Many, many thanks to Olndina for beta'ing this for me. The idea for what the Howe vase might actually look like came from FantasyFiend09.

A sigh of relief escaped Nathaniel's lips as he closed the door to his room, the desire to block out the rest of the world overwhelming him. After more than two hours, he'd finally been able to escape the Fealty Ceremony that the Seneschal had organized. If there was one thing he didn't miss about being a nobleman, it was the endless stream of ceremonies and balls that he had been required to attend when he was younger. At least there was no longer an endless line of banns' daughters paraded in front of him like cattle.

He quickly rid himself of his doublet and hosen and changed into a pair of light cotton breeches and a tunic, his usual sleepwear. He was just about to crawl into bed when there was a knock on the door. He opened it hesitantly, hoping it wasn't Gideon there to scold him for leaving the ceremony early.

To his surprise, it was the mage. "Anders? Is something wrong?" Why else would he be there?

Anders shook his head. "No, no, everything's fine." He flashed him a smile. "I picked something up in Amaranthine that I thought you might like. I just found it when I was unpacking; I'd forgotten all about it."

Nathaniel opened the door further and Anders entered, holding a small bundle of cloth, which he handed it to Nathaniel . Curious, Nathaniel unwrapped the bundle to find a small golden vase; engraved on the side was the Howe crest. "This is . . . where did you get this?" He looked up at Anders.

"At one of the shopkeepers," Anders replied. "He had it out on the table and I thought I recognized the crest. I mean, it's the same as the one that's on your bow, isn't it?"

Nathaniel nodded. "This was my mother's. It's a bud vase. She used to keep it on her vanity, and every morning one of the maids would put a single rose inside it." He stared at the tiny vase as childhood memories flooded his mind. "She loved roses." He looked up at the mage. "Thank you, Anders. This is . . . It means a lot to me."

Anders grinned at him. "I'm glad you like it."

"It must have cost you a lot. I'll pay you back for it." He didn't have much coin, but perhaps he could talk Gideon into giving him an advance on his salary.

Anders shook his head, still smiling. "I got a good deal on it. Consider it a 'thank you' for saving my life."

Nathaniel moved to the mantelpiece over the fire, and set the vase down in the very center of it, turning it until the crest was facing outward. He carefully traced the design of the crest with his finger before turning back around to find Anders sitting on the chaise.

Nathaniel sat down next to him. "Was Gideon mad that I left early?" he asked.

"I doubt it." Anders shrugged. "He wrapped things up pretty quickly after that, anyway." He chuckled quietly. "I doubt he wanted to be there any more than you did."

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I can imagine."

A few moments of silence passed between them before Anders finally spoke. "Who was that woman you were talking to?"

"That woman? Oh, that was Bann Esmerelle," Nathaniel replied. "She and my father were . . . very close." He let the words linger, knowing that Anders would understand his meaning.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "You looked awfully upset after she left."

Nathaniel felt a flash of irritation at the mage's obvious prying, but it quickly faded when he saw the look of concern on the other man's face. He realized that Anders wasn't just being nosy, he was actually concerned about Nathaniel. Strange. Even stranger was the obvious fact that Anders had been watching him so intently during the ceremony.

"She was the one who told me about my father," he finally said, "after I arrived in Amaranthine."

Anders looked at him startled. "You mean about . . . how he died?"

Nathaniel nodded. "She told me a lot of things, things which I know now aren't true." He sighed, suddenly tired to his bones. "She doesn't think much of me now, that's for sure."

"Why not?" Anders asked. "I mean, not that it's any great loss, from what I saw of the woman . . ."

"I think that she assumed I would want to take up my father's mantle, that I would be like him. She was most upset to find that I didn't kill Gideon when I had the chance."

Anders leaned back on the chaise, stretching his arm out along the back. Much to his own surprise, Nathaniel didn't shy away from the closeness. "Didn't she know you when you were younger?" the mage asked. "You weren't anything like your father, were you?"

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I wasn't like my father at all . . . that was my problem."

"You mean that was your father's problem."

Nathaniel looked at him sharply, before relenting. "More or less. As for Esmerelle, no, she didn't know me that well when I was a child. My father's policy for his children was 'be seen, but don't be heard.' He wanted everyone to think we were all one big happy family." His voice was laced with a bitterness that was surprising, but perhaps shouldn't have been.

"And you weren't?" Anders asked softly.

"Not exactly." He stared into the fire. "It was . . ." He sighed. "Thomas was always the better son. I was the disappointment. And since I was eldest—and our father's heir—well . . . let's just say that it wasn't always pleasant for me here." Even more than his bitterness, Nathaniel's opening up to the other man was surprising. It felt good to voice these thoughts. Anders had trusted Nathaniel enough to tell him about that girl he'd known in the Tower, and he found himself wanting to return the favor. "My father . . . expected a lot of me," Nathaniel said slowly. "He wanted me to be like him, in every way possible." He looked at Anders. "I knew he was a hard man, and cruel, but I just didn't want to believe it. I thought there was something wrong with me for thinking that there was something wrong with him." He shook his head. "I don't know if that even makes any sense."

"It does," Anders replied. "You couldn't be what he wanted you to be, so instead of blaming him, you blamed yourself."

Nathaniel blinked. "How did you . . ."

It was Anders' turn to look bitter. "It's the same for a lot of mages. They blame themselves for being able to do magic. They think there's something wrong with them, because everyone tells them there is."

"But not you?" Nathaniel asked.

"No. I've never felt guilty about being a mage. I'm proud of it. I don't give a shit what the Chantry or anyone else says. Magic isn't a curse." His brow furrowed.

Nathaniel actually smiled at that. "Then you have more fortitude than I. I constantly worried about what my father thought of me."

"You don't anymore though, right?" Anders actually looked concerned. "Because you shouldn't."

The fire crackled in the hearth as Nathaniel thought about the question. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I know I didn't live up to his expectations, but I'm not sure if I should be proud of that or ashamed."

"You should be proud." The hardness in Anders' voice surprised him. "You're a good man."

Nathaniel looked away from the mage, slightly embarrassed. "Thank you."

A few moments of silence passed before Anders spoke again. "So, do you think all those posh nobs are still loyal to your father?"

Nathaniel was a bit surprised by the change in topic. "I'm sure some of them are. Why?"

"I overheard a few of them talking. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was pretty suspicious the way they were all huddled together, whispering." He hesitated. "It sounded like they might have been planning something against the Commander."

"Did you tell Gideon?"

Anders nodded. "He said, 'let the bastards try it.'"

Nathaniel chuckled. "Exactly what I'd expect him to say. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll take your words to heart and watch his back. Gideon's no fool—he knows there are plenty of people who aren't happy he has my father's land and title."

"Why? From what I know of your father, he didn't seem like the type who would have ruled the land with a fair hand. No offense."

"He wasn't, not really," Nathaniel replied. "I daresay the peasants will be happy to see Gideon on the arl's throne . . . if the Commander's able to keep them from starving, that is. But there were quite a few sycophantic nobles who were well served by my father's rule. Rendon Howe rewarded those who licked his boots, and he punished those who didn't."

Anders scowled a bit at that. "Sounds like the Commander's going to need to clean house."

"Perhaps," Nathaniel agreed. "But he'll have to be very careful about it."

Anders cocked his head. "How do you know so much about all this?"

"It's what I was raised to do. I was the eldest, so I had to be prepared to take my father's place as arl when he died."

"Why did he send you to the Free Marches, then?" Anders asked. "If he wanted you to learn how to become arl, shouldn't you have stayed here?"

Nathaniel frowned. "That's a long story." His voice was hard, hopefully enough of an incentive to keep the mage from asking further questions about that topic.

A slight tension seemed to fill the air. "Nathaniel, I . . ."

Nathaniel looked at him, unsettled by the curious look on the mage's face. "Yes?"

Anders shook his head. "It's late." He smiled. "I should get going."

Nathaniel nodded, ignoring the tiny throb of disappointment that rose up in him. "Right." He watched as Anders rose from the chaise and headed for the door. "Thank you again, Anders. For the vase."

Anders shrugged. "Just didn't seem right letting someone else have it." He smiled at Nathaniel again. "Goodnight." He closed the door softly behind him.

oOoOo

Nathaniel's sleep was broken up by dreams of darkspawn: slavering, hideous monsters, feeding on rotting flesh. There was a dim awareness in the back of his mind that there was someone he had to save, to protect, but every time he returned to wakefulness, he couldn't remember who it had been.

Several hours of sleeping, then waking, then sleeping again found Nathaniel up and getting dressed in the hour before dawn. If he couldn't find rest, perhaps he could find food.

It was early enough that he'd expected to have the dining hall to himself, and therefore was surprised to see Gideon sitting on one side of the long table, eating a breakfast of eggs and sausage. Nathaniel brought the porridge he had put together in the kitchen and sat down on the other side of the man. "Morning, Commander."

Gideon nodded at him in acknowledgment as he continued eating.

The two men ate in silence, though the tension that was usually present between them was absent. There had been a subtle shift between them, one that Nathaniel couldn't easily identify. Perhaps it had come from him learning and accepting the truth about his father, or maybe it was because they had spent so much time in each other's company.

Gideon finally broke the silence. "I was wrong about you."

Nathaniel looked at the other man warily. "About what, exactly?"

Gideon stared at him with those piercing eyes. "You're not like your father." He looked back down at his breakfast as he toyed with his fork. "And you don't deserve to be punished for what he did."

Nathaniel was completely taken by surprise. That was honestly the last thing he would have expected to hear from Gideon Cousland. "Thank you, Commander," he said quietly. Then, feeling as if that wasn't enough, "I truly am sorry for what happened to your family. If I'd been there, if I'd known what my father had been planning . . ."

"You would have done everything you could to stop it, I know." Gideon actually smiled at him. "If nothing else, you never would have let Fergus be hurt like that."

Nathaniel froze as he absorbed Gideon's meaning. "You . . . knew?"

"About you and Fergus?" Gideon asked. "Not at the time, no. But he told me about it years later, some of it at least."

Probably not everything, though, Nathaniel thought to himself. He doubted if Fergus would tell his baby brother the whole story, not that it mattered much anymore. Aloud, he said, "You're right. I'd never hurt Fergus. I never would have hurt any of them."

Gideon nodded, satisfied, as he returned to his meal.

"We're going to be heading out in a couple of days," he said between bites of food. "I want to check out that area in the Knotwood Hills, where those two idiots say they stumbled on a horde of darkspawn."

"Do you think they were lying?" Nathaniel asked as he spooned up some of his porridge.

Gideon shrugged. "I don't know. Can't see what they'd have to gain from telling a lie like that, but the idea of that many darkspawn gathered in one area? I think I'd prefer it if they were lying."

Nathaniel definitely agreed. They'd run into pockets of darkspawn here and there during their trip to Amaranthine—and in the Keep's cellars—but even the largest group had consisted of only nine or ten hurlocks and genlocks. The idea of facing a large swarm of them was unsettling.

"They could have lied for the attention," he mused. "Peasants don't exactly have exciting lives, so maybe they just made it up to get themselves noticed."

Gideon shook his head. "I doubt it. The elf acted like he'd been dropped on his head a few times too many, and his friend didn't look much brighter. Making up a simple story is one thing, but coming up with the details they knew and drawing a pretty good map, I don't think they have it in them to think up something like that on their own."

The sound of a fork scraping on an empty plate indicated Gideon had finished his breakfast. "I should go find Varel, apparently he has a whole list of things I need to know in order to run this place." He scowled as he stood up from the table. "Maybe we can get some sparring practice in later." He said it casually, as if it was no big deal.

Nathaniel blinked up at him. "I'm always up for a match."

"Good. I'll come find you later. After Varel's done boring me to death."

Nathaniel nodded respectfully to his commander. He continued eating his porridge, his mind turning over everything that Gideon had said to him. Could it really be possible for the two noblemen to become, if not friends, then at least allies?

He returned to his room to get ready for the day, feeling more at peace than he had since returning to Amaranthine.

Just as he'd finished braiding his hair, the sound of voices in the hallway caught his attention. He moved to the door and opened it just a crack to see Anders standing in the doorway to his own room. Nathaniel's eyes flickered to the woman—she was one of the cook's assistants, if he remembered correctly—standing beside the mage. As he watched, Anders leaned in and gave the giggling girl a short, but intimate, kiss on the lips, before bidding her farewell and closing his door. Neither of them seemed to notice that they were being watched.

Nathaniel closed his door quietly and rested his head against it, his newfound peace gone.