Nathaniel sensed the motion of the other Wardens zigzagging around their rooms, washing up and gathering clothing in the usual morning rush before breakfast. Their hunger functioned like an alarm, preventing over-sleeping regardless of how much it might be desired, which Nathaniel often did. At least in a tavern he was allowed an unbroken night's sleep, with no need to wake to tend a campfire. It was fortunate that they'd stumbled upon a tavern here, as they'd likely make use of it again if they came back this way, especially as the winter grew harsh.

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain he'd been to this tavern once before, when he was out visiting trade routes with his father as a boy. That had been so many years ago, but he distinctly remembered the weathered wooden walls, the choppy waters of the bay visible out the tavern windows, with its small dock full of rickety fishing boats, and his father warning him that the Black Marsh was just to the north. That night, during their dinner down in the barroom, his father quietly gloated over receipts and sales records while Nathaniel had sat in awe, shocked and amused by the colorful language of all the loud, drunken fisherman that lined the bartop. He'd learned several new words that night, but dared not repeat them. At least not just then. One had slipped in front of Adria once, and she'd swatted him on the side of the head.

Father had made him sleep on the floor of their rented room, with only a spare blanket as cushion. At the time Nathaniel accepted at face value his father's explanation that they couldn't afford to rent an extra cot, or get a second room. Of course now he knew that could only have been bullshit born of stinginess. Father had been stingy with so many things when it came to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel's pack was prepared, sitting at the bedside and ready to be grabbed once breakfast was finished. He cast a last look around the room before letting himself out the door, a habit that was unnecessary considering how lightly Nathaniel traveled in the first place. Bringing only the bare essentials ensured little to get lost or stolen, and more pack space to haul back loot. Though even his looting had grown much more discerning as of late; living back at the Keep and enjoying the Warden's shared resources guaranteed that he wanted for nothing, and need only grab whatever could be traded for the most amount of coin.

Low voices and soft laughter murmured down the hallway, drawing Nathaniel's eye toward their source. One of the maids from the bar was slipping out Anders' room, her shoes gathered up into one hand, rusty colored hair a tangle of knots at the back of her head. She paused and flashed kohl-smeared eyes in Nathaniel's direction as Anders stepped against her and pulled the door shut behind them. The mage threw him a smug grin before turning toward the stairwell at the far end of the hall. Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Typical.

He did have to admit that it was impressive in its way, how Anders seem to make everyone come to him. He rarely made his own pursuit, just sat back and turned on that charm of his. Nathaniel's scowl deepened. Men to whom things came so easily rarely appreciated even the best of what they had.

Ten paces ahead, Anders tried to hurry her along with a hand at the small of her back.

Nathaniel timed his steps, sensing that Solona was close to emerging from the next room down. The sensation of her approached the door, pausing, probably looking around to be sure she hadn't forgotten anything, same as he had done. He managed to be one step away when her door opened. Surprisingly clear-eyed and glowing, she nodded at Nathaniel before stepping out to join him in the hall. The distant giggle of the barmaid drew Solona's gaze and she slowed for a beat, her brows knitting together as the two forms disappeared down the stairwell, radiating intimacy with their closeness. A sour pang hit Nathaniel's stomach. He had no desire to observe her apparent disappointment, but tearing his eyes away from the face he'd dreamt about all night didn't seem possible either. With a quick shake of her head, she resumed her pace, apparently without noticing that Nathaniel too had slowed and matched her speed.

"Good morning, Solona," he said over her shoulder. Alone in his room, the recollection of their time on the balcony had made him almost giddy. At times he could still feel her touch upon his hand, could still hear her approving groan after she'd asked him to say her name again. He'd gone to sleep and woken with an almost delirious lightness.

Her reaction to his voice this morning was not as immediate as he'd hoped, but eventually those large dark eyes flicked up to him. Nathaniel let himself gaze deeply into them for the moment they locked with his. So often she seemed to be looking down, or at anything other than him, even when he addressed her directly.

"Good morning," she practically whispered, looking away quickly.

"Did you sleep well?"

She nodded, her lip curling slightly. "Very well actually. You?"

"Same."

She glanced up at him a final time before they reached the entrance to the stairwell that led down to the barroom. There again her steps slowed. Nathaniel passed her, ending up halfway down the stairs while she lingered at the top. Turning, he came to a stop to see her face drawn with tension, her foot hovering over the step before her but not landing.

"Is everything alright?"

She had seemed quite distressed when she'd burst out onto the balcony the night before, though she'd never said why. Nathaniel retraced his steps and stopped in front of her. Eyes wide as she stared down the stairs.

"What do you need?"

Solona crept down two steps, stopping beside Nathaniel.

"Could you… peek down into the bar and see how many people are in there?"

It took him a moment to process the simplicity of the request. With a nod, he sprinted silently down the stairs and glanced out into the large main room. Clearly it was still a bit early for most of the patrons. The red-head that had roomed-in with Anders was behind the bar, her hands busy with something out of sight. Anders sat at a table in the middle of the room, arms splayed over the table's surface and yawning as he watched her. Two old men were hunched over flagons at the bar. By their haggard, droopy faces it was unclear whether they'd risen early or had simply never been to bed. One other table had two other patrons who talked quietly to each other; their hair wet and freshly combed. A bearded man with a brown apron emerged from a back room carrying two bowls and headed toward them.

Nathaniel turned and climbed up the stairs back to Solona. Standing at the top of the stairwell with her arms folded against her chest, dark brows knitted over luminous but distant eyes; she seemed so small and fragile. It struck him what so many other people must see when they first saw her: just a slight, rather vulnerable looking woman.

"Four men, Anders and his lady, and the bartender," Nathaniel recounted. "It's mostly empty."

The tension left her face. She flashed him something close to a smile and resumed her descent.

"Thank you," she uttered as she passed.

"You're welcome, Solona," he answered, and then sighed. He was going to have to control his impulse to say her name all the time now. Surely she'd notice if he started to overdo it.

Again those bottomless eyes locked onto his. For a precious second, Nathaniel worried he might fall right into them.

Once in the main room, she passed Anders and made her way to a table in the furthest, darkest corner, taking a seat that faced a corner and put her back to the rest of the room. Ignoring the still-yawning Anders, Nathaniel joined Solona. She picked at a fingernail and threw a glance over her shoulder toward the bar. The red-head carried two large mugs over to Anders before slipping into the chair beside him. Nathaniel caught the bartender's eye, who nodded acknowledgment before retreating into the back again.

Nathaniel's stomach grumbled audibly, clenching with a demand for sustenance. Back at the Keep they'd all be neck deep in food the moment they sat down; having to sit at an empty table for any time at all made the minutes stretch unbearably.

"I hope he doesn't make us wait very long," Nathaniel muttered. "I'd hate to have to eat my leathers. I quite like this pair."

Solona snorted, her eyes flicking over to him, making a brief pass down his chest.

"They do look good on you," she agreed. A heavy moment passed as the bar maid's irritating giggle rang through the room again. Anders' apparent lack of sleep proved no deterrent to his usual morning chatter. Nathaniel squeezed his brow and tried to tune them out.

Tapping the table, he couldn't help but wonder how Solona seemed so unaffected. On normal mornings back at the Keep she was as savage as everyone else when it came to breakfast, fighting over scraps and barely breathing between bites.

"Should we have warned them?" Nathaniel asked. "The staff, that is? I hope they have enough food prepared." Sitting back in his chair, he resolved not to say another word until she did.

His stomach growled again, loud enough that there was no way Solona didn't hear it. Shifting in his seat, he resumed his tapping. When Solona glanced at his fidgeting fingers, he pressed his hands against the table-top to keep them still. Come on, man, he mentally called out to the bartender.

One of her arms spread across the table. Nathaniel's heart jumped as he watched, her pale, slender hand extending until the tip of her finger found the dirty strips of tape that were already half peeling off his drawing fingers. Shivers crawled up his arms at the soft tickle of pressure where his callouses used to be. He couldn't help his fingers reaching back toward her, curling into her touch almost of their own accord.

"I have some better tape, if you'd like it?" she asked without looking up. "Or some strips of leather? Might provide better protection."

Nathaniel forced his hand to stay in place as he answered.

"Thank you, Solona, but I need to build my skin's resistance back up anyway."

Solona sat up and pulled her arm back, her face turning toward an approaching shadow.

"Thank the Maker," she sighed as two large mugs were set before them. Solona had hers to her lips within seconds. The man stood at the tableside, arms akimbo.

"Porridge, bread, plum pie, or some of last night's mutton stew," he listed off without greeting or ceremony.

"Yes," Nathaniel answered. "All of it."

The bartender snorted. "You got the coin for all that?"

Solona glanced up at him sharply. Recognition spread over the man's face.

"Right. Coming up."

"More coffee too," she instructed. The bartender nodded and turned to leave, but after two steps stopped and returned to the table.

"So… that one over there is one of yours, then?" the bartender asked as he gestured toward the side of the bar. Nathaniel peered over the table, searching the shadows beside the bar where the man pointed. A familiar pair of boots connected to a short pair legs laying underneath a far table. Nathaniel could make out the distant rumble of Oghren's snoring.

"Yes," Nathaniel answered flatly. "Apologies. He'll be awake any moment now."

He hoped anyway. So far the need for breakfast had proved more powerful than Oghren's strongest drunken stupor.

The morning was long, but their bellies were full and there was little other traffic on the road back to the Pilgrim's Path. The rain had stopped for a while, allowing the mud to dry out enough to make walking easy. Patches of blue peered through milky, quick traveling clouds. Brown leaves drifted to the ground at the urging of chilly wind gusts, leaving spindly branches increasingly bare. Autumn was always a great time for hunting, as the lack of tree cover made game easier to see. But as long as nothing surprising came up, Nathaniel predicted they'd be home by dinner, and he'd have no need for hunting. Dry leaves crunched under everyone's footsteps.

"If you must be so close, dwarf, I'd prefer that you turn your head," the new woman, Velanna, practically spat at Oghren. Nathaniel had made a point of keeping his distance from her. Judging by the hateful way she glared at them all, she was not interested in their attentions anyhow.

"Well, sorry for looking. I can't help that your womanly splendor is at eye level," he responded. Nathaniel stifled the urge to turn and kick a rock at Oghren. Always so bloody crude.

"What?" Velanna asked, sounding genuinely caught off guard. "I was referring to your —"

"Oh, you weren't talking about — er, what were you talking about?"

Nathaniel sighed and tuned them out.

Three steps ahead of him, Solona was leading the pack as usual, taking steps that seemed longer than what someone of her size should be capable. She moved without speaking, without glancing behind her or acknowledging the companions to her rear at all. There was little need to call out orders since she could feel everyone's location at all times anyway, and the proximity of darkspawn would be easily detectable by any Warden, making announcements rarely necessary. It was Nathaniel's job to keep alert for dangerous wildlife, but most predators weren't active in the middle of the day, and the decaying leaf-cover was diminishing more and more with each bluster of wind giving them few places to hide.

Just between Nathaniel and Solona was Anders, walking along the edge of the road, his head turning frequently to glance over at Solona. An irritated prickle rose up Nathaniel's spine each time he did. Whatever interest the mage had in her couldn't possibly be genuine. Probably he was drawn to her status or something, the whole vanquisher-of-the-blight thing. Solona Amell, venerable Commander of the Grey Wardens. How good he would look on her arm! Did he merely want something more to boast about? As if he doesn't already have enough. Perhaps he was impressed by her magical power, as everyone always was once they got a glimpse of it. Or perhaps he was trying to decide which brown-nosing tactic might win him the most favor. Sycophant.

Or perhaps Nathaniel's own questions to Anders about Solona had sparked some interest that hadn't existed before? Anders seemed not to have noticed how Solona had always seemed warmer to him than she was to anyone else. Had Nathaniel inadvertently opened some door in Anders' mind about her? Had he given Anders the impression that she might make an easy target for his… proclivities?

Frowning, Nathaniel stepped quicker, passing Anders and sidling up to Solona. She tilted her head and looked at him only out the corner of her eye.

"Kinloch Hold is by Lake Calenhad, correct?" Nathaniel asked her.

"Not by, in. On an island," Anders answered from behind them. Nathaniel ignored him.

"How were the winters there?" he continued.

Anders snorted. "The winters? Have you never—"

Nathaniel spun abruptly, stepping into Anders' path.

"I'm asking Solona." Nathaniel let his glare alone issue the warning, but the words were poised on the tip of his tongue. My arrows are faster than your barrier spell. And there's no healing from instant death.

Anders stumbled to a stop before him, then gestured over-dramatically toward Solona with mocking acquiescence.

Nathaniel turned to see Solona continuing on without pause and sprinted to catch up. Forcing the annoyance out of his face, he cleared his throat and paced her, hoping the others stayed well behind. Solona's lashes fluttered against her cheek as she looked down at the road.

"Calenhad winters are frigid as any part of Ferelden," she answered. "We didn't venture far out of the tower though, honestly. The lake sort of became a corridor for all the winds that came down from the Frostbacks. They'd blow away everything not nailed down."

Nathaniel nodded, listening.

"The lake froze, snow drifts got really high," she shrugged. "Typical Ferelden, right?"

"Well," Nathaniel sighed. Her answer was precisely what he expected. "Amaranthine winters are wet. We get as much rain as snow, which means lots of ice to contend with. Storms come up off the sea without warning and bring travel to a standstill."

He seemed to have her attention; she stared at him, waiting.

"Okay," she said.

"As much ice as we get here poses a unique problem. Too much of it gets very heavy, and will bring down ceilings and rooftops. It coats walkways and steps, creating a dangerous slip hazard. Carriages crash on it, so supply deliveries can be erratic. And when it begins to warm in the spring, whole sheets of ice will slide off buildings, in sizes that can cleave a man in half."

A dark laugh erupted from Solona's throat.

"And then it all melts at once and everything floods," he finished sardonically.

"Well that sounds delightful," Solona sighed, her lips drawing into a straight line.

"Captain Garevel is native to the area, so he should expect that some preparations are needed for the Keep before winter hits," Nathaniel continued. "Has he spoken to you at all about whether he's begun them? Or at least made assessments?"

Solona shook her head. "The Captain's focus has been on recruiting and training new soldiers, per my direction. We've too few as it is. We've taken some out of the farmlands to protect the trade routes, but… it's just not enough."

Nathaniel stared ahead, the road before them disappearing into a thin, distant line. They had maybe three weeks to get things done around the Keep, but that lack of soldiers meant little available manpower for repairs. Roofs in the Keep village were usually given a thorough check each fall by the people who lived there, but Nathaniel didn't recognize most of the faces living down there now. Gutters needed to be removed to prevent ice-damming. And there was always that corner of the main building, in the east wing that leaked horribly. He hadn't been any where near that since his return from the Marches to see what condition it was in now. The first time the corner of that ceiling collapsed it had ruined a trunk full of mother's heirlooms and soaked the hall rugs. The whole wing stank of mildew for nearly a year.

"Assuming we're back in time tonight, will you show me around the Keep? We can make some assessments ourselves. And I uh… I actually haven't really taken a full tour of the place anyway," she asked. "Which is probably not very Commander-ly of me." Nathaniel suppressed a smile. Rising over the seriousness of the conversation was that giddy feeling again. Quickened heartbeats fluttered against his ribs.

"Of course, Solona."

This time something in her eyes flickered when he uttered her name. Nathaniel felt a smile creeping across his face, a rare sensation in the past months. But in this moment, he wasn't sure he could stop it even if he wanted to. True to her form, Solona looked away.

"It'll have to wait until after her joining," Solona added, nodding to the group behind her.

"Right." Nathaniel glanced back at the group. Anders and Oghren were speaking quietly while Anders stared pointedly at Nathaniel. Velanna trailed behind them, her frown changing and deepening as she listened to the two ahead of her. Quite a jolly bunch.

"Do you think she'll survive it?" he asked, looking back to Solona. A gust of wind kicked up just then, blowing her hair away from her neck, revealing creamy skin that drew Nathaniel's eye.

"She seems strong," Solona answered. "A little unhinged, but… aren't we all?"

Nathaniel snorted. "Some of us more than others."

"You know Woollsey tells me that in other Warden groups, the rule is supposed to be that the newest recruit leads the next one through their Joining," she added. "And that's you."

Nathaniel blinked at her, trying to remember what that entailed.

"So, I'd hand her the chalice? That's not difficult."

Solona reached into her pocket and then presented out a fist, something shiny tucked inside. She held it before him, waiting. Tentatively, Nathaniel accepted, feeling first the warmth of her hand brush gently against his, then a cool vial drop into his palm. Thick and black, he recognized it instantly as darkspawn ichor.

"Technically I think you also make the mixture, clean up and put things away… deal with the body if there is one…"

Nathaniel glanced back at the elf woman again. However abrasive she might have been, watching her die in front of him was not something he wanted to experience. He sighed, thinking back to his grandfather. Another Warden would have had to watch him fall, and then drag him away, prepare his body for…

"Do those who fail the joining receive a special burial or anything?"

"They are burned. But yes, there are words that are said. A small ceremony of sorts. If it happens… I will be there to walk you through it. Hopefully it won't be necessary," Solona glanced behind her again. The elf was now watching Nathaniel and Solona, probably certain she was being talked about. She was a stunning woman; even the scowl on her face couldn't mar her beauty. Her personality so far had left little be desired however.

"Like I said, she seems strong. I bet she'll be fine," sighed Solona as she faced forward again. "Not sure that we need another mage tagging along every where though. Three of us in a group seems a little excessive, don't you think?"

Nathaniel shrugged, inwardly stunned that she seemed interested in his opinion on the matter. "There's plenty for her to do at the Keep."

Solona rose from the seat beside the fire and walked over to Nathaniel's coat, still draped over one of the wooden chairs at her quarter's small table, precisely where she'd left it before the trip to the Wending Wood. The fit had been perfect on Nathaniel's broad shoulders, his tapered waist and his long legs, but with the item in hand it was easy to see that it was also made with Amaranthine's particular climate in mind. Its rich, dark leather had been oiled and worked into remarkable softness, the seams covered with an almost invisible overlying flap of leather which would prevent the seeping of water; a feature perfect for the wet, icy winter which Nathaniel had warned. Such a treacherous season did indeed sound unpleasant, but this coat represented Nathaniel's foresight and preparation, the same thinking-ahead that had brought him to address the needs of the Keep to her in the first place.

Nathaniel would make a good Commander in her stead, of that there was no question.

While sitting in the solitude of her room, with only the crackling fire to interrupt her thoughts, Solona had been mentally tallying the attributes of all the other Wardens, but the decision had been easy. And it had taken mere minute to write out the decree naming Nathaniel as next Warden Commander, two copies of which sat folded neatly on her writing desk, one ready to be handed off to Seneschal Varel at the next day's mail exchange. He had a chest for such documents sitting among the coin in the lower vault. The second copy to be given to Mistress Woollsey who'd relay it Weisshaupt on a messenger bird. In the absence of such a written order, the title would fall to the next senior member, and since Oghren and Anders had taken their joining together, and neither showed a particular aptitude for the position, Solona realized she was foolishly late in putting this decision to paper. Had she not made it back from the Wending Wood, she imagined less a fight for which of those two got to claim the title and more a fight for who got to escape it.

It was likely Nathaniel would step up anyhow; of the three he had the most to prove.

His coat - still as cold as her room had been when she'd first arrived and discarded her travel leathers - hung long on her arm, the cuff dangling over her fingers when she let it sit at its natural length. It draped about her shoulders heavily, feeling soothingly like a comforting hug. Whatever chill the fire hadn't chased out of her flesh dissipated quickly as she pulled the coat closed around her, a perfect insulation from the chilly air. Gathering up the lapel, her head turned, where a deep inhalation brought the earthy scent of leather and a spicy wood. How many arrows had he shaped and sharpened while wearing this coat? How long had he owned and worn it? Had it traveled with him out of the Keep, to the Marches and back again? Or had it been recently sewn, needing the new measurements of an increased musculature?

Outside her door the low sounds of Keep activity droned on. A few soldiers had ridden in from the farms to consult with Garevel and Varel. Velanna's Joining had gone as uneventfully as Solona hoped and dinner put away by the Wardens in record time, largely thanks to the newly minted elf. Watching a brand new Warden discovering their appetite never failed to amuse, and had allowed her to snatch an extra chunk of rib meat off Anders' plate while he was distracted. And now tubs were being hauled to rooms, followed by buckets of steaming water; loot had been dumped on the table outside the vault and was being sorted. Activity always increased upon their return, but her status allowed her to delegate duties so that she could rest in peace

Her mind remained sharp, listening, scanning the space outside her door for Nathaniel's approach. Churning thoughts tumbled restlessly in her mind, filling every empty moment so that she hoped he might stay away a little bit longer. She'd probably been stupid on that balcony, though at the same time she held no regrets for speaking her mind. Her biggest concern was that she might make herself seem freer than she was, that her impulse to connect might seem an offering of herself she had no ability to uphold. It wasn't fair for her to make anyone else think she was available. While a physical dalliance here and there might relieve a bit of her internal pressure, her own passing was imminent, and she had no desire to inflict grief upon her fellow Wardens, especially since they'd be tasked with continuing on once she was gone. She'd be a better Commander herself were she not constantly wishing she was with Alistair. It would be cruel for her to stick someone else with similar feelings, same as it would be cruel to leave the fate of the Fereldan Wardens with someone not fully committed to its revival.

For whatever reason Nathaniel stuck out in her mind, occasionally pushing his way into her thoughts at the strangest times, but that was simply something she'd have to get over.

There it was, the sensation of a Warden in the western stairwell. That's where he always descended from his room. She tried not to picture him: freshly dressed from his bath, his almost-black hair wet, his body soft and clean and smelling of some herbal soap. The knowledge that he was coming sent a hitch in her throat, catching her breath and making her gasp for additional air. Looking down, she realized she was not only wearing his coat, but embracing it. She shook her head at herself, mumbling hard admonishments under her breath as she shrugged it off. It was only because of the way he always looked at her, because he seemed to harbor some interest that was as mysterious as himself. How could a man that had wanted to kill her, that had taunted her, that had such a sharp tongue in the face of her more vulnerable moments, had anything but contempt for her now? Hadn't she proved herself weak? Confused, conflicted, a danger to the order? A normal man should be questioning her ability to lead one of the most important militias in Thedas, yet instead of doing that he… looked at her like he understood a little, or, Maker forbid, actually cared.

It didn't sit well. If anything, it make Solona question her own perception.

But still… he was nice to look at. And he seemed to be growing kinder and less sarcastic the more they talked. And though her impulse had been foolish, those moments they'd spent on the balcony, the way he'd let her touch and inspect his hand, those moments had felt good.

But the coat was off now. No matter how good it smelled, it would be returned. She'd put on layers to combat the cold and was determined not to display any sign of being cold that might compel him to give the coat back. She'd walk with him, tour the stronghold, ask for his insight, and just confirm that she was doing the right thing by putting him in charge of winter preparations for the Keep. He'd shown the initiative for them in the first place. What better person to oversee repairs and assessments than the man who knew the Keep better than anyone else? It would be his first bit of training for the role of Commander.

Still, her heart was in her throat when the sensation of the approaching Warden made a track directly for the door to her room. The coat was off her shoulders, but a rush of something that felt decidedly like guilt spread up from her gut, warming her cheeks. She took a few deep breaths and talked herself out of her excitement.

It's just a walk around the Keep. Give the coat back. Ask how repairs should be prioritized. Probe for ideas about building the coffers. See how he feels about leadership. Easy peasy.

The knock came, and though Solona was waiting for it, she surged forward to grab the handle of the door and then paused, taking a deep, calming breath.