"Why do you owe me an apology?" Solona poured herself a full glass of whiskey as she scooted the high-top table's single stool out of the way. The other stools must have been taken, as confirmed by an oversized crowd of people squeezed around one of the larger tables in the center of the room. Nathaniel's hand on her back slipped gently away.

"I was wrong. About you, about my father… the things Delilah told me…" He shook his head, his face lost in shadow.

"It's fine, Nathaniel."

"It's not fine." Nathaniel looked up sharply, brows drawn. "I was certain my family was destroyed for being on the wrong side of the war. But it really was all father's fault. No conspiracies, just one stupid, selfish man. Delilah says father deserved to die." He sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of his face. "It's still hard to believe. But I should have dug deeper… before I acted. I was an idiot, and like a child I blamed you and the Wardens. And here you've even proven to be a…"

Solona waited, focused on his darkening expression. "What?"

"Well, a friend anyway. Right? Or am I wrong about that too?"

Solona gave a weak nod while bringing the whiskey to her lips. A friend. The word shouldn't have been disappointing, yet a heavy regret settled into her gut. If only it could have been as simple as accepting the opportunity he'd offered to be more than just friends. But even now, with her back still warmed from his touch, distant thoughts continued to buzz in the back of her mind like a swarm of flies, new information she'd not yet had the time to grapple with, and which continued to tug strands of her attention away from the man before her. She tried to shake it all off, her regret growing heavier with each second lost in thought. What kind of friend can't even pay attention when being offered a genuine apology?

Solona set the emptied whiskey glass back on the tabletop, and mustered up an uneasy smile. Nathaniel's eyes flicked down to his own hands, growing distant as his lips slowly curled.

"But Delilah is alive, and happy. She wants me to come back and meet her husband. And…" He shifted on his feet, searching for a comfortable stance against the table. "I'm going to be an uncle."

The look of pure contentment on Nathaniel's face tugged at some sore spot deep in Solona's chest. She took a steadying breath.

"That's fantastic, Nathaniel."

His eyes upon her again, saying so much more than his actual words. "You can call me Nate. If you want to. Delilah does. It was nice to hear it again."

Heart fluttering wildly against her ribs, Solona felt her smile spread even as it wavered. Another nod.

"When is she due?"

"In the spring. She's so excited. She always wanted babies, always dragging her dolls around the Keep and giving them silly names."

Solona snorted. "Dolls like the one you said you ripped the arms off of?"

Nathaniel laughed, a free and hearty sound.

"Yes, I know I wasn't the best brother then." he nodded, his eyes growing distant. "But I'm going to be better. She's— they are the only family I have, and I'm not going to take that for granted this time."

Unexpectedly, the sting of tears rose behind her eyes. Blinking hard, Solona turned refilled her whiskey. Another deep gulp, and the liquid fire traveled slowly from her throat and down into her chest. She couldn't wait for its effect to rise into her head, and hopefully quell all the discordant forces pulling her into different directions. Pressing down fleeting thoughts of Alistair and souls being destroyed, Solona sighed and drank down the rest with a startling desperation. The empty glass clanked hard against the table.

"I'm so happy for you," she breathed through the liquor's burn while clutching hard at the table's edge. Nathaniel was quiet.

Steady breaths, Solona told herself. Just let the alcohol work.

Shaky hands reached for the bottle again, ready to pour another glass. Warm strength covered her fingers, gently prying the bottle away.

"If this is you looking happy—" he began. She heard a soft snort, and then watched as the blurry figures of his hands slid the glass to his side of the table.

"May I?" he asked as he filled it. Solona nodded, trying to force her eyes to regain their focus. The room shimmered hazily in her peripheral vision. Warmth bloomed through her body as the liquor took hold.

"No, really," she gasped. She forced herself to stand up straight, and felt a steadying hand at her back. It was all she could do not to lean into his touch. "I am happy for you. Truly."

Nathaniel took his own small sip from the half-filled glass and eyed her with concern. She felt exposed once again under his piercing gaze. Shame rose into her cheeks. There was no question she looked a fool. An unstable alcoholic who was a total buzzkill to everyone else's good news. Solona steeled her back and tried to force another smile.

"I bet you'll make a wonderful uncle, Nate."

With a glance toward the front of the tavern, the hand at her back slid warmly around her waist, pulling her closer. Solona followed his urging gratefully.

"Your admirer is watching," he whispered. Not caring to look, Solona nestled against him. Heat traveled the length of her as her chest bumped against his, her torso fitting irresistibly into the nook under his arm. A soft groan escaped her throat as tension drained out of her limbs.

"Have you given any more thought to what I offered? Sending a letter to Kirkwall? Surely you have family somewhere too."

Solona shook her head, the movement feeling more insistent than it needed to. Inches from her face was Nathaniel's neck, the stubbled angle of his jaw. Breathing in his scent, Solona felt a shaky calm come over her. The heady sensation of his closeness mixed with the whiskey in her blood, increasing her sense of intoxication.

"Would you be angry at me if I said I already had?" he asked gently.

"Angry? No. Though you've wasted your time. And postage," Head turned towards him, she stared dazedly into his face. His full lips pulled into a smirk, hovering close enough that it would only take a small motion to place her own upon them. The fire in her belly infected her blood, igniting a slow burn that pooled in the deepest recesses of her belly. Solona was grateful for the liquor. At least the numbness it afforded calmed what would have been unbearable nervousness. But it also tempted her into inching closer, pressing herself a little harder than she needed to into his side. Raising a trembling hand, she laid it softly on his chest. Finally she glanced toward the tavern, as though checking to see if they were still being watched. Though the truth was she didn't care, and hadn't from the first.

"Your pack makes a nice arm rest," he joked. Solona had forgotten she was even wearing the pack. The pack that contained the package she picked up from Octham's. Curiosity struck her, and she pulled away, yanking the pack off her shoulders and digging within. Without explaining, she dropped her pack under the table and set to unwrapping the paper around the small box.

"What's this?" Nathaniel asked.

"I don't know yet."

Paper removed and twine cut, the box opened to reveal four round, black medallions along with a folded piece of parchment.

"…when placed against the skin, the enchanted medallions conceal the taint from the darkspawn…" she read off the paper. Within seconds of picking one of them up, Nathaniel recoiled.

"It works?" She watched his eyes grow wide as he moved in closer, inspecting the item.

"It works," he confirmed in awe. A heavy orb of onyx, the medallions had small holes drilled around their perimeter, and within the holes thin strands of metal had been woven, looping to allow space to string a chain. Solona offered one to Nathaniel. He accepted it, rolling it around in his palm. Almost immediately that spot in her mind which represented his presence vanished, leaving an uncomfortable void that made Solona shudder.

"Andraste's tits," Nathaniel laughed nervously. "I thought I hated our… awareness or taint or whatever. It made me feel sick at first, but I guess I've gotten used to it. This will be useful if it hides us from the darkspawn, of course. But seeing you beside me and not feeling what we usually feel… it's unnerving."

Solona snatched the onyx away and dropped it back into the box, relieved to feel the energy that represented Nathaniel fading back into place.

"I'm with you. I don't like it." Solona agreed.

With the box returned to her pack, and pack set on the floor, Solona reached for the half filled glass of whiskey on Nathaniel's side of the table. He intercepted her hand, removing the glass from her reach. Glowering, Solona raised a questioning brow.

He eyed her softly and then raised the glass to his mouth, giving Solona the sense he was taking his time on purpose. "Have you eaten anything since breakfast?"

"No," she sighed. "And Mick doesn't serve dinner for another two hours."

Nathaniel nodded, keeping the glass raised but not drinking.

"I'm going to go get a second glass," Solona turned to step away from the table.

"Let me," Nathaniel offered quickly. Before she could respond, Nathaniel had slipped away and was already weaving between tables, headed toward the bar. Solona noticed with annoyance that he'd taken the first glass with him. Scoffing behind his back, Solona took a swig directly from the bottle. What business of his is it if this is what I need right now?

In the minutes of silence that followed, flashes of the book at Octham's invaded her mind, sending her thoughts spinning back into that maddening vortex of questions that she'd been trying to keep at bay. She could ask Nathaniel the same question she posed to the lay-sister, but figured there was nothing he could say to change what the sister had already confirmed.

Without a soul, there is nothing to go to the other side, is there?

Wincing as the words echoed through her mind, Solona dropped her head into her hands and rubbed forcefully at her brows. Months and months of fixation on one single goal had all been a complete waste. The thought of the emptiness she might have been faced with had she succeeded in finding death was chilling. Meeting Alistair on the other side had been the one solace that stopped her from completely falling apart, that had allowed her to get out of bed every morning. But she'd had no idea it was a lie. And just how the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?

A fresh stream of people entered from the street, young adults who laughed a little too loudly, shoving each other as they searched the room for an available table. Solona turned back to the bottle, determined to quiet the questions driving their daggers into her temples. Within the group came a pair of male voices, complaining about the flat ale in Amaranthine's other tavern. It was clear by their exuberance that they'd begun the day's drinking long ago. A body jammed into her elbow, and stumbled into her table, rattling the whiskey bottle and almost sending it toppling over. Solona grabbed it quickly and glared up to see a stocky, dark skinned man in leathers that stank of sundried fish. Bloody fisherman.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," the man slurred. He couldn't have been more than five and twenty, but the elements had etched deep lines into his forehead and around his eyes. His calloused palms scraped against the table as he steadied himself.

"Do I know you?" Solona asked, suppressing a cough at the whiskey burn in her throat.

"Not yet," he teased with a wink. Solona groaned.

"S'Right, you'll be doing a lot more of that groanin' when I'm done wit' ya."

A thud resounded from behind him and the man lurched forward. He threw a foot out to catch himself, and stood back up with a grin. "Hard to knock down a man wit' sea legs as good as mine." He gave Solona another wink.

Once again the man's chest heaved forward. He stumbled harder, revealing Nathaniel standing behind him, glaring.

"Move along." Nathaniel's voice was stern and icy. Setting his two glasses down on the table, Nathaniel slipped back to Solona's side, draping a possessive arm around her shoulder. The clear warning in his expression infused Solona with rush of grateful giddiness. Whiskey now surged through her veins, rendering her body loose and light, and aching for more of Nathaniel's touch. With a smirk to the fisherman, who rolled his eyes and rushed to rejoin his friends, Solona grabbed Nathaniel's waist in return, feeling the contours of his body as she pressed against him.

"They're coming out of the woodwork for you tonight." The sound of glass sliding across the table caught her attention, and she glanced down to see Nathaniel scooting a full glass of water toward her.

"I don't know why." She spoke each word deliberately, trying not to slur. "I must look like a particularly easy target tonight."

His shoulders raised in a slight shrug, causing his leathers to brush against her cheek. The warmth between her legs was growing in urgency with each second she spent pressed against him. His voice reverberated through his chest; Solona wanted to rest her head against it.

"You just look like a beautiful, sad girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders," he said into her ear.

Snorting, Solona tried to steady herself. Water had been a good call, though if he hadn't left and taken the glass, she might not have chugged half the whiskey bottle in his absence. Still, the last thing she wanted was to appear sloppy and out of control. At least to Nathaniel, of all people.

"I hate that word. Beautiful," Solona grumbled.

"I know you do," he laughed. His breath tickled her neck. He inhaled a jagged breath before speaking again. "But I won't apologize for using it this time."

The desire to dig down into him, to pull him around her and disappear was overwhelming. Mustering up what focus she could find, Solona pulled back. There was no denying that her heart was aching, that everything was aching, in ways both desperately good and even frightening. But a quiet voice somewhere in her head warned that she was only going to regret losing control this way. One thought rose up within the din of everything else: if it was true that Alistair was irrevocably lost, if it was true that she was free to give her heart to Nathaniel, it would be better to do it right, and not lose the experience to yet another whiskey-induced blackout. Solona cleared her throat and blinked away the fuzz in her vision.

"I'm not beautiful." She knew she needed to stop there, but words continued to spill. "I've never been beautiful. I've always been the invisible girl in the back of the room. The one nobody sees until it's time to kill something."

"You're not invisible, Solona." He scooted the water glass closer toward her. Agreeing that water wasn't a bad idea, Solona accepted the glass and gulped. Cool and clean, the water cleared away the sour bite in the back of her throat. Picking up the whiskey bottle, she ignored Nathaniel's concerned stare, filled his glass, and replaced the topper. She leaned across the table to set the bottle out of her reach.

"Well sure, not any more," she answered. "Not now that I'm some big hero. And I'm not that either, you know. I didn't kill the archdemon. If I had…" A soft pressure cupped her elbow closest to him, and this time she allowed herself to lean into his touch. It seemed a floodgate had opened somewhere inside her. She heard herself speaking, and felt strangely unconcerned with the confessions she was making.

"People don't see me, they see my title. Or some ridiculous story concocted by bards and blowhards."

The touch at her elbow squeezed. Taking a deep breath, Solona let her body come to a rest against his. New images invaded this time, but it wasn't a page from a book with a line of devastating words. It was a shirtless body standing before a fire, muscular and lithe.

"I see you," Nathaniel breathed.

"I don't know why you'd bother."

"Oh stop with the self-effacing bullshit," he said with a soft laugh. Solona recoiled slightly, but relaxed again when his arm tightened around her in a gentle squeeze. "Look, did you or did you not unite the dwarves, elves and mages with all of Ferelden to avenge King Cailan and fight the blight?"

"Not by myself."

"Of course not, but that doesn't discount your role. Did you or did you not go into the battle with the archdemon, prepared to give your life to stop the blight?" He took another drink of his whiskey. There was a looseness in his words that was reassuring. At the very least she soon wouldn't be the only drunk one, though he clearly had more self-control than she.

"Technically?" Solona let her head fall to the side and land on his shoulder. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, letting the smoky timbre of his voice lull her into deeper relaxation.

"Did you or did you not rid Ferelden of that treacherous Arl Howe?"

The humor in his voice as he spoke of his own father was unexpected enough to make her laugh, a genuine but quiet giggle. "Yes."

He laughed too, his fingers beginning a slow, circular massage on her hip.

"Well like it or not, my lady, you are a hero. And a beautiful one at that, at least in my eyes," he said. Solona's head rolled toward his neck. Fuck he smells good.

"And all that you've been through has clearly has taken its toll on you, but I don't think there is any question that you are… special. And I at least, would like to know you better. Not Solona the hero, Solona the quiet girl from Kirkwall who grew up in the Circle and who can put away a whole roasted chicken in two minutes flat."

"Okay, okay…" Solona stammered. Through the spot on her arm which rested against his chest came the quickening thump of his heartbeat, as comforting a sensation as she'd ever known. "But why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Perhaps not," she acquiesced. "But I'm asking for one anyway. Humor me."

"Okay then. Have you ever met someone and just immediately knew that they would… be important to you, somehow? Just a feeling that you can't explain?"

"Maybe."

"Well, that's it for starters. And also I feel that you and I are the same in some ways. Not all ways, but that would be boring anyway, wouldn't it? But maybe we could understand each other. Maybe we could help each other."

Solona's cheeks began to burn, and somewhere below that, the sting of tears once again. Shaking her head, Solona took a steadying breath, unsure how to respond. Everything he said sounded so true and right and… bloody perfect.

"And I like being with you," he continued, "Talking, like now, though it's me mostly doing the talking at the moment. I wish you weren't so down on yourself, but you seem to have your reasons. I feel like I can talk to you," he paused, and again came a gentle laugh in her ear. "Obviously. Tell me to stop if I'm talking too much."

Solona closed her eyes and absorbed the sound, the meaning of all the words. The tremendous comfort she seemed to be gaining from it all. It seemed more than she deserved. "Please don't."

"Well I hope… I hope that someday you might feel the same. That you could talk to me, if you needed to. Because you can, Solona. You can talk to me, anytime and about anything."

"Okay." Reasons she didn't understand had her pulling away. Instinctively she reached for the whiskey, and then caught herself mid-motion and went for the water instead. Emptying the glass, she glanced out the corner of her eye at Nathaniel, who was leaning back, watching her calmly.

"Okay," he echoed.

A heavy moment passed, eyes locked, while Solona tried to make sense of her instinct to pull back. It seemed she was constantly doing that. He'd continue to offer his company, his companionship, and she'd continue to rebuff him, even when that was the last thing she really wanted to do. And now, was it really even necessary?

"Okay," she said again, trying to ignore the ache to reach for him, to run her fingertips up his chest and nuzzle into his neck. To taste his skin, his lips. He'd let her, there was no doubt about that. But then the talking would likely end.

"How do you do it?" The words escaped her before she could present them clearly.

"Do what?" He raised a brow, the blue of his eyes sparkling.

"You've lost more than I have, more loved ones, your home, the future you thought you'd have. And it's not broken or crippled you, the way… the way it feels like it did me. How did you get to be so strong?"

"That is overstating things a bit," he snorted, shaking his head. "I assure you I am no stronger than anyone else."

"Bullshit, Nate. You see me, what a mess I am. I drink too much, I feel like I can hardly function some days. But you…" Solona sighed. "Tell me your secret."

"There's no secret. Most would have no interest in life advice from a Howe, Solona."

Solona stared at him expectantly. After another heavy moment of silence, Solona propped her head up on her palm, settling in to wait. With a smirk, Nathaniel shook his head.

"I guess…. I just try to stay focused on the 'here and now,'"

"The here and now?"

"That's right," he paused to drink down the last of his glass of whiskey, then slid the glass away and leaned forward on the table. Reaching tentatively toward him, Solona traced a fingertip along a seam of leather on his forearm. "I'm not saying there is anything wrong with reflection and contemplation and all that," he continued. "But… there is so much about this world that we don't know. That we can't know. What happens after death. Is the Maker real, and if so, is everything the Chantry says true? What if I had done things differently…"

Solona froze, his words seeming to reach directly into her, plucking some inner chord with an eerie precision. Goosebumps rose up her back. Her gaze trained upon the slight fidgeting of his fingers, Solona was afraid to meet his eyes. Taking slow, even breaths, she said nothing.

"And I'm not saying I don't think about those things — but so much of those questions will never be definitively answered. At least not unless you're willing to indulge in a bit of self-delusion. And if that's what you want, then so be it. But…" he paused again, his fingers falling still, and then reaching for hers, his pointer finger caressing gently over hers. Solona shuddered, fighting the call to scoot closer to him, to throw a leg over his lap and cover his mouth with her own. For a moment her eyes closed, the vision searing itself on the inside of her eyelids.

"Isn't it a waste of energy to dwell upon things we can never know, or never change? Meanwhile the things we can know, the things that we can actually affect and change and that are real, are right here, right now. You and me. This table. That glass. This room full of people. People who will actually be helped or harmed by our actions. Those in our past, however much we might love them, their time is done. Where they are now, we can't know. What happened yesterday, we can't change. Today matters more than yesterday. I'm just saying… I try to save my energy for the things that I can effect. I don't always succeed, but I try. And that's really all I can do, isn't it?"

Solona snorted. A calm warmth spread under her skin as the words echoed in her mind. The here and now. A deep truth resonated there though it didn't seem possible it could really be that simple. Could it? Watching the slow caress of his finger over hers, a disorienting lightness overtook her, sending the room spinning. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, the rumble of the full tavern room fell away. He was right, of course. She'd been so twisted up over all the things she didn't know, questions that could never be answered, she'd been living for months in complete disregard of the present moment.

"Well if that's not a secret of life, then I don't know what is," Solona whispered.