Soft. Soft hair, soft skin, soft curves under his palms. Nathaniel savored the word, tumbling it around in his mind as her lips, luscious and pillowy, moved with urgency against his. Somewhere behind them came noise, muffled and inconsequential. Each time she pressed harder against him his breath drained from his lungs, leaving him gasping, struggling like a drowning man to bring in some of her life-saving force. Soft Solona.
It had been satisfying enough just to sit and talk, to know he'd been heard. Those moments her eyes went sharp with her undivided attention would be remembered for a long time to come. It had almost made him dizzy to see her focused so intently on him, to finally feel her entirely there, and not mentally a thousand miles away. Her presence, confirmed again and again by his searching hands, writhed with hunger. He could feel it in the way she clawed him toward her, in the way her kiss burned with desperation. If they stayed in this place much longer he might find himself stripped of his leathers, making love to her against the tavern wall while surrounded by people.
His hand cupped her cheek. So bloody soft. Trying to slow her, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb and steadied her head, preparing to come up for air. Nothing in all of Thedas sounded better than losing himself in her, but not here. Against his urging, her mouth opened, her breath hot as she searched to reconnect to his. He held out for a moment, thinking of other places they could go, places that required they stop and start walking. To darkened hallways and beyond locked doors. And then came the stab of memory - of twice, at least, that she'd already pushed him away. It had seemed that this moment might not come, and here it is, and if he stopped to usher them to greater privacy maybe she'd reconsider. Maybe she'd slip out of the moment and be gone again. Her eyes flashed black as she lunged back to his mouth and he relented immediately, his tongue diving back against hers. His other hand resting upon the sloping firmness of her hip. Her body thrummed.
A niggling little voice buzzed in the back of his head. Were he an onlooker there in the tavern, he'd be rolling his eyes with irritation. Mentally he conjured up an obscene gesture to any who might be doing the same while looking at him and Solona. Sure, the location was unconventional for a first kiss, but no one could possibly understand how long they had waited for this moment. The awareness of those around him didn't last, fizzling away under the sensory onslaught of Solona's attention. She smelled of violets and woodsmoke, the softness of her body a silky patina over muscle and strength. His inner voice continued on quietly, firing off questions he could ask her outright if he wasn't so afraid of killing the moment. Is this still for show? Are you pretending?
The thought sent a lurch through his gut. But those two lecherous men were gone, escaped or otherwise indisposed. Who could she be putting on a show for now?
Nathaniel tightened his arms around her, soaking himself in the sensation of her against him. Here his own mind wandered off, instead of remaining firmly in that Here and Now that he believed in so much. And, he remembered, they still had to wait to rendezvous with Anders and Velanna, who…
The thought drifted away from him. It was impossible to tell the time in the dimness of the Tavern, and they'd already been there talking for… well, however long it had been. It had been one of those conversations that felt like it took place over maybe twenty minutes, but for all he knew it could have been hours. Anders could walk through the door any moment, or not until much later.
An image floated behind his eyes of Anders arriving and seeing that Solona had chosen him, Nathaniel Howe, despite the stain that had become the Howe family name. Solona, for as much as she had been drinking, had to still be somewhat aware that she was publicly cavorting with a Howe. The Hero and the son of what was, apparently, one of Ferelden's most recent and infamous villains, now publicly paired. How might this affect the Wardens? They were already struggling against popular opinion and the disapproval of the local nobles. But again came the fantasy of Anders, his face falling as he viewed Solona and Nathaniel holding each other, kissing with months of pent up passion. Whatever remained of Nathaniel's impulse to move to a less conspicuous place fell away. Anders should arrive, soon hopefully, and then he could see for himself.
Unless she really was pretending. But it certainly didn't feel pretend. Nathaniel heard himself groaning as he smashed his mouth into hers with a renewed fervor, afraid for a split second that it might have been too hard. Solona's breathless response reassured him that the force was welcome. A low whimper rumbled in her chest. Her grip bit into the back of his neck, nails scoring the flesh below his hairline. Her tongue, hot and silky, snaked around his before her teeth chewed for a moment on his bottom lip. His body grew into an animal that was quickly moving beyond his control, arcing against hers, seeking complete immersion. Heat rose up his core, inflaming his cheeks and blooming out from the heaviness between his legs. The sting left by her nails spoke a simple truth. You don't hold someone that hard if it's just for show.
An authoritative voice boomed over the din of the tavern. "If your business here is through, then you need to move out."
Footsteps intensified in response, shuffling and stamping, voices in every register slurring their dissent. Armor jangled as Amaranthine guards made their way toward the location of the fight.
The next moments passed in a blur for Nathaniel. Solona's hands on his face as their lips disentangled, pausing for a second to rest her nose against his. The dark orbs of her eyes scanning the room before landing back on his face. With flushed cheeks, she gazed at Nathaniel and something remarkable happened: she smiled. A real smile, not one of those half-smiles or snorts that she gave occasionally, and which never extended to her eyes. The light that seemed to shine from her face disoriented Nathaniel and he heard himself clear his throat as he widened his stance to prevent himself from swaying. The smile he returned was entirely involuntary, as though the beauty before him was plucking the strings of his muscles and making them dance. He cleared his throat again and picked up her hand. She laced her fingers through his, gripping without hesitation.
Step by step the main room of the tavern receded. The front door blared a blinding light each time it swung open to release a new stream of departing patrons. Mick's voice carried over the thumping of footsteps, responding to a guard's question about the number of people filing past. "…leaving the farmlands in droves to escape the darkspawn… Amaranthine's running out of places to put them all…"
"So, who's tending the fields?"
Mick laughed. "Who indeed."
Stealing glances at Solona as they descended the steps toward the front door, Nathaniel felt a swell of elation in his chest. Despite all that there was in Amaranthine to worry about, he wanted to laugh, loudly and unabashedly, for what felt like the first time in months. First his sister, and now this. It was more than he'd dared to hope for. Solona's eyes flicked up to meet his, her cheeks glowing a radiant pink. The brilliance of her smile lingered like sunspots over his vision as they navigated down the stairs. They emerged into the golden sunlight of late afternoon and stepped off to the side of the entrance. She squeezed his hand as they stood, casting sheepish glances at each other while waiting for the crowd to disperse.
Solona moved closer, leaning her shoulder against his arm. Instinctively he turned toward her. Releasing her hand, he curled his arm around her back. A flicker of that smile illuminated her eyes for a moment, sending Nathaniel's stomach crashing pleasantly downward. This is it, whispered a certainty somewhere in his chest. This is the real deal. Letting out a lungful of air, Nathaniel relaxed into a comfortable stance against her, though his heart still thundered under his breastbone. The only communication between them came in the form of shy smiles and massaging, caressing fingers. Brushing firmly up her side, Nathaniel measured the slope of her waist with his palms, the jut of her hip bones, the small notches of vertebrae up her back. She released a shudder that rattled through him, drawing his lip into another involuntary curl. Every passing moment felt dreamlike, and electric in its intensity.
He stood memorizing the detail of her face, transformed as it was by a genuine smile, though the whites of her eyes still bore the pink stain of drunkenness. A faint purple blush darkened her heavy lids and her lips shone an inflamed red from the force of their kissing. He could hardly help but reach up to lightly stroke the soft porcelain of her cheek. She gazed up at him quietly, but in the shadows of her eyes he saw that flickering sadness, ever-present and as bottomless at the Void itself. He sighed. Of course this wasn't going to be easy; she still clearly had a lot to work through. But they'd taken a couple first steps. And nothing that was worth it was ever easy.
In the corner of his vision a figure grew large with closeness, the blur of the person eventually resolving itself into clarity.
"So, who brought the party outside?" Anders asked as he approached, turning to survey the milling bodies. Old men ambled off into the streets, slowed by the alcohol in their veins, but many of the younger patrons stayed close, grouping into circles to discuss the next destination. Some of them seemed to be hoping they'd just be invited back into the tavern once the guards were finished. Nathaniel pressed down a grin as he gripped Solona tighter. Her body responded instantly to his touch, stealing the entirety of his focus for a fleeting second.
"A fight," Solona answered. "The guards are in there now."
Anders closed the last of the distance between them, gazing back and forth at Nathaniel and Solona with changing expressions. Nathaniel snorted, taking in the alternating distaste and amusement playing over the mage's face. Mostly Anders seemed unsurprised, and like he was trying to look like he didn't care. Anders' eyes locked onto Solona and grew dark. She looked down at her feet, and then up again, her chin jutting forward with what almost seemed like defiance. Nathaniel's stare remained transfixed on Anders, waiting for the moment that the reality of the situation sank in.
It's not like you ever really cared for her anyway.
Nathaniel pressed down a grin, trying not to let his satisfaction show too brightly. The quiet moment stretched longer and longer. Finally, Anders pulled out a flask and emptied it, his brow arching as the serious expression melted away.
"And our spritely little Hero didn't jump in?" Anders smirked. "That's very unlike the Commander that I know. We've all seen how much she likes a good battle."
Nathaniel looked to Solona, assuming she'd like to respond for herself.
"It wasn't our business," she said with conviction.
"Is that right?" Anders' gaze hardened as it flicked up Nathaniel. Disheveled and swaying on his feet, it seemed that flask wasn't his first. Andraste's tits, you're all a bunch of alcoholics.
A blonde head in the distance caught Nathaniel's eye. Velanna, standing away from the crowd of people as though getting too close might infect her with some virus, glared impatiently as she leaned against a building wall, arms crossed over her chest. Nathaniel wondered idly if she had a drinking problem too. Adding Oghren into the mix and it was a shock Ferelden wasn't running short on whiskey just like it seemed to be everything else. Anders leaned in, his eyes trained on Solona. Nathaniel took a step away, pulling Solona with him. Anders gave no notice.
"So." Anders nodded at the two of them, his eyes flicking pointedly to Solona, "The three of us, then? I can think of a few things we can try-"
Nathaniel's laugh came out as more of a cough.
"What did you just say, mage?" he asked, incredulous. Anders swung to face Nathaniel, his eyes sliding lasciviously down his body. Nathaniel recoiled.
"The three of us," Anders said again. "You, me and our Commander…"
The proposition was absolutely absurd, and stated with such infuriating assumption. A high-pitched whir fired up in Nathaniel's ears. He loosed another bitter laugh and shook his head.
"You're confusing fantasy for reality again, mage."
Anders tilted his head. "You like reminding me that I'm a mage? You think I might have forgotten?"
Anders snapped a small orange flame into existence and then gawked at it with feigned surprise. A sulfurous aroma wafted through the air.
"Oh, you're right!" Anders exclaimed. His mock surprise was masterfully acted, his eyes glinting with laughter. "Look at that!"
Nathaniel's smirk slipped into a snarl. Sharpness bit into his side as Solona's grip tightened. But Anders only grinned wider while taking a step closer to Solona, arm moving to reach casually toward her.
"And I'm not confusing anything am I, Sol? We already talked about this, in fact. Just the other day." Anders moved to sling his arm around Solona's shoulders.
Nathaniel's hand shot out, impacting against Anders' chest and jarring him back. The mage's loose body seemed to absorb the blow. He stumbled back a few steps and then righted himself, his smirk only spreading. Anders' chest had been unexpectedly solid.
"Anders, please don't—" Solona tried to step between them.
"Oh, that's how you like it too, little Nate? I can see I am in for a very fun night…"
Fury surged through Nathaniel's veins. Distantly he felt Solona's hands pushing on him, trying to hold him back. Her head bobbed before him as she tried to make herself a barrier, her hair wafting a sweet floral scent that seemed utterly out of place amidst the tension. Visions of punching Anders right in his smug face filled Nathaniel's head, and not for the first time. Another deep breath, Nathaniel cocked a brow and gritted his teeth. Part of him loathed the idea of losing himself to a petty fit of machismo in front of Solona. Another part wanted to make it quite clear to Anders that he was not going to be cowed by arrogant bullshit.
"Just what the fuck are you talking about, Anders?" Nathaniel asked, though in truth, he didn't care to hear the answer.
"I don't know if she's told you, little Nate, but I actually like it rough…" Anders whispered conspiratorially, his eyes traveling up and down Nathaniel's body again. It seemed the tenser Nathaniel appeared, the more excited Anders got. Nathaniel balled his hands into fists and took another deep, steadying breath.
"And she's very good at being rough."
"Anders, shut your mouth," Solona demanded. The air rippled almost imperceptibly, bringing with it the ionic tang of electricity. This time Nathaniel had little desire to hold Solona back, even if a burst of temper remained unwise. A quick scan of the street revealed deepening shadows as the sun sank behind the Chantry. What few people remained in front of the tavern were so absorbed in their own conversations that they hardly noticed Anders. Nathaniel's heart pounded, but now from a slow burning rage. Weeks and weeks of enduring Anders' smartass comments had slowly chipped through his patience, and now he found himself wanting Solona to unleash, to put the arrogant man in his place.
"…though I do wonder just how little he actually is. Have you gotten your hands on it yet, Sol? Or any of your other parts?"
"You vulgar little prick," Nathaniel spat. "Don't talk to her like that."
"Oh I'm not so little." Anders laughed. "She can confirm that too."
Slowly, the fact of what Anders was saying began to register. Solona's face remained turned away, though Nathaniel could feel the magical energy building in the air.
"Just shut up, Anders," Solona growled.
"You know, I've been meaning to ask you..." Anders continued, addressing Solona but watching Nathaniel with a mischievous glare, "why you were all wet the other night when you came to my room. You must have just come in from the rain, huh?"
Nathaniel's stomach dropped, the realization that Anders must not have been lying spreading like acid up into his throat. Of course Solona had always been free to do what she wanted, but was that why she'd run away from Nathaniel under the bridge? Had she already made her choice? She'd left him there, alone, so she could run to Anders? Nathaniel stepped numbly away from Solona's touch. A quick glance toward her saw her standing limp, seemingly frozen as she watched the two. Such inaction in the face of conflict was so unlike her that it could only be a confirmation. If Anders was lying, wouldn't she say so? She would deny it, laugh it off. Anything. As the moment stretched on it became clear that the magical hum in the air wasn't coming from her. If anything she seemed switched off, like she'd already mentally escaped and left behind an empty, resigned husk. He watched her with heart in his throat, waiting, mentally urging her to speak.
Say something! Tell me he's lying!
"Nate," she croaked, looking up as though suddenly realizing what was happening.
Anders rocked on his heels and continued, "Nothing like a brisk rainstorm to get the blood flowing, is there? Yours certainly was, Sol. Damn I can't wait to do that again. We can fit Nathaniel in somewhere."
The laughter in Anders' voice was the last straw. The asshole is enjoying this. Nathaniel's body surged toward Anders, propelled by a flood of adrenaline and a need to shut the mage up. In a blink Anders leapt back, his hand gripping the base of his staff, rearing to pull it free from its latch on his back. The hairs on Nathaniel's body rose up on end as the air charged around him.
The next moment happened in a flash. Anders' staff swung forward, a shimmer of magic traveling up to the staffhead, which pulsed with a palpable hum. A split-second decision had Nathaniel's hand not at the bow on his back, but in the pouch at his belt, and then casting toward Anders, consuming him in a powdery grey cloud. Nathaniel parried backward to dodge the staff, which clattered to the ground as the magic dissipated. The cloud fell away quickly revealing Anders, bent over, with palms over his eyes. Then he began to scream.
The streets erupted in noise. The remaining crowd, once scattered and absorbed in conversation, now looked on with alarm, their voices rising to be heard over Anders' wail. The kneeling mage clawed at his eyelids, an impression of a light blue orb appearing around him repeatedly as he attempted to heal himself. A moment of calm followed each magical pop of the healing spell, but quickly Anders was whimpering again as the powder, stuck under his eyelids, resumed chafing and stinging. Solona stepped toward Anders and then stopped, pivoting toward Nathaniel.
Nathaniel's limbs may as well have turned to stone. He felt cold as he stared down at her. Her dark eyes gaped with some unspoken plea. He couldn't help but eye the luscious curve of her lip, the slight tremble in her chin. His chest twisted painfully.
"He's not lying," Nathaniel stated.
Solona shook her head and took a step toward him, her eyes flitting repeatedly down to the still groaning Anders. Shadows of movement filled Nathaniel's peripheral vision as the crowd around them grew larger. Soon the scene they'd created would draw more guards, but he didn't care. And the only thing that would truly work for Anders was a thorough eye-washing. Someone, at some point, would have to pull him up and take him to a basin. The thought of helping Solona carry Anders brought the sting of bile to the back of his mouth. And then, a walk together back to the Keep, where Anders would certainly continue to run his mouth. Where he'd have to watch Solona and know…
An impulse to slip into the crowd and disappear was rising. To get away from Solona, from the reality that he'd been fooling himself for so long. That again and again he'd let himself hope for something…. And she'd already chosen Anders in secret. Nathaniel gulped at the air and nodded to himself. His suspicions, — his fears - it seemed, had been correct. The kissing, the urgency that he'd assumed was real, genuine passion, was all for show. All to discourage a couple of creeps in a bar. Nathaniel dropped his eyes away, needing to ease the pain of looking at her. A confusion of accusations clouded his brain. That she'd been toying with him, that she must have known he'd be affected.
And still she said nothing, the most infuriating part of it all. Solona's attention, drawn repeatedly by Anders' agonized struggling, wavered from Nathaniel to Anders and back again. She took several steps toward Anders and growled.
"Just bloody heal it!"
Anders' voice was satisfyingly distressed. "I'm trying!" Solona paced, her cheeks ashen, eyes dulled. Occasionally she blinked up at Nathaniel, and finally he caught her eye and held it.
"I'm sorry," she pleaded. Nathaniel jumped back as she strode to him, seemingly regaining a bit of her senses. "Nate, please, I'm sorry."
A new wail from Anders snagged her attention again. She stomped impatiently as she looked back and forth between the two men. Her limbs shook with frustration as she leaned over Anders for a moment, her hands starting and then abandoning an attempt to help, an attempt which would clearly be useless anyway. Then she stood and faced Nathaniel. Her face was a picture of dejection. So unlike the smile she gave him before Anders came along, and the shy little grins. She'd even blushed for fuck's sake. And none of it was real.
The words left Nathaniel before he could stop them, tinged with a sharp derision. "You are a fantastic actress."
He thought he saw a shine of tears in her eyes as he turned away. The need to get out, get away was overwhelming. People bumped him as they tried to see why the man on the ground was screaming. Drunkards slurred oblivious questions to each other. His feet moved on their own, carrying him between faceless onlookers.
"Where are you going!?" Solona called behind him.
"Home," he responded numbly.
Home. It wasn't really that anymore. Or certainly not in the way he remembered it. Nathaniel kicked at the rocks littering the road out of Amaranthine. Dry leaves rustled as the rocks shot through the brush and landed with a thud, or sometimes a splash. A breeze swayed the trees overhead, cutting dark spikes out of the golden sky, but the quiet was a welcome contrast to the street in front of the Tavern. His stomach felt as though he'd swallowed a pound of lead. Each footstep landed heavily, slamming into the half-dried mud. Flashes of Solona kissing him played before his eyes, which only angered him further. He wanted to put it out of his mind, but the thoughts came anyway, along with doubts about what Anders might have meant, and rebuttals to his own assumptions. Was he really surprised that she'd slept with Anders? Would it matter if it hadn't happened the night she'd left him in the rain?
No, it wouldn't have mattered. If she'd chosen Nathaniel, then whatever happened before with Anders would be left in the past.
And again, he saw her smile. Something fluttered in his chest at even the thought. However many months it had been since that day she released him from the dungeons, living and traveling together day in and day out, and he'd never seen her smile like that. Nothing even remotely like that. And she'd done so for him.
Does she smile like that for Anders?
If so, Nathaniel had never seen it. Who knew why she might have done the things that she'd done? After all she'd shared with him in the tavern, about the loss of her lover Alistair, it was clear that she wasn't coping well with life in general.
His steps slowed. Should he have waited, and tried to talk more to her? He turned and looked at the dull brown outer wall of Amaranthine. Tiny figures moved around the outside of the gate, guards and merchants, peasants and farmers. His heart thudded in his ears as he searched the figures for one that might be a petite, dark haired woman. Allowing himself a moment to imagine she might run after him, he scripted what he might say. What would he want her to say?
It was real. I wasn't pretending. Don't listen to Anders. I don't want him, I want you.
But she'd already had that chance. And apparently, she thought Anders was the better man.
Nathaniel swallowed down the lump in his throat and turned to continue walking. It would be full dark before he even reached the Keep. For a moment he considered the possibility of not returning to the Keep at all. He could find a spot to camp somewhere, maybe stay for a few days and get his head on straight. With a sigh, he wished he had one of those medallions that Solona had shown him in the tavern, the ones that hid the taint. That would help keep him safe in the dark. From darkspawn anyway, though those certainly weren't the only threats in the forest. Nathaniel's steps quickened, bringing him around a bend in the trees. The last visual trace of Amaranthine disappeared, leaving him alone with the wind and the trees. He shook his head as he imagined them back in Amaranthine. Solona wiping Anders' face, comforting him. Probably yelling at him too. At least for bullshit way that he outed them. What a dick.
That she might not stay with him after that stunt provided a small bit of solace. Hopefully she dumped him in some humiliating, spectacular fashion. If she didn't… well then, she wasn't the woman Nathaniel assumed she was in the first place.
Somewhere far behind came a niggling sensation. An awareness of the taint. A solitary presence, moving quickly along the road out of Amaranthine. Nathaniel's heart skipped. Could it be her? Who else might it be?
He slowed his pace, turning around to eye the spot where the road disappeared behind the bend. The presence still had a lot of distance to cover, but it was coming, for sure. Nathaniel took a deep breath and considered again what he might say.
No, he wasn't going to say anything. She could be the one to do the talking.
He continued along, but slowly, mentally tracking her approach. She could easily catch up with him at her pace, but there wasn't really time to dawdle. If he was going to camp, then he'd need to decide before the sun got too low. If he was going to continue on home, then he needed to move as quickly as possible. And had she just left the others behind? What were they going to do? Walk back in the dark? So far they'd gone to great lengths to avoid traveling in the dark, and already the last stretch of the journey to the Keep was destined to be by starlight. Either Anders and Velanna had shown up late to the rendezvous at the tavern, or that fight had lasted longer than he'd realized.
Finally, the figure was close, and Nathaniel stopped, eying the slim stretch of road beside the bend again. His heart began to race as she drew closer with every step. He took a deep breath and tried to put aside Anders' words echoing in his head. Whatever it was she had to say, he would listen.
But it wasn't Solona. It was Velanna that emerged into view, her wispy frame practically sprinting, her face screwed into her usual frown. Nathaniel turned around and continued walking, unsure why she was following him. Of course, he couldn't blame her for not wanting to stay behind with Anders and Solona. She'd probably just glare at Nathaniel as per usual, at least until the sun went down and he couldn't see her face anymore. But at least Velanna was never dishonest about her feelings for anyone; she made them perfectly clear whether you wanted to know or not.
He raised a brow as she sauntered up beside him.
"Solona sent me to be your backup," Velanna explained. "In case you run into trouble on the way back."
"Are they not coming?"
Velanna shrugged. "They're still trying to get that shit out of Anders' eyes."