Author's notes: fixed a few embarrassing typos in the first chapter and description. Considering this and my limited descriptive powers in a foreign language, I was really surprised at all the reviews and story alerts. Love you all! Btw, why isn't Fenris even in the list of characters?

Disclaimer: still don't own Dragon Age.

Their return to the city was not what she imagined when they set out on that disastrous expedition. Instead of triumphant return of daring heroes it was tired limping of beat up and starved shadows. A week of wandering the Deep Roads with no supplies, no map, but plenty of dangerous creatures whose names were probably known only to rare dwarven historians left it's mark on all of them. After entrusting Merrill into Anders's care, dumping the loot in Varric's room in the Hanged Man and leaving the still steaming dwarf to shake any news of Bartrand out of his contacts, she could finally go home.

The dusty attic in which her uncle, a scion of the once powerful Amells, lived could hardly be called home by anyone, except maybe the cat that seemed to think it owned the place and could always be found warming its belly in sunlight by the window, oblivious to uncle Gamlen's constant grumbling and half-hearted attempts to throw it out. The cat always seemed to somehow find its way back in. But if there was anything Miriam learned in all her travels, it was that "home" was not a place, it was people. And right now she was glad to be home.

It was quiet. Yes, she no longer counted on a grand return, but it would be nice to see that her family waited for her. Of course, uncle wouldn't be home this time of day, but he wasn't much of a family anyway.

"Anyone here?" she called out. "There's one battered hero coming home from a long and perilous journey…"

Creaky door to what could be generously called their bedroom slowly opened and her mother stopped at threshold. A sinking feeling of something being wrong turned in Hawke's stomach: mother was pale, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she finally realized who stood before her, Leandra rushed to her daughter, hugging her, bursting into tears.

"I'm fine, see, it just took a little longer than we thought," Miriam murmured into her mother's hair, trying not to wince when this fierce embrace pushed at her bruises.

"Oh, Miri… They took her… They took Bethany," Leandra's words made her freeze, forgetting all about her pain and tiredness.

"What? How? We were always careful, like father taught us…" they couldn't take Bethany. She was always careful, never used magic in public… but she still used magic, didn't she? To her it was a gift, one that she always thought unfair to hide and not use.

"She said she met some thugs on her way home and had to cast a spell to scare them off," her mother explained between sobs. "And next morning the templar came to our house…"

"But we have the treasure. We'd sell it and get a lot of money. How could they take her?" she still refused to believe it. But she knew that money could not help anymore. After all they'd been through, to come back a few days too late? She failed again. Too slow to push Carver out of the way, too slow to return to the city crawling with templars where she left her little sister. And now, as she looked into her mother's face, she could see it. The blame. She had to get away.

Leaving her mother with awkward words of support, Miriam didn't even bother to change her clothes. That blame in mother's eyes hounded her. Freezing her to the core, making her eyes swell with tears at the unfairness of it. She was only three years older than them. Barely an adult herself, how was she expected to protect them? Why was she expected to give up everything for their sake?

She wandered the city for a long time, stopping in the Gallows, just watching the Tranquil selling their wares. Would that happen to Bethany? No matter how sweet and innocent, in everyone's eyes she was an apostate, a danger to be dealt with.

Evening found her at the entrance to Fenris's mansion. There was no light in the windows, but she knew he would be there. The elf did not go out much.

True enough, there he was. Alarmed at the intrusion, reaching for his sword.

"Go on, cut me in two, maybe then I'll finally stop being late everywhere," she waved her hand dismissively, too numbed emotionally right now to bother.

"I expected you to be with your family," Fenris said in a way of apology, visibly relaxing. If any good came out of this expedition, it was that it brought them all together. They were no longer a calculating dwarf using his so-called "partners" to his own ends, a shy Dalish pariah, an escaped slave working off a self-imposed debt and a refugee in dire need of money. They were friends that went through hell together and survived only by supporting each other. Even if Fenris insisted on hating Merrill for using blood magic – or any magic, for that matter, - he still saved her life more than once in the Deep Roads. And to Miriam elven mage was another apostate little sister to protect.

"Yes, well… not much of that family left to be with," she crushed into a dusty chair. Something about her – or all of it, really, - must have told Fenris that something was wrong, because he motioned for her to wait and soon came back with two dark bottles. "What's that?" She took one of the bottles and whistled quietly while the elf expertly uncorked another. "Agreggio? You sure know your wine."

"Not me," Fenris answered shortly. For a few moments he looked thoughtfully at the bottle in his hand and then suddenly threw it across the room. There was satisfied smile on his face when the bottle hit the wall and exploded.

"Felt good, did it?" Hawke raised her eyebrow when she recovered from initial shock. "Can I do that?"

"Be my guest," Fenris gestured generously at the remaining bottle.

Miriam stood up and weighted the bottle in her hand, searching for a target. Her eyes found an ugly statue that wasn't so difficult to associate with a templar. The bottle exploded hitting the statue's head. And it did feel good. Fenris spared another one of his small smiles while looking at her work appreciatively.

"When I was still a slave, Danarius would have me pour it for his quests," smile turned bitter.

"Maybe one day he'll come here looking for you and you'll smash it on his head. Might want to save one bottle for that occasion," Miriam offered.

"I think I'd like that, yes," the elf laughed quietly, but soon became serious. "But you did not come here to listen to my whining. What happened?"

"Well, I considered drowning my sorrows in wine, but throwing stuff feels so much better…" Hawke sniffed. "We're going to have to do something about that smell now, though…"

"Hawke."

She gave up. Light-hearted moment passed. "They took Bethany, Fenris," she slumped back into the chair. "She used some magic to protect herself, and someone saw it and ratted her out."

"I'm… sorry," Fenris took another chair, not taking that unreadable gaze off her.

"No you're not," Miriam looked into the fire. "You thought she was dangerous and needed to be behind bars."

"My distrust of mages is not without reason. But she is your sister and I trust your judgment of her," the elf said slowly, as if measuring every word.

"She also made an amazing pie for you," now Hawke was positively pouting.

"Yes," Fenris smiled. "That too."

His smiles were still a rare and precious sight. Stealing a glance at him, Miriam couldn't maintain her pout any longer. But her smile soon faded. "Mother hates me, you know. She thinks it's my fault that we lost them both."

"And what do you think?"

"I think… I couldn't…" she closed her eyes tight for a moment, willing back tears. "I'm just one girl. I'm good at throwing knives and talking my way out of trouble, but I'm not some legendary hero who can save everyone! And I'm not father…"

"Maybe you shouldn't try to be him then," the elf simply said.

"You think I can do better than him?"

"You seemed to do just fine down there."

Smile slowly returned to her face. He was probably the only person who did not expect anything of her and was fine with her just being herself. That was a new experience. She was tired of trying to be strong all the time. It would do a world of good to just let go of all that responsibility and guilt for one evening. As a start. Miriam relaxed, extended her sore legs closer to the fireplace and exhaled.

That was when the quiet mansion burst with sound.

"Hey, elf, you'd better pick up that compensating for something sword of yours and go with us, because…" Varric stopped short noticing Miriam in the chair. Behind him others did not have time to react and almost ended up in a heap. The dwarf paid no attention to them and instead looked almost reproachfully at Hawke. "What are you doing here, Raven?"

She'd already grown used to that nickname he gave her and it did not annoy anymore – which was, as she deduced, its' original purpose. She was a Hawke and she had raven-black hair, ha-ha, so witty. Now she merely shrugged. "Visiting a friend, why?"

"Well, it's all well and good, only your mother sent out a search party," the dwarf's thumb pointed back at the sheepish crowd behind him. "So you'd better come home and show her you're alright. She threatened Bianca!" Varric held his crossbow protectively.

"Right," Miriam stood up reluctantly. At this point, if she could crawl back home, she would consider herself a hero. And then fall asleep and let tomorrow's Hawke deal with Bethany's loss. "Thanks for the wine, Fenris. It was exquisite."