Fenris was already on Isabela's ship waiting for them when they arrived.

While Alistair just sort of meandered around the deck with his guards in tow, looking like a mother duck leading her babies, Fenris kept watch as Hawke picked the lock to Isabela's cabin. Isabela wasn't there herself to unlock it and she'd broken into Hawke's estate enough times that she really didn't feel bad about doing it. Once inside they were able to locate the chest where Isabela had stored all of the possessions Hawke had brought with her. It, too, was locked and with a far more complex piece of hardware than Hawke was expecting. So while she tinkered with the lock, Fenris searched for a key. Isabela didn't exactly have a lot of pockets and she tended to get things bought for her as opposed to buying them herself. She sometimes hid things in her boot, but only if she knew she would need it. The chest of Hawke's things was probably not on that list so it was reasonable to assume that the key would be somewhere there in the cabin.

Eventually, Hawke managed to get the lock popped open, whooping out in celebration and calling off Fenris's search. "Maybe she actually hid it in a non-ridiculous place this time. "In the drawer with my smalls" is getting far too predictable."

Fenris headed out and down the crew quarters to get Hawke's personal chest from her bunk while she crouched down and rifled through the contents to see what was hers and what things were items Isabela had just thrown in there.

"There you are!" Alistair poked his head in through the door to the cabin and then made his way inside "I was beginning to think I'd actually lost you on a ship." He looked over her shoulder into the chest "Oooh... that's an… interesting assortment. "The Rose of Orlais", huh? I have a friend who likes that book."

Hawke smirked up at him "That book isn't mine. The smutty books, this" Hawke held up a riding crop, "and this" Hawke held up a very pretty, ornately carved, music box that looked like something directly out of a little girl's bedroom "are all Isabela's. Everything else is mine."

Fenris shoved his way in through the door and placed Hawke's personal chest next to her on the floor. Realizing that the key for it was on her person when she was taken and not there when she woke up, she picked that lock as well and began transferring the contents, trying to get two different sets of armor and under padding and various folios of papers and coin purses to fit in all together with her other meager belongings.

"You know, I don't know how I feel about you being so adept at that." Alistair said, wandering around the cabin and looking at the nautical charts on the walls.

Hawke scoffed "The first time you lose a key you'll change your tune."

"That's one idea for what to do with yourself when we get to Denerim." Alistair quipped.

"Burglar?" Hawke shot back.

"Locksmith"

…..

Evening approached as they made their way to the far end of the dock where the king's ship, named The Calenhad, was moored. It was a grandiose name for a small ship, but Fereldens weren't known for their humility when it came to their naming conventions. Or their originality, given the number of Solonas and Alistairs that had been recorded in the Chantry records since the end of the Blight.

Fenris and Hawke were both settled into rooms and the crew scrambled to provide Hawke's room with a pallet of blankets for Noodle should he actually choose not to crowd her out of the bed, which was unlikely. Nearly all of the sailors on board made fools of themselves cooing over Noodle, excited to see a Mabari this far from home and such an enormous specimen of one as well. Noodle was clearly the type of Mabari who was more than happy to receive and appreciate the attention of strangers. The thought of him living in Kirkwall for the last several years was more than a little strange since people in the Free Marches would not appreciate Mabari as Fereldens did. Alistair left them to it while he checked on correspondence that, according to his guards, arrived that morning. The bundle of letters included several messages about the state of affairs in Denerim that he needed to respond to, including one polite sounding letter from Anora. Alistair knew her well enough by now to read between the lines, however. Eamon was beginning to push his luck with his constant dismissive air toward her and her requests for the Arling. The tentative peace between the two of them would not last much longer at this rate. He would have to respond to her immediately.

As he was drafting additional correspondence, there was a knock at his door. "Come!"

Hawke and Fenris sauntered into the room and, glancing up at them, it struck Alistair just how clearly they belonged in each other's company. There was an unspoken sort of attachment obvious in the way they moved around the room, the way they watched what was happening around them, that spoke of long hours fighting together, watching campsites together, and coming to trust each other. It was a type of companionship that he was distinctly jealous of and sorely missed. Alistair hurried to finish his letter writing and reading while they took up positions in the room, patiently keeping quiet until he was ready to talk.

His last letter done, sanded, and sealed, he shuffled through the stack of remaining letters that weren't from the capital to determine what needed his immediate attention and what could be put off. He raised his eyes once as he did so and addressed them finally, "Sorry to be so rude, there's just some work I have to complete."

"It's no trouble, your majesty. We were just going to head back into town for dinner and wondered if you'd like to join us." Fenris's low rumble of a voice always lent everything he said an additional gravity, no matter how casual the actual words. It may also have been his phrasing. He was precise and nearly stiff in the way he spoke in the way that every seneschal he'd ever met was. It was an odd counterpoint to his unique tattoos, his bristling armor, and the intimidating sword he hefted so easily. He'd certainly make an … interesting… addition to the court at Denerim.

"Yes, I would like that. Just give me a moment and we can leave."

"Of course." Fenris inclined his head just slightly in a bow.

Hawke was sitting cross-legged atop a row of cabinets that had been built in to one side of the room, a book Alistair hadn't seen her grab laid open across her lap and she flipped through it, pausing and running her finger down passages as she skimmed the contents. He's never really seen her this quiet or aloof and he vaguely wondered if anything was wrong but pushed the thought away – he couldn't hover over her worrying at every shift in mood constantly. He'd drive her and himself insane in the process.

He quickly read over the rest of his correspondence, pausing to let what he'd just read sink in before shuffling the papers together again. He stood and stretched as he spoke, "Well, looks like we're making a detour west before heading back south to Ferelden. I'd planned on stopping in Amaranthine anyway before moving no to Denerim but this will add some time to the journey."

"West? Back to Antiva?" Hawke finally spoke.

"Rialto – we're picking up Zevran."

Fenris scowled "The insufferable assassin."

Alistair liked Fenris more and more all the time. But Hawke scoffed "He's not that bad, Fenris."

Fenris shook his head "He is that that bad. He's like Jethann with an accent and daggers."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow "Jethann?"

Hawke was giggling "A very saucy and persistent elven whore who worked at the Blooming Rose. Fenris took his advances a little… personally."

Fenris shot her an ugly look "You weren't there, Hawke. He… He touched me."

That just made Hawke laugh harder and Alistair sensed it would be best to get them all moving before it devolved into an actual argument.

They made their way to a small house that Isabela had given Fenris directions to earlier in the day along with a few of Alistair's guards following at a discrete distance. Isabela opened the door for them when Fenris knocked exclaiming "You made it!", rosy cheeked and clearly already well into her cups. The house belonged to a friend of hers, and everyone was careful not to inquire too deeply about who exactly he was. It was best that way. He had prepared a fantastic meal for them of roasted foul and fish as well as a variety of grain dishes and salads. It was nearly luxurious given what they'd all been eating for the last several months – especially for Hawke who couldn't remember the last time she'd had anything remotely green or vegetal to eat. Because this was a friend of Isabela's, Alistair noted that Hawke's paranoia about the food was well tempered and he only caught her narrowing her eyes at what she was served briefly but her hunger kicked in.

They drank and ate well into the night – far later than any of them had expected to. And while it was clear from Isabela and Fenris's veiled looks at Hawke that she was not yet completely back to her old self, it was an improvement. She was still a little too quiet, a little too eager to sit back and let the conversations happen without her involvement. At one point in the night, Alistair discretely took her hand under the table and she shot him a sad smile, squeezing his hand back.

Eventually they made their way back to the docks and to the ship and while both Hawke and Fenris made for their cabins, Alistair was able to catch up to her and tug at her sleeve before she could slip away.

Looking back at him with that same expression somewhere between completely blank and sad for just a moment he could see the decision she made to smile instead. Seeing her fake it for his sake hurt and his first instinct was to just say "nevermind" and leave her alone. And he suddenly understood why Solona had done exactly the same thing to him so often. But he pushed on, asking the question he'd intended when he stopped her.

"You haven't said so, but I have a feeling we'll be heading back into the Tailor's basement tomorrow while the crew prepares the ship to leave. Is… that correct?"

She looked surprised for a moment and turned her shoulders toward him – that same gesture he'd seen earlier in the day, the one that seemed to signal a decision. "Yes, that was my plan, but I wasn't going to ask you along."

And that stung as well, but he kept his voice neutral "Would you prefer I not be there?"

Thankfully, she shook her head, "No, not at all. I just didn't expect you to come with me. You… you went down there once for me, and that was unexpected enough. I wouldn't ask you to do it again."

"Well, I would like to come with you, if that's alright."

Hawke seemed to think it over, eyeing him steadily in a way that was unnervingly like being read. Eventually she nodded just slightly "Okay. We'll gather at the Tavern to pick up Varric and Isabela as early as possible and then head down. If we're up before you in the morning I'll… wake you? Or do I send a guard to do it? I … I don't know how all this… protocol… works." She looked up at him sheepishly and he couldn't help but grin at that.

"The guards know it's okay for you to enter my cabin. They won't stop you. There are unfortunate levels of propriety I have to maintain with my guard nearby but that's one I am not concerned about – not on the ship anyway. Is there anything you need before you retire?"

Hawke shook her head "No, I think I'm … well… I might have an odd request. Is there… Maker this is going to sound strange."

"Ooh… that's promising." Alistair smirked at her.

"Heh, well… do you think it would be possible to cram another bed into my cabin?"

Alistair quirked an eyebrow at her and she continued, "It's for Fenris… I … I haven't asked him yet but I- " all pretence of being carefree had fled her expression and she looked vaguely haunted "I don't think I can sleep alone. Noodle will be there, but I would feel more comfortable if Fenris were there as well. And I don't think the two of us sharing a narrow bed would allow either of us to sleep." She grimaced slightly "Especially since he'll likely insist on keeping his armor on."

Alistair hated that on a ship surrounded by guards and with an enormous mabari in the room she still feared that something might happen to her while she was defenseless. He understood, but it stabbed at him. He himself had spent the last week sleeping perched on the edge of her bed, above the covers but well within reach should she need it. While it had been far more chaste of an arrangement than it probably looked from the outside, he also knew – and hadn't mentioned or reacted to – the number of times that her hand had landed on his back in the middle of the night, palm patting at him gently as a reassurance of his presence.

"Of course, I'll ask the captain to have that arranged. We have a spare cabin and I'm sure we can have the bed from there moved in. It might take a bit, I'm afraid."

"I won't be sleeping anytime soon anyway," she said, with that same sad smile on her face that looked like it actually hurt to make.

Alistair reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles and breathing against the back of her hand for a moment before letting it go.

"I'll go fetch the captain before I turn in. Goodnight, Marian."

"Goodnight, Alistair."

…..

The next day, still in Rivain and bringing on supplies, it seemed Hawke had rested some, some of the dark purple of the bags under her eyes had faded and she seemed to have more color to her skin. But Fenris looked tense and odd. After making their way back to the tavern they'd been to before heading to the docks, Alistair took the opportunity of Hawke being distracted talking to the bartender to ask how their night had passed. Fenris shook his head mournfully, "She is not half as well as she pretends. I hadn't realized before but… it's more than just the kidnaping. I… should have gone with her when she left Kirkwall. She needed more than Isabela."

Hawke was returning so Alistair lost the opportunity to ask more questions. Apparently the bartender had taken such a shine to Hawke that he was not accepting her coin that day. Alistair joked that they could have used some of those skills during the Blight and then went on to ask if she'd ever been interested in drafting trade agreements between countries. She dutifully quipped and laughed in return and Alistair had a sick moment of wondering just how much of her personality was crafted for the benefit of others. He didn't want to think about it at all and especially not just then. If it was all just a convenient mask then he had to wonder how deep it went and how much of what he'd come to know of her was façade. And this was the worst possible time for such thoughts when he knew what a defense mechanism it must be for her. He'd been accussed of nearly the same thing himself, using humor to deflect and avoid but it was an integral part of his personality. Perhaps it was the same for her.

He decided that he would take his cues from Fenris on the matter and chided himself for once again decending into worry.

The whole band of them joined at a table and ate a breakfast, though Hawke stuck to bread, he noticed. Then they made their way to Isabela's ship and took one of the small rowboats in her compliment down the coast to a small cave. Isabela had previously done some scouting and determined that this was the smuggler's tunnel exit to the coast. None of them, unfortunately, had thought to bring a torch and so were forced to feel their way along the tunnels walls for quite a distance, stubbing toes and stumbling over each other until they entered the portion of the tunnels they'd been in before. The torches had all burned out but with something in a flask Varric had been carrying, a rag, and a flint struck against one of Hawke's daggers, they were able to relight a few of the sconces and one that they pulled down to light their way as they moved room to room.

Isabela played torch bearer through most of the rooms with Hawke by her side, daggers drawn, despite the fact that she wasn't actually wearing armor – which bothered Alistair a great deal. It was fine for Varric to think that a leather jacket counted as armor, but he stood at the back of the group with a crossbow. Hawke's fighting style was more about leaping into the midst of enemies and using their own momentum against them. It necessitated that they be swinging at her with intent to strike her down to even be effective most of the time and to do that without armor seemed more than foolish, it felt downright suicidal.

His worry was for nothing, however. There was not a single person in the lower passage. The bodies of those they'd killed had also all been removed, and the floors and walls scrubbed down as well. Outside of the faint metallic tang of blood left lingering in the air there was no evidence that many people had died there. Once they'd been through the tunnels once, Hawke took the torch and Fenris with her again to poke through each room thoroughly. While Alistair didn't think she'd find anything, he understood her need to search again. They eventually found a hidden door due to a seam of mortar looking a slightly different color than those around it – but only slightly. Once the door was swung open, they found a tidy little office that was completely bare, though recently used. The ink in the open well was still wet, and there were sheaves of fresh parchment as well as a chest nearby, though it proved to be empty.

Hawke was clearly disappointed and to ameliorate her feelings more than anything else, Varric took up a piece of parchment and, after digging through his pouch, produced a piece of charcoal used for drawing. He scraped the whole thing across the parchment pressed the desk's surface. The resulting imprint showed a few words, but the majority was numbers, money amounts, next to "bid" and "ransom". Fenris told Hawke about the note they found on one of the runners who had left the tailor shop and she seemed to deflate.

"So what we know is that someone wrote letters here."

"I would assume so."

"I'm sorry for wasting everyone's time. I just hoped…" Hawke trailed off as she looked around the tiny office. "… it doesn't matter. I guess we should go."

Trudging back through the tunnels in the dark, Alistair wanted to get close enough to Hawke to touch her hand but she was keeping herself away from everyone else and he didn't want to make a show of stopping for her to wait for her to catch up. In the small boat on the way back to Isabela's ship she sat in the very bow, her back to everyone else, clearly uninterested in speaking. She remained exactly that way until they made it back to the ship and then picked their way through the docks to The Calenhad where she promptly disappeared into her cabin and remained for the rest of the night. Alistiar wasn't sure what he could have said or if his presence would even be welcome, so he left her alone, assuming that Fenris would know better than he what should be done and what Hawke would need.

The next morning the crew began final preparations to leave Llomerryn and begin the trip across the mouth of Rialto Bay to the city of Rialto. Zevran's message had been vague, and had simply requested to be picked up. Normally, it was something Alistair would have been tempted to ignore. But in truth, he wondered how Zevran was really doing. They'd only exchanged letters a few times since the end of the Blight and they hadn't seen each other at all. Not that he'd exactly gone out of his way to hold on to any of their old companions. Oghren was with the Wardens in Amarnthine, Leilianna was working with the Divine in Orlais, Sten had taken off to Par Vollen or Seheron or wherever he'd gone to make his report. And Zevran was… just gone. He stayed long enough to watch Solona's pyre burn to cold ash and then left without any farewells.

The idea of seeing Zevran was both troubling – he would bring with him many memories, some of them utterly unwelcome – and somewhat a relief. He felt out of his depth with what was happening with Hawke and he could use every ally he could get just then.

Hawke and Fenris left the ship just once during the day, Noodle at their heels. Fenris again looked troubled, which was bad enough. But then Alistair caught a glimpse of Hawke and she was just blank. Not even a placid or neutral expression on her face, just a sleepwalker's look to her, with eyes open but expressionless, face slack. She looked exhausted and drawn yet she was still moving away from the ship and through the crowds at the docks with purpose, shoulders squared, head up. She didn't seem dejected or sad. That would have been better. Instead she seemed… hollow.

The crew was finishing loading in the last of their supplies when Fenris and Hawke returned with several new sacks and parcels. They entered Hawke's cabin as wordlessly as they'd left, but Fenris came back out onto the deck shortly after. He went to the railing and leaned his hands against it, head bowed, and seemed to let out a long sigh. Alistair was watching him and it seemed as if, after a moment, the elf could sense the eyes on him, turning his head sharply to look directly at Alistair. He bobbed his head at the king and then made his way slowly over to him.

"Is everything alright, Fenris? You look… well I'm not sure how you look. Annoyed? Disturbed?"

"Yes, I'm sure I do. I … I don't think I've ever gone through a whole day of Hawke not speaking. Even on death's door she keeps up a babbling running dialogue of observations and bad jokes. I thought she might start getting better but… " Fenris trailed off, lost for what exactly he should say.

Alistair himself looked rather worried "Well, perhaps she'll just need some time. It's only been a few days. That can't have been easy to deal with."

Fenris shook his head "It's… Kirkwall. She's… " Fenris paused and glanced around, then moved closer and lowered his voice "She's been having nightmares when she sleeps at all. I don't know if they were going on while she was on Isabela's ship or not. But I can't imagine the crew would have put up with her in their sleeping quarters if they were. She's thrashing in her sleep, talking… crying. She's got Noodle so on edge that he was snapping at complete strangers in the market today for getting too close."

"How do you know it's Kirkwall that's on her mind and not the kidnapping?"

"She… she was talking to Anders in her sleep last night."

Alistair sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I know that you and Varric told me about what happened but how was she? How was she really?"

Fenris was quiet for a moment and began pacing in a tight circuit while the thought. "Everything that day came down to everyone turning on her. Anders, Orsino, Meredith… us."

Alistair looked at Fenris, confused, "We turned on her just as much as anyone else. We all stood there and pushed her to kill him – Sebastian actually threatened to bring an army to Kirkwall for her and Anders if she didn't. When she refused, she tried to get him to fight with us and he wouldn't have it. I thought she might kill him then but she let him go. It… it didn't make any sense to me. After the fighting, once she was installed as Viscountess, we argued about it. Just once. Having to put someone who had been her friend to the blade was just a step too far for her on top of everything else. And having us all just stand there and make our demands without being willing to step forward ourselves… it was cowardly on our parts. Varric and Isabela feel guilty – which is why they're skulking off back to Kirkwall together instead of being here for her."

Alistair nodded "But you're here for her."

Fenris seemed to tense at that "I am. Little good it does. I… don't remember having a friend before her. I am no good at this type of thing. There are often times when I feel I should say something but I have no idea what to say. But I can't allow her to carry this alone, not when I feel I'm partly to blame."

Alistair crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the railing near Fenris. "I am sure she appreciates you just being there. She even requested that you be moved into her cabin. I know it doesn't help erase what guilt you feel, but she clearly trusts you. Don't discount the importance of that."

Fenris did not agree, but neither did he disagree, and Alistair was fairly certain that that was as close as he would get to any sort of consensus with Fenris on the matter. Alistair clapped Fenris on the shoulder as they parted ways. Alistair dashed off a quick note and had a guard run it to the inn Varric was staying in to let them know that they were departing shortly and that if Isabela or Varric wanted to say goodbye they would need to do it soon. He wanted to add that they had better show up, but refrained. He wasn't going to interfere to that extent. If they truly were hiding from her out of guilt, it might best that they not show their faces afterall.

It was a few hours later, nearly dark, when they were just about to pull up the gangplank that Varric appeared on the dock looking vaguely nervous. Fenris went to Hawke's cabin to bring her down to the dock. All three of them spoke for a few minutes and Varric reached out to pat Hawke on the arm. Her only gesture was a nod, before she turned and made her way back up onto the ship, past Alistair, and directly back into her cabin. Fenris came back and stood next to Alistair as the crew began casting off.

"That looked awkward." Alistair had a wry grin on his face.

Fenris simply nodded, "It was."

"Don't get seasick do you?"

Fenris chuckled "No. Noodle might though."

Alistair couldn't help laughing .

"Half of what we got at the market today was ingredients for simple potions to settle his stomach."

"And the other half?"

Fenris smirked "Hawke has a weakness for Rivaini silk, it seems. I'm sure the merchants were more than happy to know she won't be back anytime soon. She haggles like a woman on her last sovereign. But she took enough with her to outfit a small harem of women with gowns for a year." Fenris shot him a warning look, "You didn't hear that from me."

Alistair just laughed again. Fenris had grown on him immensely. His dedication to Hawke was surely a large part of that, but the man himself was surprisingly pleasant company. It would certainly be an … interesting… trip home.

..…

Alistair tried to relax while they sailed across the mouth of Rialto Bay. While this wasn't exactly a relaxing vacation spot, the weather was warm, the skies were clear, and he couldn't be reached while at sea so correspondence and the immediate concerns of ruling were minimal. The first night they were at sea Hawke remained in her cabin. On one of his circuits around the ship, just strolls around – certainly not trips past her cabin door that he made several times a day in the hopes of catching her coming out – he heard Hawke and Fenris speaking. He didn't catch much of what was said, but Fenris sounded frustrated with her and both of them were speaking with slightly raised voices.

The next day, as Alistair reclined across a few crates, using a bag of grain as a pillow, a shadow passed over him. He reluctantly opened his eyes, unwilling to let go of the pleasant spate of daydreaming he'd been indulging in. Thankfully, the object of his daydreams was standing right over him, looking down at him with a slight hint of a grin on her face.

"Getting some sun, I see."

"I figured if I am going to sell this whole "off being adventurous" line to my advisors once we're back in Denerim I should try to get a little color." He stayed where he was, blinking up at her, sure that if he were to move too suddenly she'd bolt like a rabbit. "Would you… care to join me?"

Hawke nodded at him "That would be lovely," she reached down and patted his hip "scoot over."

Alistair did as he was instructed and she laid down right next to him, less than a hand span separating their sides from touching, her hands resting across her stomach, their heads sharing his makeshift pillow as they both closed their eyes again against the glare of the sun. Alistair had a ridiculous fluttery nervous feeling. She was right there – finally – and he felt like an idiot. He might even be blushing. He had no idea what to say so, instead of employing his usual strategy of babbling futilely until he either annoyed someone or stumbled on to something worth saying, he kept his mouth shut and tried to enjoy the fact that she'd sought him out.

"Fenris told me in no uncertain terms that I've been a complete ass in general lately and to you specifically."

Startled, Alistair stammered a bit "What? No, I wouldn't say that. You… You've been quiet, certainly and I've wondered when you might come out of your cabin or if you're even eating anything. I have also had more conversations with Noodle than I have had with you personally, but well, he is a very charming Mabari."

Hawke chuckled lightly at that. "He is very charming, but he's not much of a conversationalist." She went quiet and Alistair waited. She was talking to him. As far as he was concerned he could wait as long as she needed. "Look – I'm not doing very well with… everything. I'm trying to be better, I'm trying to just… work through it. But it's…" Hawke seemed to be grappling for a word. "It's difficult."

Alistair nodded, though he was sure they both had their eyes closed "I understand, I really do."

They were both quiet again for a few moments before Alistair heard movement at his side. He was sure that Hawke was getting up and leaving, preparing to resign himself to wait and hope that she would eventually begin to talk to him again, when he felt her hand at his elbow. It trailed down his arm to his wrist and her fingers wrapped around his wrist to pull it toward her. After a moment, she'd intertwined their fingers and was squeezing his hand. Shielding his eyes, he peeked out at her and saw that she'd shifted to her side, and she was turned toward him, smiling just slightly as she squinted in the sun. He smiled back, broad and happy and so very relieved. Seeing even the slightest of smiles on her face again – a real smile, not one that she chose to show him – it made his chest ache. They lay like that for a long time, occasionally one of them would comment and the other would reply, but most of their time was spent in silence, letting the heat of the day lull them into sleep.

…..

Hawke didn't dream at all while she laid there with Alistair. And it was a relief. Her knees pressed against his side, his hand cradled in hers between them. As they napped, they shifted occasionally, moving slightly closer until she awoke to realize that she had her forehead pressed against his shoulder and her top leg pulled just slightly further up, resting on top of his thigh. Alistair had turned his head and the breath from his nose ruffled her hair at the crown of her head. And while this was far too intimate a position to be in, surrounded by guards and crewmen, she couldn't force herself to move away. The simple comfort of his presence was shocking to her. The fact that she'd been sequestering herself from it felt like a punishment suddenly – some self-imposed exile that made no sense at all. For the first time it occurred to her that she'd been punishing him as well. And for what? Coming to find her? Caring enough to risk himself for her? It was ridiculous. It was easy to admit that she should be better to him. It was difficult to think that maybe she should be better to herself. She felt responsible for everything that had happened in Kirkwall no matter how many times Fenris argued to the contrary. It was a repeat of how she'd felt when her mother died – that she should have done more, been faster, been smarter, stronger – something. And that had just been a repeat of Bethanny's death and of Carver's. She was doomed to always feel inadequate when it mattered most.

But Alistair had come for her on the back of a note from a thief, walking right into danger of unknown origin. She'd known people to run into danger for those they cared for but this felt bigger than that, somehow. It felt significant in a way she couldn't really describe.

She didn't sleep again, but as the sun was beginning to dip and the glare lessened, she kept her eyes on him, watching him sleep. Tentatively, she reached her free hand up and lightly brushed her fingers over the hair at his forehead, admiring the way the sun caught the strands and made some of them golden, some of them red. He shifted slightly in his sleep, half a murmur escaping his lips, but he did not wake up completely. A wave of feeling crashed over her, caught somewhere between tears and intense happiness. He was beautiful. His spirit was light, warm, and honorable in a way that she wasn't sure she'd ever encountered before. He seemed nearly unreal to her in many ways when it came to his character, the basic components of what made up the man that he was. Adding in the fact that he was also a ridiculously handsome man, more than just well built or passably attractive, and the fact that his life had somehow still managed not to sully him or use up his goodness was nothing short of amazing. He was that prince that little girls dream of made flesh and laying here beside her in the sun, crewmen and guards milling around, casting looks at them out of the corners of their eyes, pretending that they weren't actually gawking. It was audacious behavior for a king in the presence of so many people who could talk and spread rumors.

It was completely incautious of her, something that she would typically have never done with so many people around and perhaps not even in private, but her character had been so changed in the last few months that she didn't wonder about it too much as she brought her fingers down along his cheek, tracing the planes of his face and his jaw. She was staring into his eyes as they opened and, watching them focus on her, she saw something there that she'd been hoping for just as much as she'd been scared of it. His eyes were light brown, almost tawny, like caramel. But up close there were tiny flecks of gold and of darker brown near their centers. They were beautiful, warm eyes that fit him perfectly. He smiled at her, and she didn't move her hand away. Instead, she crept closer and Alistair moved his arm to encircle her shoulders and she laid her head against his chest. The tears did come then, but slowly, running down and soaking into his thin shirt, a trickle that passed through her without sobs or wailing, as his hand made circles against her shoulder and his other hand clasped hers against his chest, just over his heart.

He didn't ask why she was crying. She wasn't sure she'd be able to answer if he had. He just held her as the sun dipped to the horizon and cast the sky in deep reds and pinks and purples. She'd never fit anywhere in her life. She'd been a stranger by design among friends, among family, and in society in general even when she desperately wanted to have a place. But she fit here, tucked against his side, his heartbeat against her ear. And when he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, she realized she was grateful, relieved, exhausted, mostly broken, over-awed, and completely in love with Alistair.

….