AN: Written for the recent swap-a-thon over at the nathaniel_howe livejournal community. You should go check it out if more Nathaniel seems like your thing (including a sexier F!Tabris/Nathaniel piece I did). My username's pibroch over there, btw.
"So." Nathaniel glanced up from the minor repairs and upkeep he was performing on his bow, not exactly in the mood for company. Yet, there his Commander stood, and Nathaniel certainly owed the man some regard after their last visit to Amaranthine. "May I sit?"
"Of course." Motioning to the empty stretch of bench beside him, Nathaniel scooped up a bit of wax on the tip of one finger and began to work it into the bowstring, paying special attention to the cord nearest the curved wood. The bench shifted a bit when the Commander settled nearby, and his movements were not nearly so heavy or noisy without his customary shell of dragonbone plate. Truly, in plain leggings and tunic, the Commander was graceful enough that Nathaniel wondered idly if he would have made a decent rogue, had he less of a mind for gigantic swords and head-on assaults.
"If I may, your sister looked quite lovely." This was a conversation Nathaniel had been avoiding for days, but with the history between their families, he knew it was not something that could be ignored forever. "Marriage agrees with her, I suppose?"
"More the groom than the marriage," he responded rather indelicately, before he thought better of it. Thankfully, the Commander merely laughed— a careless, charming kind of sound.
"That's even better, then. If at all possible, one should always endeavour to marry someone who is at the very least tolerable." Nathaniel caught the Commander's amused smirk out of the corner of his eye, and not for the first time was amazed at the man's good humour. The world was far too dark a place for any sane person to remain so affable. "To find someone pleasant or perhaps even lovable is quite enviable."
It was impolite, he knew, but Nathaniel could not bring himself to set the bow aside. That would make this too much like a heart-to-heart conversation, and he wasn't quite ready for that yet. Instead, he tried to appear as if his focus was fully on his task even as he spoke. "Those of us raised in noble families are rarely afforded such a luxury— you know that as well as I." He paused, fighting the urge to clear his throat. "Though you certainly landed on your feet, your Highness."
"Oh Andraste's blood, don't." Discovering a way to twist that smirk into something decidedly less cheerful was a piece of information Nathaniel tucked away for later. "Commander is more than sufficient, and Aedan would be even better. Oh, and for your information, my fellow noble's son? Arranging one's own marriage presents its own challenges, believe me— I have managed to fashion a mutually beneficial arrangement, however."
"Hm." Nathaniel murmured with vague interest, gambling that the Commander would continue the conversation with minimal encouragement. He was not disappointed.
"Though by my previous criteria, I'm doing quite well." Propping his elbows on his knees, the Commander counted off on his fingers. "Her Majesty is quite tolerable, usually quite pleasant, and it's not beyond the realm of my imagining that I might grow to love her someday. But you are getting me off track, good ser. We were discussing your sister— unless the mention of my own marriage was a subtle hint that it's none of my business, which would be completely understandable."
The offer to drop the subject seemed genuine, and Nathaniel had almost no doubt that the Commander wouldn't hold it against him were he to accept the escape route. It was tempting, but no, he had promised Delilah he would make an effort to be less miserably dour. She had always been the one to torment him out of a sulk.
"It's fine." The bowstring could not take more wax, and with a quiet sigh, Nathaniel placed the heirloom to one side with no small amount of reverence. "A man in your position could have reacted very differently to her slight, so I thank you for your tolerance, Commander."
With a small shrug, the humour was back. "I'm not about to cut a woman down in the streets for calling me stuck-up. Maker's breath, there'd be rivers of blood." They were well and truly chatting now, sitting on a bench together in one of the courtyards of his former home. The afternoon sun was warm and the air was fresh; it was an altogether lovely day, and Nathaniel was slowly coming to terms with a future that could very well include a few more such days. It was strange, after so long sustained by only the sour burn of vengeance, to find something else to fight for.
He still had a sister, who had welcomed him quite literally with open arms, and a little nephew or niece on the way as well.
"Did your father have any prospects lined up for you?" He'd allowed his mind to wander, and the Commander's innocent question caught him entirely off-guard. Foolishly, his brain began to scramble and he answered too sharply.
"What— No." Ignoring the wirily raised brow, Nathaniel continued mildly as if he hadn't just peaked the Commander's curiosity. "Not that I knew of, at least. Had things been different, I'm sure there would have been a young lady chosen and awaiting my return from the Free Marches. Father was nothing if not predictable when it came to maintaining the strength of the family, or so I thought." It was a raw wound again, fiercely painful, but Delilah's voice in his memory was like a cool balm. She was happy, and he was alive, and their father had been put down before he could destroy the whole country in his madness.
"I was luckier than most," the Commander said, leaning his hands back on the bench and stretching his legs out. It looked rather like he was basking in the sunlight. "I would have had to get married sooner or later, of course, but with Fergus already settled there was less pressure. More opportunity to get into a bit of trouble, anyway."
There was a lingering sense of sentiments unspoken, but the tension was much less than it had been only a few weeks, even days before. Then, abruptly, Nathaniel found himself on the receiving end of a blinding flash of teeth— that was a troublemaking grin.
"I'll tell you what else helps arranged marriages: mistresses. Not overrated at all." There were rumours about the… understanding between Ferelden's royal couple, but Nathaniel was not about to assume anything. The Commander was obviously amusing himself heartily, however. "I'd only recommend it if everyone involved is supportive of the idea, but fortune happened to smile on me in that regard. My dear wife, Maker bless her, is happiest when I am distracted." When the Commander's eyes rose to study the clear blue sky, Nathaniel caught the barest softening of his playful expression. "Have you ever been to Antiva?"
The question would have been much more unexpected, had Nathaniel not done a fair bit of information gathering before his ill-fated attempt at assassinating this man. Perhaps the rumours were indeed more truth than fiction.
"I've not, no," he answered, and watched as the Commander took a long, deep breath.
"If we survive this, that will be my next adventure." Crossing his legs at the ankles, the Commander shot him a surprisingly warm sideways glance. "Anora will have a fit, I've no doubt, but I hear they have fantastic fish chowder."
END