A/N: This was written as a gift fic for WolFang1011, for providing the 200th review for my story, Together or Not At All. The prompt was for a Nathaniel/Velanna pairing, with Alistair staying in the Wardens and a Cousland Warden Commander as a contrast to Nathaniel. As the rest was left up to me, I placed this gift fic somewhat in the universe of my Together story, as anyone who has read that fic will notice the characters from it in this story. However, it is also somewhat AU from that story, as Aedan becoming the Warden Commander differs from his ending in Together, in order to fit the prompt. For anyone who has read Together and is curious, Alistair and Ayla's relationship remains exactly as it was. Aedan is the same as well, with the slight difference of not being ambitious enough to remain at court, and instead choosing to stay on as the Warden Commander. Events are otherwise the same.
For anyone who has not read Together, it should not be necessary to enjoy this fic, as it mainly centers around Nathaniel and Velanna. As it is a one-shot, it turned into a sort of highlight reel of their relationship, with the beginning showing how Nathaniel gets over his past, enabling him to finally look forward to a future. It's also a good deal longer than I meant it to be, but I hope everyone enjoys anyway! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!
Disclaimer: Any characters or dialogue you recognize belongs to Bioware. The rest is mine!
Worth It
His hand hovered over his bow, itching to pick it up. It would be so easy. His back is to me – he's not even looking. I could draw and loose before anybody knew what happened. Even as he was thinking it, Ayla turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his, unwavering. She didn't say anything, but her expression said it all – Don't.
Nathaniel dropped his hand, suddenly ashamed of himself. He didn't know how she always knew, but she did. Every time he found himself with the sudden urge to take down Cousland, his father's murderer, she seemed to sense it, and would look at him with that same expression, which never failed to stop him. Especially when he remembered that she was the one who'd convinced Cousland to spare him in the first place.
He thought back to that day, when he'd been stewing in his cell in the aftermath of the darkspawn attack, waiting for judgment to be passed on him, knowing that the guards would all be perfectly happy if he were to be killed. The irony that it was Cousland who'd be passing judgment on him, when he'd originally come here with the idea of killing the man once he arrived at the Keep, was not lost on Nathaniel. But he'd decided not to go through with the plan even before he'd been caught, instead deciding to take some of his family's things and disappear, before the Orlesian Wardens had caught him and eventually overpowered and thrown him in here. Then the darkspawn had attacked, and all the Wardens who'd thrown him in here had been killed or had disappeared. But Cousland had arrived in the midst of the attack, along with his second, Alistair, and Alistair's wife Ayla, and between the three of them and a few others still fighting in the Keep, the darkspawn had been defeated, and Cousland had taken his supposedly rightful place as Commander, allowing him to pass judgment on prisoners.
Nathaniel hadn't seen him in years – not since before he'd left Ferelden for the Free Marches, when the younger Cousland had only been a gawky adolescent, following him and Fergus around, pestering them endlessly. The grey eyes and black hair were unchanged, but the person standing before him was not; he was now a man grown, battle-hardened, clad in light plate spattered with blood and gore, his face hard and set, his posture that of someone used to commanding others as he stared down at Nathaniel, sitting on the floor of his cell. The conversation had not gone well, predictably; Nathaniel had been his usual blunt self, berating Cousland over the murder of his father, and telling him he'd originally come here to kill him, and couldn't promise he wouldn't still try to do so if he was set free. Cousland hadn't denied killing his father, either, and wouldn't explain his reasons, simply saying, "You will continue to think what you like, Nathaniel, even if I explain myself, so what's the point?"
Alistair had moved to say something, but Cousland had cut him off, shaking his head, and the big blonde man had subsided, frowning at Cousland in turn, but hadn't said anything. Ayla had simply been watching, perched on the edge of the guard's desk, studying Nathaniel with an uncomfortably intense gaze. Nathaniel had thought that was it, then; that Cousland would execute him, no questions asked. Cousland had turned to confer with the other two, however, and they had huddled closely together, murmuring in low tones that Nathaniel couldn't pick up. He had, however, picked up the end of it when Cousland had straightened up, asking, "Are you sure?" Ayla had nodded, her gaze sliding back over to Nathaniel as she had clearly said, "He's not his father."
What is that supposed to mean? Nathaniel had wondered, unsure if it was meant as an insult or a compliment. To his surprise, though, Cousland had not ordered his execution after that. The so-called Commander had instead allowed him to go free. Nathaniel had not known what to make of that at all, nor of Ayla's warning as he had gone to leave the Keep, shouldering the bow he'd been given back. "If you try to kill him, you will be dead the moment your arrow hits," she'd said, and met with the sure and cold conviction in her gaze, he hadn't doubted her word.
He'd stewed over the events of that day for a week after that, wondering why Cousland had allowed him to go, and what Ayla had meant about him not being his father. Eventually, he'd decided to go back and ask to become a Grey Warden. He hadn't known what else to do, and thought perhaps joining the Wardens would give him a purpose he'd been lacking at the time. Perhaps, also, he would discover why the evil murderer of his father had simply allowed another Howe to go free on the word of one of his companions. When he'd met up with them on the road one day as they'd left the Keep, the three from the prison along with a mage and a dwarf, he'd half expected that Cousland would finally kill him. But instead, he'd listened to Nathaniel's request, and even more surprisingly, had granted it. So Nathaniel had joined the ranks of the new Fereldan Wardens, along with the mage, whose name he had learned was Anders, also granted a second chance by the strange Commander and his companions, and Oghren the dwarf, a former companion of theirs from the Blight who had elected to permanently join the Wardens. Even more surprisingly, he'd lived through the Joining, which he'd later discovered was often fatal.
So he'd begun accompanying them on missions, yet he still occasionally found himself with the urge to point his bow at Cousland, as he had just done. The man had killed his father, he didn't even deny it, yet Nathaniel couldn't reconcile the picture of the evil man he'd imagined storming his father's keep and killing him, with the man he saw now. The man whose companions were unwaveringly loyal to him, the man who seemed to take care to help anyone who'd asked him so far. So most of the time, now, he was just confused, but every once in a while, the angry urge for revenge would take him over, and he'd go to reach for his bow. But Ayla always seemed to know when the urge struck him, and every time, she gave him that look, that look that said, "Don't. Try it and you're dead", while it somehow also conveyed increasing disappointment with him.
And this time, perhaps the fourth or fifth time the urge had struck him, he felt ashamed of himself as well. Maybe it's time I get Cousland's side of the story. Or at least more details about what happened. So he began to set himself to getting the whole story. He doubted Cousland himself would actually tell him, given his refusal so far, so he began to try to get the story from Cousland's companions. He started with the dwarf, as he found he rather liked Oghren, brash drunkenness and all. Oghren flatly refused to tell him anything, though, simply saying he should stop digging around in the past.
So he went to Alistair and Ayla, next. Though he'd not known it the day he'd met them in the prison, he'd learned soon after joining the Wardens that the big blonde man and the unnerving red-haired woman were married, and clearly in love. They were never far from one another, and today was no exception as he found them coming back down from the battlements, their hands linked together, looking rather pleased with themselves. Their happy expressions quickly faded to uncomfortable frowns, though, when Nathaniel posed his question. He already knew the answer, though; Cousland rarely went anywhere without them to back him up. "You were both there, weren't you, when my father was killed?"
"We were," Alistair said finally, after a long moment.
"Alistair!" Ayla protested, shaking her head as she looked up at him.
"What?" her husband replied. "Maybe it's finally time someone told him what really happened, instead of whatever rumors he's heard."
"Aedan doesn't want –" Ayla began, but Alistair cut her off. "He doesn't always get what he wants, especially when it's something that's not doing him any good."
Ayla turned to look up at Nathaniel, studying him with the same intense gaze from the day they'd met, the one that always made him uneasy. "Are you ready to hear the truth?"
He nodded firmly. "I am. That is why I asked."
"We'll see," was her only reply, before she turned back and nodded at Alistair.
"We were there," the other Warden confirmed again, "when Aedan killed your father. And we were also there when your father started the fight by taunting Aedan with how he killed his mother, how he made her beg on her knees before she died. And when he told Aedan that the reason why he killed his family was essentially because he was jealous, because he wanted glory. And I was there when we met your father and Loghain in Arl Eamon's castle, before all this happened, when Aedan asked for the proof that his family was killed because they were traitors, and when he asked why his 7-year-old nephew or the servants deserved to die along with his parents, and all your father did was smile, and never give any proof."
"His nephew – Fergus's –" Nathaniel couldn't finish the sentence. He and Fergus had been friends, when they were children. Good friends, though they'd drifted apart once he'd left for the Free Marches. Both Cousland boys had once called his father Uncle Rendon. He couldn't be hearing any of this, he just couldn't.
"Fergus's son, and Fergus's wife," Alistair finished for him. "And the Teyrn and his wife. And all the servants in the castle, from the maids to the kitchen staff, and even the guests that were staying there at the time." Alistair's voice was reluctant, tinged with sorrow, but implacably firm. "He had them all killed."
No. No! He's lying! He has to be lying. He's Cousland's best friend, after all. He's just covering up for him. Father would never do that! Nathaniel felt bile rising up in his throat, felt his world tilting around him, and shook his head in denial. "He wouldn't do that! My father could never do any of that! You're lying!"
"I wish I was. So does Aedan, too, I imagine." Alistair was looking at him with something akin to sympathy, but when Nathaniel shook his head again, he sighed. "If you don't believe me, try finding someone who used to live there before your father attacked. Besides Aedan and Fergus, that is. And Fergus wasn't even there – he was at Ostagar."
It's not true, it's not! Father wouldn't do any of that, they're just trying to justify murdering him in cold blood, that's all. "I have to go," he said abruptly, as his stomach rolled uncomfortably and his mind spun. He turned and fairly fled back to the Keep, hearing Ayla say quietly behind him as he went, "I told you he wasn't ready," and Alistair's reply, sad and weary, "Would you have been?"
He couldn't believe it, and he wouldn't believe it. There was simply no way any of the things that Alistair had said about his father were true. He clung to that as he asked around Amaranthine, as he sent word around looking for former occupants of Highever and kept coming up empty. It wasn't until he finally met his little sister, Delilah, in Amaranthine that his denial was shattered. During their reunion, his sister told him in no uncertain terms that everything Alistair had said was true. Their father had deserved to die, and Cousland had had every right to kill him. Coming from his sister, he could no longer deny the truth; Cousland wasn't the evil murderer, his father was.
The reunion with Delilah was one of the most bittersweet things Nathaniel had ever experienced; though he was ecstatic to see that his sister was not only alive, but happy and due to become a mother in the spring, he was appalled and sickened to find out that everything he'd tried to deny about his father was true. The father that he'd looked up to and admired all his life, even as he'd somehow managed to continually disappoint him at the same time - that father was a monster who'd killed scores of innocent people. Worst of all, those people had called him friend, had trusted him. It shook Nathaniel's world to its foundations, turned everything on its head, and made him realize he'd been a fool.
Cousland – no, Aedan, Nathaniel corrected himself at last - had been nothing but decent to him right from the start, and he'd been so stubbornly determined to believe that his father was a good man that he'd turned a blind eye to every good thing Aedan did or his companions said about him. For the Maker's sake, Aedan had even been the one to find Delilah for him. So finally, Nathaniel admitted to himself that he'd been wrong, and he apologized to Aedan, and vowed to redeem the Howe name. He would stop wallowing in the past, he told himself, and he would look to the future. And what he clung to in the dark moments when he wondered if the Howe name was even worth redeeming, if the sickness that had taken hold of his father would claim him one day, was what Ayla had said the day they'd met: He's not his father.
I am not my father, and I never will be. If what I do from now on is something that I know would disappoint him, then I am doing the right thing.
This was the thought he had in mind when he decided he wanted to pursue his attraction to Velanna. His father would have been appalled, Nathaniel knew, if he'd said he wanted a Dalish elf, and not just a Dalish elf but a mage at that. Where once the knowledge that his father would have been disappointed in his choice would have deterred him, it now only made him that much more certain that this was what he wanted. Of course, the other reason he was quite comfortable with the decision was the woman herself.
He'd been attracted to her the moment he'd seen her, as poorly timed as the attraction had been, considering she'd been trying to kill him and the other Wardens at the time. Yet there had just been something about her, that fierce beauty and the pure, burning fury of her anger as she'd brought trees to life and sent them after him and the others before disappearing, that had struck his notice. It wasn't until Aedan had agreed to let her come with them to find out the truth of what had happened to her sister that he'd become entranced by her, though. The vulnerability he'd glimpsed when she'd knelt at the graves of her clan members, the single-minded determination to track down her sister, and finally, the gentleness and pleading desperation in her tone when they'd at last seen her sister and tried to convince her to come with them, had all fascinated him. It was all so at odds with the prickly and abrupt nature he'd seen in her so far that he couldn't help but be intrigued; what other unexplored depths might one find in her?
And in the weeks following that meeting, after she'd joined the Wardens, he'd only become more fascinated with her as they all spent time together. There was much to do, with all the darkspawn lingering in the area, and with both the mysterious Architect and the Mother to deal with, that all of the new Fereldan Wardens were forced to spend large amounts of time together on the road as they went from one mission to another. Had it not been for that, Nathaniel knew that Velanna would never have willingly spent any length of time with him or any of the others, as her disdain for humans was still obvious, in spite of the fact that they'd proved that humans were not responsible for what happened to her sister and the other members of her clan. Whenever someone brought that up, Velanna was always quick to point out that humans had done plenty of other wrongs to the Dalish.
It was, he supposed, probably perverse of him to continue to be attracted to a woman who so obviously hated everything about him, who was opinionated, abrasive and bluntly honest. Yet he found that prickly nature and sharp tongue of hers surprisingly refreshing, and he kept seeking it out. Even as the son of a minor nobleman, he'd experienced more than his fair share of women who were out to trap him in marriage, and whose only apparent use was to look pretty and to agree with everything he said. It had been horrendously boring, and he thought it was perhaps why he found Velanna's determination to disagree with him, and to not care about his opinion of her at all, so enticing.
Then, too, there was the fact that she somehow looked especially beautiful when she was angry at him, those green eyes shooting sparks at him, which only led him to poke at her more, or better yet, when he got her flustered and a blush started to paint that porcelain skin of hers. The blush was actually his favorite, and a recent discovery he'd made that he counted as a personal victory. She had been slowly mellowing out over the last several weeks, as if realizing that perhaps not all humans were the horrible people she'd been imagining, and was beginning to thaw just a little bit to all the members of the party, but Nathaniel thought – hoped – that she was thawing the most for him. Despite the fact that all she claimed to feel for him was irritation, he was certain he'd caught glimpses of something else there.
It had started with the first time he'd called her "my lady". She'd thought he was mocking her, but he'd sincerely meant it as a term of respect. Despite some of the things she'd done, and her prickly nature, he truly believed that at her core, she was more worthy of the title than most of the women he'd met that laid claim to it. When he'd told her as much, she'd told him to stop it, but she'd said it without any of her usual venom, and that was the first time he'd spotted the light blush painting her cheeks, a sight that he'd since become addicted to.
It hadn't escaped Nathaniel's notice, either, that the blush tended to spread across her face when she merely looked at him, sometimes. Specifically, he'd noticed, when he was practicing archery and would catch her watching him. She seemed to have a particular fascination for his arms, her gaze tracking along them as he pulled back the string on his grandfather's bow, and so he used that knowledge to his advantage as much as he could. He'd even practiced without a tunic one day when he knew she'd be passing by the archery range, and the blush had nearly tracked all the way up to her pointed ears that time. He'd particularly enjoyed that, and sincerely hoped to get that reaction out of her again. That was the day he'd decided to pursue her, no matter how long it took; he had plenty of patience, after all.
He was therefore pleasantly surprised, a week after his decision, when she addressed him out of the blue as they walked at the rear of the party, travelling on the road towards the Blackmarsh. "I may have misjudged you a little," she said abruptly, carefully not looking at him as they walked side-by-side.
Nathaniel bit back the grin that wanted to spread across his face. It wouldn't do to have her think he was mocking her, after all, though he was really just pleased to hear that he was getting through to her. "Just a little?" he asked mildly.
Velanna heaved a sigh, those piercing forest-green eyes darting to his face and then quickly away. "I sometimes paint all humans with the same brush," she admitted reluctantly.
It was odd that his heart danced inside his chest at her words, when it was probably the most grudging apology he'd ever heard in his life, if it could even be called an apology. Yet given Velanna's nature, it was undeniably progress, and so he couldn't help the lightness of his heart, or the next words that came out of his mouth almost unbidden. "As long as it's such a pretty brush, I don't mind."
Her mouth dropped open a little in shock, and he was struck with a sudden urge to kiss it, even as she stammered, "I-I'm sure I don't know what that means." She did, though, he knew; he could see that blush painting its way up her pale cheeks again.
Patience, he reminded himself. It wouldn't do to push her too hard; he might scare her away. "It means your apology is appreciated, my lady," he told her, smiling at her gently, and trying to keep the passion thrumming its way through his body from showing.
She blinked, and licked her lips. Oh Maker. After a moment, she finally nodded, though the blush was still steadily growing. "Well, then. Good." She turned her head away from him to stare off into the distance, across the flat plains to the left of the road, as if to end the conversation, and he smiled. Definite progress.
He'd become lost in his own thoughts a few minutes later, and thus almost missed it when she said softly, "When you were talking about the pretty brush, did you mean... me?"
When the question registered in his mind, his head snapped over to look at her. This time, she was actually looking over at him, and her eyes met his, softer than he'd ever seen them before. She's so beautiful. Struck by the thought, he couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief as he replied, "It can't be the first time someone's said you're pretty."
He couldn't believe it, even as the look of shock in her eyes told him it was; she was so enticingly beautiful, how could no one have remarked on it before? His eyes drifted involuntarily downward, over the skintight robes she insisted on always wearing which he was sure would be the death of him someday, as the deeply plunging neckline revealed a great deal of the soft curves of her breasts, while the high cuts on the sides of the skirt revealed an equally entrancing length of smooth thigh on either side. There was so much of that fine porcelain skin of hers everywhere, and just how far could he make that blush travel, he wondered? And would her desire be as equally fiery as her passionate anger?
He shook off the direction of his thoughts before he lost all ability to think as he realized she was finally answering him. "And if it is?" she asked quietly.
Don't push her too hard. "Then you must not talk to many people," he replied carefully, but he couldn't stop himself from adding, "And the men you have met must be blind."
Velanna's eyes widened in shock as she searched his face, presumably looking for some sign he hadn't meant what he said. He met her gaze steadily, and she finally smiled. It was a small smile, but it was real, and it was all for him. "Most people aren't worth talking to, and only see what they want to. You seem to have sharper eyes than most – for a human, that is," she covered up hastily, and the blush finally went right up to the tips of her pointed ears. She turned away from him, and picked up her pace to walk a little further ahead of him.
He stayed where he was, letting her have her space, but the rest of his walk to the Blackmarsh was spent in a happy daze.
She avoided him for nearly a week after they left the Blackmarsh, as though she was afraid she'd revealed far too much in that one conversation, and Nathaniel began to worry that even his patient persistence wouldn't be enough.
Aedan caught him watching Velanna one day from the battlements while she practiced her magic in the courtyard below, as he tried to work out how to get her to stop avoiding him. "So, you and Velanna?" Aedan said after a moment.
Nathaniel glanced at him sharply. Things between him and Aedan had become a good deal friendlier since he'd accepted what his father had done and apologized, but he still wasn't sure if he was ready to confide his feelings for the elven woman to his Commander yet. But then, it seemed he already knew. "I suppose you're going to tell me it's a bad idea?"
Aedan shook his head. "Not at all. I'm sure you know my own taste in women has been called questionable by some."
Nathaniel grinned a little in acknowledgement. He, like most of the others in the Keep, had been surprised the first time the notorious Witch of the Wilds had stopped by to visit. Though Aedan had not been completely public with his affections towards Morrigan, it was still obvious in the way he looked at her – and the fact that she did not have a room of her own, but stayed in his. There were even rumors around the Keep that the Commander had married her, though Nathaniel didn't know if it was true or not, and he wasn't sure if he was quite brave enough to ask. But there were, indeed, many who had questioned Aedan's decision to be with a witch, when he was both the Commander of the Wardens and technically the Arl of Amaranthine, as well as the son of a Teyrn, whether he laid claim to that title or not anymore. Morrigan had never stayed long, usually a week at most before she disappeared again, but she always came back, and it was obvious that their relationship was serious, particularly as the witch appeared to be showing signs of pregnancy the last time she was here.
"Do you ever question your decision to be with her?" he asked Aedan at last, tearing his gaze from Velanna's graceful figure below to watch the other man's reaction.
Aedan shook his head decisively, the look in his grey eyes sure and certain. "Never. It might not seem like an ideal relationship, when we are apart so much, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. The moments that we are together . . . they are worth any hardship I've had to endure to be with her."
Nathaniel nodded thoughtfully. He could believe it; the way he'd felt just the times he'd gotten Velanna to blush, or say something remotely nice to him, had been more than worth the time he'd had to spend working his way through her defenses. If he ever actually got beyond those walls of hers to actually be with her in any real sense? He didn't know for sure, of course, but he suspected that it would be beyond anything he'd ever dreamed. "Any advice?"
Aedan grinned. "She'll be even more difficult to get through to than Morrigan was, I suspect. I told Morrigan what she wanted to hear, what I knew wouldn't scare her off, until she was ready to hear how I really felt about her. And, I admit, I used our mutual desire for each other to my advantage. I've seen the way she looks at you, Nathaniel. It's not hopeless." He clapped Nathaniel on the shoulder before he turned and walked away.
Not hopeless, huh? Nathaniel watched her thoughtfully as a smile slowly spread across his face. Use mutual desire to his advantage? He could do that. He'd just have to be slow and steady about it, and ease his way into it, he decided.
The first time he'd maneuvered it so their arms brushed lightly, she skittered away from him like a frightened deer – and then glared at him. But Nathaniel caught her glancing over at him several times after that, and at one point, she even unconsciously touched the spot where his arm had brushed hers. He smiled to himself, and renewed his efforts after that.
He would step just a little bit closer to her, or accidentally brush up against her, or give her a slow smile when she looked at him; each move done as often as he could manage. And once he learned that she liked the color green, after overhearing her talk with Sigrun, a female dwarf who was another addition to their group of Wardens, he gave her a green runestone he'd found on one of their expeditions. He even tracked down some forest-green ink that he thought matched her eyes quite closely once he realized how much she liked writing in the blank journal Aedan had given her – and he made sure he told her how it matched her lovely eyes. That gave him the best blush he'd gotten yet – before she'd snapped at him for being foolish and then thanked him all in the same breath.
Though the progress he made was slow, it was also steady; she gradually stopped moving away when he got closer to her, and lingered a little rather than ran when their arms brushed. She even started to smile ever so slightly back at him – and once she brought him a whetstone for his daggers. It was a practical gift, but a gift nonetheless, and he couldn't help the elation he felt when he thanked her.
The first time they kissed, though, wasn't until after the battle with the Mother, and after he'd somehow managed to talk her out of running after Seranni, when it became obvious that her sister didn't want to come back to her. He'd knocked her out of the way of one of the tentacles employed by the disgusting and insane broodmother, and had gotten himself knocked unconscious for his troubles. He didn't wake up until after the battle was over, relieved to find out they'd won, and that Velanna was alive and well, along with the others. Better yet, his head was in Velanna's lap when he first awoke, and he couldn't help but enjoy the softness of his newfound pillow, or the fragrant smell of flowers and the outdoors that always seemed to surround her, even when she was covered in darkspawn blood. "I am glad to see you are well, my lady," he told her softly as her gaze finally met his.
Her expression was soft for a brief second before her remarkable eyes widened and flared with righteous anger, and his pillow disappeared from beneath him, causing his head to thud on the rocky ground. He winced, rubbing his head as he carefully sat up while she shot to her feet, yelling at him, "I did not need your help, shem! I would have been just fine on my own! I did not ask you to get yourself injured trying to protect me! You – you – are so exasperating!"
He stood up slowly, facing her as she shouted at him, fists clenched and eyes blazing, the very picture of furious beauty, trying to work out why she was so angry at him. He suddenly spotted Aedan over her shoulder, grinning broadly, and his Commander mouthed, 'Not hopeless.' Studying her face a little more closely, he suddenly realized that was worried fear beneath the fury in her eyes. "Velanna. Velanna!" he snapped, finally interrupting her tirade.
"What?" she snarled at him, hands on her hips now as she glared at him. She didn't seem to notice that he was only a few inches away from her now.
"Thank you for worrying about me, my lady," he told her, and when she opened her mouth to start yelling at him again, he bent his head and claimed it with his own.
He fully expected her to shove him away, or fry him with her magic, but she did neither. She froze in shock, her body rigid as he gently pulled her into his arms, keeping one hand at her waist and the other cradling the back of her head. When he slowly brushed her tongue with his own, however, she went suddenly soft, her lithe body melting against his, her hands drifting up, one to rest on his chest, the other sliding into his hair as she returned his kiss with a fierceness he hadn't expected.
It was even better than he'd thought it would be; the taste of her mouth was both sweet and heady, like the finest of wines. The surprising passion of her kiss as she fisted her hand in his hair and pressed her body closer to his sent fire all through his veins, and desire lancing through his body, making him achingly hard for her, a state which had become all too familiar for him lately. He didn't mind though; he couldn't help but revel in the feel of her soft body finally in his arms, of her mouth against his, of the low moan she gave when he tilted her head to get a better angle. It was when his hand slid down of its own free will to curve over her bottom, pressing her hips into his to give his aching arousal the friction it so desired, that she finally shoved away from him.
He let her go reluctantly as she stumbled back several steps from him, chest heaving, eyes wide, and mouth so enticingly full from his kiss that he had to clench his hands not to pull her back into him. "You – I – " was all she managed to get out before she turned and ran away from him.
He sighed, suddenly realizing that his body was aching for other reasons than desire; his head throbbed and his back ached and he was pretty sure he had half a dozen minor wounds on his body. And she was probably going to avoid him for at least another week. When he looked up and met Aedan's eyes, though, he grinned and nodded at the question in them. It's all worth it in exchange for that kiss.
True to Nathaniel's prediction, she avoided him for over a week after that, until she suddenly picked a fight with him one day when he was practicing archery in the training yard – without a tunic, of course. And in the middle of the fight, she kissed him. This time, the kiss lasted until Nathaniel slid his hand beneath her skirt and found the edge of her smallclothes, causing her to blast him back with a light burst of her magic before she ran off again.
However, when he brought her a new leather-bound journal the next day, dyed green, along with an apology, she didn't avoid him this time, and accepted both with a surprising grace. She even accepted the carefully chaste kiss he gave her afterwards, which both surprised and pleased him.
He decided that he should probably take it a little slower, and try not to scare her in spite of how badly he wanted her, and so he held himself back and kept the kisses between them light and chaste over the next couple of weeks. Eventually, Velanna was the one who began to grow bold, pushing the limits Nathaniel had tried to set for himself, and one day she gripped his ass hard and pulled his hips into hers, rubbing herself against him. He very nearly lost his head then, but he reined himself in tightly and let her control the outcome, leading to her pulling away after a few moments before she walked away and left him aching.
It took another few weeks after that, of increasingly bold kisses and caresses, which he let her lead as much as he could, before she finally allowed him in her bed. He asked her to come with him to the library in the Keep, as he'd found a book that had a few Dalish tales in it that he thought she would like. They had nearly reached the heavy double doors to the library, which were closed, when Velanna suddenly halted, her face flushing, and held up a hand to stop him. "We should not go in right now."
"What?" Nathaniel looked at her in surprise. "Why?" No sooner was the question out of his mouth when he heard what her elven ears had already picked up; a long, low feminine moan ending in, "Ohh, Alistair!" He froze in his tracks a few steps ahead of Velanna, feeling a flush creep over his own face as it was followed by a male voice groaning, "Ayla, love . ."
He turned around abruptly, steering Velanna away from the door. "Another time, of course, you're right. Perhaps a walk, instead?" She gave a distracted nod, her face still becomingly pink, and they hurried down the stone hallway the way they'd come.
As embarrassed as he was to have overheard that, he also couldn't help the arousal that swept through him as he thought of himself and Velanna in a similar position. He'd gotten her to make a few sounds for him so far, the odd moan or gasp, but she had never cried out his name like that, and it was suddenly all he wanted to hear. His brain began to conjure up a vivid fantasy, and so he didn't immediately hear Velanna saying, "Perhaps . . . we might do something else."
"My apologies, my lady," he began, turning to her as he tried to piece together what she'd said. "Did you say –" he was cut off as she suddenly pressed into him while he was talking before her mouth met his, urgent, hot and demanding.
His delighted body responded automatically before his brain had quite registered what was happening; one hand slipped to the back of her head, angling her mouth better as his tongue danced with hers, while the other slipped down to her supple rear and pressed her hips up into his while he pushed her back against the wall. One leg somehow worked itself between hers, rubbing against the core of her, and she gasped, her mouth breaking free of his as her head tipped back and she ground against his thigh. "Velanna," she choked out. "Call me Velanna."
"Of course," he mumbled distractedly, "whatever you would like." He pressed his lips to her neck, working his way up to her ear. He had discovered a week ago, quite by accident as his fingers had brushed her earlobe, that her pointed ears were very sensitive. Bearing that in mind now, he reached his target and sucked her earlobe into his mouth. He was rewarded by a sharply indrawn breath, followed by her crying out, "Nathaniel!" as she gripped his hair tightly in both hands.
Yes, just like that. Completely perfect. It was the first time she'd used his name, but the shaky and sultry tone of her voice as she'd said it had been absolutely worth the wait. His hand on her rear slid beneath the skirt of those damnable robes of hers, as well as her smallclothes, but she didn't pull away as he kneaded the flesh beneath his fingers, only moaned. He'd gone way beyond the boundaries he'd given himself the past few weeks as his eager body had overruled his brain this time, but she wasn't stopping him, and she wasn't pulling away. Indeed, she seemed to be ready for him to take her right here as he kissed his way up the outside of her ear and one of her hands clutched convulsively at his hair, the other having moved down to grip his shoulder hard as her hips moved against his leg, seeking friction.
No, wait. The thought doused over him like cold water. Not here. Not for our first time. He pulled back as much as he could as she made a noise of protest, trying to draw his head back to her ear as he managed, "Not here. Your room, or mine, but not . . . not here."
Her amazing eyes, hazy with desire, focused and sharpened at his words, and after a moment, she gave a brief nod. "Very well. My room is not far." She pulled away from him, and he let her go reluctantly, his body feeling suddenly cold without the warmth and softness of hers as she moved quickly down the hallway. He followed her, eyeing the sway of her hips and the lush bottom he'd just had his hand on, not even taking note of which way they were going.
It seemed like an eternity to reach her room, but eventually she opened the door and let him into a spacious, airy chamber with a window granting a view of the rolling hills and trees beyond the Keep. That was all he had time to register, that and the large four-poster bed draped in green, before the door closed and her long, nimble fingers were working at the ties to his breeches. He only had a moment to be aroused and astonished by her sudden boldness before she'd shoved his breeches and smallclothes down and those same fingers were wrapped around the aching length of him.
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the feel of her soft fingers as she gave an experimental stroke and he let out a strangled groan. "Velanna . . ." he gripped her hands, pulling them away gently. "Not . . . I want . . ." To be inside you. "Not like that," was all his lust-addled brain could manage.
She gave him an assessing look before she finally nodded. Nathaniel let go of her hands and pulled off his tunic; by the time he had it over his head, she'd let her hair down and was removing her robes. He'd never seen her without her hair up before; it fell over her shoulders like spun gold, no, like sunlight, he thought hazily. Then her robes fell to the ground, along with her smallclothes, and he was lost. Lost at the glorious sight of her lithe, graceful curves, at all her soft, nearly translucent skin bared for his touch.
He closed the distance between them in seconds as his mouth claimed hers hungrily, and the need that swamped him at the feel of her satin-smooth skin pressed against him nearly made his knees buckle. He had no idea how he managed it, but somehow he stayed upright until she'd pulled him towards the bed and they fell together atop it.
He nibbled briefly on her ear again, loving the sounds she made as he did so, while her soft hands were everywhere on his body, tracing every bit of his skin she could manage to reach while also sending light shocks of magic into his skin that only aroused him further. He drifted his mouth down finally to one pert breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth gently even as his hand slid between her legs. He moaned into her breast at the feel of her, at the wet heat clutching greedily at his finger as it entered her. She cried out, arching sharply against him.
"Nathaniel!" She yanked his hair. "No more . . . you must . . ." She rolled her hips against him, as if at a loss for words, before she gasped out, "Now," but he understood what she wanted, even if she couldn't express it, for it was what he wanted, too.
He slipped his finger out and lifted his head so he could watch her as he finally, slowly, eased himself inside her. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open once he was fully seated in her, and he paused for a moment to take in the look of pleasure and lust stamped across her face. No, this was his favorite look of hers, he decided. Better even than that blush of hers he so enjoyed.
She'd wrapped her legs around his waist as he'd eased into her, but now, having apparently decided he was taking too long, she arched her hips up and yanked on his hair again. "Move," she demanded, and he obliged her.
He moved slowly at first, long and deep strokes, but she was having none of it; she raised up to meet him faster each time, locking her legs tightly around his waist to pull him in further, writhing and panting beneath him. It was better than any of the agonizing dreams he'd had over the past several weeks that had left him hard and aching for her, and he was soon moving much faster than he'd intended as their bodies crashed together.
The feel of her warmth rippling around his cock, the brush of her body against his, the soft cries she made as they moved together, were rapidly driving him to the edge of reason, his body aching and burning with the growing need as it spiralled deep in his gut. He kissed her hard again, aching for the intoxicating taste of her, and he pressed his hand to the small of her back, arching her up more as he drove into her.
He must have hit the right spot, for she suddenly convulsed around him, shuddering, her cry lost in his mouth, and as her body squeezed him tightly, he bucked wildly into her one last time, spilling himself deep inside her until he was drained. Worth it, was all he could think when he rolled to the side, bringing her with him as he collapsed to the bed, her soft body wrapped in his arms.
It was nearly a year later when he finally told her the words that had been locked inside him for months, "I love you." It had been a tumultuous year of passionate lovemaking and frequent arguments, but somewhere in that time, as she'd slowly opened up to him emotionally as well as physically, telling him tales of her clan and her sister, he'd realized he couldn't imagine life without her. And he finally told her so one day, in the privacy of his room as they lay naked together, thinking that they were beyond the point where he could scare her away. He discovered he was quite wrong, when she stared at him wide-eyed in shock before springing from the bed and throwing her robes on, leaving the room. By the time he'd gotten himself untangled from the bedcovers and had thrown on his breeches and followed her, she'd been gone.
This time, instead of merely avoiding him, she left the Keep altogether. Weeks stretched into months with no word or sign of her, though he searched as much as he could, and the other Wardens helped when they had time, as well. Nathaniel had finally decided, nearly six months later, that he'd scared her away for good and she was never going to return, when Morrigan of all people found her. The witch entered the Keep with news one day that she'd spotted Velanna, wounded and unconscious, a few miles from the Keep.
Frantic, Nathaniel demanded that Morrigan show him where she was, and the witch led him to his lover's collapsed body. He carried her the whole way back to the Keep, her slight form cradled in his arms as he prayed to the Maker that she would wake up. The blood matted in her golden hair was an alarming sight that made him nearly sick to his stomach. He laid her carefully in her bed, in the room that had been left precisely as it was, and Morrigan set to work on healing her immediately.
It was several hours later when she finally woke up. Her forest-green eyes widened when she saw him sitting at her bedside. The others had all since left, Morrigan saying she had done all she could, and the Commander and the other Wardens wanting to give them their privacy, though Nathaniel didn't even know if it would be necessary, as she looked more alarmed than pleased to see him. "Nathaniel . . ." she said softly.
He'd meant to say something nice, or logical, or reasonable, but instead he demanded, "Why? Why did you leave? If you didn't love me back, you could have just said so! I would have been fine with that!" He wouldn't have, of course. He'd felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't exist without her these last few months, but he still had some shred of pride, after all, so he didn't say any of that. "But to just leave, without saying where you were going or why, I just . . . why didn't you say something?"
He didn't know what he'd expected her reply to be, but he was stunned when she snapped, "Of course I love you, you stupid human! Why else would I have come back?"
He stared at her for a long moment, astonished, before he laughed. Pure, joyful, genuine laughter, the kind that he didn't think had ever come out of his mouth before.
"What do you find so amusing about that?" she snarled at him, her hands curling into fists as she sat up.
He shook his head, smiling, his heart singing with joy, barely able to believe what he'd just heard. "Nothing. I'm not amused, I'm just . . . happy. It was worth every second of doubt about your feelings, every second of agony these past few months, to hear you say that, is all. To . . . know that you feel the same."
She flushed, ducking her head, before she finally looked back up at him, her eyes soft, her expression more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "I was . . . terrified. That is why I left without saying anything. Everyone that I have ever loved before has abandoned me, and I thought you would certainly do the same someday, when you finally tired of my ways. I was not sure I could take that, and so I thought . . . I should leave before you did. I did not know what else to do, so . . ." she shrugged. "I looked for Seranni. I could find no trace of her, though, and eventually, I realized that I had been a coward. I had done to you what everyone had done to me, so I decided to return and . . . apologize. But I was wounded in a fight with bandits, and though I eventually won, I could not heal my injuries and I . . . must have passed out before arriving."
"Morrigan found you," Nathaniel explained quietly, "and came to get me. I brought you back here." He brought the chair he'd been sitting in closer to her bedside, and took her hand gently in his. He had been angry at her for leaving, furious, actually, but that anger had all faded away after her unorthodox confession, and he was simply grateful now that she had survived her wounds. The Maker had answered his prayers, and he would not let wounded pride get in the way of what he wanted.
"I will never abandon you," he promised her. "I cannot promise that things between us will always be perfect, or that we will never fight," he gave her a wry look and she smiled slightly in return, "but I can promise that I will never willingly leave you. Not ever. I love you, and I would not trade my time with you for anything in the world, for every moment I've spent with you has been one of the best of my life. Every moment has been absolutely worth it."
After she stared at him for a moment in shocked silence, her eyes wide, her face broke out in the brightest, most genuine and beautiful smile he'd ever seen from her, before she said, "Is that the way you humans state your intent to wed?"
He grinned at her, his heart full to bursting. "It can be, if you want."
She simply nodded, before pulling his mouth down to hers in a fiercely joyful kiss.
Over their years together after that, whenever they got into a fight, which was inevitably followed by making up in various passionate and inventive ways, she would always turn to him afterwards. "Is it still worth it?"
Each and every time, his answer was the same. "Always."