Returning home was proving to be more difficult than Nathaniel had anticipated.
It was hard not to feel like an unwanted guest as he wandered through the Keep's rooms and hallways, retracing steps from long-buried memories. Though the layout of the house remained the same, it seemed as though all else he remembered had been changed, remodeled, or stripped away altogether. His father's study was sealed off behind a sturdy lock, and his childhood bedroom was now a storage closet, the cheerful wall hangings and miniature bookcase replaced by haphazard stacks of wooden crates.
Worse still were the stares he received from the Keep's new visitors, particularly the nobles who flitted in and out at the Warden-Commander's leisure. Conversations stopped dead in their tracks whenever he entered a room, and he'd lost count of the number of sneers, sniffs, and pitying glances he'd absorbed.
Stepping into a side room away from the burning looks, he rested his head against the doorjamb and allowed himself a sigh, tasting bitterness tinged with nostalgia.
"This is a relative of yours, isn't it?"
The voice startled him from his melancholy, and he turned his head to look further into the room. Velanna stood with her back to him, her chin tilted downward and her gaze directed at something in her hands.
Nathaniel crossed the room and came to a stop next to her, looking over her shoulder at the small portrait she held. A thick layer of dust covered the frame and marred the brushstrokes, but the identity of the subject was unmistakable.
"Yes," he said, reaching over to gently wipe some of the grime from the painting's surface. "That is my father, Rendon Howe. The former arl of Amaranthine."
"Hmm." Velanna tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as though she were an expert critic appraising the portrait's value. "He's hideous."
One eyebrow hitched up her forehead as she looked sidelong at Nathaniel, eyes raking him from head to toe. "You're lucky you escaped the same fate. You must take after your mother."
"I…suppose I'll take that as a compliment," Nathaniel said, smiling in spite of himself.
Velanna's mouth took on a deliberate quirk, and her gaze grew sly. "It can't be the first time someone has said you're handsome."
It was the first time someone had said so in such a roundabout way, but Nathaniel didn't voice the thought. "Well," he replied instead, "it's certainly the first time such a lovely woman has said so."
"Flatterer," Velanna shot back, her tone dismissive, but even in the Keep's dim light Nathaniel could see the tips of her ears turn a faint pink.
The reaction lasted only a second before she returned her gaze to the painting. "From what I've heard," she said, voice taking on an airy tone, "he was as ugly in personality as he was in appearance."
"You believe everything you hear, then?" Nathaniel plucked the painting from her grasp, eyes skimming over the familiar haughty eyes and downturned mouth. "My father had both faults and strengths, like any other man."
The sharp-tongued retort he expected never materialized, and he was surprised to see Velanna's gaze cloud over.
"I never knew my parents," she said after a moment, her voice both quiet and matter-of-fact. "Humans killed them when Seranni and I were young."
He swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"It hardly matters." Her chin jerked up, her expression turning stormy. "If they'd lived, no doubt they would have been happy to throw me to the wolves, just like the rest of my clan. People will always turn on those they profess to love when it suits them. Just like your father." She gave a long sigh, her defiance seeming to abandon her all at once. "Just like everyone."
Nathaniel watched her a moment before leaning over to place the portrait on a nearby table.
"Perhaps not everyone, my lady," he said, gently.
She met his gaze for a brief moment before her eyes returned to the former arl's unblinking stare.
"You do have his nose," she stated, a hint of amusement lightening her tone.
"Ah, yes." Nathaniel's voice was dry, but he smiled. "There's no escaping the infamous Howe nose."
Being left at the Keep was maddening.
Velanna resisted the urge to pace as she stepped down yet another hallway that looked exactly the same as all the rest. The Grey Warden fortress was dank and enormous and drafty, leaving her with the unpleasant feeling that she could hardly whisper without hearing her words echo throughout the entire complex. She missed the rustling of grass, the whisper of wind in the trees, the warm tingle of sunlight on her skin.
The Warden-Commander had left hours earlier with the two dwarves and the insufferable human mage, and Creators only knew when they would return. Velanna hadn't been sorry to see them go—Anders in particular—but following their departure, no more than an hour had passed before she'd become unbearably restless.
It was reaching the point where she almost wished bandits or darkspawn or something would attack the Keep, so that she would have something to take her mind off of—
"Perhaps not everyone, my lady."
Exasperation became resignation as Nathaniel's voice rolled through her head yet again, and Velanna pressed her fingertips against her eyelids until colored spots floated in her vision.
It made no sense. He made no sense. She'd pushed and prodded him on numerous occasions. She'd insulted him, his race, his father. She'd shown him the depth of her cynicism. Nothing seemed to deter him. She kept waiting for the angry explosion, the sneering derision, the smug human superiority she was so accustomed to seeing.
Instead, he was calm, courteous, and—and—flirtatious, of all things. And he was inching his way deeper into her thoughts in ways that were beginning to alarm her.
He was a human. A shem. The mere thought of consorting with one was enough to make any elf's blood run cold with disgust or hot with rage. Entering into a relationship with a human was grounds for immediate exile.
Then again, Velanna, you're already exiled—
"Stop it," she hissed aloud, silencing her traitorous subconscious.
She rounded a corner and found herself in a sizable sitting room, and—of course—he was there, standing at the far end and looking out a window. Velanna clenched her teeth and stared at the back of his head, fleetingly wondering if it might not be easier to just hurl a fire spell at him and be done with it.
Instead she began to march through the room, hardly noticing the furniture she sidestepped, and came to a stop behind him with her words bubbling up in her throat.
"You don't really want me."
Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, then turned, his eyebrows furrowing in a puzzled frown. "I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"Don't…do that!" She couldn't think straight when he called her "my lady," when his voice dipped down an octave and sent strange tremors all the way to her toes. She blew out a short breath and plowed on before he could respond. "This—this thing you keep doing with the "my ladys" and the compliments and the—just—everything. Don't think I don't know what you're doing. I will not tolerate you toying with me."
She had to admit, the way he kept his face completely blank was impressive. "Why do you think I'm toying with you?" he asked, voice neutral.
"Oh, isn't it obvious?" she demanded. "I'm an elf. You're a human. You're a noble. All of this—" she swept her arms in a grandiose gesture, "—belonged to you—"
"I was a noble," he interrupted, softly but firmly. "And none of this property is mine any longer. I'm as much of an exile as you, Velanna. The name 'Howe' commands no respect now, only scorn."
"Ah!" Velanna said. "I see how it is, then. You're reduced to chasing after elves because none of your uppity human women will even look twice at you now."
She broke off, realizing she was breathing hard and her eyes were blazing. Nathaniel was staring at her, and his expression was still inscrutable, but his jaw had tightened. Velanna tensed, waiting for the inevitable snap.
And then Nathaniel sighed, his face and his shoulders relaxing.
"Growing up as a nobleman's son," he began, "I often came in contact with many wealthy, refined, and beautiful young women. I could easily have married one of them if I'd wished."
Velanna narrowed her eyes. "And why didn't you?"
"Because among nobles," he said, "everyone always wants more of something. More money, more power, more influence. And people will say or do whatever they need to if it gets them one step closer to what they want. The women I knew were all beautiful and intelligent and had other admirable qualities, but they were playing the game as much as anyone else. My family had enough power and prestige that those women would all say anything I wanted if they believed it would advance their standing."
His eyes sharpened on her face. "But you, Velanna, are not only beautiful and intelligent, you never, ever hesitate to speak your mind. I'm not sure if you're even capable of deceit when you feel strongly about something. With you, I always know where I stand. It's…" He watched her, a smile playing on his face. "Refreshing."
Velanna drew a long breath, but nothing came out. Her mouth opened and closed several times.
Nathaniel chuckled, a deep and rumbling sound that made Velanna's stomach clench. "I seem to have achieved the impossible task of rendering you speechless."
"I—you—" She shook her head rapidly, as though trying to wake up from a bizarre dream. "I can't believe I'm even considering this. I don't even know what this is. I—"
She stopped abruptly, staring down as Nathaniel's fingers wrapped around her hand. His grip was warm and firm, his fingertips pleasantly calloused, and the way his thumb stroked her wrist was making her heart do some very strange acrobatics.
"This…" She suddenly found it hard to breathe. "This will not last."
"I'll leave that up to your discretion, my lady." Raising her hand, he pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.
And Velanna found that she had no more arguments, for herself or for him.