Six.
Four.
Five.
Two.
Nathaniel sighed, scooping up the worn die of fading red paint and rolling it on the wooden bench that was supposed to be his bed. So far he'd found the stone floor with its bumps more comfortable to be honest, instead the bench was his table and seat, the old die the soldiers hadn't confiscated his sole source of 'entertainment' once the Seneschal had gotten bored with asking him questions Nathaniel wouldn't answer.
Another sigh escaped him, more out of frustration than boredom really. He knew the value of patience, more so then most. But to just sit there, in a dank cell, while his home was being torn apart by the vultures that had stolen it from his family and the darkspawn invaders was frustrating. By all right he should be out there, bow in hand and shooting them all down, the criminal soldiers and darkspawn alike.
Criminals...Nathaniel snorted, a hand coming up to brush a stubborn strand of long brown hair back behind his ear. They had been the ones arresting him, calling him intruder, criminal, even traitor. They move into my home and call me intruder, they kill my father and call me criminal, they work for the Ferelden 'hero', allow Orlesians into our country...and they call me traitor!
He found his teeth clenched tightly, his fist closed around his die as he realised that simmering rage was once more threatening to burst forth. Control, control, control...he took a deep breath...and carefully breathed out through his nose, pushing it back down. He opened his hand, dark grey eyes looking down at the lone die in his hand, feeling an urge to throw it into a wall, to send it into a dark corner where he couldn't reach it.
He didn't though, he'd never been one to act on such impulses, he considered his options, how he would go about it, then he made a decision. It wasn't always a rational decision, but it had been considered. And throwing the die would just be foolish, accomplishing nothing, it had been a gift from a mercenary back in the Free Marches after a particular bad game for Nathaniel, an apology. Not that it had been needed, Nathaniel had learnt not to care too much whether he won or lost in such games, it was not the way of a noble, not the goal of playing the game with the troops.
In a way the die had been the real prize, after that night he'd been embraced by the mercenary band as one of their own, it had been worth the sovereigns he'd earned from months of fighting...true acceptance, not because he was a noble, but as one of the warriors.
At first he'd questioned his father's idea of sending him out into the Free Marches under the tutelage of a mercenary captain, by his nature Nathaniel wasn't a risk-taker. Yet now he understood, the fighting, hunting, living by the day...it had all elevated him beyond what he'd once been, taught him what being a noble truly meant. It wasn't a fairy tale, it wasn't counting coins or debating philosophy, it was power and respect, the preparedness to do anything.
By now he looked more like a peasant then a nobleman, his worn leather armour replaced by the dirty tunic his captors had thrown him, his weathered face a testament to his life out in the sun, of a life of hardship. Yet he knew he was a noble at heart, just as anyone meeting him did, it lay in the heart, in the eyes.
Not that it's of any importance now.
He'd snuck into his father's castle, full of the men thinking themselves justified to take his family's lands...ready to put an arrow into the Commander of the Wardens the moment she stepped into the gate. Then...he had changed his mind, for the first time in ages. Killing the woman wouldn't bring his family back, wouldn't pull his family's name out of the dirt it now lay in...only make things worse. Nathaniel knew of justice, he also knew of logic, he'd get caught if he killed her, and then executed. He'd have some temporary satisfaction...and then his family name would be further dragged in the dirt as he was executed, the last of the Howes...ever known as a traitor and a murderer, his name deserved more then that...
So he had instead tried to find his things, something to help him remember his family...
Then they had caught him, he'd fought...but it had been a futile struggle.
And now I'll die. Nathaniel shrugged where he sat, carefully putting the die back onto the bench as he hung his head low. Of course they would have a trial, a sentence...but it would be a foregone conclusion. He was his father's son, and they could not allow him to live. At least I'll face it with my head held high...they won't get the satisfaction of humiliating my family any more. He smiled grimly, the decision had already been made, he was used to death from the Free Marshes...he would face his own with the same stoicism.
Of course there might not be a trial, or an execution, the darkspawn might have won after all. Nathaniel hadn't heard anything for some time now, no sounds of combat, no cries of dying men and creatures. His guard hadn't returned to see to him either, probably dead...maybe that was it? Maybe the defenders were all dead and the darkspawn had gone on, leaving him to starve to death? He doubted that though, one of them had entered the prison after all, a genlock.
He'd only seen them in drawings, heard of them in the Free Marches, that there were raiding bands all over the place...yet until a few hours ago he'd never actually seen one. It had been far more vicious then he'd imagined, the short creature raking the bars between them with its daggers, stabbing through them, trying to reach him with animalistic rage. Then it had left...and Nathaniel could only stare after it with his head cocked, wondering if it would try and get some of its friends, or perhaps a bow to shoot him with...
It hadn't though, there was only silence.
So Nathaniel waited. Darkspawn or traitors, he didn't care which killed him. Delilah...I'm sorry. He bit his lower lip, irritated with himself for thinking of his little sister, she was surely dead by now. He'd only heard of his father, killed by their 'great hero', and his brother Thomas, slain by Ferelden knights as he tried to defend his family's lands. His sister was most likely killed too though, and that hurt, she would never have hurt anyone, she'd never cared for politics...it wasn't right, none of it was.
Then again, right has never played a part in life. Nathaniel sombrely noted, ear twitching as he heard the sound of the door ahead creaking open, of armoured feet marching into the room. Four pairs, one without armour...one lighter then the others. Two guards, the judge perhaps...but the lighter one wears armour too...a woman? But the Seneschal is male...
"I heard you came to kill me." The voice was unmistakable female, as it was harsh, dead and uncaring.
Ah, it's her... Nathaniel took a calming breath pushing the simmering rage back down, he would not give her the satisfaction of showing his now impotent anger. "I did."
"Why?" No anger, no accusation, not even real curiosity, a question asked because it was supposed to be asked. Interesting...
"Why?" Nathaniel echoed the woman's question and slowly stood up, raising his head.
The four were an odd group. A dwarf in full armour and a bristling red beard, a huge axe hanging over his shoulder as he regarded Nathaniel with an almost amused look. A brunette woman in heavy plate mail, her eyes narrowed in that self-righteous anger Nathaniel had come to expect out of patriots. A blonde man in mage robes, eyeing Nathaniel with the sympathy of someone who knew the pain of being behind bars. All three were unimportant though...only the one in the front was the one to watch.
Nathaniel had known the 'hero' to be an elf woman, yet it seemed almost an insult to think that the tiny woman before him was the killer of his father, the initiator of his entire family's death, of the death-knell of its reputation and the one who had stolen his father's place in saving the country. Nathaniel quickly shoved such thoughts aside though, he knew far too well not to judge anything by its cover. And even if he hadn't...the woman before him was all the more imposing by virtue of her smallness.
Nathaniel had seen a small dog in the streets, near death, feral...it had been cornered by a far larger dog...and then ripped its foe's throat out even as it itself was torn to shreds...the woman seemed the same breed, small and feral.
The golden armour of hers was tarnished, a great rift in its side from some great blow, the weapons strapped to her hips glowing with the power of enchantments...yet all that was nothing compared to her. Her gaunt face was pale, marked by suffering and hardship, the face of someone near death, yet refusing to bend under the strain. And the eyes....
Nathaniel felt a shudder of disgust and fear run through his spine, he clenched his firsts, burying his fingernails into his palms until it bled, drawing focus from the pain. I will not look away. His father's murderer's eyes were large and amber...had sunk deep into her pale face...and were utterly dead. There was intelligence in them, yes, consciousness...but they weren't human, nor elven...they were unreal, revolting. Nathaniel had expected her to be just that, revolting, but not in that way...he narrowed his eyes at hers, glaring at her. "Because you killed my father."
"I have killed many." The woman replied, a statement of fact as she cocked her head to the side, studying him as if he was nothing but a bug passing interest.
She doesn't even know.... Nathaniel gritted his teeth, barely holding his rage in check as he slowly advanced towards the bars that separated the two, she didn't move back. Considering those dead eyes burying themselves into his Nathaniel wasn't surprised. "I am Nathaniel Howe." The others gasped, yet Lynn Tabris, the 'hero' didn't react. "Son of Rendon Howe, brother of Thomas and Delilah Howe, the last of my family." He stepped closer to the bars, glaring down at the elf. "You took my family, its lands, its honour...I wanted justice."
"Justice brings no happiness." Lynn replied, it wasn't an argument though, it was a fact as much as a question, a challenge.
"Perhaps not, but it is needed." Nathaniel snorted, wanting to spit the elf in the face. He was certainly close enough for such a sign of defiance...but what was the point? He would not stoop to such a level. "I was going to shoot you as you entered the gates, a single arrow...and then I would have left."
"Entered the gates?" Lynn repeated, frowning ever so slightly. "They arrested you in the keep itself."
"Yes..." Nathaniel couldn't bear it any longer, he'd made his point, he looked away, irritated that he drew a sigh of relief when no longer meeting her eyes. "..I realised it wouldn't make any difference, my family already lies dead, and killing the so-called hero of Ferelden would only further besmirch my family name. What was the point?" He shrugged, not really sure he was telling her this, obviously not to garner any sympathy, the woman's reputation was anything but about sympathy...and he wouldn't want it even if he could get it from her. No...perhaps it was simply the wish to say it all? For his own benefit, for some peace of mind? No matter...it is done. "I went to get some things, things associated with my family, useless baubles to most...but important to me...a fool notion perhaps." He chuckled, that much was obvious by now, the bars between them told him that much.
"Not at all." No taunts, no sympathy, nothing.
Huh?
Silence.
Nathaniel glanced at the elf, seeing her look back...emotionless...it was almost worse then a taunt, the utter uncaring shown for him....he was just an insect to her.
She spoke again, gaze even. "How did you get in?"
A mirthless chuckle escaped Howe. Ah, so she's holding the execution until all information is gathered...I would have done the same. The chuckle died at the disgusting thought, making him glare at her. We are nothing alike...murderer. "This is my castle, I know it by heart."
"We had many guards, even with secret paths you shouldn't have been able to get in." Was that an accusation? What is she getting at? "Magic?"
Ah. "No magic." Nathaniel shrugged, a pale smile forcing itself to his lips as he thought back, to all the times he'd snuck around in the Free marshes, hunting equally skilled trackers of his mercenary band, playing a deadly game of cat-and-mouse that he'd become a master at. "I'm good."
"I have fought dragons, how could you think yourself able to kill me with a single arrow?"
Such odd questions...Nathaniel frowned. Is this her attempt at taunting me? "I told you, I'm good." Nathaniel shrugged. "I've killed knights with a single shot dozens of times, and you are mortal are you not?"
"I am." The woman answered, as if the question needed answering.
Nathaniel grit his teeth, head snapping round to glare into those dead eyes once more as he hissed: "Then I can kill you. Damn reputation, damn strength, damn magic... damn the Maker himself! If you're mortal I can kill you!"
Silence, the woman observing him, her unnatural eyes weighing him, making him sweat, despite the anger sustaining him.
Then she finally spoke: "Good."
"Good?" Nathaniel echoed, frowning in confusion. What is she...that makes no sense.
"Nathaniel Howe." The woman's voice was still uncaring, but had a hint of solemness in it all of a sudden. "You're hereby conscripted into the grey wardens." Gasps, from both Nathaniel and the woman's companions, all taking a step back as they stared at the woman so calmly looking at him. "You will take your joining with the others."
Conscripted? Nathaniel blinked. Of all the things...he hadn't expected that. Execution, life imprisonment, torture...but not that. Conscripted! He narrowed his eyes at the woman, glaring at her. "No! I will not become like you! I refuse to have anything in common with the likes of you! Even if it saves me!" I would survive, but...no...my mind is set.
"You have no choice." A statement, fact, the dead eyes boring into him, blowing aside his resolve as if it had been nothing but a house of cards.
"I..." He looked away, cursing himself for his weakness. No, I can't fail my family...to join her would be accepting that she was right, that my family name is worth nothing. Then again...I know otherwise...and if she recruits me.... "...you can't keep me, you won't stop me. Once I'm recruited I'll leave, I'll sneak away the first opportunity I get. I'm telling you this because some of us knows what honour is."
Silence, the woman no doubt re-thinking her decision.
Nathaniel closed his eyes, sighing. Honour will kill me...a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. There's worse ways to go...
"No." He couldn't help it, he looked back at the warden, at his father's murderer, and found the dead eyes boring into him, the woman stepping close to the bars, stating fact. "No you won't." Nathaniel felt his eyes widen, something in her voice...filling him with dread. "I promise you that."
Nathaniel Howe shuddered.
888
Thanks to Abydos Jackson for the continued support and criticism. ;-)