He wasn't trying to watch for her, but when her shadow took its place on the watchtower roof, Nathaniel noticed. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, she was a silhouette of black against a gangrenous sky; the stars beyond only just blinking into view before being swallowed into the blackness of the swelling storm clouds. It would be another rainy night. Which meant the roads out of the Keep would be muddy in the morning. It would take most of the day to get to the Wending Woods anyhow, and mud would ensure that progress was extra slow

He hadn't had his archer's instinct when he lived here in his youth, but the night he sneaked back in for the first time, after years and years in the Marches, he saw the Keep with new eyes. That instinct he'd honed for a decade immediately identified the best spots up high, perches from which to launch an attack or mount a defense with his bow, should the need arise. The roof that Solona went to to drink herself into oblivion was one he'd marked as the ideal spot within this particular location. From that vantage point most of the courtyard was visible, with few hidden corners or blind spots. An arrow launched from that roof had clear line of sight to most of the rest of the Keep, with only minor obstructions.

Of course the vengeful plan he arrived with was quickly discarded, and not only because Solona turned out to be something he had not expected.

He wasn't sure what he was readying himself to see upon news of her arrival. Descriptions of her had created an image that loomed large and menacing in his mind; a vicious murderer who'd preyed sadistically upon his family name. He imagined a hulking Qunari of a woman, fierce and massive, wielding a ten foot staff and leaving a trail of corpses in her wake.

But one day this little woman quietly approached his dungeon cell, with the only indication given that she was anything special being the way everyone else reacted to her. She wasn't dramatic or striking in her beauty. Her hair was mousy and plain, but her eyes were such a rich, bottomless brown that her pupils were lost within them. Indeed he'd felt a little lost within them himself. He watched, fascinated as guards stepped out of her way, falling back as though blown by a stream of wind, after which they froze and watched her warily. He wasn't sure what they were expecting her to do, but they seemed to be expecting something.

Nathaniel, for his part, expected execution. It's what his father had always done to trespassers, without exception. And why wouldn't this woman, this infamous Grey Warden, do the same? If this plain little creature inspired such fear it must have been for a reason. Surely she was not the type to suffer fools or grant mercy. How could she be, knowing what she had accomplished?

But Solona had only questioned him calmly, and then let him get his things and go.

She'd thrown him off balance from the very beginning, and in his attempt to figure her out, he found himself increasingly intrigued. She spoke rarely and he'd yet to see a genuine smile. He couldn't help but wonder what it would look like. Instead her face remained an unreadable mask, though her eyes occasionally sparked with something simultaneously unhinged and restrained.

Like what he'd seen the previous night in the Deep Roads. If he hadn't known better, he might have suspected she was possessed.

A crack of thunder rolled in the distance. The rain might be here before she found unconsciousness tonight. Maybe this would be one of the nights she'd be forced to take herself inside to her quarters, letting him off the hook. Carrying her down off the roof wasn't easy, and it was a miracle she hadn't woken during any of the other times he'd had to do it. She definitely wouldn't have woken if she'd rolled off the roof to the courtyard below.

But after the night before, it seemed that perhaps that was precisely what she wanted.

He sighed, the breeze of the approaching storm rustling the trees in the lower section of the Keep. He'd made a habit of sitting where he could see her until she became nothing more than a slumped over bump on the roof. The distance between them was just enough to blot out any of that strange, tainted awareness they all shared. He wondered if perhaps that was another thing she was seeking up there.

Nathaniel himself often wished he could escape it. Like flies buzzing around his head, the feeling of the other Wardens doing their thing in different rooms, on different levels of the battlements and courtyard, stole his focus. He felt the constant need to analyze their movements, make sure those little tickles in his mind were really just other Wardens and not actual, invading darkspawn. He'd find himself in the middle of a sentence of a book, or staring off into space as he walked while he did a 'check' of the others, wanting to be certain of who and what they were.

It was exasperating actually.

Maybe someday he'd get used to it.

But until then, it was the main reason he liked the quiet of the night. With the other Wardens asleep in their beds, he could finally let his mind relax. It was only when someone got up and began to move that he was tugged back into awareness. Occasionally Anders and his pick of the day would take their activities outside of his room. And occasionally Oghren would sneak into the kitchen for a bite, despite the fact that they'd promised Lya they wouldn't do that anymore. But mostly when the Wardens did sleep, they slept hard.

It didn't take long tonight. He'd spent only an hour or so at his usual distractions, when usually it took quite a bit longer. Still, he'd already discussed armor repairs at length with Wade, sharpened the points of his arrows, even beyond what they actually needed, Then went over plans with Voldrik for fortifying the Keep walls. All things that could be done under the night sky, usually a balm of its own, completely unrelated to any misguided concern about his Commander.

Part of him wanted to just go up there while she was still coherent and talk to her. Ask her… things. He wasn't sure what. That was part of why he didn't. They had so few conversations that weren't about Warden business. How inappropriate it seemed to invite himself into the Commander's personal retreat and begin asking her questions. Still, the impulse was there.

Perhaps she was just thinking about the journey ahead. They were about to venture into new territory, the forests to the Southeast of the Keep, investigating a mystery of some sort that had been relayed without any actual details. Apparently the sources had been credible enough to risk the trip, despite the vagueness. He'd always heard tales of Sylvans in those woods, which made him nervous. He wasn't sure a bunch of wooden arrows would be able to do much damage on something that was already made entirely of wood.

The breeze had been steadily growing stronger, whipping Nathaniel's hair into his eyes. Wade and Herren began cleaning up their stall, getting ready to retreat into the safety of the main hall. The guards and soldiers were gathering into a huddle, apparently going over the station assignments. Thunder grew louder, rumbling the ground under Nathaniel's feet. The electric charge in the air and the heavy caress of moisture on the wind indicated that a deluge was coming, only twenty, maybe thirty minutes out. Bodies scampered out of the courtyard like mice scattering out of a grainary.

Nathaniel gazed openly up to the roof where Solona had been. Any remaining twilight was now replaced by unbroken darkness, leaving not even a silhouette to mark her presence. He sighed halfheartedly. He'd have to check, and just hope she'd made her own way in. If not, this would be the fourth time he'd pulled her limp body off the roof and transplanted her, fully clothed and shod, on the bed within her own quarters. He could only imagine what she thought, waking up safe in bed so many mornings after passing out on the roof. Maybe she assumed she was making it down on her own somehow. Maybe she didn't care enough to think about it at all.

Guards hunkered down on the battlements. Nathaniel could feel Anders, already tucked away in his quarters. And Oghren, stationary within the makeshift pub. No surprise there. As he wound around the battlement pathways toward the various steps leading up the levels, her presence grew sharper and sharper. She was definitely still up there. And she was definitely not moving.

It wouldn't be easy to get her back to her room unnoticed. Most nights it was late enough to avoid hallway traffic, but the storm was forcing people inside so much earlier than usual.

Nathaniel made his final climb silently, wondering as he did so why he even bothered with stealth. If the thunder and wind wasn't waking her, it was unlikely that the sound of him approaching would either, but like so many other things it had become an irrepressible force of habit.

His heart pounded in his ears, something anxious gathering into a heavy ball in his chest. He swallowed hard as he felt her, only meters away, his Warden sense buzzing with her latent strength.

Flashes of lightning illuminated the rooftop, bathing the scene in silver light. Near the furthest edge she lay curled on her side, one foot hanging over the lip of the roof, her hair splayed over her face. A dull metal flask on the slate beside her hand. One second she was visible in the electric flash, and the next the world was draped in darkness again. He followed the imprint of the vision on his mind, putting his hands where he remembered her limbs, slipping one arm under her knees, and another under her back, pulling her toward him while turning her enough to scoot her weight higher. He had to bounce her a time or two, to settle her more solidly into his grip. Her head flopped inward toward his shoulder, coming to rest on his chest.

She needed to wash her hair, but her natural scent was not unpleasant. It was familiar to him now, after four nights of breathing it in.

Nathaniel blinked through the darkness and turned to lower himself over the edge closest to the rail of the pathway below. He completed the dismount with two quick, measured jumps, first to the rail and then to a crate, his footholds easy to find in the blinding flashes. Tendrils of lightning crawled across the sky, webbing out like the roots of a tree. The thunder that followed grew ever quicker on its heels. She jostled in his arms as he landed finally on the pathway. Nathaniel froze when he heard her groan.

She'd never made a noise before. He'd thought a bit about what he should do if she ever woke while he was carrying her, but he hadn't come to any acceptable conclusion. He had the comical impulse to drop her and run, but he was sure that wouldn't end well once she'd regained her wits. He could continue to carry her as though it was no big deal, revealing it to be the habit it had become, but she might not appreciate that either. She'd have to realize that she always woke with every item of her clothing in place. But how could she be sure he'd never lingered in her quarters? That despite the desire to, he never sat an studied her in her sleep, taking advantage of a moment she was more vulnerable than she could possibly know? Or that he wasn't letting himself into her space on other occasions too? It would open up a whole door of new suspicions, and he already had enough of those to deal with. He bit his lip and said a silent prayer to the Maker. At least let her sleep until I am gone and Maker help me I will never bother with this again.

Her grumble died away, but she shifted, the warm strength of her body nestling against his and then falling still again. On his back, where her arm had been dangling, he felt a light pressure. He wasn't certain, but it seemed she was holding him in return?

Nathaniel's heart was instantly in his throat. He began to move forward with a new urgency, his steps falling quiet but not as light as they did without the extra weight. He kept to the shadows, darting across columns of light where braziers were lit, their flames flapping low and dim in the growing wind. He remained constantly aware of the possibility of other eyes in the darkness. It would be one thing to have Solona wake during the trip to her room, it would another for her to find out by being told about it from some confused onlooker. Surely that would be the worst way for her to find out. Nathaniel felt safest in the knowledge that he was preserving her dignity by making sure that not just Solona, but no one ever knew.

He also had the advantage of knowing all the back pathways, the rarely used passages and alternate routes. He'd spent his whole childhood hiding away from his father's guards, keeping out of earshot of his parent's terrible fights. He knew the most unused door which entered into the third floor, and could make the trip down to her quarters fairly swiftly, up until the final hallway.

The final hallway ran parallel to the main hall, making sure that Solona didn't have to travel far to greet her guests or join in on any impromptu meetings. Multiple doors lined the wall, leading to various rooms and quarters, including Anders' on the furthest end.

His own was on another level. He'd insisted on taking his old bedroom, though once he was moved in, he'd regretted the decision. It was hardly full of memories he wanted to recapture. Mostly he recalled constantly seeking an escape, from his father's vicious temper, from the pitiful sight of his beleaguered mother, from the gloating of Thomas, and how Delilah would often henpeck him to death despite being two years his junior. Delilah he missed. The others... well he was regularly encountering memories that reminded him why he'd always been so eager to leave.

Approaching that last hall, Nathaniel slowed to a tiptoe, stopping just before rounding the final corner. Solona stirred again, her body twitching as though caught in a dream, and it didn't seem to be a pleasant one. Another low groan from her throat and the arm at his back tightened, confirming that touch was precisely what it seemed to be. It increased as her muscles tensed, and he felt her head jerk.

He was listening hard down the hall, but could hardly hear the presence of anyone over the blaring of his own heart. He swallowed and adjusted her again, her body responding as he resettled his grip. She was leaning against him now, making her heft easier to bear, particularly in comparison to her usual dead weight.

He took a breath. It was too late to turn back. He had to make it through the last stretch before they were either discovered by a guard or she woke. But it was the home-stretch, certain to be over in mere minutes if he could just finish this undetected. Holding her tightly against him, he leaned slightly toward the corner of the wall, peeking with one eye down the carpeted corridor.

Empty.

He burst into motion, taking long, swift strides and covering the distance to her door in the space of several heartbeats. He'd already had her key ready to insert into the lock, something he realized the first time was crucial to reducing his time just standing in the hall. It was only when he had her door close silently behind them that he realized he'd forgotten to breathe during the sprint. And it was only another second after that that he heard voices murmuring somewhere in a distant stretch of the hall.

Those voices didn't belong to the other Wardens, both of whom hadn't changed their position. He could only hope that Anders was sufficiently distracted and Oghren too inebriated to feel the proximity of his and Solona's energy, at least for the brief moment it would take to drop her into her bed and make his retreat.

With one step toward her bed, Solona tensed again, her body reacting to some inner stimulus. She clutched Nathaniel hard, her fingers digging into his back for a moment before falling limp again, her arm dropping away completely. Nathaniel crossed the room as the first drops of rain began to patter against the window. The sound was like the pelting of rocks, hitting the glass with a sharp snap. He rushed to the side of her bed, readying himself to drop her, becoming more sure by the second that she was about to wake. Between the dream, the rain, and the early hour, it seemed this was the night Nathaniel would be discovered. He told himself he wouldn't do this again, that if she really wanted so badly to sleep on the blighted roof of a little watchtower, then who was he to intervene? He certainly wasn't her keeper. He wasn't much of anything at all to her. They'd had a few conversations, and she'd been kind enough to find his grandfather's bow, but she spoke less to him on a regular basis than she did to others. She often seemed too fixated on Anders, for some confounding reason, to even notice when Nathaniel was nearby.

He dropped to a knee, getting into position to offload her onto her mattress when her arm was at his back again, fingers fisting at the tunic below the edges of his leathers. Her groan became a whimper. Her head dug into the nook of his neck.

He froze, afraid this was the moment. Maker, what would she think?

The whimper became words, so quiet and slurred with sleep that he could hardly decipher them. Until one lengthened out into a tortured "Nooo…"

He was holding his breath again, waiting, listening. Her muscles twitched with her dream, her body pressing toward him as though she was resisting being separated.

"No, please…" she cried softly. "Please…"

The anguish in her voice was a razor in his gut, slicing painfully at something nervous and fluttery inside him. Lightning flashed in the window, brightening the room and revealing her face against his chest, brows drawn in a picture of abject sadness. Despite his better judgment, Nathaniel tightened his hold on her, the opposite of what he should have been doing. He lowered his head, resting his lips on her head, holding her tightly for a long, tense moment.

Almost immediately, she stilled. He felt her limbs go limp again as they relaxed against him. He took several long breaths, inhaling the scent of her, trying to tell himself that he wasn't doing this for selfish reasons, for whatever fascinated part of him insisted on thinking of her as often as it did, that studied the even, delicate features of her face when she thought no one was looking. The part of him that wondered about the mysteries buried in the rich depths of her eyes.

Inching ever closer to her bed, he unfurled his arms slightly, bringing her down to rest upon to top of her blanket.

She gripped him tighter, evidently sensing she was about to be released.

"Don't leave me." Her breath was coming in jagged bursts, almost a sob. Nathaniel froze again, watching the darkness where her face should be, waiting for the next bolt of lightning that would reveal her to him.

He couldn't help but wonder if she might already be somewhat awake. Did she know she wasn't alone? Could she feel his presence there with her, beyond just the comfort of his arms? The Wardens often had strange dreams anyhow, but to what extent did their awareness of each other influence the content of those dreams?

The thought that perhaps she might actually have been talking to him was irresistible, even as he knew it was unlikely. Nathaniel shook his head and tried to ease his arm out from under her. There was nothing he wanted from her that didn't come with full her full, sober consent. But her grip was such that it might need to be pried away, and he wasn't sure he could do so without waking her entirely.

He sighed, freeing the arm out from under her knees, even as her body curled toward him.

When the lightning did come again, it showed him his own hand, smoothing back her hair. And then his thumb caressing her cheek, confirming it was just as silky soft as it always looked.

He shook his head, reprimanding himself. He needed to get out of there, and quickly. The longer he stayed, the longer the chances the other Wardens would pick up on his location, though he quickly confirmed neither of the other two had moved themselves. They seemed awfully happy doing whatever it was that they were both doing. Or perhaps they were simply asleep, despite the hour.

Her hand found his forearm, pulling him down toward her.

"Please," she said again.

Nathaniel knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't be letting himself follow the urging of her surprisingly solid grip as she pulled him closer. He shouldn't be letting the arm around her shoulders stay where it was, and even slip under a little deeper. He shouldn't be acquiescing to her inebriated, heartbreaking request and situating his body on the bed beside her, letting himself be sucked into the vacuum of her sadness, of her desire for him to stay. He shouldn't be gathering her up into a tight embrace, wanting to take away the storm that was raging quietly inside her.

"Stay with me," she said as she rolled into his chest. Her cheek nestled itself comfortably in the hollow of his shoulder, and she sighed as she grew heavy again. He felt just as caught up in her dream as she was, though he was blind to what she was actually seeing. He only knew that she seemed to fit perfectly against him, her torso filling up the space under his arm as though they were two halves of a whole. He knew that she was responding to him, that her storm was calming, even as the one outside raged and grew in fury. He knew his hands were trembling, with nerves, with exhilaration, with the fear that he was doing something wrong; that he was trespassing in a way that was unforgivable, that to do the right thing and remove himself completely would be even worse still.

But she was still now, and he could feel her heartbeat against him, descending down from some distressed peak. More flashes of light illuminated a softness in her face, replacing the anguish previously etched into her features with a new serenity. She took a deep breath, her exhalation tremoring as she released the last of the tension in her body.

It was all too surreal. He could only stay until she was back in a deep, undreaming sleep again, and then he'd have to extract himself and leave. But the effect of her relaxing in his arms seemed be to mutual; slipping him into some sort of sympathetic trance.

It had been so long since he'd been with a woman, even to lay innocently beside one and hold her in his arms. Years, if he recalled correctly, though he'd certainly had his share of late nights in raucous taverns back in the Marches, where he woke the next morning unsure of what had transpired in the latest hours. It didn't seem fair to count those, when he couldn't even remember who his companion had been, or if there had been one at all.

He dropped his head against hers, his cheek against the slightly oily tangle of her hair, thankful to listen to the regulating of her breaths and feel her presence wash over him. For all the nights he sought solitude in the furthest reaches of the Keep, it was an equal relief not to feel alone, even if only for a stolen couple of minutes.

If only he knew what demons haunted and propelled her to do the things she did. Holding her was an easy cure for this night's unrest, but it could only have been a symptom of something deeper. He still got chills when he recalled the look she gave him as she stood in the Deep Roads shivering in that little gown. It was the look of someone with nothing to lose. The look of someone who had already lost.

He wondered whom she was speaking to. It couldn't truly be that she knew it was him there, could it? They had shared a moment, he thought, down in the Deep Roads. A moment that maybe she was afraid of acknowledging, but it had stuck with him, blazingly lucid despite the awkwardness of the day after. It was impossible to tell if she disliked him or was indifferent to him, or if she even thought about him at all.

Could that possibility exist? Even just a little bit, that she might think of him sometimes? That she might have considered him somehow, as more than just another body to help rebuild the Wardens, or more than just the man who broke back into his own home a month ago, with plans for murder that he'd openly confessed?

What kind of man could capture the heart of such a mysterious, unknowable, otherwordly creature? Who was it she dreamed was holding her in the dark?

The answer came almost too quiet to hear under the din of the pounding rain and thunder. He felt the words leave her, carried by a sleepy, contented breath. He knew it was foolish to hope, that she'd given him no reason to think he held even a spark of her interest. The disappointment that followed the name she spoke ran deeper than he was prepared for.

Alistair.