He looked so lost. Leliana smiled to herself as she watched the newest member of their group survey the campsite and pick at the cuff of his sleeve.

At least he stopped fiddling with the bandages, hearing it from Wynne ,a little voice in her head pointed out, and she did have to concede that. When they'd returned from Haven, it had been blatantly obvious Jowan had either ignored or forgotten Leliana's admonition not to mess with the bandages around his left hand. So she'd sicced Wynne on him while Marta talked to Teagan, both hoping and suspecting the older mage would give him a stern enough lecture he'd remember not to do it anymore.

Apparently it had worked. Even as his expression and body language reminded her of the refugees in Lothering-mildly stunned and feel completely out of his depth-he left the bandages alone to instead worry loose threads in his shirt.

"You can relax, you know," she commented as she approached, resting one hand on his arm.

Jowan flinched and then blushed. "Sorry, I'm just... still half convinced this is a dream or something, that..." He raked his good hand through his hair as he let the sentence trail off.

"That you'll wake up back in a cell," Leliana supplied, smiling sympathetically. She remembered that feeling. "Or that a messenger will come running over the hill saying Arl Eamon changed his mind, the Wardens can't have you, you need to pay for your crimes?"

He gave her a weak smile. "Something like that."

"Well, I promise this isn't a dream," she assured him. "And from what I've seen, the Right of Conscription is inarguable, and will give you far more chance to atone than simply dying, no? And if how being a Warden affects Marta and Alistair is any indication, this is not 'letting you off easy' or anything."

"Good." Jowan pushed up his sleeves, glanced around at the others. "Because-"

The rest of what he was going to say was lost, as Marta's mabari returned from exploring and realized there was a new person to greet. He came galloping over, checked his stride just a little too late, and then apologized for knocking the mage over by vigorously and repeatedly licking his face.

"No, Bear, stop that! Heel, boy!" Leliana snapped her fingers and instantly the big dog backed off and sat next to her. "See, Bear likes you," she giggled as she helped Jowan back to his feet. "So you can't be all bad."

"While that may be an excellent point, I think he, you, and Marta are the only ones who do. Like me, I mean." He brushed dirt off his clothes and gave Bear's ears a scratch. The dog woofed and went bounding away to find his owner.

She shrugged. "Alistair will come around eventually once he sees what you're actually like instead of believing everything he's been taught about blood mages. Morrigan and Sten are more or less indifferent to everyone, and Zevran is new enough I'm not really sure about him. Considering he's an assassin, though, I hardly think he'll be throwing stones."

"What about Wynne?" Jowan glanced toward the healer, who was checking on one of Marta's healing injuries.

"I think she is torn between knowing your intention were good and knowing you are a blood mage," Leliana conceded. "But you probably know her better than I do, no? Marta does trust you, or she wouldn't have conscripted you, and I like having you to talk to." Before he could question why, she cleared her throat and changed topics. "But we should figure out where to set up your tent..."

"I don't have one," he reminded her, something in his eyes clearly planning to ferret out her reasons sooner or later.

"I think we have some extras, bedrolls, too. I'll grab one for you." She quickly headed for Bodahn's wagon, rummaging through the crates of found goods from their travels until she dug out the necessary items. The only tent available was a little ragged, but it would have to do. "Any ideas where you'd like to be?" she asked Jowan as she rejoined him.

He shrugged. "Anywhere relatively flat is good, I guess..."

That turned out to be easier said than done, but they eventually found a spot halfway between the main circle of tents and Morrigan's self-imposed exile. Leliana helped him set everything up, fairly sure that between the Circle upbringing and the still-limited functionality of his left hand, he'd need the assistance-even if he was too shy to ask for it.

"Thank you," Jowan said quietly when they were done. "It's the best I've had in months, really."

"Not a problem," Leliana assured him. "That's what friends are for, no?"

He gave a harsh laugh. "Trust me, Leliana, you don't want to be my friend. They're the first casualties of my decision making skills, or lack thereof."

She smiled and winked at him. "I think I'll risk it."

o.O.o

It was risk that proved worthwhile. Even as her predictions came true-Zevran was amiable(downright flirty once he realized how red he could make Jowan blush), Alistair warmed as he realized Jowan being a blood mage didn't make the man a monster-her own friendship with the mage deepened. Despite not going into detail about their respective pasts, the two of them both honed in on the fact they had a common ulterior motive in working with Marta to save the world: redemption.

And to his credit, Jowan never pried into why she needed redemption, or how a Chantry lay sister knew how to fight so well.

"You ever want me to know, you'll tell me," he shrugged when she thanked him. "Otherwise... I know all about having a past you want to forget. I'll be the last one throwing stones over secrets."

She thanked him for that with a kiss on the cheek that made him blush to his ears. (Not that she thought anything of it; he blushed when complimented, when Zevran playfully hit on him-which was downright funny if she was honest, when he was embarrassed... there were a large number of reasons.)

It wasn't until they finished what Alistair joking called a 'do-gooder spree' and went in search of the Dalish elves that Jowan seemed to start feeling like he fit in. It took a week and a half of searching to find one of the clans that didn't try to kill them on sight, and even they seemed less than thrilled to have a party of humans walking through their camp. The Keeper, Zathrian, was friendly but apologetic, citing a werewolf problem as reason why they couldn't fulfill the treaty. The whole time he and Marta were speaking, however, a familiar sense kept tweaking the back of Leliana's mind. And when their leader took her leave of Keeper Zathrian, she'd figured it out.

"He's lying." Jowan said the words at the same time as she did, and the two of them shared a look as Alistair raised an eyebrow and Marta let slip a bemused smile-though whether at their certainty or this being the first unsolicited opinion Jowan had given since joining them, Leliana couldn't say.

"What makes you think that?" Marta asked, crossing her arms as she waited for their replies.

Leliana chose her words carefully, but still was first to answer. "I have a gift for reading people. Even if Zathrian isn't lying, he isn't telling us the whole truth, no?"

"That's what it seemed like to me," Jowan chipped in. "More that he's keeping something from us, than directly lying. And I know what that looks like from... previous experience. "

He seemed to share Leliana's relief when Marta didn't press, just nodded. "I agree. Good instincts, you two."

It was only the first evidence of how closely the two of them had bonded. Multiple times as they searched the woods for the wolf Zathrian claimed was the source of the curse, they had an uncanny sense of timing when it came to saving each others' necks. To the point Alistair started teasing they were mentally linked or something.

Until Leliana gave him a knowing look. "Like you and Marta, no?"

He stopped after that, though it wouldn't have surprised her if he was keeping a running tally in his head of who saved who how many times. Which was frankly ridiculous, Leliana thought to herself as the Wardens cleared rubble away from a ruined temple entrance. She didn't care more about any one member of their group than the others. And then she caught sight of the werewolf, skulking through the shadows that dominated the first chamber. It was approaching the group as a whole, but its dull eyes were fixed on the mage.

She had nocked and fired an arrow even before the wordless cry of warning tore from her throat, her hands moving by instinct, a prayer for protection spilling out after her cry.

Even injured and having lost the element of surprise, the werewolf persisted in lunging toward Jowan. Leliana's second arrow caught it just behind its ear even as his fire spell hit it dead center in the chest.

"Thanks for the save," he said gratefully, staring at the gangly corpse.

She shrugged, tucking hair behind her ear. "That's what friends are for, no?"

There were many more attacks like that one, and Leliana always managed to convince herself her racing heart afterwards was due to fading adrenaline. And nothing else.

o.O.o

By the time they got everything sorted, found out what Zathrian was hiding-his involvement in the curse-and worked out a peaceful solution, as Marta was wont to do, Leliana was tired. She was tired of having to remain on her guard, tired of shooting werewolves off her companions, tired of fighting, just tired. Still, it was almost habit to pick up her lute when they got back to camp, fingers moving lazily in a memorized tune. She missed a note, growled softly in frustration, and started over.

"It still sounded fine, y'know," Jowan commented, appearing out of the gathering dusk.

"Not to a musician's ear," Leliana chuckled, scooting to the side so he could sit next to her.

He took her up on the unspoken invitation. "Maybe not, but I was enjoying it, all the same."

"Is that why your tent's been inching closer to us than no-man's-land?" she teased, lightly bumping her shoulder against his.

"And here I thought I was being subtle," he laughed wryly, face shading pink even as he grinned.

"Oh, you are," Leliana assured him playfully. "It took me almost a week to catch on, and I don't think anyone else has noticed yet."

"If they do, I'll play it off as wanting to be part of the camaraderie or something, rather than the fact that I like listening to you sing."

She missed a chord. "Really?"

"Really." Jowan frowned as he nodded. "Is there something surprising about that?"

"No, I just... it's been a long time since someone complimented me without wanting something, no?" Leliana smiled and strummed the chord she'd missed.

He smiled back without a trace of his usual bashfulness. "That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

She laughed. "That and watching your back."

They both got a chance to prove the latter part the very next night, when warning cries from Marta and Alistair pulled them all awake just as nightmarish, long-limbed darkspawn attacked the camp. The Wardens had already moved to stand back to back by the time Leliana emerged from her tent. She nocked an arrow and waited, loosing it as soon as one of the shrieking monstrosities showed itself. Half of the arrow's shaft buried itself in the darkspawn's neck, and it went down with a final scream. This drew the attention of two more, which came barreling toward her with cries of hateful rage.

Until their clawed feet hit the sheet of ice that suddenly coated the ground between them and her. The skidding, flailing darkspawn were no match for Bear's teeth and Zevran's blades.

"Merci," she smiled gratefully at the dark-haired mage as he reached her side.

Jowan just nodded as he adjusted his angle so they could watch each other's back. It was a strategy that worked very well against the darkspawn they currently faced, who would vanish from attacking one person and reappear to hassle someone else. One by one, however, the gangly darkspawn met their end, to blades, arrows, magic... mabari teeth, in a couple cases.

"Alright... how's every one doing?" Marta asked, breathing hard, as the last creature fell dead.

They'd gotten off relatively light, considering; a couple tents knocked over, Bear had a shallow cut across one paw, Alistair and Sten had minor injuries, but it could have been a lot worse. As Marta fussed over Bear, and Wynne saw to Alistair and Sten, Leliana beelined for where Jowan's-now collapsed-tent had been set up.

"Good thing you've been moving closer, no?" she teased as she approached.

"Heh." Jowan gave a short laugh, focus mostly on seeing if the tent could be salvaged. "It did come in handy, didn't it?"

"Very much so." She sat next to him to help separate canvas from the broken wood of the tent poles. "Thank you for having my back. Knowing I was safe from at least one direction helped a great deal."

He shrugged, mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're welcome. I have it on good authority that's what friends are for."

She threw a wood chip at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder and he laughed as he retaliated with the first thing he got his hands on. However, he was laughing hard enough the small pebble missed her completely and went flying into the darkness beyond the camp.

"Even from such close range," Leliana teased, tsking a mock remonstrance. "Such terrible aim."

"Aim is your strong suit," Jowan pointed out. "Most of the time I'm either concentrating on a specific person or just need to be facing the right direction."

"Very true," she conceded gracefully, freeing a broken pole from the snaring canvas and casting it aside. "Did you have anything breakable in here?"

He shook his head. "Should just be books. Nothing to cut tho- your hands on."

"Good to know." She stood and started gathering the canvas. That seemed undamaged so far; hopefully they could just find new poles. As she pulled it toward her, a book tumbled free of the folds, flopping open as the spine hit the ground. "Oh, sorry." She bent and picked it up, the canvas laying forgotten on the ground when she saw what filled the pages. "Did... you do these?"

Jowan nodded, scratching behind his ear as his face crinkled in a sheepish-almost apologetic-smile. "Most of them. Felix 'borrowed' it once or twice to doodle, but yes, most of those are mine."

Leliana raised an eyebrow as she paged through the sketchbook. "You're good."

"Thanks," he shrugged, getting to his feet as well. "I had lots of time to practice. It started as little things in spellbook margins, but as I got older, the classes got longer and more boring, so I started drawing more. Needed a separate book for them to go in."

She flipped back to the beginning, fanned through a few pages, seeing sketches of people, tower hallways. copied illustration of demons, the occasional spider, before she closed it and handed it back. "You've had that sketchbook a while, no? It's almost full, and I can see the progress from earlier to later."

He nodded, fingers curling around the dog-eared cover. "Nice to know I'm improving."

"The early ones are good, too," Leliana clarified hastily. "Your lines get clearer, more confident, and there are more details in the recent ones. That's all I meant."

Another shrug. "Always good to be better, though, isn't it?"

This time, she nodded. "And you are, Jowan. In more ways than just that." A gesture toward the sketchbook. She knew what he really meant, what haunted him most. "Any particular reason this has stayed a secret?"

Jowan sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Not so much secret as I didn't think anyone would care. I mean, what you do; the- the stories and the music and the singing... You inspire people, you lift their spirits, you help them. I see it all the time when we're in battle, you start singing about Ser Aveline, or...or the Battle or Ayesleigh or whatever and it helps. Or back here-" he gestured toward the camp- "after a hard day, like today. Your songs help people. My talent, my habit... doesn't. It just helps me."

Leliana smiled and rubbed his arm encouragingly. "And that's okay. You think Marta writing in her diary helps anyone other than Marta? But if it really bothers you, I'm sure you could find some way to use it to help people."

He smiled back, hesitant yet grateful. "You're right, of course. Thank you. For that and helping with my tent."

Her smile widened as she said the familiar words. "That's what friends are for, no? I'm glad I could help."

The next night was the first of many that found quick but clean-lined sketches of flowers tucked in the strings of her lute or resting on her pillow when she returned to her tent.

She kept every single one.