Alistair hadn't been intentionally looking for the elf he knows anymore than the elf he doesn't, but there he was in the courtyard, and here they both are beside a that may not be overworked but is certainly worked, so here is Alistair as well, coming up behind them.

He touches the pony first. The side of her neck, one mildly-heaving side. She's all right.

"I can get his feet," Alistair offers in lieu of hello. Really, he could sling him over one shoulder and carry him, but that's less fun--and this is already not very fun. He manages a twitchy half-smile to greet Zevran, but looking back at the fallen elf, he's all concern. He wraps the pony's reins around his hand; she can come to the fire, too.