The night beyond the double doors greeted Solona with an icy blast to the face. She caught herself just before she impacted the balcony rail, her palm stinging as it hit the iron bar and absorbed the force of her momentum. Open space immediately filled her vision, the sky dotted with a flurry of twinkling stars. Cold expanded inside her lungs and enveloped her body with a shock. She'd been too overwhelmed to address the spill down the back of her robe while inside, but there was no ignoring the chill that spread through the wet spot now. She focused on it, letting the bite of discomfort draw her mind further away from the lingering images of Alistair's body and the feeling of being crowded into a tiny, airless box. She blinked at the darkness as the white noise in her head began to ebb away.

In the distance murmured the soft waves of the bay and the low howl of wind around treetops. With each breath of the salty air, her constricted throat opened more, allowing her to gulp large, calming breaths. The peace of the night filled her, replacing the claws of panic with a cold numbness. Squeezing her eyes closed she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, releasing a shiver as a breeze hit the wetness of her robe.

It took a while for her awareness to turn to the other Warden on the balcony with her.

Please don't say anything, she urged silently. The last thing she wanted was another person demanding of her, seeking explanations and answers, stories and energy.

She waited, hoping the fact that she was keeping her back turned was communication enough. Still, she braced herself for whatever he might have to say. One moment bled into another, and then stretched on into the darkness. Only silence answered her anticipation. Eventually the effect of all the wine combined with the dark beauty of the night to pull her deeper into a lull. Her heart slowed, her muscles unclenched one by one. Each blast of the breeze made her shudder, but the woozy cushion of her drunkenness softened the sharpness of the cold. Remembering the bottle in her hand she took a long drink, this wine sweeter and more complex than the last. The bartender must have dug up something special. She'd left her glass back on the bar, and had apparently spilled some on her skirt during her dash up the stairs, but the bottle was still mostly full. She took another gulp and sighed with relief.

Behind her, Nathaniel remained unmoved.

Finally she turned around, half-expecting to see Nathaniel asleep. He was sitting on the floor of the balcony with his back against the building, one arm resting atop a bent knee. The light from the hallway shone through the glass paned doors, outlining his features in a yellow glow. He was gazing at her from the side of his eye, his expression unreadable. His head tilted as he gave her a little nod.

A gust of wind tousled her hair and stung the wet spot on her back, inciting a new convulsion of shivers, while Nathaniel's hair remained in place, untouched by the wind. Already Solona was missing the balmy warmth of the summer and early fall; when she could spend her evenings under the stars and never have to consider the possibility of plunging temperatures. She sighed, turning to walk toward Nathaniel and the shelter of the building, but paused after several unsteady steps. Clearly he was out there in the first place because he too was avoiding company. She hadn't seen him since after they'd finished eating, before everyone retreated to their rooms to clean up. He'd not returned to the bar for a drink, or ventured downstairs at all.

The desire to be alone was one she knew well, and not something she could deny anyone.

Taking another long swig, she figured she could at least leave him the wine.

She approached and held the bottle toward him, which he accepted silently. After a parting nod she turned back toward the doors. Down toward the stairwell were a few moving silhouettes, but the length of hall was still empty. Anders and Oghren remained downstairs. She could only hope that the patrons would keep their distance in the morning, though she considered asking if breakfast could just be sent up to her room.

Despite the warmth that issued from the hallway as she pulled the doors open, Solona found herself pausing again before taking the first step back into the building. A twinge constricted her chest at the prospect. Inside it was warm, but still so unpleasantly enclosed.

Nathaniel's voice came softly, as if reading her. "Stay."

She basked in the warmth of the hall for another moment. If only it wasn't so bloody cold outside. She looked back at Nathaniel. All that was visible of his eyes were a dull shine from the hallway light.

"If you want to," he continued. "Or I can go in if you'd rather have the balcony to yourself."

Solona released the handle on the door, letting it swing closed under its own weight. She turned and dropped down beside him, almost losing her balance in the process. Her intoxication seemed almost to have been put on hold downstairs, but now was rushing up into her head with a vengeance. The wet part of her robe connected with the stone wall and sent another blast of cold under her skin.

"No, you were here first," she sighed. "It's fine." Her arm brushed his as he set the bottle of wine between them. She glanced over at him to see him already studying her. His dark leathers helped his body melt into the shadow, but where his skin showed she could make out dim details. At least he didn't seemed annoyed by her presence.

Aside from a few confounding moments that replayed themselves in her memory, most of the night of their attack had faded to the back of her mind. Between hunting down a homicidal elf, getting imprisoned in the underground ruins and facing the emissary, it seemed there was no moment where some new, startling find wasn't demanding the bulk of her attention. But one of the last nights they'd camped, she woke from one of her usual nightmares to the sensation of him moving around outside her tent. He'd always preferred to sleep out under the stars and beside the fire, so he could tend to it as everyone else slept. This night she felt him traveling the length of camp and back again, over and over. Se'd sat up and followed his movements, listening for any indication of what he might be doing. He went down and back again, with no interruptions or hesitation. The longer she sat awake, the more it seemed he was simply pacing.

He clearly had something on his mind. She had the impulse to get up and leave her tent, to see if there was something else happening out there that she should know about. But a strange spell of nerves had come over her that held her in place. That night was a particularly chilly night, and she was only in her underclothes and night gown. She was beginning to feel a bit absurd for how she seemed always to be half naked whenever they met alone at night.

Instead she laid back and followed him with her mind, trying to ignore the foulness of the sensation of him, the so aptly-named taint that they all shared. She'd thought of his thumb on her cheek. Of his eyes penetrating to her core as they stared her down in the Deep Roads. How strong his body was, his muscle firm and hot under hands as she worked on his leathers. And how confusing it was that there were those little moments of affection peppering all his otherwise sarcastic statements.

He was a bit of a mystery.

Even now, as she couldn't help but notice. He'd asked her nothing and had spent the whole night alone. She had the impulse to ask him what was on his mind, but bit her tongue. She didn't like that question when it was posed to her, and always lied when someone truly expected an answer.

Still, he had invited her to stay. She took another drink of the wine and instead of setting it down, held it lightly against his arm.

"Have you had any yet? It's the good stuff," as she spoke her tongue felt unexpectedly thick. She was on the verge of slurring. "Only the best for the fucking Hero of Ferelden."

Stifling a hiccup, she let her head fall back to rest against the wall. It was beginning to feel heavy. Or perhaps her neck had grown weak. The night around her wobbled, on the verge of beginning to spin. At least a decent bottle of wine wouldn't make her feel sick like her shitty Brandy sometimes did.

"Thank you, Solona."

She closed her eyes and rolled her head to look toward him. The bottle flashed yellow light as he lifted it, the bones of his hand lined in shadow. His voice echoed in her mind. Her name sounded so good when he said it.

"Mmm…" he grunted approvingly.

She paused, her attention caught by a shooting star streaking across the sky. The thought she'd had down at the bar before everything there went to shit came back to her. No point in holding back. And there wasn't any point, really, was there? Had Anders run for the hills when she'd told him how she wanted to be the one sneaking away with him? No, he hadn't. His reaction had actually been quite… approving. But then whatever possibility there was for a roll in the hay with him had been squelched. He probably wouldn't want her now anyway, after seeing what a basket case she could be. Almost frying that woman for her stupid trick.

With the fear of that moment now lifted, it actually seemed funny. The look on that woman's face when she realized she'd fucked with the wrong mage was priceless. Solona snorted a quiet laugh. No, as long as she wasn't intruding into personal affairs, she should just make anew policy. Officially.

From here forward, Solona Amell was going to say whatever the fuck she felt like saying. No time like the present. She took a breath and let her gaze linger on Nathaniel. He looked so at home in the darkness.

"Say my name again," she asked. She closed her eyes, wanting to drink the sound in.

Nathaniel jerked his head toward her. She waited, aware that he was probably confused by the question.

"Solona?"

"Hmm-hmm," she responded. It sounded so nice when he said it. The way he seemed to almost breathe the word more than speak it.

She opened her eyes and took him in as well as she could in the dim hallway light. Flashes of him shirtless surfaced from her memory. The surprising cut of his muscle, the unexpected heat of his skin. She'd been avoiding looking at him for the past few days but suddenly couldn't remember why.

Until she met his eyes, and there it was again. That intense stare was so full of… something. Something like what she remembered seeing from Alistair. It had hit her too hard, traveling down to her toes until it upended the ground beneath her. She could only think of one thing that it could mean, but that still didn't make sense. Her reaction this time was numbed by the wine, and by the faint glint of amusement in his eye.

"Solona," he said again, his lip curling. Had she ever seen him smile?

She let out a slight laugh that faded into a drunken sigh.

"You've been so quiet the past few days," she observed. As she said it she realized he'd never been much of a talker, but there was a new weight to his silence.

"I've… had a lot on my mind," he responded, confirming what she'd heard that night in the tent.

She nodded. Of course that could be anything. Talking darkspawn. A dalish murderess joining the group. Facing down the possibility of being eaten alive by a pack of wolves. That would weigh heavily on anyone. She was already too weighed down with other things to feel it herself.

He took another drink from the bottle, and again saw a flash of his hand. That was it too, the very hand that had been crushed and chewed on. Had they not had a healer present he probably would have lost it completely. Or even lost his life because of it. Infection and blood loss could be a death sentence.

But here it was, no longer that pulpy mass that she could hardly bring herself to look at. The skeleton and nerves all returned to their places, the flesh healed and whole. Nathaniel offered her the bottle and she shook her head. As good as the wine was, she was already feeling the full strength of its effect. If she had much more she might not be capable of coherent conversation. And she'd rather avoid passing out on him.

Mindlessly, she grabbed his hand and pulled it into her lap. It was warm and dry and his fingers responded to her touch immediately, grasping her hand as though he thought she intended to lace her fingers into his. Instead she held it open and inspected it, his pale skin cast gold from the brazier on the other side of the door.

She pressed along the lines of his bones, feeling their solid sharpness. He had a light coating of dark little hairs on his knuckles that she only barely saw. She tested and squeezed, superimposing her memory of how crushed they'd been. Bone and muscle and flesh, warmed from inside by some fleeting internal flame. That flame had come so close to being snuffed out. And now, here beneath her touch it was whole again. Because of magic. Because of Anders.

"It's amazing that Anders can do this," she mused. "This hand was so destroyed…."

Nathaniel was quiet. Solona glanced up to see his head bowed and eyes slightly glazed. He watched her fingers trace the skeleton under his skin. Turning his hand over to his palm, she traveled the hills and valleys of his flesh with her fingertips. She felt him shudder and realized she was probably tickling him. She wasn't sure why she felt so free to take these liberties, but he didn't seem to mind.

"And now it's back to normal," she finished with a sigh. Another thought invaded then, a return to what she'd been thinking about earlier in the night. The things bodies could do. The pleasure they felt. It was just a bunch of cells arranged in a variety of configurations. But together the cells made a person. Or at least the vessel for a person. And two people could join together and create magic. Probably the only kind of magic that a non-mage could ever know. A specific type that likely couldn't be recreated in the Fade. She pressed her palm against Nathaniel's, losing herself for a moment in the heat of his skin.

"It's not actually," Nathaniel answered throatily.

Solona paused. "What?"

"It's not back to normal," he said. With his other hand he directed hers up to two of his fingers. She felt dry, curled flakes on the last two digits, one of which was covered by tape.

"My draw fingers. The skin there used to be impenetrable," he explained. "A decade of drawing bowstrings and I had callouses thick enough to withstand a razor blade."

Solona squeezed lightly where he directed. The flaked off skin must have been the craters of popped and dried blisters. She located numerous patches of them, circular and raw. The skin gave easily under her pressure.

"And now they're soft again," she observed.

"Soft as a baby's arse," he laughed. "So if my aim's been a bit off lately, blame Anders."

"Yeah, but—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah, he fixed it, him and his amazing healing magic," Nathaniel mocked softly. "But for the record I don't credit him for that. I credit you."

Solona sat quietly for a moment, absorbing the papery texture of his fingers. She'd felt a few times how tightly those bows were strung. It was no surprise that there'd be damage if one wasn't accustomed. It occurred to her how strangely natural it felt to have his hand in her lap. She could only imagine it was because they'd already been forced so close for survival. Even though already that night felt like a lifetime ago.

"Don't you have one of those… leather pad things? Leliana had one. Finger tabs?"

"Yes, back at the Keep. But it's annoying to wear all of the time," he explained. "And I don't always have time to stop and put it on before a battle anyway."

Solona nodded.

"I've also lost all my scars," he added.

"Well…" she asked as she shifted her position. She shuddered as she recentered her back against the frigid wall behind her. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"I suppose not, but it's strange to look down and not see them," he said. "My own hand looks so foreign to me now."

He turned his hand back over and rubbed his thumb below the knuckle of his pointer finger. "I had a big one right here from one of my father's birds."

Solona brought his hand closer to her face, trying to get a better look at the skin. As far as she could tell, it was flawless.

"Mistreating the ravens, were you?"

Nate laughed, a sultry rumble. "Yes, actually. I had it in my head that I was going to kill one after a fight I had with Thomas."

Solona sat quietly and waited for him to continue.

"Thomas is — was— my younger brother. He loved those blighted birds. Father always let him bring the letters in once one of them arrived with a message. He was completely convinced those birds loved him back," Nathaniel laughed. "They'd caw and flap and make a big fuss whenever they saw Thomas coming, but that was only because he took pockets full of table scraps up to them. That's all they were waiting for."

"So… you wanted to hurt your brother?"

"Well… yes."

"Why?"

"Father… had started letting Thomas read the correspondence. He was discussing business things with him, things I should have been privy to if it was going to be anyone. I was the oldest son!"

A slight crack had crept into Nathaniel's voice. His fingers closed lightly around hers, drawing her attention away from the sharp lines of his profile. She opened her hand to let him pull it back. The warmth of his hand on her thigh dissipated, ushering in a new wave of shivers.

"Go on," Solona urged. In her mind she could see the rookery on the western roof of the Keep. She hadn't gone up there much, though occasionally she could hear the resident birds when she was laying on her watchtower.

"Anyway, I…" Nathaniel sighed. "Thomas always fed them, so I thought, a little bit of poison in their seed, a bird or two dies and then maybe father will think it was Thomas' fault. Maybe then he'll think twice about letting a thirteen year old have responsibilities that he didn't even allow his first heir."

Solona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her whole body felt numb with cold and wine. The panic she'd felt down at the tavern was gone. Nathaniel's voice smoldered softly in her ear. For the moment at least, everything in the world felt fine again.

She felt herself laugh as her mind returned again to Nathaniel's story.

"And instead a bird bit you!"

He took a long drink out of the bottle and then snorted.

"And clawed. There was blood. A lot of it."

More laughter bubbled up from deep in her chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but pleasant all the same. Solona felt herself being studied.

"Yes, well it's funny now," he conceded. "It wasn't then. Those things bite hard!"

"So that was your scar?"

"Yes, I was too ashamed to get it treated, so it got infected," he answered.

"And, were you successful at killing those poor innocent birds?" Solona teased tiredly.

"No. But while I was trying to figure out what to do a bunch of them escaped. I bled onto the roof, which incriminated me later after they saw my bite. It was a disaster," he sighed. Solona could hear a smile in his voice.

"Well, but they came back, right? I mean, that's what they do in the first place," Solona asked. Nathaniel shrugged.

"I assume they did. I wasn't there to see it. Mother and father decided to send me to the Marches shortly after. I think that helped them decide," he said. "Before that I was merely in the way. After, I was a liability."

Solona nodded and looked down at her own hands. It struck her that she really didn't pay much attention to them. Her nails were jagged; chipped and uneven. Her right palm sported a few rough, firm patches of skin from where her staff would rub during battle. She laughed softly as she recalled how raw and sore it had gotten back in the circle, after she'd started training with her staff for the first time. She'd dropped that damn thing constantly, and had even shattered a moonstone off the staff head of one once. When she'd been learning how to effectively swing it to build magical momentum she'd had quite a few blisters break open between her thumb and pointer finger.

"Do you feel it?" Nathaniel's soft voice was closer than it had been. "The magic, when it comes out?"

Solona shook her head. His hand emerged from the darkness and cupped the back of hers, his thumb trailing lightly over a line on her palm. Hair rose on her neck, sending a tremor tickling down her back.

"Not at all?"

"Well, it doesn't really come out of my skin. It emerges from the Fade, here around my hands and just feels like… energy," she said. "Like a river of it breaking through a dam and pouring out. The energy already exists elsewhere. We mages don't create it. We just… set it free, and shape it into something else as it escapes."

"Is it pleasant?"

His shoulder brushed against hers. It was unclear whether he was leaning in, or if she'd begun to slide toward him, but she made no move to pull away.

"Yes," she answered. "Very."

Solona turned her head to find his only inches away, facing forward and bowed low. His hand remained against the back of hers, his thumb just barely resting against her palm.

Following her impulse, Solona pulled her hand away and went for the wine. She took a long drink — this one really her last — and grabbed his hand again. Pressing his palm against hers she reached toward the Fade with her mind, feeling that constant leash to its well of mana. It took a moment to suppress her instinct to shape the energy, with both ice and electric coming as easily as a breath. Instead she quieted that inner conductor, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself, and corral a skein of the raw energy that existed just beyond the veil.

Power trembled the air before her palm, growing into a shimmering corona that engulfed Nathaniel's hand. Closing the channel down into a harmless but palpable trickle, she glanced over at him. The sensation of his palm against hers had disappeared, overwhelmed by the current of energy, but she felt his body tense slightly in response. His bent knee straightened, his boot scraping against the balcony as he adjusted his position.

What little she could see of Nathaniel revealed his eyes wide, his lips parted as he stared down.

"Do you feel it?" she asked. He swallowed audibly and nodded.

Solona waited another few minutes, that energy mingling with his warmth as he moved his fingers around. After another long moment she closed off the stream of magic and felt him relax as it diminished.

Her next glance at him made her heart skip.

Those eyes were trained on her again, veiled mostly by shadow but still so infernally intense. She inhaled a gulp of cold and pulled her hand away. He certainly was close. And warm. A new impulse took the reins of her mind, tugging her toward his lips. Parted and full, they hovered so near. It would be so easy…

She took another breath. Unbidden images flooded her.

To kiss. To pull his arms around her and melt into his chest. To trace the lines of his body with her fingertips and hear his voice cry out in the dark. Her teeth clenched against the startling desire.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity.

This was it, wasn't it? What she'd been thinking about before she'd even left her room? Bodies and skin and sweet, delicious heat? Using this vessel of flesh however she could until it was time to depart it entirely? A quake of nerves upturned her gut, while slowly an ache began to spread, constricting her chest with a tightening grip.

She looked away from him, needing to get more air. This was too different. This wasn't Anders or some faceless nobody. It wasn't even someone she'd ever considered and yet, there it was. And it didn't feel like something light and easy like what she'd imaged. If anything, it felt like a betrayal. She exhaled a shaky breath and looked into the dark ahead. She wasn't trying to get into anything complicated or messy. Anders was practiced at this sort of thing. He'd already fucked half of Vigil's Keep and still walked around with those same people day after day.

Nathaniel sat up straighter. His shoulder slipped off hers.

"Do you…" He cleared his throat, but his voice remained raspy. "Would you like the last of it?" He held the nearly empty bottle toward her. She shook her head quickly. Solona felt torn between two different possibilities. She could run back to her room. She should run back to her room. It would be so much easier with someone she didn't know, someone whose eyes she wouldn't have to look into the next day. Unless it was someone practiced.

Or she could stay. And then what? Sit in awkward silence? Or perhaps just talk. Talk until this foolish impulse disappeared.

Nathaniel shifted beside her again.

"Are you all right, Solona?"

The sound of his words, the way he said her name, traveled straight down into the core of her, inflaming the burn in her chest.

"I'm sorry, I think the wine is going to my head," she murmured. Pulling her feet in, she braced herself against the wall and prepared to climb to a stand. With her heart racing against her ribs, everything else felt shaky. She shook off the images of Alistair that surfaced. Their first kiss, so clumsy and earnest, had made her tremble with nerves the same way she was now, which only further soured the ache radiating inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

Alistair, sweet Alistair. He was he one she loved, now and forever. Nothing should be allowed to obscure that fact.

Somehow Nathaniel was up before her, his hand extended. Before she had a chance to think better of it she took it. Strong and solid, he guided her up. His fingers, closed around hers felt downright illicit now; she knew it was ridiculous.

Surely everything would look different in the morning when her head was clear.

The next movements were a blur. A quick good night. A thank you. Steps, one by one, dragging and unbalanced down the hallway. The indulgent heat of the indoors making her wonder why she waited so long to come inside. Space and solitude returned her rapidly to what felt like her normal state. Nathaniel still behind her outside the door. She could feel him just outside the double-doors. He could only have been watching?

Solona confirmed this as she turned the knob and with a final nod toward his silhouette. The walls spun around her, the fireplace cold and grey and stinking of ash. She kicked a new log into it and blasted with a fireball. The excessive force of the fire impacted hard, sending a plume of ash to sting her eyes and invoke a sneeze. Without removing her boots, she tumbled into bed, letting her limbs flop numbly over the covers.

Dimness closed in. Visions of Alistair mixed and merged with those of Nathaniel as the room spun. It seemed she'd stored many snapshots of Nathaniel away somewhere, each patiently waiting in the dark corners of her mind to present themselves at some appropriate moment. Mercifully the theatre of images and feelings did not last long. Sleep fogged them into a nonsensical confusion. Faces, lips, bodies moving together, finding a rhythm that increased with a tumult of sensations, and then motionlessness and rest. And then darkness.

She was deep in a sleep when the knock at the door came. She ignored it when it first sounded off, assuming it was another of the dreams rattling around her mind. Moaning, she turned and settled back into a new position, waiting for unconsciousness to find her again. But the knock came a second time, jolting her fully into the cramped space of her room. The fire was low, but not gone. She opened her eyes and felt a tightness at her temples, but the whole room listed as she turned over and blinked. The wine was still strong in her veins. And beyond the door, a Warden. The taint was a physical presence at her mind, pulling her more and more back into the waking world.

Solona sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Her arm was sore, biting with the sting of lack of blood flow and an unfavorable position. Behind the door the presence remained. The blackness that had erased the strange amalgamation of Nathaniel and Alistair faded, and she stared dumbly at the door.

On her feet, the room swayed. She fell back onto her bed and had to hoist herself upward a second time. Dragging herself toward the door, she decided it could only be Nathaniel. Had she left something on the balcony? Her stomach twitched and churned in anticipation, not sure why he was coming to her now, and not particularly caring. Maker's breath his eyes were tormenting her. That was why she hadn't been able to look at him in days. Why she'd been keeping her head down more than usual, forcing the memory of the hours after their attack out of her mind anytime she had any inclination to revisit them.

The doorknob was smooth and cool and she turned it anxiously. Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. The door opened.

Leaning against the doorframe, his face drawn into a familiar smirk, was Anders.