A/N: Trying to wriggle inside one Howe's skull during the time not covered in the game; unexplored characterization gaps have always been my weakness. Riding on the assumption that physical exhaustion does strange things to otherwise determined heads.

XXX

Destination Unknown

Nathaniel attempts to regroup but draws a blank. Sometimes, the only thing you can do when you can do anything is nothing.

XXX

A sudden gust of crisp morning wind blew in from the east, bringing the smells of the fresh-dug fields and, more faintly, the early spring scent of the forest further away. It brought back memories. The second, stronger gust, came a few moments later, bringing the same smells again and… was that a scream?

Nathaniel stopped and inclined his head, bringing an ear in line with the wind. There it was again, and stronger this time. Not closer, though - only more loud. And more terrified. Before he knew what he was doing or why, he was already sprinting down the incline.

He cleared a small creek just off the road in an easy jump, his pace not slowing at all as his boots splashed through the mud, and kept running forward into a dense patch of high bushes and a few solitary trees that climbed the slope on the other side of the creek.

It felt good, this running, though he'd rather it didn't. Someone was screaming, not that far but not all that close either, and that was not a matter to inspire this feeling of sudden fulness in his chest. But it felt good to have a direction again. It was the first clear one he had had in days.

XXX

Varel was no fool. He had not released him until early in the morning, thus foiling Nathaniel's half-baked plans of returning to the Keep the very same night. And he had made sure he wouldn't return for at least another day or so, too.

"Stay on the road," he had told him as he saw him off through the gates. "The moment you stray, I will send men after you. And this time, there will be no imprisonment."

Nathaniel had glanced up the gate, crenellations nested on each side, than back at the road and nodded. On a clear day, a guard posted up there would have a clear view of the main road for miles; the soonest Nathaniel could stray off the path and into the woods would be several hours later. Perhaps still enough time to double back and make it to the Vigil by nightfall, but Nathaniel was hardly in any shape to try.

He had been given his effects back - though Varel was clarely less than happy about that part - but not any food or even a drink. An empty waterskin, his bow and his blades, the clothes on his back, boots on his feet, dark leather armour and the few mementos he had taken from the Keep before the Wardens caught him were all his earthly posessions. That, an empty stomach and a parched throat. Varel wasn't a cruel man, but he was practical. He had no intention of making a repeat attempt at the new Commander's life easy for Nathaniel.

And so he had left, dizziness and nausea his companions for the road, and hadn't turned at Varel's parting words:

"Don't come back, Nathaniel; there is nothing left for you here."

They stung just the same.

/

He did stay on the road. For a while at least. And stumbled only when he had finally took a sharp turn into the woods sometime around noon. Seething pride demanded he walked without a shiver or a stumble, but it could only sustain him for so long. Fatigue pushed pride aside and claimed his very bones.

The anger he had felt for what by then became forever transformed into bitter resentment, curled up somewhere deep inside his stomach. It was also the only thing he had had in his stomach, for days. Shaking, he made his way through the woods, aware that he'd have to find some game soon. First, though, he needed water; the skin at his belt hanging empty and limp.

Splashing of a tiny rivulet meandering between the moss-covered stones had been like a symphony. He had lain flat on his stomach and drank until it felt like his insides would burst. And then he had pulled away, leaned against a tree and fell asleep.

He had slept until well into the night, and woke only long enough to drink again. It took until late into the next day to fully awake and master the will to move, his feelings frozen and head empty. It wasn't until he had found and killed a rabbit right before dusk, skinned it, made a fire and ate it that he had started to think coherent toughts again. He found them wanting.

The first was to turn around and go back - back to the Vigil to finish what he had started. But the single-minded determination that had been his guide thus far had retreated and left only emptiness in its wake.

There is nothning left for you here…

He still wanted vengeance, and justice for his family, murdered, gone, their name disgraced and thrown into the mud. But would that efl's death accomplish the deed? Vengeance, yes, and perhaps a pinch of macabre justice thrown in, but afterwards? He hadn't even tought about afterwards until now. And for all he still wanted vengeance - for he wouldn't, couldn't, let the crime against his family go unpunished - it still seemed deeply wrong to go back and kill for the pure lack of something else to do.

Maybe he should just keep going, a tought came unbidden. Follow the road to Amaranthine, board a ship and return to the Free Marches. He'd be a pariah there as well, but he was resourcefull and he had his skills. He could get by. He suspected 'getting by' was all there ever would be to it now. So did it matter much where he did it - here, or across the sea?

He didn't know. For perhaps the first time in his life, Nathaniel didn't know.

He spent the next day in what he tought was pointless meandering until he realized his feet had been steadily taking him towards Amaranthine. Midday brought a change of heart: it felt too much like running away, like giving up, and he turned sharply, suddenly disgusted by himself and his own weakness. His diminished anger returning along with his strenght, he headed into the countryside instead. Not back towards the Vigil, not just yet. The first time, he was not careful enough, sidetracked by his own nostalgia and waylaid by the Wardens as a result. This time, he would not make the same mistake again.

At least, that was what he had told himself.

In reality, the next few days he had spent in aimless circles, prowling the countryside with neither rhyme nor reason, the lack of direction unsettling and the lack of purpose perplexing. And thus, the sound of that distant scream came almost as a relief.

XXX

Nathaniel crested the slope, arrow already notched and ready. The sight that greeted him was not what he had expected…

XXX

Oh, Suspense! Oh, Drama!

In reality, just too sleepy to keep going right now. Also, it already turned out longer than intended. Scene to be continued…? Sure, why not? It seems like there's some interest in this, and I'm still finding writing it fun.