In Circles

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Unnecessary disclaimer: None of the characters, storylines, or dialogue appearing in the video game, Dragon Age: Origins, belong to me.

Abstract: When her return to the circle tower turned disastrous, the ragtag crew was at a loss trying to figure out how to help their beloved leader. Alistair/Amell

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Solara sat silently facing the campfire, eyes unwavering from their stare into the flames.

"I, for one, do not see what all the fuss is about," Morrigan said, her tone conversational. "Why should she feel such sentiment for the place she was imprisoned for most of her life?"

"Leave her alone, Morrigan," Alistair growled. "It was her home."

"Does a canary feel homesick for the cage it has escaped from?" she continued. Alistair met her with a glare. She decided to humor him and return to silence. "Alright, alright. I will desist."

Morrigan went back to tend her own fire while Alistair stalked around the camp angrily, ready to turn full templar on Morrigan if she dared open her mouth again.

Solara felt someone take a seat beside her. A bowl of stew was shoved into her hands. "You must eat something, Sol," came Leliana's voice.

Solara numbly took the spoon from Leliana's hand and began to eat. It tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

She hardly felt it when Leliana got up. She heard murmured voices just out of reach. On any other day she would have tried to listen, but this time she found she hadn't the desire.

The other companions, however, were quite interested in listening to Leliana and Alistair's heated discussion. Leliana wanted to wait to get moving until Solara was ready to lead again, but Alistair wanted to hurry back to Redcliffe as quickly as possible. They couldn't seem to come to an agreement. Things were falling apart without their leader to point the way.

Alistair paced around the campfire. Solara seemed not to see him, or anyone, as she stared, unseeing. Leliana went back to playing her lute, in hopes that a little music might be healing for the Warden.

Alistair stalked over to Wynne. "Can't you do anything?" he demanded.

Wynne, ever calm, shook her head. "I can only heal the physical. I can do nothing for the immaterial."

"Can't you at least talk to her? You've got to do something!" he insisted.

Wynne put a soothing hand on his tensed arm. "She won't talk to me."

"But the tower was your home too!" Alistair argued, pulling his arm away from Wynne's grasp.

"I am little more than a stranger to her. It won't matter," Wynne explained. "You are the only one she will talk to. You know this."

"But I—" Alistair began, weakly, deflating.

"You have been through much together, and I can see that you are very close," Wynne said. "You're the only one who can do this."

"I don't know how to do this," Alistair fought, though he knew he had already lost.

"Take her away from all the prying eyes at camp. Comfort her. Listen to her," Wynne instructed.

Alistair sighed. "Fine. But if she turns me into a human lightning rod, I'm blaming you!"

Wynne smirked. Smirked! "Oh, I'm sure you can handle her. You are a templar after all, are you not?"

Alistair glared at her before turning back towards the campfire and Solara. He approached her apprehensively. Wynne had been right about prying eyes—everyone in camp was watching, wanting to see what he'd do.

He sat down beside her, taking the now-empty bowl and spoon from her hands and setting them on the ground. "Solara?" he asked. She made no reply. "Would you like to go for a walk?" Nothing.

He took her hand and moved to crouch in front of her, positioning himself in her sightline. "Solara," he said, in a more commanding tone. "Let's go."

The fog lifted for a moment, she saw him clearly, and she nodded. He took her by the hand away from the camp.

They stopped just a bit away, next to the river in which they had washed their clothes and their bodies just earlier that evening. He sat down, and she did the same beside him. She stared out across the river, unseeing.

Oh, Maker… he was terrible at this! How could he possibly get her to talk?

"Solara…" he began. "You need to talk about this or it's never going to get any better." No reaction.

He sighed. "Remember when you made me talk to you about Duncan? I didn't want to at first, but afterwards I felt better, knowing I wasn't alone. I had you to help me through it." He paused. "And now I'm here to help you," he added on, floundering a little.

He looked out over the river also, trying to figure out what else he could possibly say, when he heard a strange sound from beside him. A choked sob escaped Solara's lips.

When he realized what was going on, he pulled her close to him, resting her head on his chest. The sobs came more quickly now, and her tears coursed down his armor in silvery rivulets. He held her close until the tears subsided.

He asked her if she wanted to talk about it, and she shook her head. Not yet, her eyes begged him. He relented, and they sat there for a time, his presence a comfort to her.

After a while of companionable silence, Alistair spoke. "Here, do you know what this is?" he said gently, handing her a rose.

…