Elizabeth was nervous. She could not recall the last time she had felt this anxious. Nathaniel had been gone for hours and his absence caused her nerves to be alight with trepidation. It had been the right thing to do, to leave him there with Delilah. When she first reunited with Fergus after all that time, she needed to be in his presence. A blink of the eye and she was afraid all would become a dream and he would be gone. He was all she had left in Thedas, the last connection to a past filled with happier thoughts and another lifetime. Delilah was this for Nathaniel. He needed his time with his sister as she had needed hers with Fergus.

Speaking to his sister could only result in two outcomes: he would find out what his father really was or he would have his beliefs reinforced. Elizabeth hoped, given what Delilah had said before Elizabeth and the others left them, that Delilah could convince Nathaniel of the truth. She was no fool. She had seen the hatred and contempt teeming with the grey of his eyes whenever he looked at her. He might fake a smile, say a few words that were not blatantly insulting. However, she knew he did not like or trust her and that was alright. She wasn't entirely sure she liked or trusted him either. So long as he did what she commanded in the field of battle, they would be ok.

Her anxiousness swelled about a single point, though. Would he continue to follow her in battle? If Delilah could not show Nathaniel the truth, what would stop him from… He had made a promise on his family's honor and she wanted to believe it. No matter their differences, he had always struck her as an honorable man. Even as a teen the undercurrent of it was there. Yet all men had their limits she'd come to learn. Loghain had been an honorable man once before too.

Loud noises in the hallway outside her room caused her pacing to come to an end. She walked to the door and flung it open. Esmerelle's men were dragging an unconscious Nathaniel down the hall. Esmerelle followed closely behind, a sour expression tinting her already uncomplimentary features. At one time, Elizabeth assumed the woman might have been pretty maybe even beautiful. But now, all she saw was a relic of a past unwanted and ugly regime.

"We are taking him to his room," Esmerelle said as they walked past Elizabeth. It stated simply and quite matter of factly. Elizabeth had no say in the matter.

What in all of Thedas…

The quick glimpse she caught of Nathaniel was not a good one. He appeared beaten and bloodied, shoulders slumped and feet dragging against the ground as he was pulled along the hallway between the clutch of two men.

Two men trailed behind those holding Nathaniel. Elizabeth speedily walked toward them and held up a hand to the man closest to her. "Go get my mage. His name is Anders. His room is just at the end of the hall." Whatever had happened to Nathaniel, it was apparent he would need healing.

She followed after Esmerelle and her entourage and entered Nathaniel's room. Her brows knitted together as she watched the men heft Nathaniel atop the bed. "What happened to him?"

"He visited a rather questionable establishment near the alienage. He was lucky that my men happened to be in the area. Some unsavory sorts were dragging him toward a ditch and were starting to slice his armor of him I presume to sell."

Lucky? Nathaniel hardly looked lucky. Cuts, bruises, scratches, torn armor, whatever he had been through had not been gentle or kind. "He was mugged?"

Displeasure invaded Esmerelle's expression. She was not at all happy as she said, "No. It appears he took part in a bar brawl."

Elizabeth frowned. "I see." Why would Nathaniel have gotten into a bar fight? His father. Elizabeth let out a sigh.

Esmerelle looked to one of her men near the door, her hands clapped in summons, "I will send for the healer."

Elizabeth raised her hand to stop Esmerelle. "That is not necessary. We have our own." She would not be indebted to this woman if avoidable. She trusted Anders. She did not trust whomever Esmerelle might bring into the room.

As if sensing her thoughts, Anders hurried into the room, his robes in a state of half undress. He had rushed and for that Elizabeth was grateful. Perhaps Esmerelle's men were good for something after all.

Anders' face crinkled in disgust, a hand wafting in front of his nose as he moved toward the bed and looked down at Nathaniel. "What wall did he run into and what was it covered with? He smells as bad as Oghren."

Worry and anger were swallowed down temporarily, a haughty business-like air adopted entirely for the benefit of the Bann. Elizabeth would not have this woman gain insight into anything to do with the Wardens. A master speaking to a servant, she asked of Esmerelle, "I would appreciate it if you would have someone bring us some hot water, soap and some linen."

Clap, clap went those hands once again in summons. "Do as she asked," the Bann ordered a man.

But Esmerelle did not leave and Elizabeth just wanted her gone. The sooner they healed Nathaniel, the sooner he would wake up (she hoped), and they could be free of this place and that woman's probing stare. "Thank you, Bann Esmerelle. That is all."

Esmerelle's brow rose ever so slightly before she bent at the waist and bowed. Overly formal, a touched with thin veneer of venom, Esmerelle said, "Of course, Arlessa Elizabeth."

Only when the door closed behind the Bann and her men, did Elizabeth walk over to the chair on which Nathaniel's weapons were set. The bow was there still appearing to be broken. Perhaps it was a blessing that the bow was enchanted to appear broken to all but a Howe. Both daggers were present as well. His attackers could not have had much time after the assault to strip Nathaniel clean of his belongings.

"Who in the world is that puckered old bastard," Anders asked, hooking a thumb to gesture to a picture of Rendon Howe hanging above the hearth.

Time stood still for a moment as Elizabeth looked up at a face she wished she could forget yet knew she never would. He was a shadow she could not shake. Murderer. Villain. Conspirator. She had many names for that man.

And Esmerelle had given Nathaniel this room. She had to wonder, had Esmerelle's men just happened to be in the area or were they there for other reasons? Even in the midst of the pain over Alistair's death and all her duties as a Grey Warden, Elizabeth was not blind. She had seen the way Esmerelle watched Nathaniel, the way they had spoken at the fealty ceremony. Some hidden agenda lingered in that woman's eyes as she beheld the younger Howe. But what?

"He's Nathaniel's father. The man I killed," Elizabeth said, drawing her gaze away from the painting and toward Anders.

His lips puckered together to shape an 'o', "Oh that's not awkward or anything. "

"We need to get this armor off of him and then I want you to heal him." As an afterthought, she added, "But not completely. He should feel a little of the pain he got himself into." Nathaniel needed to learn there were consequences to his actions.

Together, Anders and Elizabeth began the task of peeling Nathaniel's armor off. Boots, gloves, bits and pieces of shredded chest armor, they removed everything until only a portion along his waist and upper legs remained. An uncomfortable feeling warmed Elizabeth's face. Perhaps she should let Anders handle that particular portion of armor.

As if sensing her rising discomfort, Anders commented, "Maybe you should get the door. I do believe someone is knocking. I'll take care of the rest of this and prepare to heal him…" His mouth quirked in a grin, "…mostly."

She nodded simply and went to the door. Servants had arrived with all she requested earlier. Elizabeth motioned for everything to be set atop the bed adjacent to Nathaniel. Anders had moved quickly, armor having been replaced by a thin bit of sheet over Nathaniel's hips.

He began to heal, cerulean blue waves forming at the tips of his fingers. Wounds began to fade, only the blush of an outline of what had been remained.

Linen scraps were soaked in hot water, a bit of soap scraped along the water-slicked fabric. Caked on blood, mud and other things she did not wish to consider were wiped away. No matter Nathaniel's parentage, he was still a Grey Warden and deserved some bit of respect. She would not have him lie there in filth.

The sins of the father should not lead to punishment for the son. She knew this logically. But as she sat on the edge of the bed, wiping away the blood and dirt from Nathaniel's skin, she wondered, would it be so easy for Nathaniel to wipe away the stain of his father's influence? Would it be easy for her to wipe away the urge to lay blame for Rendon Howe's actions at his son's feet? It was all dependant on the next morning. They would have to speak. They would either move on or… She would cross that bridge when they came to it.

As she looked down upon Nathaniel, peacefully unconscious she could not help but wonder, his father was Rendon Howe, but would he awaken still his son?

She hoped not.

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Awareness began to crash back into Nathaniel's mind. Everything hurt. Breathing became erratic and staggered, each inhaled breath sending a spasm of pain along the breadth of his chest. An arm rose to clutch at his forehead, a pounding and throbbing sensation laying assault upon his head. Limbs felt heavy, weighted down in fatigue and injury. The only part that did not hurt was his ears.

"Oh Commander, Ser Grumpy pants is awake." There was only one person that could sound so nasally and moronic at the same time – Anders.

And now his ears hurt, as well.

"How… Where…" Complete sentences evaded him. The fog of unconsciousness faded slowly, leaving him groggy and disconnected. Only the sharp snaps of pain radiating through his body with even the slightest movement resonated clearly.

"Bann Esmerelle's men happened upon you in a tavern, apparently," Elizabeth began, her tone neutral. "You seemed to have excited some of the regulars. They brought you back here."

So, I am at Esmerelle's once again.

"You were lucky they found you when they did. The patrons of the tavern were just beginning to strip you of anything of worth on your body."

Slowly he opened his eyes. Curtains had been pulled shut, muting the lighting in the room. It was a small favor he was thankful for. Palms pressed into the cushion of the mattress, arms pushing downward to edge himself into a seated position.

Elizabeth stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed over her chest, fingers idly fiddling with the maroon cloth of her linen shirt. Her expression was blank, a canvas that had yet to be marked. He searched for anger, judgment, or disappointment and could not find any such emotion on display.

"What could be saved is over there." Her head tilted to indicate a chair adjacent to a window. His bow, arrow sleeve and daggers were present. His armor, however, was not. As if sensing his observation, Elizabeth added, "You needed new armor. It will be delivered a little later today before we leave. Anders healed you…mostly."

He winced as he shifted atop the mattress, turning his head in very slowly to peer at the all too smug and smiling mage. "Mostly," Nathaniel asked.

A wryness cracked Ander's expression, something dry tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Commander's orders. She didn't want to deprive you of the joy of the morning after." One of Ander's hands rose in an attempt to obscure the movement of his lips from Elizabeth. His tone dropped an octave but not low enough that Elizabeth could not overhear his whispered words, "Remind me never to get her angry."

"If you want to continue not angering me, Anders, I suggest you leave," Elizabeth advised, the slender line of a brow spiked disapprovingly.

Nathaniel's gaze trailed upon Anders as he made his exit. Wryness encroached in his tone as he spoke to Elizabeth, "You'll be happy to know I'm filled with joy."

A blank expression preceded a flatly spoken, "Good." Her arms unfurled from one another, dropping to her sides. Heavily, she sighed and asked, "Do you wish to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Then let me rephrase the question: tell me what happened."

She was going to press the point with a direct order. Bitch. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, suddenly aware of his state of undress. Who had… Anders, he assumed. Wonderful. He wanted to stand, to test limbs for just how badly he was still, to gauge just how much she had let Anders not heal him. "I could use some pants."

The seemingly permanent frown upon Elizabeth's lips deepened. She stared at him a moment, something on the verge of being spoken but kept to herself as she turned to move towards the chair Nathaniel's clothes were on. She scooped up his pants and tossed them at him unceremoniously. Cloth slapped lightly, landing on his shoulder. Even that little hint of contact caused another grimace to form.

He began to understand. She was angry. The detachment shown earlier was nothing more than an act. Part of him rejoiced at her anger. He had lived with wanting to inspire emotion in her for so long, he had forgotten how to not want such a thing.

But she was staring at him, green eyes staring with a simmering fury. "Turn around?"

A sarcastic tilt bit at her lips. Dry amusement accompanied by a snort. "No show?"

That evening in the bathing room had been different. He had been in control, the one with the advantage. But now, it felt different. She had the upper hand. "I am not so nearly overcome by your charms today."

She turned, placing her back to Nathaniel. "And here I thought you were immune to them."

He set the pants atop the bed and pressed his feet into the ground. Carefully, he pushed himself up to a shaky stand. Muscles, skin, it all hurt; as if every inch of his body was covered in a bruise that did not wish to heal. He slid on the pants, winces and swallowed down moans punctuating his movement.

Laces remained undone, pants allowed to hang upon his hips as he moved across the room past Elizabeth to the vanity and an awaiting basin and jug of water. He filled the basin and dipped his hands into the tepid water. Head lowered, neck splashed with what water he could muster, he started his explanation, "I was thirsty after talking to Delilah and went for a drink."

"I gathered as much." He looked up, just enough to see Elizabeth in the background watching him. Conflict was written across her features. She had something more to say but did not. He could press the point and dig, but chose silence instead and allowed her to continuing speaking. "What did Delilah tell you?"

His face did not look like he had been punched…much. The remnants of a black eye flecked the skin of his left brow, but nothing else marred his features. Should he have thanked her for the blessing of what healing he did receive? No. He was sure she was enjoying his pain, what remained of it at least. She wanted to teach him a lesson, show him who was the leader and who was not. As her father had done to his, she would do to him. A lord to a vassal. A commander to a soldier. His father may have done horrible things if Nathaniel was to believe the tales, but that did not excuse Elizabeth Cousland's actions in the present.

But she had asked him a question. A glimpse in the mirror showed her waiting expectantly. "She wants me to come back and meet her husband some day. She's pregnant and expecting in the Spring." He pushed away from the basin and turned to face Elizabeth. He needed to see her without the benefit of reflection. "She told me that Father deserved to die."

She stated simply and without hesitation in her voice, "He did."

She did not care. There was no sorrow, regret, or pity in her tone. And yet… "I still don't believe it."

Elizabeth considered Nathaniel a moment, her features sliding neutral. Silence hung in the air for a time before she walked toward a window and swept the curtains aside, letting light penetrate the dimly lit room. Positioning herself between two windows, she leaned against the wall and returned her gaze to Nathaniel. "You don't believe her?"

To believe Delilah meant believing Elizabeth may have been justified in her actions. Believing Elizabeth was justified in her actions meant a great deal of what he thought and had done since arriving in Amaranthine had been unjust and wrong. To believe them both meant the image of his father he kept in his head was flawed, warped by the eyes of someone who wished to see only what he wanted to rather than reality.

He walked toward her as he spoke, "It is a hard thing to think of someone you… To think of someone important to you as evil."

"But it is the truth."

A wryness filled his tone, "Funny thing, the truth."

She did not move as he neared, but he could see the tension rise within her limbs as arms stiffened at her sides and her jaw clenched. "What possible reasons could he have had for the things he did, Nathaniel? Tell me that."

He had said it to Delilah. He would say it to Elizabeth as well, "Politics."

"Politics condones the death of innocents?"

The space between them narrowed. Inch by inch he advanced. A dare in his step, a sneer laced in venom upon his lips, "You tell me. Does it?"

"You are not comparing me to your Father. Are you?"

"No. You are definitely not of the same" A snort of a laugh touched his mouth. Grey eyes stared into green. This woman was no Howe. "…stock. Me, however… Why did you not kill me?"

"I left your life in the hands of the Maker."

She was lying, or at least telling half-truths. He pressed the point. He needed to hear, to know. "Answer the question. You knew there was a chance I might live. Why did you let me live?"

She refused to answer. A defiant gaze cast upward in his direction. "I told you already."

"Do I not remind you of my Father? I am his son, after all. Who's to say that I am not just like him? I could poison you. I could wrap these hands around your throat before you had a chance to react, kill you, and be gone before anyone realized it."

"I am aware."

His arm extended, palm reaching to press against the wall adjacent to Elizabeth's ear. Inches separated them. He had come closer than ever before at being within reach. There had been a time in dreams fueled by rage he wanted to wrap his hands around the slender body of her neck and squeeze. A slow death filled with gasping breaths and clawing fingernails, it was what he thought she deserved. But what of now? He sister had said he was a good man. Would a good man have wanted such things? Would a good man have… "Do you know what my father told his men they could do to you if they found you?"

Her body pressed against the wall as if preparing for what Nathaniel might unleash. The precipice so close yet not quite there. To leap or not. "I can imagine."

So long he wished to please his father, to do whatever the man had bade. Rendon told his own men to do the unspeakable. He would wish his son to do the same. Of that, Nathaniel was sure. Malice kissed his tone, "I am the son of Rendon Howe. What makes you think I won't do those things?"

What had been tight, relaxed. In a single question Elizabeth seemed to change. From anger to nothingness to understanding. "You are not your Father. If you were, I would have killed you by now. That is why I let you live." What tension Elizabeth had lost was claimed by Nathainel. Everything tightened at her words. He was not his father. So many times he had heard that in the past. So many times he had wished it untrue. To want something and suddenly find out that desire was misguided, to want something and finally find out everything that brought you to that point was a lie was overwhelming. A sea of lies and truths bore down upon him, drowning him in confusion and anger. A ripple of frustrated rage quaked within his limbs. So quickly, without thought, he moved from the wall and grabbed the first breakable object within eyesight – a vase. He hurled it toward the portrait of his father, an attempt to expel it all, to be rid of the pain, the embarrassment, and the consternation.

Breathing had grown rapid. A staccato rhythm of holding and exhaling attempted to bring in a calmness, to ebb the tide of too much and it can't be. "Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never like that. I wasn't really given a choice to leave, but if I had known…" He looked up at the torn remains of the picture, the vase having done its damage. "I shouldn't have left. I was such a fool."

He had not heard her approach, but he felt the warmth of her hand upon his shoulder, clutching gently with a comforting squeeze. "My father did not know. How could you?"

His eyes pressed shut. No. "Don't…" He drew his shoulder forward, shrugging off her gesture. He would not have her pity. He would not have her compassion.

"Don't what?"

"Try to make me feel better."

"Nathaniel." There was something soft in her tone, something undeserved.

Her presence burned. He needed her gone. He needed to be alone. She reminded him what he could have been, what he wanted to become and how wrong it might have been. She reminded him that even in the midst of all he knew, he still wanted to hurt her, to lash out at the only person available that might understand even a sliver of what he was feeling. There was pleading in his voice, "Just go. Let me know when the new armor arrives."

He kept his back to her and waited for the sounds of her departure, waited for the solitude he desired and required.

As he heard the door shut behind her, he looked up the torn remains of his father's picture. His eyes were aflame with hatred, a hatred that had always been there, but stoked by a new flame. "What have you done to us? What have you done to me?"

Pictures of a happy childhood and at once images of black and white within his mind became colored. The harshness of shading discolored what had once been so clear. A blur of punishments, disappointed looks and cruelly spoken words overwhelmed in once misunderstood memories. He had thought all of his father's actions were done out of affection, done for his own good. But he came to realize each picture from the past he recollected was tainted with truculence rather than love. He had wanted to please that man so badly, a child constantly seeking what a parent would not provide. The pedestal crumbled beneath the weight of the now recognizable truth.

He was Nathaniel Howe. He might have been born the son of Rendon Howe, but his son he would be no longer.

Or so he hoped.

AN: Beta lady? You rock my world. Readers? You do too! Thank you so much for all the comments and encouragement.