A/N: Bioware owns. But I'm touching it anyway.
He was dressed in Howe gold, and she in Cousland green. Her dress was simple, embroidered with the laurels of the family crest in Howe gold, and his had a small laurel in green on the lapel of his tunic under the gold brocade doublet. She fingered it and he took her fingers in his hand, and kissed them with a small smile, running his finger back and forth over the thin golden band she wore on her heart finger.
"So, wife, shall we sup with our guests?"
She grinned. "You're going to make me wait, aren't you? Two years wasn't enough?"
"Two years, four months, and a fortnight."
"Clearly you have not been counting," she jested.
He pulled her in close. "I cannot wait to get you alone."
"We're alone now," she pointed out, arching a brow.
"Yes, but the things I shall do to you, wife, will make us late for dinner. We can't have that, now can we?"
"My parents will forgive us," she assured him.
"And my father will not."
She sighed. "Is there any way we can encourage them to eat quickly?"
"A watched kettle never boils," he informed her with a small smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.
"At least give me a kiss to tide me over," she teased, and he obliged, covering her mouth with his own. Warm dry lips met her tongue-moistened ones, and he gave her the kiss that had been too inappropriate for the Chantry. His hand cradled the back of her head, tilting it this way and that, opening his mouth over hers. She parted her lips and darted out her tongue to touch his upper lip. He smiled and she felt it, and she let out a soft chuckle.
"That sort of thing will make us late," he warned against her mouth.
"Not too much, I don't think," she countered, taking back a kiss.
"You," he informed her, never moving his mouth more than an inch from hers between kisses, "are going to argue with me constantly aren't you?"
"Only about the important things," she said, and twined her arms around his neck, pulling him in again. He chuckled, and slipped his tongue into her mouth, running it down the length of hers, tasting the underside of her tongue and breathing her breath.
By the time they had parted, she had to straighten his braid, and as she turned to go, he goosed her on the bum.
"That's for the comments we're going to get now," he teased.
"Nothing embarrasses you, Nathaniel. You'll be a hero, all manly and that. I, however, will be forced to blush like a ripe apple because you're so virile you can't wait for me to eat first," she admonished jokingly.
"You jest, but you're going to thank me for that virility later," he leered.
"Is that a promise?"
"Alright, we're leaving. Now."
"Two years, Nathaniel! I read a lot of books!"
"Go," he shooed her, and she held out her hand to him. He threaded his fingers with hers, and she opened the door, light streaming in…
"Up and at 'em," a cheery female voice pulled him from his dream as she threw open the drapes.
"What are you doing in my chambers, foul woman?"
"The Warden-Commander requests your presence. She's off for the Wending Wood this afternoon, a scouting mission, and you're to come along, she says," the maid was already exiting, having done her duty by waking him.
He merely scowled at her, and she bobbed her head, closing the door behind herself. He threw his forearm over his head, and pulled up his pillow, covering his face with it. Taking a few deep breaths, clearing his head of the silly dream, he tossed away the pillow and threw the blanket off his legs, and sat up.
The letter lay folded on his nightstand. He shouldn't've read it before bed. That was why. He…hadn't had that dream in a long time. This…was going to make it worse.
# # # # # #
"Nathaniel Howe, you are a fine shot with the bow." Velanna seemed reluctant in her praise, almost confused by the words coming out of her own mouth, and Elissa, walking ahead of them, smiled.
"Erm. Thank you."
"The Dalish value the skills of their archers quite highly. If I had not shown a gift for the arcane, I should have been trained as an archer."
Elissa raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Anders walking in step with her, and he just shrugged. Velanna did not seem the type to volunteer information about herself, and certainly never praised anyone (considering she'd only recently decided they were allowed to live). It was disturbing to hear her voice take any other tone than boredom, anger, or downright disgust.
"I took to the skill as a boy."
"Indeed our archers are valued members of our communities, trained from young ages - they are our hunters, our defenders. Dalish archers have quite the reputation," she added, and this time it was Anders who elbowed Elissa, as the last phrase sounded almost...saucy.
"Yes. So I've heard." Nathaniel remained terse, and sounded mildly suspicious.
"Come children, we're almost home!" Elissa shouted as the keep appeared over the hill. She heard Velanna make some other comment to Nathaniel about her referring to them as 'children', but she did not catch his reply. It wasn't until supper that she and Anders confronted him about his budding friendship.
"I think she liiiiikes you," Anders taunted, and Nathaniel only narrowed his eyes.
"Making conversation is not the invitation you mages seem to think it is," he replied firmly, his eyes darting to Elissa once. She did not notice, but Anders, perceptive and fishing for answers, did.
"Friend Nathaniel, perhaps you did not notice, but she is a mage."
"Not a mage raised in the tower where twitching one's robes in a come-hither manner is license to copulate in a dark corner."
Anders frowned, looking almost insulted. "You make it sound so...dirty! Alright, sometimes it was quite dirty, but most of the time you were so worried about getting caught you didn't get to the fun dirty bits." Nathaniel just let out a 'hmpf', which only spurred Anders on. "And tower-raised or not, we mages have a certain joie de vivre that I thought our dear Velanna lacked, but clearly she possesses, if lacking in taste," he said, eyes darting between Elissa and Nathaniel. "She wants in your leathers, my good man. I say go for it."
"Maybe you should try having a pleasant conversation with someone once in awhile, and maybe then you'd have more luck enticing them into your bed."
"Ouch, I'm hurt Nathaniel."
"Hey, stop it you two," Elissa butted in. "I don't think anyone should try to seduce Velanna," she began, and then looked mock-worried. "I think she bites."
Anders grinned and leaned towards her over his meal. "MaybeI like that, Commander."
"Flirt," she chastised with a smile.
"Is it working?" he asked, still looking devious. She tore off a bit of her bread and threw it at him, bouncing it off his nose.
"I'm going to be ill," Nathaniel commented, taking another bite of his stew.
"I know several things known to cure any illness," Anders offered cheerfully. "Good healing magic, the ashes of the prophet, and a roll in the hay with a pretty lady. I'm actually feeling rather ill myself, and there are no ashes about," he said, turning his gaze back on Elissa.
She grinned at him. "Well I suppose you're just going to have to heal yourself then."
"Oh, ouch," Anders clutched his chest, and Nathaniel dipped his head to his meal, hiding his smile.
# # # # # #
"My darling Velanna!"
"Cease prattling at me so. I am not your darling," she sniped.
"Merely offering a compliment."
She looked apprehensive. "I do not...take compliments well."
Anders smiled. "Perhaps because you have not been in the company of those who offered them when they were so true."
"I find I am...uncomfortable with your obvious flirtation. If you wish to have sexual relations with me, I do not find myself overly desirous of you in that manner at this time."
"Well then clearly I will have to time my flirtations better."
"I think your luck is poorly sought. I find Nathaniel Howe quite agreeable."
"Alas, I think our terse archer is spoken for."
"By whom? I will remove her from the equation."
Anders eyebrow rose at the idea of killing someone simply because Velanna wanted in someone's breeks. "Not if you want her to help you find your sister you won't."
"The Commander of the Wardens is his mate?" She looked confused and even a little hurt.
"I don't know about mate, but there's certainly something there. I think she might take objection to your...pursuit of him."
"Ah. This is...most unsatisfactory," she mused, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away from him thoughtfully.
"Well then perhaps you will allow me to remedy your mood."
She snapped her gaze back to him. "You pursue me relentlessly, mage. I question your skill if you are so intent."
He stepped into her personal space and she stepped back, his voice low. "My skill is not what you should worry about. What you should worry about," he touched a finger to her sternum and she drew her chest away from him, curling her shoulders inward, still eyeing him suspiciously, "is your ability to keep up." He winked at her and walked away, leaving her...curious.
# # # # # #
"Found those," Elissa nodded at two bundles of letters, one wrapped in ribbon and the other merely gathered together in a haphazard stack.
"Hm?" He stepped further into her bedroom, which was transitioning many of its more official items to the office in the adjoining room. That one had its own door, which would prevent those on official business from having to trek through her sleeping chambers. In the meantime, there were boxes in both rooms, and the desk still faced the door and sat in the far corner near her bed.
"Thought you might take them to Delilah next time you are in Amaranthine. It's her handwriting. Perhaps they're love letters," she joked, and he snorted, trying to puzzle out a path to them as she lightly hopped between boxes. "I've been here three months. How do I have so much...crap?"
"Running an arling is a lot of paperwork," he commented with a tiny smile.
"You're telling me," she said, her attention back on sorting the dusty bound books and the loose leaves of paper, separate again from the finer parchment and the occasional more important document on vellum. "I keep asking Alistair to remind me why he thought this was a good idea. I'm rubbish at this."
Nathaniel reached down to lift a dingy book from one of the crates. "I suppose he thought it a prize," he said casually, and she froze, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Nate, I'm sorry. I...my mouth gets away from me sometimes."
He didn't look at her, just opened the book and studied its contents. "I remember." He closed the book and handed it over to her. "Sheep."
She took it from him with a curious look. "Sheep?"
"Yes. Sheep and pigs and other livestock given as tribute or tax. Old, but not too old. Might be useful to ensure that none of the farmers are holding out on you."
"I doubt that," she said with an uneasy laugh.
"You protect their lands, do you not? Govern them? It is your right to be given proper tribute to feed your soldiers and now Wardens. You can't be such a soft touch with them. That riot the other day? That will only cause more problems. You bow too easily to their whims, and they will take advantage of that."
"That's what Varel said," she admitted with a sigh.
"Varel has known the arling and its governance for many years. It wouldn't go amiss to listen to him," he cautioned.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Thank you. But...take the letters. Before they get," she gestured at her maze of crates, "mixed up with something else."
He leaned over to lift them off the desk, his chest brushing her shoulder for a moment. They froze as he drew away, faces inches away, and he could feel her breath on his lips just as she could smell him. He backed away before anything could be done about the closeness.
"I'll make sure she gets them."
"Yes. Yes. Thank you," she said quickly, and went back to her sorting, not looking up at him. But where her hair was swept up off her neck in a messy ponytail, he saw the flush on her jaw and smiled.
She did not look up until after she was sure he was gone, her skin hot. Inhaling and exhaling, she calmed herself, and went back to tossing items in and out of boxes.
He returned to the mess, and sat down with a bowl of cooling porridge and a jar of honey, which he liberally spooned into the porridge to sweeten it. He leafed through the letters, noting that the ones tied with ribbon were her early letters to the younger son of the arl of White River. Their father had not approved, and Delilah had been forbidden to contact him again. She had been upset for a long time, and he wondered if that was when she had begun to hate their father. Both sons were killed in the Blight, as he recalled, leaving the arl childless. He set those letters aside, and without much attention to detail, sifted through the unbound stack. He caught one with his name on it, sealed and ready to be sent.
As it was addressed to him, he cracked the seal and unfolded it. It was dated a little over two years ago, mere months before he was to return from the Marches; months before the events which changed the landscape he was returning to in so many ways.
Nathaniel,
Father has left for Denerim with Thomas, appointing a man I do not know as seneschal for the length of his stay there. I do not like the man, and often consult Varel about some of the decisions this man has made. I worry that Father will drain the people of Amaranthine with this man's help (I believe his name to be Edwin?) to fund his extravagances in Denerim - likely Thomas's drinking habit as well. One might hope that Father would draw the line at bleeding dry his own arling to support Thomas's wenching, but I never know these days.
Elissa asks after you - your letters grow infrequent, and I know it must be because you are traveling, but it worries her. Search me, but I swear she is truly in love with you. She is rubbish with needlepoint, but asked me what your favorite colors were - be warned, I have no idea what she might be crafting, but be grateful for it, as she frets over her poor skill in an obtuse sort of way. I admit that I was reluctant to accept your choice - she seemed frivolous, just as Father called her, with her mucking about with the castle guard playing at swords and such. I have exchanged a few missives with her, and find her to be quite amusing. Your common dry humors will surely infuriate everyone, but some things must be borne, I suppose. She seems earnest in her desire to be a good wife for you, and struggles, albeit admirably, familiarizing herself with the household tasks that she will be responsible for once she is arlessa.
On that note, I have to confide in you that I have another worry. There has been talk about Father making Thomas the heir instead of you. I don't know how I might confirm this without asking straight out, but I have a worrying feeling. Thomas would do the job poorly, but there is something Father has confided in Thomas which has made Thomas more his creature than he ever was. He has developed poorly in your absence, outside of the drinking and wenching. I worry for him, and find almost no trace of the rambunctious boy I helped raise. He speaks sharply to everyone, and emulates Father in the worst possible ways.
I do not know what you will return home to, but be assured that I am on your side, and that you have a young woman who will make you a fine wife. I am hopeful that the worries I confess to you are without weight, and that next time I see you, you will be taking control of the Vigil's garrison as heir presumptive and preparing for your marriage.
All my love,
Delilah