This takes place about two years before the Blight.
Maker's breath, he wasn't wearing a shirt. It was a particularly warm day after all, but still, it was like he was just asking to be stared at. Those muscles flexing and straining every time he pulled his bowstring back, the sweat on his skin glistening in the sunlight, that tantalizing trail of hair down his stomach leading into the waistband of his pants… oh, Andraste have mercy on me…
"My lady?" Isabel tore her gaze away from the object of her affections, focusing back on Ser Gilmore. He quirked an eyebrow at her, staring at her suspiciously. "Are you all right? You look a bit flushed."
"I'm fine, Rory. It's just… very warm," she said, resisting the urge to stare at a certain archer again.
"It is a beautiful day."
"Yes, it is!" Isabel quickly focused her thoughts and pieced together a plan. "In fact, I was thinking I should make use of the weather and do some training in the practice yard."
"I could assist you, my lady," Rory offered, and she waved him off.
"No, that's not necessary, I'm just going to practice my shooting," she explained. She started briskly walking back to her room before Rory could even reply. She changed into a simple pair of pants and a tunic, leaving the top laces untied a bit to show off more skin. Grabbing her bow and quiver, she stalked over to the practice yard, pleased to see that Nathaniel hadn't left yet.
He was still shooting at targets, his arrows hitting their marks each time. Not one to waste an opportunity to show off, she quietly stepped into the courtyard, nocking an arrow and taking aim at his next target. She released her arrow before he did, hers landing right on the bullseye, his just missing by a few inches.
"Hello, Isabel," he said, still facing his targets. She sauntered over to him and he he turned to face her, an amused expression on his face.
"Hello, Nate," she replied, twirling an arrow around in her hand. "I figured you could use some competition."
He laughed as he went to retrieve the arrows from the targets, and she took a nice, long look at his bare back. "I already know you can hit any target I can. It would be foolish for us to try and beat one another."
"You have a point," Isabel said, consciously keeping her gaze on his face as he turned around, arrows in hand.
"We could spar instead," he proposed. "I'm curious to see if you picked up anything I taught you."
Isabel grinned mischievously at him. "Prepare to lose. I've been practicing."
They both put their quivers aside; the last thing they needed was to accidentally stab each other with an arrow or two. Isabel gripped her bow tightly, remembering everything he taught her about fighting with it in close combat—and everything she'd learned since. They stared each other down, neither wanting to make the first move, until Isabel grew impatient and struck first.
And so began their dance of moving limbs and bows. They were evenly matched at first, both archers dodging and parrying the onslaught of hits from the other, making just enough contact to slowly wear each other down.
Isabel thought she finally gained the upper hand, using her speed and a rather fancy move he'd taught her—but Nathaniel shut her down before she'd even finished it. He knocked her bow from her hand, dropping his own so he could grab her wrists and twist her arms behind her back, trapping her against his chest.
"Come on, Bells, did you really think you could use my own move against me?" he said between heavy breaths.
"Don't call me that," she growled, trying to break free of his grasp. She only succeeded in further pressing herself up against that damned chest of his. That sweaty, shirtless chest. He leaned forward with a smirk, his dark hair falling around his face, gray eyes boring into hers.
"Admit that you lost." Isabel tilted her chin up, holding her head high as she narrowed her eyes at him. She may have lost, but she wasn't going to admit it. She was much too stubborn for that. "Just say it, and I'll let you go," Nathaniel muttered, tightening his grip on her just enough to strain her arms without hurting her.
Isabel kept staring at him, trying to decide her next course of action—which was very hard considering the fact that every time she breathed her breasts pressed up against his bare chest. And his face, most notably his lips, were right there. She would just have to reach up the tiniest bit…
To the Void with it.
She kissed him—stood right up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his like she'd imagined doing hundreds of times before. She'd moved enough to hurt her arms, but she didn't care one bit. She was finally kissing Nathaniel Howe.
When she pulled back, Nate just stared at her, and she bit her lip, nervously waiting for his reaction. After what felt like hours, he still didn't say anything, and she wanted to scream. He probably thought she was just a stupid little girl with a stupid crush on her stupid older brother's best friend. Or worse, what if he thought of her as a sister? Maker forbid it, but she might have just scared away a perfectly good friend.
"Nate, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I—" He cut her off, releasing her wrists and cupping either side of her face with his hands, bringing his mouth down to hers. Isabel was momentarily stunned, but she was quickly drawn in by the intensity of his kiss.
They broke for air, both of them panting, and she shot him a wry smile. "You know, for a moment there I was afraid that you thought of me as a sister," she said, and he huffed.
"A sister? Maker, no."
"Yeah, I figured that based on that kiss," she replied. "Which was absolutely fantastic. We should definitely do that again."
Nathaniel rolled his eyes before leaning in for another kiss, and this time she took the opportunity to run her hands over his torso as he held her close. Things were just starting to heat up when someone cleared their throat obnoxiously, the sound startling the two archers apart.
Ser Gilmore was approaching them, eyeing the two archers, giving them both a very judgmental look.
"Rory!" Isabel shouted at the knight. He'd chosen such a horrible time to interrupt.
"I thought I would also take advantage of the weather and work on my sword arm," he started, unamused. His gaze flicked to Nathaniel before returning to her. "I now see why you wanted to train so badly."
"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not going to do anything stupid."
"My lady, may I remind you of that time—"
"Okay, no need to bring that up! It only happened once!" She huffed in frustration, glancing towards Nathaniel, his brow quirked as he watched them argue. "It's Nate, nothing bad is going to happen…"
"If you say so." Rory turned and walked off, and Isabel shook her head, rolling her eyes.
"I don't think I want to know," Nate stated.
"You don't." Isabel sighed. "I need to go after him and convince him not to tell Fergus about… this. Because he'll kill the both of us."
Nathaniel nodded, his eyes growing wide at the thought of Fergus finding out. "That's a wise idea."
"But, once that's taken care of, I do intend on doing something very, very stupid," she said, staring at him luridly.
"Is that so?" he muttered, his gaze drifting down towards her lips.
Isabel bit her lip and nodded. "You know that storage closet down the hall from the guest bedrooms?"
"The one you and Delilah used to use as a fort?"
She smiled at the memory. "Yes, that one." Isabel teasingly ran her fingers down his chest, batting her eyelashes at him. "You're going to meet me in there in ten minutes, understood?"
Nathaniel thought about it for a moment, but ultimately caved to her charms. "Yes," he replied, his voice rough. She pressed one last kiss to his lips, as a promise of what was to come. She bent down and grabbed her bow, making sure to stick her rear out as she did so. She'd waited far too long for this to not give it her all.
"Oh, and Nate?" she started, turning to face him again. He gave her a questioning look, one eyebrow arched upwards as he waited for her to continue. "Don't bother putting your shirt back on."