A/N: RL stuff plus lack of enthusiasm draws writing pace to a crawl. Tossing a possible plot hook out there. Anyhing going to come out of it? No bloody idea at this time. Might expand on it, might not, depending on the mood and general inspiration, of which there is very little lately. A bone to chew on, then, for both me and you.

XXX

Level-Headed

Because someone has to be.

XXX

Nathaniel observed the proceedings from a shadowy patch behind a pillar at the back of the great hall. It was only when the pain in his jaw alerted him to the fact that he became cognizant of having it clenched tight all along. Sudden realization made him pay attention to his hands and he found he'd been idly turning a knife in his right the whole time. And that he itched to hurl it at someone. There were two targets in particular he was finding increasingly tempting: one was standing on the dais; the other one was a portrait on the wall behind him. There was also a third one, namely his own foot, and between the three he found the third one to be the most deserving of getting stabbed: he shouldn't be feeling this way.

And yet, he did.

This was a mockery, a part inside him insisted as the nobles bent a knee one after another, droning on the words of an oath most of them didn't mean. They went through the motions, made the proper sounds; it was a ceremony after all - meaningful for its own sake and little else beside.

It should not be like that.

He was long past the idealistic concepts of youth, yet the notion still crept up his intestines and burrowed itself in the base of his skull, buzzing like an unwanted Darkspawn hum. This should mean something, it insisted. And it was supposed to be you on that dais, not that… elf.

His eyes shot wider in momentary surprise. Where in the name of the Maker did that come from? Fully aware of the ridiculousness of the gesture, he still cast a glance over his shoulder at the portrait behind. He half-expected to find it frowning with disdain more than it already did. He tried to shake off the feeling of being stared at from years away and grimaced. If she were alive, that is exactly what she'd be doing right now. Right beside him. The mere idea of such similarity, or any similarity at all, had him disgusted. He turned attention back to the ceremony.

Despite what Varel, and probably everybody else thought, he didn't actually want to be on that dais. It was merely a habit, a lifetime of unquestioned knowledge that one day he would. And, like pretty much everything else in his life, it was but a remnant of a past with nothing to do with the present. He'd had a lot of those lately.

There wasn't time to process everything Delilah had told him until after they returned to the Keep. The insane night run culminating in slaughter effectively erased anything that came before it. But once that was over, everything that got put on hold came pouring back like a flood. And he was barely managing to keep his head above the metaphorical water.

Why did he even come? The answer was simple: pride. And spite. He wasn't a fool, yet he acted like one. About half of those present didn't care either way: they'd align their agendas to whichever winds were blowing with little fuss or scorn. The rest? He had no idea, though it was a safe bet to assume half were trilled to have a new liege and half were decidedly not. All of them? Would definitely take note of a Howe in attendance. No doubt most already knew the rumours, but actual confirmation? Would bring about more trouble than was worth it. Certainly, much more than the Arlling needed right now. Or ever. So why did he come?

Pride, that's why. Morbid curiosity, perhaps? Watching the elf watch the nobles and watching them watch her in turn brought on equal parts of resentment and… a twisted sort of amusement. Try as they might to view her as a Warden - a mere face of an Order, or as the Hero of Ferelden, or as Queen's puppet… Most only saw an elf. Bending a knee to one must have felt ridiculous at best, downright insulting at worst. Twisted amusment came from observing them cope with whatever actual feelings they harboured while putting on a socially acceptable face. More amusing was the realization that while most here observed the elf as something beneath them, the elf, in turn, observed them all as a mabari would a chew toy. And only one of the opposed parties had restraints, social and otherwise.

The resentment came from the exact same source. Any person present in the room, bar perhaps a few, would be more capable, or more deserving or just plain old more interested in standing on that dais than the one who currently occupied it.

Varel had asked him not to come. Not in those exact words, of course - he merely stated a preference for Nathaniel's absence. It made sense, on all possible levels. Pride and spite demanded he come regardless. The more he observed, the more he regretted the decision. He knew he could slip out unnoticed, just as he had slipped in. Yet he kept standing there as if glued to the pillar, finally admitting to himself that yes, he was being an utter fool.

He seemed to be that a lot lately. It was something that would need to change.

XXX

It really shouldn't have surprised him, he thought later on, but it nonetheless did.

It was an hour later, perhaps more, when the official part of the ceremony had ended and most of the guests have filed out to the courtyard to partake in more relaxed atmosphere. Those who opted to remain in the grand hall were either those who took the opportunity to engage in more private conversations or those who thought too highly of themselves to enjoy the lighter merriment outside. It seemed reasonably safe to finally detach himself from the pillar and make his way to one of the long tables that were lined up on either side of the hall: Joining-induced hunger still had him in its clutches. He was confident he could pile up a plate and still remain unnoticed.

He should have known better.

He was still mainly in the shadows, approaching the table as he did from the side opposite of where the guests were standing. From that side, he could easily pass for just about anything: a servant, perhaps, an off-duty guard, a minor something-of-someone's... A polar opposite of Anders and his big "I'm A Mage!" sign permanently hanging around his neck, Nathaniel did not have a sign "Howe!" hanging around his.

Except to those who knew exactly what they were looking for…

XXX

He had seen her approach a moment too late. He had spotted her out of a corner of his eye just as he was about to take a plate and had no time in which to dodge. He tried, but to no avail: she came from around the pillar, from where he did not expect any intrusions, and though he attempted to walk away, pretending not to see her, it was only few strides between them. She covered them easily and appeared right at his shoulder: too close to try and pretend he didn't hear or was the wrong person addressed. She knew his face too well for that.

"Lord Howe."

He expected no less yet it still took a conscious effort not to flinch at the manner he'd been addressed. This whole affair had been one big, pointed reminder of his entire previous life being irreversibly cut off from him, a final brick set into the wall that seperated the "then" and the "from now on". Yet the phantom pain in that detached limb remained, and a poke such as this served only to remind of loss.

He turned graciously and offered a curteous bow of his head.

"Bann Esmerelle. You do me an honour I am no longer entitled to."

She returned his bow and his words with a polite smile and a head bow of her own.

"You have been born to a noble family, Lord Howe. Titles can be bestowed or stripped away; nobility by birthright not so. Should we need examples, we need look no further than King Maric himself."

His face remained polite and passive. "You honour me, Bann Esmerelle." Her cup was empty and manners demanded he refills it.

"Thank you," she said, a small hint of approval on her lips, intentionally making him aware she had decided to interpret his gesture as proof of her words. "Please accept my condolences about your father."

A briefest flinch of pain clouding his features, a murmured "thank you" and maybe, just maybe, a hint of anger (or was it disdain perhaps? or both?) curdling beneath the otherwise stoic posture had been left open for interpretation. If Esmerelle read anything from it, she did not let it on. Instead:

"Your father used to bring you to visit, Lord Howe. I apologize for the familiarity with which I speak, but allow me the courtesy to do so. You were perhaps too little to remember, but I remember those visits fondly."

He watched the lady take a sip and give a slightest frown at the taste. Merited? Likely not, but the underlying message was there, should he care to read it. He allowed himself a small smile.

"I do remember, Bann Esmerelle, though I fear I was indeed too little to truly remember much. Those were…" he hesitated a bit, "…happier times," he finished more quietly.

She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. Some would say with some care; others would say carefully. "Happier times indeed," she replied softly. "If I may be so bold…" She paused and he inclined his head for her to continue.

"I understand you have joined the Grey Wardens, Lord Howe. Is that true?"

The change of subject did not phase him. It was a courtesy question, an old acquintance of the family politely inquiring about his current standing in the world. It was also an interlude to whatever was truly on her mind.

"Indeed I have, Lasy Esmerelle."

She smiled. "I see. It is… comforting, in a way, to know there are still Howes in Vigil Keep. We are, I fear," she sniffed her drink and placed the cup on the table, "creatures of habit. And of traditions." The last words were aimed at the deposited cup. She could be simply talking about the wine served: the wintage offered now was not the one the previous Arl traditionaly brought out for occasions such as these.

His gaze trailed to the cup as well. "I am sad to say that the Darkspawn had been less than considerate in their attack. The Vigil's wine cellars will be long time recovering, my Lady."

If there was a barb entangled in his words, Esmerelle chose not to notice.

"That is most unfortunate. Amaranthine cellars have, mercifully, not suffered such a cruel fate. And I am confident that the Grey Wardens will see that it remains that way. Especially now that they have a Howe in their ranks."

He bowed again, as was proper. "I assure you, Bann Esmerelle, that we shall."

Was it a dance of shadows on her face or did her eyebrow raise slightly at his usage of the word "we"? He could not decide.

"That is a comfort to know, Lord Howe. Allow me to extand my gratitude to the Order on behalf of the people of Amaranthine. And my own."

Another polite smile, another appropriate bow. Bit deeper this time.

"I truly shouldn't keep you from your duties any longer," she said. "But should you ever find yourself with some time to spare, I should be much obliged if you would do me the honour of paying me a visit when you are next in Amaranthine." A warmer expression washed over her features. "I truly do remember your visits with much fondness, and it would be a great pleasure to have you as my guest again."

A bit of surprise at the lady's invitation could be glimpsed if one looked for it. "I…" A slight hesitation underlined it, followed by a smile more genuine than before. "I would like that very much, Bann Esmerelle. Should circumstances permit, it would be an honour to be your guest."

The Lady bowed: "Howes were always welcome in my home." And with those parting words, she took her leave; the softly murmured "thank you" did not pass unnoticed.

XXX

And the entire conversation, though lasting only for a very short time, did not escape notice either. Nathaniel was well aware of Varel's gaze finding them despite the fact they had been sheltered from general sight by another support pillar. He did not give the Senechal any indications that he had noticed, however. He had more important things on his mind right now.

He had been a fool. A level-headed one, but a fool nonetheless. He had already made a decision to rectify that. And now was the time to make few others as well…