Apologies on the long delay! I had to do some major rewrites on this chapter in order to get it to a point where I'm relatively satisfied with it.
The full story about Nathaniel and Fergus' relationship can be found in "Establishing a Pattern," located under my profile.
Nathaniel lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was clad only in his cotton breeches and undershirt, having stripped out of his blood-stained leathers as soon as he'd gotten to his chambers. They were in a heap on the floor now; he'd clean them and store them properly on the armor stand in the morning. His bow was propped up against the wall next to the bed.
His family's bow—the one that Nathaniel's ancestors had been wielding since its crafting during one of the Exalted Marches hundreds of years ago. How many foes had this bow slain? How much glory had it earned for its owners? And now it belonged to Nathaniel. He supposed he should be grateful that it had never been in his father's hands; he wasn't sure if he'd be able to use it if it had. Not after learning what his father had done during the Blight. The bow had shed the blood of countless beasts and men, but at least it hadn't been used in his father's treacherous endeavors.
Nathaniel had seen the bow only once in his youth. He'd found it while exploring the armory during a boring, rainy afternoon. His father had taken it from Nathaniel's hands when the boy brought it to him, asking about its origins. It was clear from how finely crafted it was—and from the family's crest—that this was no plain bow to be used by just anyone. Indeed, it had been hidden away in the very back of the armory. His father had been angry, though Nathaniel didn't understand why at the time; nor did he understand why Rendon hid the bow away somewhere else, forbidding Nathaniel from ever asking about it again.
It was the groundskeeper who had told Nathaniel about the bow's history; Samuel had been at Vigil's Keep during Nathaniel's grandfather's time, his own father having served as the groundskeeper at the time, and his mother a maid in the kitchen. Groundskeeper Samuel knew many stories of Nathaniel's family, and told him a few—including the story about the bow's creation.
As a child, Nathaniel had assumed that the bow had only been used against wicked men—ones who deserved to die, or who had threatened the Howe who held it. Something so finely crafted, so beautiful, couldn't possibly have been put to foul use. Perhaps until today it never had been. But this bow, once used in valorous battles, had just been used to kill his father's closest friend.
In a way, he wasn't at all surprised that Esmerelle had been the mastermind of the plot against Gideon. Rendon's most trusted confidant would be a prime candidate for such a betrayal, and Nathaniel cursed himself for not even suspecting her.
He was deeply disappointed in her actions, though; he had assumed that her loyalty to Rendon would extend to Rendon's children as well. He had assumed—naïvely—that she would support whatever decision Nathaniel made in regards to his inheritance. Word had obviously gotten out that Nathaniel was a Grey Warden now, and that he was following Gideon's command freely—even if it had originally been against his will. Esmerelle should have accepted that, should have been willing to at least give Gideon the chance to prove himself as the new arl. Instead she had chosen to stand by Rendon, even after his death.
How could she? To support Rendon now was to support everything he had done during the Blight. Nathaniel could understand her possibly supporting the slavery of elves—even if it did disgust him. It was all too common amongst even the best of nobles to believe that elves were less than human. But the other things: kidnapping Queen Anora; imprisoning Bann Vaughan so that Rendon could take over the arling of Denerim; torturing Bann Sighard's son and countless other innocents; murdering the Couslands and every other living soul in Highever. Rendon had done all of those things, and no one had stopped him, not even Esmerelle whom he had trusted implicitly.
And while he may not have actively taken part in Loghain's betrayal of King Cailan, Rendon had to have known that refraining from sending his army to Ostagar had surely aided in the king's downfall. But instead of helping the king he had sworn to protect, he held his men back so that he could betray his best friend and take control of the teyrnir of Highever. Nathaniel had always known of his father's endless craving for power; he had obviously seen his opportunity in the battle at Ostagar and taken it—at great cost to others.
Nathaniel had worshipped his father, revered him, but even he couldn't forgive his father for those things. Nathaniel still didn't know if his father had always been that evil and Nathaniel had just failed to realize his true nature, or if it was something that had developed over the years since Nathaniel's departure to the Free Marches. But there was no mistaking that towards the end, Rendon had been a monster.
How was it possible that Esmerelle actually supported Rendon in all of that? Even if she was oblivious to what had been going on at the time—which Nathaniel doubted, due to his father's love of bragging about his "accomplishments"—she surely had to have found out the truth since then. Perhaps, like Nathaniel had at first, she had turned a blind eye to the whole thing; but if that was the case, why hadn't she sought Nathaniel out? Why hadn't she supported him or tried to convince him to take his father's seat as arl? So many unanswered questions . . . .
Regardless of the reasons why, Esmerelle had been very thorough in carrying out her treachery against the new arl. The woman must have gone to great effort—and spent a large sum of money—to hire the Antivan Crows, a group that rarely ventured outside of their own country to complete a contract. From what he understood, the contract taken out against Gideon and Alistair during the Blight was an almost unheard of occurrence.
She surely must have been plotting this for months; likely as soon as word got to her of King Alistair's proclamation that Vigil's Keep would become the new home of the Grey Wardens. She had planned this even before Gideon arrived at the keep, before she knew whether she would benefit or suffer under his rule.
Of course, anyone who had met Gideon would know that he would rule Amaranthine much differently from Arl Howe, but very few people knew much about him beyond the stories that the bards sang about the Blight. For all most people knew, the young Cousland might have been very amenable to the idea of favoring the nobles over the peasants.
Esmerelle must have realized that herself. Nathaniel supposed it was possible that her plans to attack Gideon had been ready to carry out for a few of months now, but that she'd held off until she was certain which way the wind blew. Maybe her loyalties to Rendon weren't as strong as Nathaniel believed; if Gideon had showed support for Esmerelle during the fealty ceremony instead of Lord Eddelbrek, or ruled in favor of Lady Liza during court, perhaps Esmerelle would have changed her mind and sworn her true loyalty to him, rather than the false oath that she grudgingly uttered.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps! A throbbing headache was forming at the center of Nathaniel's forehead because of all these "maybes" and "what ifs." It didn't matter. Esmerelle was dead; the conspiracy had been thwarted.
And one more ghost would add her voice to the cacophony that sometimes haunted Nathaniel in the dark of night.
The knock on the door that stirred Nathaniel from his thoughts was a welcome relief. He was almost positive who it was, even before the door opened. He had suspected—he had hoped—that Anders would come to check on him.
He didn't bother to get up. "Come in."
The door opened and Anders entered, shutting the door behind him. A bottle of wine was clasped in his hand. He leaned casually against the dresser and looked at Nathaniel searchingly.
"If I ask you if you're all right, will you tell me the truth?"
Nathaniel sat up, perching on the edge of the bed. "Truthfully," he said rubbing at his forehead, "I honestly don't know if I'm all right."
Anders walked over to the bed and sat down next to Nathaniel. He handed the bottle to Nathaniel before sending a light-blue pulse of healing magic towards him, obviously noticing Nathaniel's discomfort. "Do you want to talk about it?"
As Nathaniel uncorked the bottle (a very nice Tevinter vintage, obviously procured from the keep's extensive wine cellar) he thought about Anders' question, turning the idea over in his mind. He realized that he really did want to talk about it. And not just the events of this day—about all of it. What had happened had been enough to stir up the dark memories of his past, and it was time for him to release them.
He had known Anders for months now, and had come to trust him quite a bit. He understood now that Anders wouldn't judge him.
He took a sip of the wine, savoring its rich flavor for a moment before swallowing. "It's difficult being back here sometimes," he started. "At Vigil's Keep, I mean. There are so many memories here; not all of them good."
Anders nodded his head, seeming to understand. If he was wondering what Nathaniel's living in Vigil's Keep had to do with what had just happened downstairs, he kept it to himself. Instead he waited patiently for Nathaniel to continue.
Nathaniel wanted to talk about this, but how could he explain his father in a way that made sense? Rendon hadn't always been a bad father; despite everything else, there had been traces of good in him, once upon a time. It was a fact that most people wouldn't likely believe, and Nathaniel wasn't good enough with words to describe it.
Despite what others might say, there really had been a time when Rendon had at least tried to be a good parent to his two sons and daughter. When Nathaniel was very young, Rendon had actually had time for Nathaniel. He would often take Nathaniel into the city when he had errands there and show his eldest son the sights.
One day, son, Rendon was fond of saying, this will be yours. Never underestimate that responsibility.
Some nights at bedtime Rendon would give in to his children's entreaties to tell him a story. Often it was about the great Howe line, the ancestors who had fought so valiantly and performed great deeds in service to Ferelden. Other times there were folk tales about other great heroes, and about wrongs being put right.
Ironically, it had been Rendon who had first instilled in Nathaniel a sense of honor and duty, during a time when Nathaniel had been very young and impressionable. It wasn't until he grew older that he saw that his father did not always practice what he preached.
As they grew older, Rendon had less and less time for his children. He hired the very best tutors that his money and influence could obtain, but the outings to Amaranthine and the bedtime stories became fewer and further between, and any personal time he may have once had saved for his children was now used for other things. Thomas and Delilah were more or less left to themselves, and Nathaniel's time with his father was now dedicated to more serious matters.
As his father's heir, Nathaniel was now expected to learn the duties that came with being the Arl of Amaranthine. His lessons were stricter than his brother's and sister's, and he received tutoring in etiquette and foreign languages; he received his own private combat trainer who taught him to fight with all manner of weapons—and who was quickly impressed with Nathaniel's natural talent for archery.
Nathaniel was also expected to attend court with his father, to learn the ways of ruling over the people who would one day be his subjects. It was then that Rendon's contempt for Nathaniel began.
The court usually assembled once a month, unless a grievous crime had occurred in the interim. Nathaniel's required place was just behind the throne, ready to attend to his father if needed. Rendon would listen to the complainants (sometimes with rapt attention and sometimes with unconcealed boredom) and pass judgment. Then he would turn to Nathaniel, expecting his eldest son to agree with his decision.
For years, Nathaniel would just nod his head in agreement, like a puppet. But as he grew older, and started to pay more attention to the cases being brought before the Arl, Nathaniel began to silently question his father's decisions. He would still nod his head in agreement—Rendon was, after all, his father—but Nathaniel was sure Rendon could see his son's hesitation, sense his uncertainty. There were judgments he passed that Nathaniel knew were wrong, people he sentenced to death for crimes that seemed so insignificant to the young boy—such as stealing a loaf of bread so a man could feed his starving family.
Still Nathaniel would nod his head. In all the years, he never spoke out against his father, not once. Rendon was a shrewd man, though, extremely intelligent; he knew that his son no longer believed in him unquestioningly as he once had. Nathaniel, in turn, sensed his father's growing anger with him. Rendon had never been a very patient man, even at his best; once he'd come to realize that Nathaniel was almost nothing like him, he began to let his anger and disdain show.
"My father and I were nothing alike," he finally said to Anders after taking another long drink of wine. "At first it didn't matter much, but as the years went on things began to change. I was not the son he wanted."
Anders looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"
Nathaniel sighed. "He was disappointed in me—for many reasons. I didn't share his views on how to rule the people of Amaranthine, for one; he was much more heavy-handed than I ever would have been. And even as a young man I understood how much he craved power and strength, two things I had little interest in.
"Given how disappointed he was in me, I'm surprised he didn't send me off to squire at a younger age. As it was, I think it was quite a relief to him when he sent me to the Free Marches."
Nathaniel knew that his father had been extremely eager to be rid of him, and not just because of what Nathaniel had done to get himself sent there. It was a way to write Nathaniel off for a while, maybe even for good. If something were to happen to Nathaniel, it was Thomas who would inherit the arldom—and even at a young age it was obvious he was more like their father than Nathaniel would ever be.
"You told Gideon you went to the Marches eight years ago." Anders took the bottle from Nathaniel and took a drink before handing it back. "Seems awfully old for someone to become a squire."
Nathaniel nodded. "It was. I think he believed it would be better to keep me close, to set an example for me so that I might . . . become more like him. Sending me abroad was a punishment, though, not a reward."
Anders looked at him questioningly and Nathaniel took a deep breath. This was the part that he'd held off talking about for so long. "He found out that I fancied men. He found out in the worst possible way."
Nathaniel stole a quick glance at Anders before looking away. "I never had any interest in girls. Even when I came of age, I never felt any sort of attraction for them. When other boys my age were carrying on about the beauty of a woman's bosom, or boasting about their sexual conquests, all I could do was sit there and feign interest. I cannot recall even one girl who ever caught my attention in the way that I knew they were supposed to."
They had been passing the wine back and forth while Nathaniel talked, drinking it as if it were some watered-down mead, rather than an expensive vintage bottled in Minrathous during the Blessed Age. It was starting to make Nathaniel's head feel fuzzy, but it also seemed to loosen his tongue. The wine made it much easier for him to talk about this.
"I was never stirred by a woman's beauty, but I found much to appreciate in some of the young men I encountered. It was the men at court who caught my eye, not the women with whom my mother tried to arrange me.
"Despite what you said about there not being anything in the Chant of Light, it was made very clear to me from a young age that it is an offense to the Maker for a man to lay with another man. An unforgiveable crime. My father had very strong views on this, and he ingrained those views into his children. When I began to realize that I was attracted to men . . . I knew the thoughts I was having were wrong, but I couldn't stop them."
"So you just . . . pretended you didn't feel like that?" Anders asked.
Nathaniel nodded. "Exactly. It was easy enough to do, for the most part. There were certainly men around me whom I found attractive, but most of them were servants or commoners living in Amaranthine. Two groups of people whom a nobleman should never 'lower' themselves to be intimate with, even if they were of the opposite gender."
Nathaniel took another drink of the wine. "There weren't really any nobles who incited desire in me. Until Fergus."
"Fergus . . ." It took Anders a moment to place the name. "You mean Fergus Cousland? Gideon's brother?"
Nathaniel smiled wryly. "The very same. We had been friends ever since we were young children. As we got older we realized we were attracted to each other. We became lovers one summer." One perfect summer. He smiled a little as fond memories came back to him.
"I cared for him deeply. I like to think he felt the same, though I never dared to ask. There was never any chance for us, you see; we were both our fathers' heirs. We were expected to marry and produce children of our own.
"We spent as much time together as we could, making the most of the little time we had together. We were both getting old enough to start seeking wives, though we had a few years yet before our parents would begin pressuring us in earnest. Our families got together every summer, so Fergus and I assumed we would have another summer or two to be together. But every moment was still important to me."
Anders reached out and squeezed Nathaniel's hand gently. "Did you love him?"
A long minute passed before Nathaniel answered. "I thought I did, at the time; but I think what I felt for him was . . . something else." He shook his head. "I don't know how to describe it, really. He was the first person to make me feel as if . . . as if there was nothing wrong with me. That there was nothing wrong with my being attracted to men. I could be myself with him, in a way that I couldn't with anyone else."
"Your father found out, didn't he?" Anders guessed.
"Not exactly," Nathaniel said. "We were very discreet. Father suspected, even punished me half-heartedly once or twice just in case, but he never knew for certain."
"So what happened, then? Something must have."
Nathaniel took a deep breath. "Fergus took a wife."
Anders made a soft noise of surprise. "He got married? Did you know about it?"
"Not until after it happened. Fergus took a year-long tour of Thedas, and when he returned, he brought his new bride, Oriana. He had met her in Antiva."
"I can't believe he didn't tell you about it beforehand," Anders said. "That's a hell of a thing to spring on someone."
Nathaniel shrugged. "I don't think he knew how to tell me. As I said, we both always knew that things wouldn't last between us. The idea of the future Teyrn of Highever and the Arl of Amaranthine being in an intimate relationship was unthinkable. We both knew our responsibilities came before our own desires, and we were prepared to accept that. We wanted to live in the moment, to be together as long as we could before the inevitable happened."
"And the inevitable happened sooner than you wanted it to," Anders asked, "didn't you."
Nathaniel nodded. "Very much. I thought he did, as well. I had this ridiculous fantasy that somehow we could find a way to be together, even though I knew it was impossible."
"Did you like her? Fergus' wife?"
Nathaniel was surprised by the question. "I did, actually. I didn't want to, I wanted to hate her; but I couldn't. I could see how happy Fergus was with her. Anyone could see how much they adored each other.
"I was so hurt, though. Even though I knew it would happen to one of us eventually, I felt betrayed that Fergus had found someone else; that my foolish dream of us finding some way to be together was destroyed. I was hurt and angry, and that made me reckless.
"The man who my father finally caught me with was not Fergus—he was a soldier in my father's army. He was furious when he found us together." Unconsciously, Nathaniel's free hand balled into a fist and he squeezed his eyes shut. "He beat me to within an inch of my life. I often wonder if he might not have stopped in time had Delilah not come running in and begged him to stop."
Anders let go of Nathaniel's hand and snaked an arm around Nathaniel's shoulders. "Maker, Nathaniel. I'm so sorry."
Nathaniel wanted to pull away, to tell Anders that he wasn't worthy of pity, but he didn't. "My father sent me to the Free Marches as punishment; it was obvious he wanted me well away from him. That argument was the last time I ever saw or spoke to my father."
Anders snorted. "That doesn't sound like an argument to me. That sounds like a bastard beating up his defenseless son for something that wasn't his fault."
"It was my fau—"
"No," Anders said emphatically. "It wasn't. You did nothing wrong, Nathaniel. Nothing."
Nathaniel looked up at Anders and saw the look of anger on his face. He wanted to believe Anders, but he couldn't. He'd spent far too many years convincing himself that his father had done the right thing. Of all the horrible things that Rendon had shouted at Nathaniel during his punishment—deviant, evil, shameful, disgusting—the one that had stuck with Nathaniel through the years had been the last words Rendon had ever said to him: You're no son of mine.
"I know you mean well, Anders, and I appreciate it. But I deserved what happened to me. He was right."
Anders shook his head. "I refuse to believe that. I know what it's like to be punished for something you can't control, to be punished just for who you are. No one deserves that."
"How can you possibly know?" Nathaniel asked, frustrated. "You said yourself that mages are free to be intimate with people of the same sex. How can you know what it's like?"
Anders frowned. "You just answered your own question: I'm a mage. I can't count the number of times I've been told how evil and wrong I am, just because I can cast magic. I've been yelled at, lectured, and yes, beaten. Because of something I have no control over." He leaned against Nathaniel. "I told you we have more in common than you think."
Nathaniel took a shaky breath, waiting until he was certain that shakiness wouldn't reflect in his voice. "I want to believe that I did nothing wrong, I really do. I just can't, though—I don't know how."
Anders smiled softly. "Then I'll teach you."
Nathaniel looked at him skeptically. "How will you do that?"
In answer, Anders leaned in and kissed him. It started out soft and gently, but Anders slowly deepened it. His tongue flicked at Nathaniel's lips, and Nathaniel found himself parting them to let Anders in.
Anders finally drew away, a much larger smile curving his kiss-reddened lips. "Now," he said softly, "how can that possibly be wrong?"
Nathaniel started to answer, but Anders placed a finger over his lips, stopping him. "You enjoyed it; I enjoyed it. That's all that matters." Anders could likely see the look of doubt in Nathaniel's eyes. "The only person who ever really thought there was something wrong with you for feeling like this is dead now." He either didn't notice or chose to ignore the little wince that Nathaniel gave at that statement. "You have a chance to be yourself now—don't you want to take it?"
They were almost the exact same words that Delilah had said to him during their meeting in Amaranthine. He'd told Delilah that he would take that chance, but he hadn't, not really. He had definitely changed for the better after finding out the truth about his father, there was no doubt about that. But he had yet to take the next step—to realize that his father had been wrong about him and to accept himself for who he really was.
Nathaniel had kept his past to himself for so long, but Anders had been right in encouraging Nathaniel to talk about it—it really did help. It would take a long time for him to heal completely, but for the first time in years he actually felt as if it really was possible to heal.
Bolstered by this, he leaned forward and stole a lingering kiss from Anders. It was the first kiss that he had actually initiated, and it was perfect. Soon his arms came up to wrap around Anders' waist, pulling him in close as he kissed him deeper.
Anders was happy enough to let Nathaniel take control, making a small murmur of pleasure as he leaned against Nathaniel's chest. Almost imperceptibly, and without breaking the kiss, Nathaniel leaned forward, slowly pressing Anders down against the bed. It took just a bit of shifting for them to both wind up lying on the bed, Nathaniel half on top of Anders and kissing him deeply.
Whether it was a result of too much wine, or finally getting everything off of his chest, Nathaniel felt as if he was floating. There were no wisps of darkness this time, no whisper of voices as his tongue slid across Anders'. Small murmurs of pleasure from Anders emboldened Nathaniel and he ran his hand down Anders' clothed leg until he found the hem of his robes. Slowly he dragged them up Anders' legs until he was able to slip his hand underneath and touch Anders' bare thigh.
Just that simple touch of bare skin made Nathaniel shiver. It certainly wasn't anything illicit, or even very erotic, but to Nathaniel it felt like coming home. He moved his hand higher and higher, until his fingertips brushed against the hem of Anders' smallclothes. Before he could get any further, a restraining hand clamped lightly around Nathaniel's wrist.
Breaking the kiss, he looked down into Anders' lust-dilated eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.
Anders shook his head, smiling. "We can't do this, not yet."
There was a lurch in Nathaniel's stomach. Anders couldn't possibly be rejecting Nathaniel now, could he? "What do you mean?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but Anders obviously could sense his trepidation.
"I want you," Anders said reassuringly, still smiling softly. "I really, really—really—do. But this isn't the right time." Nathaniel relaxed a little, but he still didn't understand. Anders let go of Nathaniel's wrist and ran his hand over Nathaniel's arm. "After everything that happened earlier, and everything you've just told me—you've been through a lot today, emotionally." He reached up to cup Nathaniel's cheek. "I don't want to make another mistake with you," he said softly. "I want this to happen when you're ready for it. When you're not so upset, and completely sober—" his smile widened to show he was teasing at that last part, "that's when I want this to happen."
Nathaniel nodded his head. Anders was right, of course. As much as Nathaniel felt that he wanted it, this wasn't the right time. He didn't want to make any more mistakes with Anders either.
He looked at Anders hesitantly. "Maybe—maybe you could . . ." Maker, why did he always have such a hard time asking for things?
Anders seemed to intuit what it was that Nathaniel wanted. He reached down and grabbed the covers, pulling them up over the two men. They were both still fully clothed, but neither of them seemed to mind as they snuggled up together.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world for Nathaniel to wrap his arms loosely around Anders, and for Anders to rest his head on Nathaniel's breast. This, at least, Nathaniel knew with certainty wasn't wrong. This was the most right, the most perfectly comfortable thing in the world. To be curled up under the thick covers with Anders in his arms.
"With a companion as soft as you, I doubt I'll have any nightmares tonight," Nathaniel joked.
"You and I both know that nightmares don't only happen when we're asleep," Anders said gently.
Nathaniel sighed, though it was a sound of contentment rather than defeat. "I'll protect you from your nightmares if you protect me from mine."
Glancing down at the mage, Nathaniel could see the curve of Anders' lips as he smiled. "Deal."