An abbreviated author's note about Unseen Forces and my writing in general (if you want to read all my long-winded rambles and status updates you can check out my tumblr, kelcatwritings):

Yes, this story's still very important to me, but I've been finding myself losing steam. I'll get my interest back, I know, and I'm working on some other projects in the meantime. I may wind up taking more time between chapters for a while, because I'd rather be slow and write good stuff then speed through it and churn out crap. Thanks for bearing with me!

And thanks to my beta Olndina for all of her help!

Nathaniel wasn't in the mood to dine with the other Wardens, even though he was starving. Instead, he grabbed a hunk of bread from the kitchens and headed up to his bedchamber. He ate his meager meal on the way up the stairs, polishing it off right as he got to his door. Once inside, Nathaniel stashed his weapons on the stand against the wall and pulled a pair of sleep pants from the wardrobe. He hadn't even had a chance to take his boots off when he heard a knock at the door. Anders. It had to be him, after everything that had happened. He sighed quietly as he opened the door to reveal the blond mage standing in the hallway, as expected.

"We need to talk," Anders said by way of greeting.

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, undecided. He knew he had to speak with the mage sooner or later, but even a few weeks later, he just wasn't sure if he was ready to face this. Finally, he nodded his head. "All right." Rather than let Anders into his room, though, Nathaniel stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him; being alone in his bedchamber with Anders right now didn't seem like the best idea. "Let's just . . . go for a walk."

Anders moved away from the door, frowning a little. "Sure you don't mind being seen with me in public?" There was just a touch of contempt in his voice.

The rogue walked slowly down the hall, Anders keeping pace with him. "I have no problem being seen with you, Anders."

"But you've been avoiding me in public," Anders pointed out.

Nathaniel sighed. "I've been avoiding you everywhere."

That stopped Anders in his tracks. "Huh. I didn't think you'd actually admit it."

Nathaniel stopped with him, his head bowing. "I haven't wanted to . . . I just didn't know how to talk to you. About what happened."

Anders smiled, though there was no real mirth in it. "You could have just said, 'Hey, Anders! Remember that time you gave me the best blowjob of my life?'"

Nathaniel scowled, not at all amused by Anders' crassness. "I don't think I would have said it quite that crudely."

Anders cocked his head to the side and studied Nathaniel appraisingly. "I think it might do you good to be a little crude every now and then."

Nathaniel looked away, flushing a little. "I doubt that."

There were a few moments of awkward silence before Anders spoke again. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Nathaniel looked back at him, surprised. "Sorry for what, exactly?"

Anders shifted uncomfortably. "For pushing you, for doing something that you obviously didn't want."

Nathaniel shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't force yourself on me; I wanted it." Of that at least, he was certain. Something sharp twisted inside of him as he spoke the next part. "It shouldn't have happened, though"

"Why?" Anders asked, clearly frustrated. "If you wanted it—and I wanted it, believe me—then what was wrong with it?"

How could Nathaniel possibly answer that question? He'd kept the story of what had happened eight years ago locked up tight inside of his mind, refusing to allow himself to dwell on it, let alone confide in anyone about it. Suddenly, having this discussion out in the hallway felt like a terrible idea; he felt exposed, laid bare. There was a storeroom across the hall and Nathaniel walked over to it, pulling Anders in along with him before closing the door behind them.

He stood looking absently at the door handle before turning around to face Anders. "It wasn't exactly wrong, it was . . . it was just . . ." He cursed himself silently, frustrated that he couldn't just say what he meant. It had always been difficult for him to express his feelings, and he was never more frustrated by that inability than at this moment.

"It wasn't wrong," he tried again, "but it wasn't right either." He pinched at the bridge of his nose, sighing with frustration. "Or rather, it wasn't wrong for you to do, but it was wrong for me."

Anders huffed irritably. "This isn't another one of those 'mages are deviant' things, is it?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "No. It has nothing to do with you being a mage." He wouldn't insult Anders by denying he still felt that way about mages, though with everything he'd learned about the Circle in the last few months, he'd become much more forgiving of such behavior. "I envy you," he said quietly. "You can do anything you want."

Anders looked in surprise at that seeming non sequitur. "So can you, Nathaniel." Anders took a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them. "There's no one here who can tell you your actions are wrong."

Nathaniel shook his head, not moving away, but not moving forward either. "There is someone here. There always will be."

A look of understanding crossed Anders' face. "Your father." Nathaniel's nod was all the confirmation he needed. "Maker, Nate, what did he do to you? What did he do to make you . . . hate yourself like this?"

"It doesn't matter," Nathaniel whispered hoarsely. "I learned my lesson; that's all there is to it."

"Bullshit," Anders said roughly. "Whatever lesson he taught you, it wasn't one you needed to learn." Anders' expression twisted into uncharacteristic anger as he started pacing back and forth across the room. "Maker, I almost wish he was still alive, just so I could blast him with lightning." He stopped and turned back towards Nathaniel, his features softening. "Whatever it was that he did to you, Nathaniel, you can't keep it bottled up forever."

Nathaniel let out a choked laugh. "Yes, I can. I'm good at bottling things up, hiding them away." Good at keeping people at arm's length as well. Less harm for everyone that way.

"It's poisoning you," Anders said quietly. "Can't you see that?"

A feeling of certainty surged through Nathaniel. "Maybe so, but it's what I deserve." He held up his hand, forestalling any more arguments by Anders. "Please don't ask me to talk about this Anders . . . I can't. Not with you, not with anyone."

Anders sagged, defeated. "All right. I won't push you. But . . . you know that I'm here if you ever do want to talk about it . . ."

"I know, Anders." Nathaniel smiled at him weakly. "I appreciate the offer."

Anders nodded, dissatisfied but apparently willing to let the matter be—for now, anyway. "So, what happens with us now?" he asked quietly. "Are we still friends, at least?"

Nathaniel looked at him, truly surprised. "Of course we are. Nothing will change that."

"Promise?" Anders whispered. He looked so vulnerable at that moment that Nathaniel wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the mage and hold him close. But he knew he couldn't. Instead he smiled and nodded his head.

"I promise," he said confidently, and meant it.

Anders returned the smile half-heartedly. "I guess . . . that'll have to be enough." He stepped past Nathaniel and grasped the doorknob, turning it slowly. If he was waiting for Nathaniel to stop him, to tell him that he'd changed his mind, he gave no indication. The door opened and Anders slipped through, not looking back.

Nathaniel let out a deep sigh, cursing himself. He wondered if it was possible for him to have handled that any worse. Andraste's arse, he hadn't even bothered to thank Anders for saving his life. Nor had he mentioned that the moments of terror he'd felt beneath the Keep had actually been for Anders rather than himself. Nathaniel didn't welcome death by any means, but he didn't necessarily fear it, either. The years that he had served in the Free Marches had been fraught with danger, and life as a Warden was even worse. Every time they went out to fight darkspawn there was a chance that they wouldn't survive the encounter.

So his fear wasn't for himself at all. No, he worried about the mage. During every battle, Nathaniel had one eye on Anders at all times. It was a smart move anyway, as Anders was their only healer. If he went down, they were likely done for. But that wasn't his main motivation for trying to protect Anders. The real reason was that, well, he was Anders. As loath as he was to admit it openly, his feelings for the mage went far beyond friendship. And his fondness for Anders grew with each passing day. That was what scared him the most.

He was glad that he was at least able to be more honest with Anders this time than he had been in the past, for the other man deserved to know at least part of the truth. It would have been so easy for Nathaniel to continue with his scathing remarks, to tell Anders that he actually meant nothing to Nathaniel. He could have easily blamed Anders for what had happened between them, and declared that he had never wanted it. Harsh words like those came easily to him, but he knew that without a doubt it would have damaged their friendship permanently. He couldn't bring himself to force Anders to hate him, even if that would be the easiest way out of this mess.

As he wandered back to his room, he finally allowed himself to reflect on the day's events. The ogre's attack had wounded him grievously, and the injuries he sustained could have easily killed him. Would have killed him, if not for Anders. Nathaniel had been unconscious when Anders healed him; the blow to the head had knocked him out. When he'd come to, his injuries were gone, though he was still quite sore. The first thing he'd seen when his eyes had focused enough was Anders sitting on the ground, a hand pressed to his forehead. He was shaking and sweating, and his skin was so white he looked like a ghost. Nathaniel's first thought was that Anders had been badly wounded, and cold dread filled him. It wasn't until he saw Gideon press a lyrium potion into Anders' hand that he realized what must have happened: Anders had over-taxed himself healing Nathaniel.

Anders had told him about that once, months ago. How when a mage performed a particularly difficult healing it could drain them completely, to the point of unconsciousness. By the way Anders looked, it was obvious that it was a painful process to deplete his mana so completely in such a short amount of time. He must have put every ounce of himself into healing Nathaniel. The gratitude that had surged through Nathaniel had been nearly overwhelming. Men, soldiers, had placed themselves in danger before to protect Nathaniel, and, true, Anders went out of his way to support his companions in battle, but Nathaniel had an idea that this-this sacrifice was something extremely unusual for Anders. The rogue wondered if it had been a hard decision for Anders to make: jeopardizing his own safety in favor of saving Nathaniel's life. Had he hesitated, his instincts for self-preservation automatically kicking in? Or had he done so without a thought?

Nathaniel wasn't conceited enough to believe Anders' help was specifically for him. Likely, he would have done the same for Oghren or Gideon. But a part of him wanted to believe it was. He wanted to be special to Anders, wanted Anders to be afraid of losing him. It was a stupid, selfish thought that made Nathaniel feel ashamed. He had no right to want Anders to find him special, and, in fact, it would be easier for them both if he didn't. He couldn't stop the treacherous thoughts, though. Anders meant more to Nathaniel than anyone else had in a long time, and he wanted those feelings to be reciprocated, even if Nathaniel never did anything about that.

He really was like his father, in so many ways. He wouldn't, couldn't claim Anders as his own, but he didn't want anyone else to claim Anders either. Just the thought of Anders sharing someone else's bed made him sick, and the beast within him wanted to beat senseless anyone who made a pass at Anders. Nathaniel realized how conceited that idea was, but a small, treacherous part of him felt as if he was entitled to such feelings. He had no claim on Anders, though, none whatsoever, by his choice. He had pushed Anders away, so far away that there was no chance of bringing him closer even if Nathaniel wanted to.

At least they were still friends, he thought to himself, and laughed bitterly. Anders had said it would have to be enough, but even Nathaniel could tell that it was said half-heartedly. By declaring themselves friends and nothing more, they had silently agreed to bury their feelings for one another and pretend as if nothing had happened. No, there really was no way for Nathaniel to have fucked this conversation up any worse than he had. But he was just going to have to live with the consequences, for better or worse.