Moonlight Sonata

Moonlight floated on the water, bright, and moving with every wave like shattered glass. From up here the sound of the tide was just a whisper, but Nathaniel knew the sound was there. If he closed his eyes he could smell the salt, the rotting seaweed, the cool freshness of the ocean, and the soft whisper of waves seemed louder.

He stood on the cliffs, the northernmost border of Amaranthine, with the night breeze rifling through his long, dark hair. There was a chill, but the sweetness of spring was there: a hint of better, brighter days to come. He knelt and ran his hand across the grass. This was Howe land: old, fertile, filled with promise.

The Blight had not spared any part of Ferelden, but Amaranthine seemed to have fared better than most. He smiled as he stood again and began his trek to Vigil's Keep. His home. The long years away in the Free Marches hadn't dimmed his vivid memories of Amaranthine, a jewel among dungheaps as far as Ferelden's ports were concerned. The moon lit his way as he followed the hard-packed dirt road inland, but he could have walked this road in the darkest night, or even blindfolded.

What did he hope to find when he arrived home? His father was dead; he'd heard the news, and wasn't sure how he felt about it. Ambition had driven Rendon Howe to do unspeakable things, things that hurt people Nathaniel had once been close to. He'd been angry over his father's death, certainly; even though they'd disagreed in the past, and had parted in anger so many years before, to find out Rendon was dead had been painful. Maybe it was the regret, knowing that they'd never be able to set things right between them. Nathaniel would never be able to admit how stubborn he'd been, or ask his father's forgiveness. Or tell his father that he forgave him.

Now a sort of melancholy settled within him, and the bright moonlight seemed to make it feel heavier with every step that brought him closer to home. Was it even home? Vigil's Keep was the Howe ancestral home, but he'd also learned that it was now the operations base for Ferelden's growing contingent of Grey Wardens. What would he find there? Would they try to make him be a Grey Warden, and if they did, was it something he even wanted?

Nathaniel took a deep breath of the cleansing night air. No. There were no more Howes in Vigil's Keep, which meant it was no longer home. You're only going to collect the family heirlooms. Then it's back to… well…

Back to wherever. The only home he knew now.

As he walked the night grew colder, and he clutched his heavy cloak more tightly about his shoulders. His bow thumped against his back; it was a serviceable weapon, but he longed for the smooth curve of the Howe ancestral bow in his hands. The idea of someone other than a Howe, even a Grey Warden, using it was enough to kindle his bitterness again. Resolve settled in him, and his footsteps became less leisurely; much as he'd relished the sound of his feet on his own land, now he remembered his purpose.

Get the bow. See the Keep. Say goodbye.

As the miles passed the moonlight shifted and the shadows grew long across his path. It was past midnight; that much he could tell. What am I even doing back in Ferelden? There's nothing for me here, and hasn't been since I left, he thought. And yet as he surveyed the moonlit lands around him, there was an ache that he couldn't ignore. An ache he'd been trying to ignore ever since leaving for the Free Marches, burying it beneath anger and resentment that he was just tired of feeling.

Nathaniel paused and closed his eyes. He let the sweet smell of night fill his nostrils and let the chill breeze wash over his face and through his long hair. He took one blind step, then another, then several more. Never once did his feet falter. And that strange ache began to abate, the more he let himself feel the connection to his homeland.

Reinvigorated, he opened his eyes to the bright moonlight. His breath caught in his throat as he crested a hill and stopped. The moon was huge and bright in a deep, velvety blue sky; its light outshone the stars and bathed the rolling hills in icy light. The road was a white serpentine, winding through the hills and stopping at the dark walls that marked the boundary of Vigil's Keep.

High on a hill, with the best vantage point around, was the Vigil itself. It stood, overlooking lands that had not changed much since the days of its Avvar inhabitants. The ancient walls were as strong and solid now as they'd been in ancient days, and as Nathaniel exhaled, caught up in a spell of home and moonlight and nostalgia, it was all he could to do keep from running toward that first high wall.

He knew, as he drew closer, that the walls would be guarded; he supposed Amaranthine soldiers would be there, but here was also the chance that Grey Warden scouts would be, as well. But none of them would know about the secret entrance he'd made in the wall when he was young, and the barrage of memories from those bygone days made him smile even as he slid into his stealthy hunter's gait.

He found the loose grating easily enough, and the shadow of the wall hid him from watchful eyes. The moonlight itself made his infiltration difficult, but it also helped cast many shadows that he moved in as if he were made of the darkness as well.

There was something about sneaking through these shadows that he knew so well that was at once exhilarating and frustrating; why should he have to sneak around his home, the Howe home for numerous generations? And yet, this was how he was most comfortable. And this wasn't home anymore, he reminded himself. He was on a mission. See the Keep: done. Get the bow: in progress. Say goodbye.

He paused, crouching in a dark corner where two high stone walls joined. Where would the ancestral Howe bow be? He'd not figured that into his plans. When he was young, his father had kept it above the fireplace in his private study, but that was a dozen years or more in the past. Besides, creeping about in the shadows outside was one thing; breaking into a well-guarded Keep, built to withstand invading armies was quite another.

Especially when he had no clue where to begin looking.

The plan had seemed so simple in his mind, but as Nathaniel crouched there, beginning to feel chilled and tired while the night dragged on, it became overwhelming.

He stared up at the bright moon, half-hidden behind one of the turrets of the Keep. He was the last Howe, lonely and solitary as the moon above. If they were to capture him now, he didn't even know if he'd put up a fight. The freedom of not caring seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders, and he smiled in spite of his failure.

The moon seemed to smile down at him in understanding.