Alistair very nearly fidgeted as he tortured himself over how to proceed. They had…well. He'd like to say that they had earned the Mages aid. He felt that description fell woefully short. The mages would depart with them tomorrow…but for now, everyone deserved a rest. Too bad you don't always get what you deserve.

He had just shucked his armor (more than sick of wearing it) when Bral had thwacked his shoulder and jutted her chin in the general direction Míriel had drifted off in… it wasn't that he wasn't sympathetic about Míriel's situation…Not that he even fully understood her situation. Just that it was bad... But…well… Generally it was Crista who catered to Míriel.

...and...well...if they were going to discuss what happened in the tower, what happened in the fade...he wasn't really ready for that yet.

Still, he'd mustered his courage, and he'd followed…and what he found… he still had no idea what to do. If she'd been crying, he would've… held her? He wasn't quite sure, but he hoped he'd have some clue. But this…

Míriel stood, her back to him as she stared over the lake…she wasn't facing the tower or the setting sun…and she was so still.

"You don't have to do this." She said snapping Alistair to attention.

"I… uh. I'm not doing anything, per se. Just… you know… making sure you're… not alone." He half chuckled. "Buddy system, n'all that."

…What?

Maker.

He really needed to work on his mouth moving while his brain wasn't.

He swallowed. Put his hands on his hips, then made a face. Tried to let them hang at his sides… Maker… were his arms always this long? When had they gotten so…awkward? Maybe if he crossed his arms over his che—no. No, that was worse.

...Flames.

"No one coddled you after Redcliffe." Míriel reminded, making him wince.

Was she…?... well.

Maybe. He could see how she'd make the connection. Redcliffe had been where he'd been brought up, and the Circle Tower had been where she'd been brought up… He hadn't wanted anyone probing about Redclife. Huh.

"So, we both know I'm a moron, but I'll confirm it and ask. Do you not want the concern, or do you just not want to talk about it?"

Míriel's head tipped downward, her long hair further obscuring her face…but he thought he heard the barest breath of a laugh.

"You're not a moron." She murmured.

Alistair barked out a laugh. "Alright. Now I know you aren't alright. You're clearly in denial."

Her shoulders twitched, and again a tiny breath of laughter. "You know when I need to laugh." Oh no. She sounded… teary. Were there tears? Was she crying? Had he made it worse? "I'm sorry." She whimpered, her hands covering her face. Oh no! She was crying. And worse, she was trying to hide it. "I look so horrid when I cry."

"I know that's not true." He lied, rounding to stand in front of her. He knew no such thing, as he'd never seen her cry.

He carefully took her wrists in his hands, steeling himself for squinty eyes, swollen and red and excessive snot or whatever this dreadful crying-face would look like.

…It was a little cute. In a 'mabari puppy so young it's still a cubby-puppy-role with stubby legs' way. Her eyes were only a little red, but shiny and wide. Really, what was the problem? There wasn't much excessive facial fluids!

"You look beautiful." He said.

Because it was true. She was. Crying or not, it didn't change. And he wasn't going to feel awkward about telling her so, because it wasn't like he was flirting with her or anything. He had literally. No reason. To blush….

"I want to hug you." Míriel confessed, sounding forlorn.

"Well then come here." He said, opening his arms. Her tiny body tucked against the gap between his ribs, her forehead barely glancing his jaw, her arms curled between the two of them. She was so small, he could literally wrap both arms around her and probably touch the opposite elbows. She sighed, and he felt her relax into his embrace. It went a long way to helping him relax as well.

"I remember when we first came to Ostagar…" she began. "I thought that it was amazing that such a ruin could stand the test of time… but in spite of how impressive it was, it felt so lonesome." Alistair felt so simple at such a statement. He'd thought Ostagar was impressive as well, but he'd felt more impressed by the fact that it was still there. "Now… the tower feels that way… only it's worse, because the wounds are fresh and personal."

"You think about things… in such an interesting fashion. It's so complex." Alistair shook his head. "I'm not smart enough to think the way you do. S'probably why you didn't have to hold me after Redcliffe. I just don't think about things."

A moment passed before Míriel responded, "You're smart. You always know how to make me smile."

Alistair felt his chest swell and heat spiraled through him in what he assumed was pride. It was tainted by how sad she was right now. But Míriel's words always held power. He didn't know if that was because she was a mage, or …because she was Míriel.

"I'm sorry…about your home." He felt her hands scrunch in his shirt, her forehead nuzzling against his sternum.

"I can't stop crying." He heard her whisper. His arms tightened around her just a touch.

"Then cry." He said past the aching knot in his throat. "It'll be alright." He didn't know if it would, but… she seemed to need it.

Míriel buried herself against him, trying to suffocate her nearly silent sobs.

Both Crista and Míriel were relieved to the point of near-collapse upon seeing each other. Reuniting their two parties at camp outside Redcliffe had been…mostly uneventful. No one asked Míriel about her quick trip into the Fade to free Conner. It was enough that the task was done, and they could all focus on curing the Arl.

...and...well...the hodgepodge of people they'd gathered.

Oddly enough, Zevran had been most welcoming…it didn't mean that he was well received. Alistair certainly got on better with Wynne. Then again, he'd been around her longer…and he wasn't interested in her bosom.

"So." Míriel sighed as they sat around the fire, relaxing for the first time in what felt like a long time. "Haven, hm?"

"Have you ever heard of Haven?" Ben asked. He was seated on the ground with a lap full of content, lovely Mabari. Apparently Tholly and Fred also missed each other, and they were very happy to use Ben as furniture.

Míriel stared off towards the horizon. Everyone waited and stared… some at her and some in the direction she was staring. The wind rustled through the trees. The fire cracked and sizzled.

"Not really." Míriel said, her voice sounding almost startling in the quiet.

"Huh." Ben grunted. "I'm not sure if it does exist, if Míriel hasn't read something about it."

"At least you got the support of the mages." Crista muttered.

"Such as they are." Míriel said bleakly.

"Fuck that." Crista spat. "No, I'm serious." She continued when she received varying degrees of shock from her companions. "Fuck. That." She ignored Wynne's wince, and Leliana's rounded eyes. "You didn't just endure a crucible, you made it your bitch. You should be proud of yourself. Not only did you stroll through five different demon lairs—in the fucking fade, on their own fucking turf—you also fought a mage powerful enough to dominate that fucking tower. You…you are fucking amazing."

"You are." Alistair seconded with certainty that suggested he'd die to defend the statement.

"No question." Leliana said with a smile.

"We're allowed to say fuck?" Bral asked, and Ben snorted out a laugh. Míriel chuckled softly as well.

"Thank you, Bral." Míriel said with a smile. "Things were getting heavy."

"So heavy." Crista groaned, rolling her eyes expressively.

"S'what I'm here for." She said with an easy-going shrug.

"To be fair, I didn't do all of that alone." Míriel reminded.

"You were alone in the Fade." Alistair reminded, his tone low and grave.

Míriel had not told anyone how she had found her companions, especially as it pertained to the the state of their confinements. Mostly because…it had been personal. For Bral, Wynne, and Alistair especially. Woofred and Leliana's fade prison seemed much more straightforward. A sleeping dog and a praying Chantry sister. Nothing odd about that.

But Bral… Bral had been fighting to keep her mother and sister alive—even as her mother swore and spat at her. Wynne had been grieving the loss of her pupils. And Alistair had been… content. So selfishly content, surrounded by family that he'd either dreamed up or…well. She hadn't had the chance to pull him aside and ask him about it, but either way, he'd seemed abashed upon learning that it was all just the fade.

All of it had seemed too much to let casually slip into the ring around their fire pit.

"I…I just did what I had to do."

"What you had to do?" Bral knelt up, careening her posture to put herself better into Míriel's line of sight. "Um, excuse me if I'm wrong, but by the end of it you could turn into a mouse, a flaming person, a golem, and a weird-ass spirit demon thing."

"….you know, when you say it like that, it makes me feel like I should write it all down so that I don't forget it." Míriel murmured. "Before too long, I may just believe that I made it all up in my own head… it's all just so… fantastic."

"You should." Ben said with intense certainty. "I would read the shit out of that."

"Now it really feels like it's us again." Alistair said with a bit of a dopey smile, his eyes gazing dreamily into the fire. He took a deep breath. "So!….Where is Haven exactly?"

"It appears to be closer to the Frostbacks." Ben said. He closed his eyes, frowning heavily and pretended to hold back sobs as he wilted into the scruff of Tholly's neck.

All this would've been very amusing—a grown man unable to stop himself from crying at the notion of traveling into more frostbitten territory—if it weren't for the fact that it somewhat upset their mabari companions. Both Tholly and Fred looked back to Bencin concern, and both had to be reassured that everything was ok.

"So…we're going to the Frostbacks." Míriel groaned, leaning heavily against Alistair's arm. He smiled and put that arm around her to keep her upright.

"Will we meet the Archdemon there?"

A beat of silence permeated their camp as everyone reeled in silent shock… Sten had spoken. Without being prompted to.

"No." Crista said, matching his terse tone and raising it to a strange mixture of stalwart and irate. She hadn't changed her posture at all. She still sat on the ground, her feet in front of her, knees bent, reclining in an almost-arc back against the log behind her.

Another beat of heavy silence, intruded upon by the loud pops from the fire and the distant hoot of an owl. No one else wanted to speak, and Sten was obviously assessing hot to progress…and whether or not he wanted to continue.

"I will not simply—"

"You will." Crista's tone made even Bral sit up a bit straighter. It wasn't loud...it was just firm. Certain.

Crista had rocked forward, her body slightly bowed, her shoulder hunch up and her head forward….she looked like she could spring up and tear Sten's throat out at any second. No one was precisely certain what ended the stare-down-of-doom, but Sten looked away with a sigh that sounded like it could have been a groan.

"And you brought back an assassin." Míriel rubbed her hands together almost excitedly as she smiled in Zevran's direction. "I can't fault your taste in souvenirs, that's for certain."

Crista settled back smirking. "Oh? Is it the gift you never thought to ask for?"

"Better than one of those wonky wooden mabari totems." Ben said on a chuckle. "No offense." He muttered down towards his canine companions.

Zevran only smirked as he and Míriel maintained eye contact. "It is truly thrilling to have the eyes of a capable mage on me." He practically purred.

Alistair snapped upright, glaring openly. Wynne's eyebrows rose in obvious disapproval. Leliana made the same snarl of disgust she'd made when eating Alistair's lamb stew. Ben's eyebrows vaulted up, as he stared at the two dogs with a 'well that won't end well for anyone' expression. Morrigan let out a breathy snort of disdain. Bral's gaze pinged around to all of her companions before settling on Crista, as if to say, 'do you see what's happening right in front of us right now?'. Crista's face had gone slack with what could only be described as exhausted acceptance. She nodded as if to say, 'Yeah, he does that'.

Míriel continued to stare at Zevran. Her gaze was hungry, though not in the way he was used to. She was looking at him like he was a book she could simply peruse. As though if she stared long enough, she'd discover all his secrets. It was a little unnerving for the former Crow, but he maintained the air of aloof amusement well enough.

"And you brought back one of the most talented mages Kinloch Hold has to offer." Ben said, sending a respectful half-nod-half-bow Wynne's way. The senior enchanter simply smiled and nodded back.

"Anything else worthy of note?" Crista asked.

"Uh… we also got a control rod." Míriel informed finally taking her eyes off of Zevran.

"A…control…rod…" Crista's tone was so slow it was obvious she didn't know what these words meant when they were strung together.

"She means, like, for a golem." Bral elaborated.

"Yes." Míriel said. "Supposedly, it will work on a golem that's in Honnleath."

"Honnleath?" Ben squinted, head jerking slightly in surprise.

"Where the fuck is Honnleath?" Was obviously Crista's response.

"Sodding Ancestors, it feels good to hear Crista say 'fuck'." Bral murmured. "Do it again."

"Fuck you." Crista said with a smile, her tone easy and accommodating...as though she'd said 'Thank you' instead. Bral pretended to shiver.

"Uhh…" Míriel blinked repeatedly, not sure what to focus on and choosing not to focus on anything she'd just heard. "As for Honnleath, it's a village in southwestern Ferelden…part of the Arling of Redcliffe, really." Míriel informs. "It isn't very well known."

"It's a wart on the backside of Ferelden." Alistair grumbled. His arm wasn't around Míriel anymore…so much as his hand was simply on the other side of her hip. It made it look as if he were leaning back with his arms splayed wide as opposed to actually having his arm around the tiny mage.

"I know we've no time for a side trip, especially now." Míriel wheedled. "…But…you know, we do have the control rod, and it would be interesting to investigate it, and..well.."

"Say the thing." Crista deadpanned.

"I would be very interested in visiting Honnleath, considering its background." When her teammates stared at her with various expressions of curiosity and confusion, she elaborated. "Honnleath was where the mage Wilhelm was allowed to retire." She looked between Wynne and Ben. Of their group, aside from her, those two would be the ones to understand the significance of this history. But they continued to stare back blankly.

"Wilhelm?" Wynne asked, the name familiar and yet she could not place it.

"…He was one of the heroes of the Ferelden Rebellion."

"Against Orlais?" Alistair asked.

"How many rebellions has Ferelden had?" Crista nearly spat at him. She held up a hand towards Míriel. "Don't answer that. It was a flip question to make Alistair feel dumb for asking an obvious question."

Míriel shook her head, but she was still smiling.

"He fought against the Orlesian occupation. Many times he was fighting alongside Maric Theirin. I don't imagine he's still alive, but…well…"

"You and your history love." Crista sighed.

"I just thought… I mean, it's not far, and if this works, we get our own golem!…and…" She hesitated. "If it's a dead end, well.."

"You'll have gotten to see Honnleath." Ben said with a smirk.

"Flames, after the struggle at Redcliffe, the tribulation of the mage's tower, trekking all over hill and fucking dale across Ferelden, battling a demon-child-abomination… Once the Arl is well, I reckon we'll be able to take at least a few days to do something we actually want to do."

"You mean there may come a time when we can take two breaths at the same time without worrying about the impending doom of the world?" Ben asked with a surly smirk.

"That's the dream."

"Oh, what a glorious day." Míriel half moaned, leaning heavily against Alistair as though she felt faint. He chuckled softly, rubbing her upper arm as if to warm them. "But…for this day—"

"Always gotta kill the dream." Bral grunted.

"Better to kill it young before it takes you." Ben scoffed. It seemed like little more than a flip comment, but it made Tholly whine back at him. The fact that his mabari was concerned over his words put some weight on them. Míriel wondered absently what had happened in Denerim.

"We should all get some sleep." Crista finished Míriel's thought pattern. "We'll make for Haven at first light."

"All of us?" Leliana asked.

Crista nodded, suddenly solemn. "Maybe it's weird, but I got this itch in my knees that says we'll need everyone."

The camp was quiet for a moment before Bral muttered. "Jealous. My knees never tell me anything special."

"Well, how often do you actually talk to them?" Alistair quipped.

"…Point." Bral consented with a snort of laughter.

"I'll take first watch." Crista volunteered. The group ambled their separate ways as Crista stayed be the fire. She was surprised to note that Zevran remained seated. "You should get some rest too, Zevran." She offered.

"Ah, my dear Warden. I have sworn myself to your cause. I will sleep when you do." He said. "It would be ill fitting for me to snuggle into a cozy bedroll while you remain a sentry." He shook his head. "The idea does not sit well with me."

Crista's eyebrows rose, but she slowly nodded her assent."Very well." She didn't bother correcting the 'dear warden' sentiment, because she felt there was a touch of irony in the words. She appreciated irony. It was less abrasive than outright sarcasm.

"And if you require aid in helping you sleep later…" He said with that infuriating smirk of his. "Perhaps we can work on that as well."

She snorted softly. "Who has the energy?" She muttered, resenting the hell out of him and unable to fully grasp why.

Zevran was a cheeky flirt with everyone…even Alistair. Which was worth actual gold to watch. In any case, it wasn't as if this behavior was unexpected. So, why was it getting to her?

"We can always keep each other warm the old fashioned way." Zevran feigned shock upon her scathing glare. "I was implying sleeping next to one another. What was it you were thinking?" he asked, sounding scandalized.

She just shook her head.

"Of course, I could see you having reservations about sleeping beside an assassin…" he allowed.

"I've been in worse positions." Crista's voice was low and steady as she lost herself for a moment in the memory of waking up in Vaughan's castle.

"Perhaps, some day you'll tell me about it." Zevran allowed, not pressing.

She felt a sudden thankfulness that he'd dropped the air of seduction. The last thing she needed right now was…was….whatever the fuck it was he did to make himself seem like an appealing option.

"Perhaps." Crista said, eyeing the tents that comprised their camp. Everyone was settled. All was well. Now, they just needed to manage their time while they kept watch. "So. Tell me about the Crows, Zevran." She said as she rose to circle about the perimeter with him.

Anyone else feel like there's a remarkable similarity between Crista and the lady famous for saying, "Who the fuck is Jackson Pollock?"...I keep getting that vibe from her. She could be a blue-color trucker with a foul mouth...a possible AU? Because I don't have enough to write :3