A/N: The mandatory prison scene; everyone else is having a take on it so why not? Upside down, because I can. Longer than originally intended. Possible follow-up in the next update.

XXX

Wrathchild

Warden-Commander isn't a fan of prison cells. Neither is Nathaniel Howe. That would have made it one Howe out of two, had the Warden-Commander bothered to check.

XXX

Raised voices and clanging of armour from the short, narrow staircase breached the heavy wooden door and burst into the cellroom. The guard in attendance fairly jumped from his desk. Barely old enough to shave and nerves already wrecked from the just-finished Darkspawn assault that he honestly tought would be the death of them all, he fumbled at his swordbelt, adjusting it in a sad attempt to stand to full attendance.

It was all Nathaniel could do not to snort at the sight even as his stomach lurched up and heart sank down to meet halfway. So, they finally remembered him, and finally decided to come. And finish him off.

He should have been hoping it would at least be quick - thieves would usually get a flogging for their efforts, though thieves in the Keep would be easily looking at something much more painful. Or far more permanent. But instead of dread, his insides were crawling only with resentment and deep, simmering anger. He had a lot to be angry about; getting caught in the first place was still on the top of his list.

The door swung open and the full auditory assault thundered in like a storm.

"…that you kept someone locked up during the attack?!"

The voice was loud, female and a magnitude of angry enough to make the already nervous guard downright petrified. Eyes wide open and swallowing hard, the boy was scrambling for his best "I don't know anything and I am not to blame for anything. I am merely a guard following orders. …so please don't bite off my head?" stance.

And failed. Probably. The person storming into the cellroom did not so much as spare him a glance, still too busy shouting at the - Nathaniel squinted in the dim torchlight - yes, what appeared to be a guard commander.

"And it never once occurred to you to let him get out and fight?!"

The guard captain seemed taken aback. "Commander," he started incredulously, but whatever he was about to say, Nathaniel was no longer paying attention. He had presently realized who, exactly, just stormed into the room.

The rest of the conversation - the shouting and the growling and the staggered attempts at the answers - went completely over Nathaniel's head, drowned out by the furious pounding of his own blood in his ears.

That was her. The woman, no, the girl some part of his brain amended - and somehow that made it even worse - that had killed his father. The Warden. The "Hero". The imposter in his own home. The one he had come to kill…

And now couldn't. Standing dangerously close to the bars, again yelling her lungs out at the befuddled guard captain, she was infuriatingly close, at the same time infinitely out of reach. Nathaniel got the urge to lunge at her anyway, straight through the bars if need be and if there hadn't been for the shackles holding him back he would have, sanity be damned.

Nothing of his seething was obvious outside of his skull, though. The boy guard darted a glance his way, as much to check on the prisoner (which was, he knew, completely pointless) as to tear away, briefly, from the sight of an infuriated elf who he understood was to be, Maker help him, in charge from now on.

There was nothing on the prisoner's face save a dark scowl, same as the day before and the one before that, and the one before that as well. He hadn't said so much as a single word since the Wardens wrestled him into his cell.

Four, the boy tought feverishly - he had never been so grateful in his life that every cell sported a pair of shackles built into the walls - four Wardens to wrestle down one man. He tought it unsettling then. And then the utter, complete silence from the prisoner became more unsettling still. But now he found himself strangely grateful for it and wishing nothing more than for the man to keep his silence now, too, for Maker help him, if a single more voice got added to this cacophony his scalp would burst.

"Surely, you cannot mean that-"

"What?! That when an entire horde of Darkspawn comes knocking at your gate you don't need every damned sword you can get?!"

Nathaniel watched the elf darkly, words scattering around his ears, shattered shards devoid of meaning. Too angry to think, even if he were inclined to right then, unless it's for a way to leap at her throat. Somehow. He was done for anyway - but if he could only go out by dragging this…. murderer down with him, he would die, if not exactly happy, but at least a grimly satisfied man.

She still hadn't paid a single scrap of attention his way and Nathaniel didn't know if that made him more angry or not and why. It was emberassing enough to be caught in the first place, but to be treated like he doesn't even exist? Nothing, and even less than nothing? Yes. Yes it did make him angry as a matter of fact. Even more than he already was.

"He would have run, Commander!" the guard captain tried. And failed. The new Commander looked ready to tear off his head with her bare hands and for a brief moment, he seriously tought that yes, she actually would assault him bodily.

"So what if he did?!" she yelled. "If he's crazy enough to make a dash for it straight through a Darkspawn horde, then let him!"

She paused for a spell, huffing. Surely, captain Garavel heard himself think, she must pause for breath sometime? He heard tavern jokes about redheads being a handful but Maker, he never tought those stories were real

"And if he managed that, I'd go buy him a drink myself," she hissed in addition and completely shattered what coherence captain Garavel's mind still retained.

"Wait, what?" he stammered, his mind scrambling in an attempt to catch up. This was… this was just wrong! his brain rattled at him. You… you don't just go and… and… free dangerous prisoners and offer to buy them a drink! You just… don't.

The elf turned abruptly and took her first real glance at the prisoner whose faith she was apperantly deciding. She couldn't see much, obscured as the man was by the shadows in the cell but right then she didn't care if it were a two-headed ogre sitting in there.

There was someone sitting in a prison cell, prison cell Maker damn it!. For days. Shackled. Before and while the Darkspawn were attacking. If they hadn't been able to hold them off… if she hadn't arrived when she had… if they managed to break in here…

Blast! Him! Them! Darkspawn! Everyone!

She spun back to glare the captain. "Let him go," she ground out.

The guard captain blinked. If what she said before was incredulous, what he heard her say just now was downright insane. Surely, surely, he must have heard thaat wrong. Right?

"Commander-" he begun, and got cut short.

"Am I?!" she snapped.

Blink. "What?"

"Am I?" she growled, voice suddenly low. "Am I the Commander?"

Somehow, low and even was even worse than loud and shouting. The kind of low one hears from a mabari right before the beast lounges and tears out someone's throat.

"Why… Yes. Yes, of course."

"Then what I say goes, right?"

The captain nodded.

"Then so does he," the elf finished, pointing back with a thumb as she pushed past the stunned guard captain and out of the room.

"And give him back his stuff," she added, not loking back.

Garavel stared helplessly at her back for a moment. If this is how this keep is going to be run than things are going to get very bad, very soon, indeed. Still… An order's an order, he supposed and nothing he could do to counter it, stupid and reckless as it was.

"Let him out," he spared a half glance at the still stunned young guard. "Commander's orders," he added with a slight shake of his head at the boy's unspoken question, sighed deeply and moved to leave the room.

But of course, the faith wasn't done serving him his share of crazy for the day. And not just him - everyone.

XXX

Let him go? Nathaniel couldn't believe his ears. Let him go? Just like that? And with his things back on top? No questions, not even a second glance spared his way? That was just… Wrong!

He knew he should be thanking his lucky stars right now, the most impossible turn of events he would have been a fool to even hope for. And yet instead of pure joy, or at the very least profound relief, he felt completely thwarted. Growing livid by a heartbeat, as a matter of fact.

It was foolish. He knew it was foolish. He felt that way all the same. This… this was his father's killer? Having a conniving "hero" be the downfall of everything he knew and cared for in this world was enough to send him flying from the Free Marches a furious, wounded man. But having it be a stupid, careless, oblivious child!? That was an insult even bigger than the injury.

Patience, Nathaniel, patience, he reminded himself darkly. Angry as he was, he had still been given a chance he hadn't dreamed of getting again - a chance to succeed a second time where he had failed the first. He's being let out, his belongings to be returned, too. And if the… brat is too stupid to care, to even know, more the fool her.

The elf about to leave the room, Nathaniel observed her back through a haze of jumbled emotions, his mind nonetheless processing everything his eyes were taking in. Angry. That was a given. And if that was the usual state of affairs, his task would be that much easier. Movements, that of a poised mabari - snappy due to anger, but not clumsy. Slightly sluggish, though, no, weary more like. Two blades, blood-soaked clothes and light leather armour… Yes, fresh from the fight, muscles cooling down now and weariness settling in. Small frame, so likely as not to tire more easily. If he were to strike now, he could take her down in a single blow, and then…

And then what? Kill the elf, then run through two guards in here and several more outside - men, he reminded himself, who were just doing their duty, were in no way connected to the elf or her crimes and not deserving to die at his hands simply because they happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. And even if he could avoid the kills, just running through a crowd of armed men, all the way up, across the courtyard and out the main gate…? After three or four days of not moving at all?

Yeah. Right. As if.

No, better to bide his time, walk out of the Keep calmly and then return later, right before the morning when most everybody's asleep, in their beds or on their feet, and quietly finish what he had set out to do.

The elf stepped out of the room and made it for the stairs as the cell doors clicked open to set him free.

He still couldn't believe it, and when the boy guard nervously entered his cell, thumbing the key to his shackles in sweaty palm, the expression of sheer befuddlement on his face matched Nathaniel's own.

And that was about as far as he got.

XXX

"Commander!"

The elf blinked and was momentarily greeted by the sight of an armoured knee.

"The Joining is ready, Commander," the man said and before she could begin to process the words, let alone come up with a reply, the man covered the few remining steps and peered into the cellroom curiously.

"I hope you are done here, Command-" the man stoped mid-sentence. "Howe!"

Nathaniel jerked. The boy guard, already jumpy from being this close to a dangerous prisoner, literally jumped away, the key forgotten in the second shackle.

Varel. Nathaniel's heart sank. Why, of course it was too good to be true. A sudden rush of sheer paranoia bloomed in his stomach and for a moment, the world around him spun. He made a conscious effort to shove the idea - and the feeling - down and away. Surely, they couldn't have put on such a show for his 'conveniance' only? Not so soon after the Darkspawn attack, not before they even knew who he was?

Well, so much for that last bit...

He calmly reached for the forgotten key and turned it, slipping his other arm out of the shackles.

"Senechal." He flexed his wrist, trying to ease the tension several days of constraint left in its wake.

Varel's look was as incredulous as it should have rightly been. "Commander!" he snapped his head back at the door, then back again at the guard captain and the boy guard inside.

"Why is he being released?" he demanded. "Commander! Do you know who this man is?"

She will now, Nathaniel tought darkly, shifting his weight. Had it been done on purpose, it would have been artistically cruel - to let him believe he will be set free, to even go so far as to unlock his cell and his shackles both, allowed to get just the lick of potential freedom needed to make him actually believe it was for real… and only then snap him back in chains, this time for good.

Yes, it would have been brilliantly cruel if it had been done on purpose, and not in the least bit less cruel just because it was spontaneous. In the span of a breath it took Varel to ask what he did, the guard captain to stumble for a reply and the elf to grouch back inside, Nathaniel weighted his options.

Thin. Pretty much non-existant, really. But damned be if he didn't at least try.

And he would have, but for the elf herself.

"No," she snapped, coming around Varel's back. "And I don't care, either! What the hell was that about the Joining?!"

Varel eschewed the second in favour of the first. "That," he said, pointing a finger at Nathaniel, "is Nathaniel Howe, Commander."

It took her a moment to even recognize the name. That was the first time she stopped Nathaniel in his intended tracks; gauging the distance he'd need to cover in a leap in order to get to the door, to her neck, or both, he wasted a precious moment as his mind skittered to a halt. You can't even remember the name of the man you killed?! Bitch.

That was the first. The second came not a moment after as the name finally clicked and she exclaimed:

"Howe?" she glanced Nathaniel's way once before turning her attention back to the Senechal. "Just how many of them are there, dammit?!"

To Nathaniel's ears it sounded exactly like "How many more Howes do I need to kill before they stop showing up?" and that was more then he could take.

He looked up from his injured wrist and landed a dark glare onto the elf, as full of hatered as it was contempt.

"I'm the last one." The bitter tug at his chest as he spoke those four simple words, - voice coarse and gravely, and thick with pain and anger and a dash of misplaced pride - filled his lungs with the mist of finality.

And now you'll die. But at least you'll die with your head up and standing on your own two feet.

…and the rest of the pathetic rubbish people tell themselves to feel better about their own demise.

Great, Nathaniel. Bloody great. You'll die. And you'll be thinking pathetic toughts while doing it. Perfect.

The elf looked back at him and ran a bloodied hand through her short hair in an angry little motion. "And just what in the name of Andraste's flaming tits are you doing here?!"

All three armoured men present flinched in unision as the elf spat blasphemy at the only unarmoured one.

"I came here to kill you," Nathaniel said hoarsly, and given half a chance, I will try to do so again, his eyes added.

"Yeah?" The elf did not appear either daunted or impressed. "Stand in line!"

"Commander…" the Senechal tried, already aware that he's fighting a losing battle.

"Commander nothing!" the elf bit out, effectively shutting the man up. Her attention returned to Nathaniel. "And if I let you go, you gonna try again?"

Was she… By the Maker, yes, yes she was! She was actually taunting him! Daring him to try again. The little eager little tug at the corner of her lips, challenging flash in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything but.

It was more than Nathaniel could take.

"Yes," he hissed, even as his brain was screaming at him to Shut! Up!

"Good!" She flashed him a "bring it on!" grin. "Let him out," and with nothing more than that, she spun about and leveled a glare at the Senechal.

"And now. What. The. Hell. Was that about the Joining?" she growled out, bristling, the whole Nathaniel Howe business forgotten as quckly as it had arised.

It was obvious she had made up her mind, such as it was. Varel had known the new Warden-Commander for the whole of two hours, most of those spent fighting the Darkspawn and the remainder spent on watching her - quite petrified - snarl at the queen. Something told him that anything more he wanted to say on the matter would only make the elf dig in even more stubbornly and not back up for even an inch.

Also, clearly, she was finding the whole Joining issue to be way more important than a possible repeat attempt on her life. Watching her bristle, he suspected she must've gotten quite used to those by now as there must be very few people in the world who would spend five to ten minutes around her and not get an urge to cut her throat. Or at the very least slap her around the ear and tell her to go wipe her bloody, bratty nose.

And this was who the queen ordained the ruler of not only the Vigil Keep but the entire Arling?

Maker help them all.

XXX

A/N, take two: There seem to be a number of people checking these drabbles out. I hope you are being at least half as amused reading them as I am writing them.