere below, hidden in the shadows, the pleasantly astringent scent of lavender wafted upwards, twisting in just under the honeysuckle, like a whisper. As she considered how honestly to answer, a thin stream of mana began to glow in her veins, warm and welcoming. She breathed in and flexed her fingers, watching as a glimmer of energy pulsed from the digits.

Full disclosure it is.

"As it happens," she said slowly, "I… don't."

"You realize it's an excellent means of income."

Amelle's smile was rueful. "You wouldn't be the first person to say so."

Elinora cupped a rose between her fingers and leaned forward to breathe in its perfume. "No," she said, on an exhale. "I imagine not."

Clasping her hands in front of her, Amelle stepped away from the flowering bushes and paced a small circle. "You also wouldn't be the first person to point out to me that such a procurement would solidify my security—and perhaps more importantly, my family's security."

"That was going to be my next point." Elinora paused, and there was weight to it. "And yet you still don't really want them."

"I don't," she admitted.

"You must grant me this—it's a strange thing to hear from anyone. So few people are so resistant to wealth."

Amelle tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at the other woman. "Tell me, does it make you suspicious of my motives?"

"…I wouldn't say suspicious," Elinora acknowledged after a while. "Curious, more like."

"You know, I'd be beyond content if I could live in a world where I could ignore lyrium entirely. I never asked to be what I am."

The look Elinora sent her was too knowing by half. Yes, she understood completely—better than even Amelle had given her credit for. "I've found many of the people who use lyrium have been put in that position. Sometimes by someone else. You wouldn't be the first mage to want a normal life. Anders has been known to pontificate on that matter at length—even more so after a drink or two. But I can't say as I blame him one bit."

"But that's simply not the way things are. I don't see any of that changing in the future, near or otherwise."

The other woman's sigh was deep enough to remind Amelle that Elinora had not come by her position easily—and certainly not without cost. "The Circle is… flawed," she conceded. "I have known Wardens conscripted from Kinloch Hold—and some not from any Circle at all, as it happens. The problems I've had with them have been… minimal. And yet, as we have seen, the Tevinters haven't got it right either."

From the corner of Amelle's vision, Fenris had stood and was moving nearer the door. "If you'll excuse me for being forward, ma'am—"

"What is my point and would I please come to it?"

"I…" Amelle cleared her throat. "I wasn't going to put it quite that bluntly."

"Why not?" Elinora grinned. "Candor is not an altogether bad trait. Sounds to me like you need to spend more time with Anders. Between you and I, I doubt he'd complain if you did."

Amelle's silence, broken only by a soft cough, told Elinora Cousland all.

"Ah. I see," she said, after a while. "Well. I can hardly blame you. That elf is quite striking. And clearly taken with you."

And again, for what most certainly wasn't the first time that evening, Amelle's cheeks burned as she turned away, both from Elinora and Fenris, still framed in the window and thankfully—hopefully—too far away to hear what Elinora had said. "Somehow I don't—that is, I think—"

"That we have wandered too far away from the material point?"

Amelle resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands. "Maker, yes."

"Which is lyrium mines and your reluctance to keep them?"

"Indeed." In the shadows a small fountain gurgled quietly, moonlight hitting the water and turning it a rippling silver. "I'd much prefer discussing that, if you don't mind."

"Quite fortunate, as it so happens I have a proposal I believe will prove mutually beneficial—and mutually acceptable."

Those words were more than enough to make her turn. "A… proposal?"

Elinora nodded. "First, though, I must ask—though you've made clear you don't want this particular acquisition, I am curious what you plan to do once you acquire them."

Well, that was easy enough to answer. "Close them down entirely," Amelle replied without so much as a breath of hesitation. "Seems to make the most sense, given the chantry still controls the lyrium trade—"

"And because you would prefer to remain as far from that particular entity as possible, shutting off the mines entirely would mean there was less lyrium in circulation to begin with."

"Yes."

Elinora stood. Amelle hadn't realized it before, but the other woman was tall—far taller than she, though managed somehow not to be intimidating, though that probably changed depending upon who she spoke to. "Unfortunately, five inaccessible mines would place greater demand on the rest—mines that, sadly, might be owned by less scrupulous people than you. The supply would go down, which would drive the demand up."

Amelle blinked. Of course it would—of course.

And now she understood all too well just what Elinora's concerns were.

"The lyrium trade is a dangerous one," the other woman went on, "and not just because of the lyrium itself. The black market is active, and lessening the supply won't ease that activity in the least. On the contrary, it would likely gain power, since people only turn to black market suppliers when—"

"When they're looking for something that's hard to find," Amelle finished, dread settling in her belly. Repercussions. Damn repercussions anyway.

"Guessed it in one."

Frustration welled up in her chest, sudden and hot. This wasn't her problem—shouldn't have been her problem. But letting the Imperium own so much lyrium—and doubtless they had ways to circumvent chantry control—wasn't an option. Owning the mines herself was an option, but a bad one. Maybe she ought to have pushed harder for Varric or Isabela to take on such an asset, but her friends' hearts were in the right place—she'd mentioned more than once she was ready to stop traveling, to settle down. This… made such a thing possible.

There it was, the answer to all of her problems, and all Amelle could do was treat it like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

Taking several deep, even breaths, she paced another circle around the little area.

"Believe it or not," she began, finding reassurance in the gentle scuffing of her boots against the stones, the gurgling fountain, the lavender and the clear sky. Amelle drew in a steadying breath and let it out again. "Believe it or not, I understand what you're saying—truly, I do. More than that, I agree. But I don't know anything about running a mine. Above and beyond everything else, whatever moral, ethical, or legal arguments I might have—and I've got more than a few—I know nothing about that industry. I have no business owning a lyrium mine—and yet my friends have a great deal of difficulty seeing the problem."

"Which is where my proposal comes into play. Instead of closing the mines, what if they were operated with more attention paid to… responsible use? What if someone were there to provide… oversight on them?"

"Sounds like a damned fine idea, provided you found someone to provide that oversight."

"I was rather wondering if you'd be interested in the job."

"Me?" blurted Amelle, coming to a stop so sudden she nearly tripped. "Me." It wasn't the worst idea she'd heard in recent memory, but it might've been in the top ten. "You want me to… do what, exactly?"

"My proposal is this. Allow Alistair and myself to assume ownership of the mines. Between the two of us, we are in a far better position to defend ourselves should the Archon get any ideas of revenge into his head. We are also—" here she pursed her lips thoughtfully, glancing briefly at the warmly-lit library. "Should the chantry want to investigate the transfer of ownership—"

"They wouldn't arrest you on the spot?"

She breathed a laugh. "I confess I was trying to think of a better way to put it. But yes. That all said, however, I… I understand wanting the type of security of which you spoke. I would not want for you to feel as if I have been the one to swindle you by suggesting you surrender the mines. Which is why I believe you would be quite suited to the job of overseeing the mines and making sure they're run properly—and legally."

"I don't know if I understand what you mean. What is it you'd expect me to do?"

Elinora spread her hands in a simple, elegant gesture, as smooth and fluid as a shrug. "Quite simple, really. Pay attention to who's buying the lyrium and make sure they aren't unscrupulous bastards."

She made it sound too damned easy. "And, ah, what if they are unscrupulous bastards?"

"Then I have the means to make them wish they weren't." Elinora looked at Amelle for a long while; whatever the other woman saw in her face, it was enough to soften her expression slightly, lips turning into a small smile. "In any event, I wanted you to have another option. Whether you take it or not is entirely up to you. You will have my support either way—count on it. But… well. I have been in the position where I saw nothing in front of me but bad choices. I wished to give you one that was marginally less-bad. Think about it."

"I… don't have much time to think about."

Here her smile turned rueful. "I know. And I do apologize for that. But I hadn't had the slightest idea what I was walking into when I came upon your card game."

#

The hour was late by the time a private carriage carried Amelle and her companions from the Cousland estate back to the hotel. Beyond Elinora Cousland's intriguing—and tempting—offer, Amelle's head swam full to overflowing with matters spanning from law to logistics. Varric was quiet, but his particular brand of quiet seemed borne of thoughtfulness. Fenris, too, wore a sort of pensive silence, not that that was any kind of surprise. Not that she could blame him, either. It had been a long day—a long series of days. Judging by Isabela's wide yawns, she likely felt the same—also not a surprise, given she'd ridden such a distance that morning, back to the site where they'd left the Tevinters and the whole distance back to Highever, all before noon.

It had been, to put it lightly, a day. One full of plots and plans and preparation.

Now it was over, Amelle dragged herself up the staircase, wondering if there'd always been so very many steps. Varric and Isabela plodded ahead of her, while Fenris' pace matched her own.

"Are you well?" he asked in an undertone.

A yawn nearly swallowed her reply. Clapping a hand over her mouth, Amelle nodded, and once she'd recovered from the yawn, said, "I am. Just… tired."

Fenris stepped closer, brows drawn together in a concerned frown, eyes scanning her face for something—some sort of clue, maybe, some sort of truth she wasn't sharing. She thought of their conversation before dinner, and Fenris' confession he'd been helping her recover from the magebane. The way his eyes narrowed now, she was sure he was looking for some indication that the tincture was bothering her more than she'd admit.

Funny, how well he could read her.

Tilting her head to the side, Amelle sent him a sleepy grin. "Yes, it… is what you think. But I think it's also fair to say I have been dreaming of featherbeds since our impromptu swim." She reached out, brushing her fingertips over his hand. "A few solid hours of sleep in a comfortable bed, and I'll be right as rain in the morning."

But Fenris didn't look entirely convinced. "You will still need to take your—" A brief look up and down the hallway. "Medication."

"Well, yes." She pulled her hand back, fingertips buzzing from the contact. Hard to tell whether the reaction had to do with her mana, or Fenris. She certainly had a few guesses. "We may have made a new friend tonight, but I'm not entirely ready to give up the one thing keeping me from sticking out like a sore thumb."

Another cloud crossed his features, but he set his jaw and looked away. Whatever he had to say, he was keeping it to himself. This too was not a surprise.

"You don't seem too pleased," she said, picking her way carefully around her words.

Raking a hand through his hair, Fenris replied, "You have reasons for doing this. I understand that, and they are… good reasons."

"Hmmm. I think I hear a but coming."

"You do not," Fenris retorted, his expression turning mulish.

"Oh, I think I do."

His eyes flashed in the low light. "I thought you said you were tired."

Amelle's mana, sensitive after being so muted, prickled hotly beneath her skin. "And I thought you disliked lies of omission," she tossed back.

The words hit closer to home than she'd expected them to. Fenris stiffened, his jaw setting, and for a sliver of a moment Amelle was certain an argument—more of one, anyway—was sure to follow. Amelle braced herself, waiting for a sharp tone carrying with it cutting words. But instead, Fenris exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging, eyes closing.

"It is late." When she didn't say anything more, he moved his shoulders in a bare shrug. "Contrary as it may seem to admit, I have come to… dislike the effect the tincture has on you. I do not argue its worth, or the fact it is necessary. I only wish it weren't." Fenris appeared for a moment like he had something more to say, but subsided. Perhaps he felt he'd already said too much.

"…Oh."

"Indeed."

Beyond his initial approval, she hadn't given much more thought to Fenris' opinions on magebane—particularly given his very definite opinions on mages in general.

But then, he'd been by her side through every test of the tincture; more than that, he'd seen her at her worst—nearly drowned, hurt and unable to heal her own injuries—and he'd aided her in a way she'd never have expected. It was far more likely Fenris had a better idea than anyone just how the magebane affected her.

It bothered him.

I can hardly blame you. That elf is quite striking. And clearly taken with you.

The hallway turned warm, the air shifting and turning in a way that made Amelle want to blame her mana, but she knew better. Her palms tingled, which she could definitely blame on her mana, and so she clasped her hands together and focused all her concentration on breathing. Breathing was important. Vital, even. But then the tingling spread from her palms to the rest of her, up her arms to her shoulders and down her back. She took another breath—a deep one—and let it out, slowly.

"For whatever it may be worth," she said quietly, "I wish it weren't necessary either."