Chapter 4 - Questions Left Unanswered

Nathaniel groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. Sunlight flickered against his closed eyelids, beckoning him from the dark recesses of his mind. Fuzzy images still swirled through his thoughts, colorful apparitions calling to him from beyond the veil, but the pull of reality was stronger. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and immediately closed them against the blinding light that poured into his chamber window. He groaned again as his head throbbed in time with the ringing in his ears. He felt hung-over, only he hadn't been drinking…had he?

All at once it came back to him; his capture, the dungeon, the woman…and then the Joining.

The Joining!

He sat bolt upright only to slump back against the bed as his stomach lurched at the sudden movement.

Damn it, what have they done to me! He thought miserably. No one said anything about side effects when I agreed to this bloody charade!

After a few moments he tried once again to sit up, but slowly this time. He sighed with relief when some of the pressure in his head let up and his stomach settled. There was still a faint buzzing in his ears and his throat was parched, but beyond that he was beginning to feel more like himself. He wondered if the others had felt the same way after their Joining, which led him to wonder how many "others" there were currently residing in his former home. He winced to think of the Vigil as such, but he was never one to fool himself over painful truths. He closed his eyes as he tried to regain his equilibrium, the anger and confusion from the night before pounding through his blood.

Standing, Nathaniel took a quick look around the room, his eyebrows arching in surprise when he realized that he'd been given his old chambers. He hadn't expected such niceties from the Wardens. Nor, admittedly, had he expected them to give him back his belongings. Yet there were his leathers, draped over and armchair by the hearth.

He dressed quickly, taking special care not to catch his image in the looking glass in the process. His torso was peppered with scars, most of which led to painful memories best left forgotten.

Get it together, Howe, he told himself with a mental shake. You're no longer in the Free Marches, you're back in Fereldan. He repeated the mantra to himself a few more times for good measure.

Stretching, he reached for his bow but hesitated. Sitting next to his quiver was a dark blue cloak with a silver griffon pin at the neck. It was an exact replica of the cloak the Warden-Commander had been wearing last night.

That's when it hit him…truly hit him…he was a Grey Warden. Not a potential or a recruit or what-have-you. He had taken the Joining and had not been found wanting. He was expected to live with them, dine with them, fight with them, and most likely die with them. Not only that, but he had to answer to the woman that had murdered his father and had stripped him of his birthright.

Could life be just a little more ironic? He thought. Because I haven't quite had my fill yet.

All of his life he'd been taught to hate the Grey Wardens, and now he was one of their ranks. It was like trading one evil for another, and he couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. The events of last night played back in his head. He had been prepared to die; had expected it, in fact. That would have been far preferable to wandering Fereldan homeless and nameless without any objective or future, but this. What was he supposed to do with this? And why in Andraste's name did the Commander recruit him in the first place? It had not been what he was expecting. She was not what he had been expecting.

Striking blue eyes had met his unwavering through the bars, incandescent against her porcelain skin and dark hair. He would never have guessed who she was if the guard hadn't called her by rank. So this was the famous Hero of Fereldan? He had thought. This woman who could be mistaken for a child in her oversized cloak? Ridiculous! She looked entirely too delicate to take on an archdemon, let alone a formidable man like his father. Her head barely reached his shoulder for the Maker's sake! And yet she had proven herself to be both strong and resourceful when he'd thought to take the upper hand. It made Nathaniel ill to remember how close he'd been to killing her. The dark anger that had been his driving force since he left the Free Marches demanded he take her life, but looking into her eyes as his fingers wrapped around her neck, he knew that he could not. What a perplexing creature she was! He hated her for the things she had done to his family, yet found himself curiously drawn to her. Presently it occurred to him that he didn't even know her name.

His stomach interrupted his reflections, growling loudly in protest. And no wonder, he thought. He hadn't had a proper meal in days. After nervously readjusting the straps of his quiver Nathaniel left his room and ambled towards the kitchens. The cook tsked at him for missing breakfast, but took pity and shooed him away with a trencher filled to the brim. He found the dining hall nearly empty beyond a few stragglers scattered amongst the long wooden tables that covered the vast space. Tall windows lined the east wall allowing sunlight to stream in, drenching the room in warmth. He could hear the soldiers training in the plaza below them and the low hum of voices that always presided over the keep during the busy hours of the day. For a moment he could almost think that nothing had changed; that he would see his sister Delilah bound into the room or his Mother quietly embroidering by the fire. A deep sadness welled up inside of him with the knowledge that he would never see either of them again.

He selected an unoccupied spot nearby a small group of soldiers still chatting over their empty plates. No sooner had he sat down than the men promptly stood, leaving Nathaniel to himself. Apparently my reputation precedes me, he thought with a scowl. He was not used to being snubbed, not even when he was considered little more than a scout in his travels. He chose to ignore the sudden sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach and instead turned his concentration to the food sitting in front of him.

He had taken no more than a few bites when he began to feel as if he was being watched. When he looked up he saw a mage and a dwarf sitting alone at the end of the table. They both openly stared, but their expressions were as different as night and day. The mage simply looked curious, but the dwarf glowered at him menacingly.

"Nathaniel, right?" the mage called, waving a hand at the empty spot across from him. "Won't you join us?"

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow at the man, but quickly realized who they must be. It would explain their reaction to his presence. Reluctantly he stood and walked over to the odd pair, keeping a wary eye on the bad-tempered dwarf as he joined them.

"I am Anders, and this scruffy-looking fellow is Oghren," the mage continued good-naturedly, earning a snort from his companion.

"You're Wardens," he replied grimly. Though he meant it as a question it came out more as a statement, but the mage nodded anyway.

"As are you…or so I've been told. The Commander suspected you would be up and about soon enough," Anders said.

"Hrmpf, it's about time too," Ogrhen added, his eyes shooting daggers at Nathaniel. "What's wrong boy? Yer noble sensibilities too sodding delicate for the darkspawn blood?"

Nathaniel's hackles rose, allowing some of the previous night's anger to seep back in, but noticing the dwarf's slurred words and watery eyes he decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"Come now, Oghren! The Commander told us to make our new brother feel welcome, remember?" Anders interjected, shooting Oghren a look of warning.

"The Commander is out of her sodding gourd if ye ask me," Oghren growled at the mage before shooting Nathaniel a scathing glare. "Just be glad I wasn't with her in the dungeons last night, Howe. Ye touch her again and I'll plant my war axe in yer sodding forehead."

"So you're her champion, then?" Nathaniel asked, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Ha! As if she would need one. Falcon's seen more frontline action then the rest of us put together."

"'Falcon, is it?" Nathaniel asked, a small smile tugging up one side of his mouth.

"Oghren fought with the Commander during the blight. It is only natural that he—hold on. She didn't tell you her name?" Anders asked incredulously.

Nathaniel shook his head, confused by the look the two Wardens exchanged at this information.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"It's no matter," Anders replied hastily. "Just a bit surprising, is all. Then again from what I hear your conversation last night wasn't exactly the 'warm and fuzzy' kind."

"You could say that," Nathaniel murmured before turning back to Oghren. "You needn't worry, dwarf. I've taken my oath. No matter what you may think of me, I am a man of my word."

Oghren grunted in what he believed to be approval.

"Tell me, Nathaniel…do you always dine armed?" Anders asked after awhile, eyeing the bow strapped to his back.

"No," he replied, a little embarrassed. "I wasn't sure what would be expected of me once I left my quarters. Answers were not exactly forthcoming last night."

"Oooh, did you get the same non-answer prattle as we did? Sure! I'll save you from those apostate-hunting bastards, but here! Drink some darkspawn blood instead! I swear I thought I was going to end up on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead," Anders said.

"I don't know what yer yammerin' about. Sure, it had a bit of an aftertaste, but I got a nice buzz off the stuff," Oghren interjected. "Didn't even pass out like 'ye knobby-kneed nug-humpers."

"Yes well, we can't all be as stylish as you, Oghren," Anders quipped.

"That's why the ladies keep comin' back for more," he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair, letting out a loud belch in the process.

Nathaniel just stared, thinking that this had to be the oddest conversation he had ever been a part of.

"Any-ways, the Commander says we have the day to ourselves but we're to set out in the morning. Apparently darkspawn have been seen near the Turnoble Estate and the family seeks aid," Anders continued, ignoring the dwarf.

Nathaniel nodded once in understanding. The 'killing of darkspawn' aspect of being a Grey Warden he understood well enough, but beyond that he didn't really know anything about the Order. He said as much to Anders, who simply shrugged in return. It seemed that if he wanted answers he would have to find the Commander. Falcon, he reminded himself, finding that he needed to place a name with the face. What an odd name, he thought. From the inflection in her voice it was obvious that she was well bred, perhaps even noble, but he could not recall ever meeting a 'Falcon' at any of the supernaturally boring events he had been made to attend as a youth.

"Where is the Commander, exactly?" he heard himself ask as he stared out of the window. He could see a fair portion of the courtyard below from his seat, providing him a good view of the people coming and going.

"The Falcon's been up for hours," Oghren said with a disgusted snort. "She was sortin' through some supplies that came in from Highever when Varel showed up, lookin' like he was gettin' ready to recite the entire history of the Tevinter Imperium. Nearly pissed my pants seein' the look on his face when she took off on that hot-blooded beast of hers. Classic!"

As if Oghren's words had conjured her up he spotted her. She had just passed through the gates on a magnificent piece of horseflesh, effortlessly changing gates as they slowed to an easy trot. Her mount was a long-legged blue roan with black stockings, tail and main. She was an exceptional rider from what he could see; steed and master blending together as if they were one entity. As though to prove his point she leaped gracefully from the horse's back before the animal had even come to a full stop, warmly greeting Garevel who had been pacing in front of the stables until she pulled up. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu swept over Nathaniel, making his stomach clench in response. Odd that, he thought as he watched her walk away with the Captain, deep in conversation. His brow furrowed in uncertainty. Why on earth would this feel so familiar?

"—Certainly have our work cut out for us. I mean…there's the Commander…and then there's us; a drunken dwarf, an apostate, and an ex-noble with a chip on his shoulder against a horde of darkspawn? And not just any darkspawn…intelligent darkspawn," Anders was saying.

"Hell, it worked during the blight and there were only two Grey Wardens then," Oghren replied.

"Wait—we're the only Grey Wardens?" Nathaniel interjected. "Where are the others? And what's this about intelligent darkspawn?"

"You don't know? Course you don't. They all died in the darkspawn attack," Anders replied, filling Nathaniel in on the details of the night the Commander arrived at the Keep and how he and Oghren came to be recruited.

"And this darkspawn actually spoke?" Nathaniel asked incredulously once Anders had finished his tale.

"Heard him myself before Falcon filleted him. Pretty piece of work, that. Makes my eyes tear up just thinking about it," Anders replied.

"Oy! What's all the commotion?" a soldier yelled from across the room, startling all three of them.

Nathaniel had noticed the growing activity in the courtyard as their conversation had progressed but had paid no heed to it.

"Didn't you hear?" another soldier said from the doorway. "The Commander's agreed to a demonstration out in the courtyard!"

Oghren and Ander's exchanged a quick glance then jumped from their seats and hurried after the excited soldiers. Nathaniel had no choice but to follow after them, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn't understand the near maniacal anticipation that surrounded him. One would think the men here had never seen a sparring match before. As they walked he heard snippets of conversation floating around him.

"They say she defeated Loghain in single-handed combat…"

"I heard she took on two ogres by herself…"

"Saw her wipe out a whole room of darkspawn, I did…"

The hero worship poured from every direction, disgusting and intriguing him in even intervals. How could one woman be worth so much fuss? When they entered the courtyard he could see her petite form pacing confidently in front of a small group of new recruits, all youths with varying expressions of fear and wonder. Instead of the armor she had worn the night before she had dawned a snug pair of soft leather trousers with a matching corset and a light tunic that exposed her toned arms. The ensemble was topped off by a brightly colored sash tied jauntily around her waist. Despite himself, Nathaniel's eyes traveled over her length, appreciating the way her outfit accentuated her figure, hugging her curves like a second skin. When his stomach tightened in reaction he dismissed it as a sign that he'd been without a woman for far too long. He could not deny that she was attractive, but neither could he afford the distraction. She killed your Father, her reminded himself as they neared the sparring ground.

"That's strange. Doesn't the Commander usually fight with two blades?" he heard Anders ask from somewhere just behind him.

"He-he, must be tryin' to take it easy on the greens," Oghren slurred.

Nathaniel noticed that she was, in fact, carrying only a single training foil. He could hear her strong voice carrying over the heads of the observers that were still trickling in from just about every part of the keep.

"Dueling is an art, and should be practiced as such. I like to think of it as a dance. Your body is the music, and your weapon the dancer," she said as she walked over to one of the young men sitting near the front of the group. "Armand, isn't it? I hear you are quite talented. Will you agree to fight?"

"With pleasure," Armand responded in a heavy Orlesian accent, performing a flowery bow as he stood. He was a slim man with honey colored hair slicked back in a neat queue. He wore a gaudy, vividly colorful outfit that was typical for an Orlesian...both elaborate and ornate, the more dramatic the better.

Falcon bowed in return before walking to the middle of the training circle, Armand following behind her, stripping his embroidered jacket and throwing it to the side of the field with an exaggerated flare. She toed a training foil that was on the ground, expertly flipping it in the air with a swift kick. Armand caught it with a chuckle, theatrically waving it in the air as he readied himself.

"Attack," Falcon commanded.

Armand eyed her curiously, waiting for her to raise her weapon as was customary, but she simply stood there, a saucy smile crossing her lips. Finally he took the initiative, raising his foil dramatically and lunging forward in a swift, practiced motion. She easily evaded the strike as well as the next, ducked a high blow and jumped over a low one, and so it went as Falcon twisted her body away from Armand's blade, twirling and flowing around him like water. It almost looked like she really was dancing with the man. When she finally did raise her weapon their blades crashed with a resounding clang that echoed off the walls. Soon the air was tinged with the sound of metal against metal as they dueled in earnest. Falcon had not lied; the boy was indeed talented and well aware of the fact if the smug look on his face said anything. They both fought with an ease that only came with years of practice and a grace born of pure, natural talent. They were well matched. Their blades moved faster and faster as they each tried to disarm the other, and soon Nathaniel could see nothing but a blur of light flashing off of the steel foils. Suddenly Falcon knocked the weapon from Armand's hand, and with one fluid motion she caught it with her free hand and crossed both blades in front of the young man's neck.

"Well played, my friend," she said to Armand as she uncrossed the foils and bowed to him once again.

"How did you do that?" he breathed, shock written across his face.

"Even the most skilled swordsman can be disarmed by a maneuver he doesn't know. You must study your opponent carefully, even amidst a battle, in order to interpret his next move. Shall I tell you what I have learned of you while we dueled?" she asked him.

Armand nodded, obviously intrigued.

"You trained to be a Chevalier in Val Royeux but grew up closer to the border…Jader I believe. You are left-handed, but fight with your right; a habit no doubt formed after breaking your left arm during your training. Oh, and you play the lute in your free time, am I right?" she said.

"Yes, you are correct…but how?" Armand replied, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"Your accent, of course, is Orlesian. My father often dealt with traders from Jader and I became quite familiar with the regional dialect over the years. You have a signet ring with the chevalier crest, a token given only to those who have completed their training at the compound in Val Royeux. As for the broken arm, you have a scar on the inside of your forearm that suggests a particularly bad break. Such an injury would be unlikely to heal properly, and I could tell by your stance that your left side is your dominant side."

"Impressive to be sure, but how did you know that I play the lute?"

"I could smell the polishing oil on your hands. A good friend of mine plays the lute and I recognized the scent."

"Most impressive, indeed," Armand laughed as he performed another flowery bow.

"Thank you, Armand, for participating. I enjoyed it thoroughly," she replied, shooting him a friendly smile before turning to hand both foils back to an attendant that had been standing patiently to the side of the ring.

A buzz went through the crowd in the meantime, some men simply walking away as it seemed the fun was over. The duel had only lasted minutes and most of the crowd had expected more from the sport they had been promised. Oghren, ever ready to speak his mind, was the first to instigate an encore.

"Hey Commander! What happened? I thought you were going to show us some real fightin'," he called drunkenly, causing some of the surrounding men to shout in agreement.

Falcon cocked an eyebrow at her friend, who shrugged at her with a look of innocence on his face.

"You're right, I did. Shall we have a card game, then? 'Ace of Tens' perhaps?" she called with a grin, raising her voice to address the entire crowd.

The buzz amongst the men grew louder, some of them hooting in excitement at this news.

"What is an 'Ace of Tens?'?" Nathaniel asked Oghren.

"I only saw her do it once before, in court," he replied with a chuckle, obviously amused by her selection. "Ten volunteers are chosen of varying experience and abilities. They are given weapons and are told to attack at random intervals. The last standing is the winner."

As Oghren explained Falcon had approached Garevel and was currently deep in discussion with the man. From the look on his face the Captain was not happy with the turn of events, but eventually she walked away volunteers were selected and were drawing lots for weapons as she strolled once again to the center of the ring. With a deep breath she rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes.

"What is she doing?" Nathaniel asked.

"Beats me," Oghren replied with a shrug.

"Oghren…she's unarmed."

"He- he, not for long," the dwarf replied, obviously amused by his own words.

Nathaniel shook his head in disbelief. As the volunteers gathered around Falcon in a wide circle, he could only come to one conclusion. She's mad, he thought. Completely and unquestionably out of her mind.

A hush fell over the crowd in anticipation, the Commander still standing in a relaxed position with her eyes closed. For a few strained moments the only sounds that could be heard in the courtyard were a soft gust of wind and the cry of a bird in the distance. Nathaniel's heart was pounding in his ears, his fingers twitching reflexively at his sides.

Suddenly, the first opponent approached from behind her, slow at first but gaining momentum as he raised the dagger in his hand above his head. He was bearing down on her and yet she had not moved. Nathaniel's ears were ringing as he desperately told himself to hold still. Time seemed to slow as the soldier began lowering his weapon to strike.

At the last moment she leaned to her left, grabbing the man's arm at the same time. His momentum and her quick reaction effectively gave her leverage to throw him clean over her shoulder to land with a dull thud on the ground in front of her. She plucked the dagger from the man's hands only to block the next attacker, a soldier with a sword and a shield. They sparred, Falcon blocking and ducking as the man used both as weapons. She easily knocked the sword from his hand and then latched onto his shield, spinning him sideways and then ramming the shield into his chin, taking him off guard long enough for her to crouch and sweep a leg under his own. The man went down like a ton of bricks, grunting as he fell. She had only enough time to block her next opponent from her crouched position. Their weapons met with a harsh clang, making her lose her balance to topple over onto her back. Instead of floundering she used the fall to roll back and flip up onto her feet. Her opponent attacked again, desperately swinging the maul in his hand, only to come in contact with air over and over again. She finally kicked the weapon from his clutch and threw her fist into his chest, stunning him. Although he had been given a weapon specifically for this exercise, the soldier had forgotten to discard his personal blades, which were currently still sheathed at his waste. She had taken notice of this from the first and had used his current state to relieve him of them. With a swift movement she pulled the blades free, twirling them theatrically in her hands before round-housing the poor bastard into the dirt to join his fellows.

Five men approached her now, surrounding her like vultures. They each had matching smug expressions on their faces, believing that their numbers would make her falter. A wicked smile spread across her face as they tightened the circle around her. With an almost unnatural grace Falcon arched backwards, bending her body nearly in half as she twisted her torso in a circle, her blades flashing as she swiftly disarmed each man. Then just as quickly she flipped onto her hands, kicking out her legs until every last one of them lay groaning on the ground. She flipped back onto her feet and raised her blades in a defensive stance as she waited for her last two opponents to come for her.

They attacked her simultaneously, each from opposite directions of the field. She fought both of them for a time, ducking, jumping and blocking at the appropriate intervals, but she soon wearied of the game. She intricately circled the blades in her hands, a trick meant to confuse the direction of her target. With a quick snap of her arm she elbowed the man behind her in the face, dropping him to the ground and leaving the last man in front of her.

He was twice her size and armed with two full-sized swords. It didn't take long to realize that he was both experienced and skilled, and had the added bonus of superior strength. Their sparring was frenzied and erratic, both fighters beginning to sweat with their exertion. Nathaniel could hear bets being exchanged behind him and then changed again when the tides began to turn. Falcon was quickly losing ground. He had circled her to the edge of the crowd, the men standing there wisely parting as it became apparent that they were concentrating too intensely to pay any notice to their placement. The man continued to back her until she was cornered between two wooden pillars holding up a portion of an overhang that led into Wade's armory. Her opponent smirked, seeing the table of wares positioned behind her and the pillars on either side of her. There was nowhere for her to go. With a powerful thrust he shoved her into the table, laughing as he raised his blades. Falcon glanced up once, and then retaliated by pushing out with her full body weight, causing the man to stumble back a couple of crucial steps. She leaped up, bouncing her weight from one pillar to the other until she had climbed high enough to flip over his head, twisting in the air until she landed softly on her feet behind him. Before he could turn she kicked the back of his legs, causing him to fall to his knees and drop his weapons with a cry of surprise. She leaned down and pressed her blade to his throat.

"Do you yield?" she asked through ragged gasps of air.

"Aye," he answered after a moment. "That I do."

And then it was over. She helped the man to his feet, the both of them laughing as he brushed the dirt off of his knees.

Her face was flushed with exertion, her smile wide and genuine as she slapped the man on the back good-naturedly. Nathaniel continued to stare as the rest of the crowd began to disperse, a few stopping to congratulate Falcon on her well-deserved victory. He was nonplussed and grudgingly impressed by her performance. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that the Commander was a force to be reckoned with.

"I saw her first," Anders said low in his ear, interrupting his train of thought with a jab in the ribs.

Nathaniel scowled at the mage, but let the comment pass.

She killed your father! Took your home, and destroyed your family! A voice chanted in the back of his mind. And then allowed me to live, he reminded the voice as he watched her from across the sparring grounds.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Nathaniel found his feet taking him towards her instead of back into the keep with the others as he intended. He didn't even know what he was going to say or do; all he knew was that he needed answers. She was still speaking to her last opponent when he approached.

"You gave me quite the battle, sir. Had it gone on any longer I would have lost," Falcon said laughingly. "Might I know your name?"

"Henry, my Lady. And in all honesty, I would not have lasted much longer myself. Your reputation is well deserved," Henry replied with a deep bow.

"Please don't," she said, raising him from his stance. With a smile she placed a small leather pouch in Henry's hand with a telling clinking sound. "Your reward, Ser Henry, for your skill and bravery. You have earned it."

"Thank you, my Lady," Henry replied, wide-eyed with surprise. "You are as generous as you are kind."

"Honor protect you," she said to the man, grasping his arm in a warrior's salute. Henry returned the gesture and then stepped away with a smile of gratitude. Before Nathaniel could reach her, an excited youth stepped in front of him, demanding the Commander's attention.

"How do you fight like that? Is there a trick to it? Tell me!" the boy cried, bouncing energetically on the balls of his feet.

"Skill and years of practice," Falcon replied, the side of her mouth tipping up in mild amusement as she accepted a dipper of water from a nearby page. Nathaniel found himself momentarily hypnotized as she splashed the water across her heated skin before refilling the dipper and taking a long drink from it.

"Can you teach me? I can learn, I swear I can!" the youth insisted.

"How old are you boy?" she asked as she handed the dipper back to the page and dismissed him.

"Old enough," he retorted, wrinkling his nose in indignation.

Falcon laughed and mussed his hair in an affectionate gesture, which only made the boy screw his face up all he more.

"No doubt you are, lad, but I don't make a habit of recruiting a man before he's had his first beard."

"But how am I ever going to become a warden?" the boy whined.

Something in his youthful, earnest face must have spoken to Falcon, for her expression immediately changed. She eyed the boy intently, the smile that had just been wreathing her face disappearing altogether as she sighed heavily.

"Do not wish to become like me, lad. It is a difficult life, filled with more adversity than you should ever have to face." When the boy just stared at her blankly, Falcon leaned down until she was eye-to-eye with him. "A warden is a weapon, born of blood and honed by sacrifice. He must place his duty first, to devote his life to his brothers and to his oath, and to face each day with the knowledge that it could be his last. That is why I fight as I do, and that is why you should not."

The boy opened his mouth as if to reply, but promptly closed it again as her words seeped in. He eyed her speculatively as if to see if she was bluffing, but when he realized that she was serious his face lost all its color. Falcon smiled at him sadly, touching him once on the shoulder before shooting Nathaniel a look that said, not now, before turning to walk away.

"Was that necessary?" Nathaniel called after her.

Falcon stopped in her tracks, her spine stiffening at the sound of his voice. When she looked back at him over her shoulder he could clearly see the tamped anger in the way she pinched her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes.

"Wasn't it? Should I have encouraged him then?" she asked him.

"He's just a kid," Nathaniel said lamely, faltering under the accusation snapping clearly in her eyes.

"Some truths are best learned early," she replied and then walked away before he could react.

Nathaniel stood there for a time, mulling over her words. What horrors would a man...or woman in this case...have to face to adopt such an extreme attitude? He couldn't understand it or her for that matter. One thing, however, had become certain...there was far more to the Warden-Commander than Nathaniel ever thought possible.

*Muse Tunes: "Ah, Putrefaction" by Hans Zimmer (Sherlock Holmes OST); "The Fencing Lesson" by James Horner (Mask of Zorro OST); "The Duel" by Harry Gregson-Williams (Prince Caspian OST); "Bang a Gong (Get it On)" by T. Rex; "Await the King's Justice" by Ramin Djawadi (Game of Thrones OST).