Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all the fascinating characters that live in it belong to Bioware.
Note: Written for the DA kinkmeme
When Bethany wakes, it is in unfamiliar territory. Sunlight filters through the walls of a tent that looks to be the same size as hers, but everything else about it is wrong. The worn in grit and dirt paints a different pattern of stains, casts a different play of spotty shadows. The wooden dowels that make the frame are paler than what holds hers, worn from what looks like years of handling. More disconcerting than any of these differences, however, is the heavy warmth slung across her side, the weight a hindrance to her movement when she tries to shift.
"Wha..." She mumbles, her sleep-addled mind not yet up to the task of words and farther still from the ability to direct precise movement, if the fumbling motion of her hand reaching to identify what pins her down is anything to gauge by.
"Oh" is all she can say when she discovers the weight to be an arm.
"Did you sleep well?" A man's voice murmurs against her hair, the timbre of it so familiar, and yet she can't quite believe it.
The fire is all but out when she emerges from her tent, dying embers casting a glow like waning sunset over the campsite, empty, save for her and the watchman.
She shouldn't be out here, for a multitude of reasons. Disturbing the watch is dangerous, distraction from the task for even a second could mean a sticky end for everyone. And it's cold. But she can't sleep, and she's not even sure that she wants to when all that waits for her is more darkness.
She sits close to the embers to soak in the warmth they give off, flaring hotter and brighter with every rustled breeze. She draws her knees up towards her chest and hugs them tight to become a smaller thing, and whether this is to be less of a distraction, to hold in warmth, or in response to dreams she can't escape, Bethany isn't sure.
She nearly leaps out of her skin when someone wordlessly drapes a heavy cloak around her shoulders. When she looks up and finds Nathaniel standing over her, the shock fades. The man moves like a ghost, swift and soundless. No one hears him coming unless he wants them to.
"Sneaky."
He reaches down and flips the hood up over her head in reply to the admonishment before issuing one of his own. "You should be asleep."
"I can't." It's a deceptively simple answer for the complexity of the reason behind it, but he understands it readily, as only another Warden can, and nods.
"Stay warm."
He disappears without so much as a warning, and she pulls his cloak tighter until she is fully enveloped in his borrowed warmth, her body shivering in delayed reaction as it starts to warm.
It's an oddly subdued rapport that they have, few words and simple gestures, not at all the type she would have expected, but it's one of the few things she has that she couldn't stand to lose. She isn't sure that it can be categorized as a proper relationship but... there are times when he kisses her, others when she finds her courage and kisses him, and some when they simply lean on each other, shoulder to shoulder during the calm between the storms, sharing rare peaceful silence. So... there is that.
When Nathaniel finds her at the end of his watch, she is scarcely able to keep her eyes open and fighting every inch against sleep that she does not want.
"Bethany..." He crouches next to her, his voice teeming with sympathy, and takes her hands into his. "Come with me."
She means to argue when she assumes that he is taking her back to her own tent, the last place she wants to be, but he leads her past it without pause, and the ultimate destination of his tent suddenly becomes clear.
She is tired, too tired to fight, and certainly too tired to debate such a big step in a relationship she isn't even sure she's in, but he understands the reluctant little noise from her throat as only Nathaniel can. "To sleep, Hawke. Nothing more."
She huffs in protest at the name, the one thing he has to rile her with, but lets it pass without further issue and ducks down to follow him inside.
"That," he says, drawing her down to lay beside him, "is how I know that you haven't slept in days." He reaches up to smooth the hood back and brushes a lock of dark hair away from her eyes. "Close your eyes."
"But I don't-"
"Sleep. Let them come to me tonight."
Oh.
So that did happen, then.
"Bethany?" His hand is warm against her belly, solid and real, reeling her back from memory to now, where she's laying on Nathaniel's bedroll, still wearing his cloak, and waited on for an answer.
"Yes..." Her eyes still feel puffy and she's sure that the smudges beneath them linger on, but she can't recall any kind of dream, let alone a nightmare. "Did you?"
"Well enough." He leans in and presses his lips to the place where her neck and shoulder meet, the thrill of it waking her senses up fully. "But I am glad to be awake..."
"So am I."
She scoots back until they are aligned, the bend of his knees fitting in just so behind hers, and she has to wonder why it's taken so long to reach this point. There may not be any choice left for what her life will be, but if every day could start like this, stolen moments of calm and warmth in the midst of so many dark things, perhaps she might find the will to endure it. She has the dare to hope.