A/N: Things can only go unsaid for so long. In this chapter, things are said, other things aren't, and no one really listens.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns it.

"And the part where he's basically an ambulatory decomposing corpse doesn't really bother you?" Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her, leaning back in the chair across from her.

"He's a Grey Warden," she replied, breaking a wax seal on another letter.

"A possessed one."

She shrugged. "What did you want me to say 'no, sorry Spirit of Justice, us mortals have no use for your superpowers and creepy possession, please go find some other cause to champion'? Hardly."

"Anders was right. You collect people. It's…a little unsettling."

"A good team has variation. I'm merely…cultivating that variation."

"Now including the dead along with the living. Delightful."

"Sigrun is dead."

"In the philosophical sense, not the literal one."

"Since when do you use words like 'philosophical'?"

"Since you started including corpses in your roster and thought it was acceptable."

"Well his body used to be a Grey Warden," she shrugged.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but it's...well...creepy."

She let out a little laugh, and he smiled. Not a big wide smile, but a small one, amused at her laughter.

"You should do that more often," she said, darting her eyes up to look at him and then back down at the letter she was writing.

"Hmm?"

"Smile. It's..." she looked up, her heart in her throat. "It's been awhile since I've seen you smile."

There was a silence between them - not heavy and uncomfortable, but contemplative. They had not discussed the kiss from the previous week. Instead, they had moved forward, their interactions looser and more familiar, with new lines drawn, but not breeching the gap of affection. They did not touch or joke overmuch, they simply were less guarded, less concerned that they themselves or the other would make a mistake, cross a line not yet ready to be crossed. That tiny aspect alone seemed to be a breath exhaled, and the rest of the Wardens (except for Velanna, who seemed eternally sour-faced and uncomfortable) unconsciously picked up on it, their demeanors eased in collective company.

"Yes. Well," he replied, avoiding discussing the issue further.

"Sorry. I...I'm not good at this being friends thing either. I...forget what it was like to just be your friend." She found that, with an expansive desk (which had now been moved into her office) between them, the words did not seem so dangerous or fragile.

"I don't think I ever knew."

She snorted and fiddled with the feather on her quill. "Me neither. I think I always had a crush on you."

His mouth quirked up in a half smile. "I could tell. It used to bother me, because you were a little girl. But then...you were a young woman, and I think I missed what came in between."

"More of the same – fighting with Fergus, actually fighting with Fergus when my father and the captain of the guard were teaching us how to fight properly…you didn't miss much."

There was another spate of silence that Nathaniel broke with a furrow to his brow. The letter she'd tossed aside and was presumably replying to carried the royal seal.

"A letter from Alistair?"

"Mmhmm," she agreed, penning her response.

"I thought Grey Wardens were supposed to be apolitical," he began, watching her carefully.

"We are, but this is Alistair. Me, Alistair, and the archdemon used to be drinking buddies," she chuckled. "He's trying to find an excuse to come out here and hide from all the noble daughters and widows that Eamon seems to think would make good wives. He wants to hide behind me as though that would keep Eamon from marching him into the Chantry," she mused with a small smile on her face. "He's a bit…alone out there in Denerim. This whole Warden-Commander business," she didn't take her eyes off her letter, but waved her free hand in the air, "pulled me away from advising him and left him in the lurch, as it were. I feel a little bad, but, well…" she trailed off, lifting the letter slightly off the desk to re-read what she had written.

He was silent for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to say what was on his mind. They had an attachment from before, and Grey Warden or no, her family was still quite highly ranked in the nobility. When it came to potential wives, Nathaniel did not have to spend too much time thinking about where Elissa might stand in that list. He opted for a less direct approach.

"Why didn't you write to me?"

She lowered the letter, her eyes narrowed and cocked her head, considering him before answering. "Sorry, there was a Blight on," she began, strangely sarcastic.

"Afterwards."

"I was helping Alistair run Ferelden. Not a lot of time for myself," she said carefully, bristling. "Why didn't you write to me?"

"I was under the impression you were literally dead. Fergus too."

She snorted, going back to her letters. "Did your father tell you that?"

"Stop trying to start a fight," he warned.

"Who me? Why would I try to start a fight when you were clearly just curious as to why I didn't just run off a letter somewhere in between my family being slaughtered in the middle of the night and trying to keep the whole of Thedas from being ravaged by darkspawn. Of course I'm not trying to start a fight," she didn't look up at him, but rolled her shoulders and nodded her head as she spoke, her body language speaking to her ire.

"A message of any sort would have been nice," he pointed out blandly. "I grieved you, thought you dead. Forgive me if it's difficult to simply leap back into our former relationship now that you have revealed yourself amongst the living."

She broke the nib of her quill against the parchment, and ink bled profusely, ruining the page. He watched her skin flush, and she snapped her head up to glare at him. "Stop that. Stop blaming me! And I have never asked you to 'leap' back into our former anything! I thought we were trying to be friends!"

"Blaming you?" he sounded amused, and remained relaxed in his chair, hands laced together and elbows resting on the carved arms. "Blaming you for what?"

"For surviving!"

"Tell me exactly why you think I am blaming you for surviving."

"I killed your father and I survived! He was a bastard, Nathaniel, face it! The man helped start a civil war and killed my family in cold blood! I'm sorry I didn't die defending my family like you wish you had! I tried to, believe me! Duncan, the Grey Warden who recruited me? My father made him promise to see me to safety! He dragged me away from my parents, my father bleeding out on the corn-dusted larder floor like an animal, and my mother ready to die with him just to give me the chance to escape! I'm sorry that maybe I wanted to keep it a secret for a little while, hoping your sick bastard of a father would think my corpse one of the many desecrated bodies on a pyre and not come running after me!"

Nathaniel just stared at her while she yelled herself purple, both of them remaining seated.

"I had no idea what he was planning," he replied, his voice flat, but his eyes flashing on her implied insult.

"I know that! I thought you were dead! I hadn't heard from you in over a month! After I escaped, my first thought of you was that you had died over there, far from home, and your father, who hated me," she ignored the tears that had stung for only a moment before slipping from her eyes and sliding down her face, "for some reason I don't even understand, didn't tell me because he didn't think I deserved to know! I thought you were dead, surely as you thought me dead, and seeing you again? Nathaniel I…" Her voice lost its volume and intensity, and her next words were nearly a whisper. Meanwhile, he had not moved from his seat. "I wanted you to take me in your arms so that I might pretend everything that had happened…" she dropped her gaze to her ruined parchment, "…was all a horrible nightmare."

He was quiet for several moments, and then there was the sound of wood against stone as he pushed his chair back. She thought he was going to leave, and didn't want to watch him go, so she kept her eyes, burning with tears she was trying to blink back even though the dam had already broken, focused in a soft blur on her letters.

"Elissa," he said quietly, and she didn't move, just closed her eyes slowly, forcing two more tears down her face.

"Elissa," he repeated, and she looked up at him, red and blotchy and miserable. "Come here," he said, standing close enough to her desk that it was closer than before, but far enough way that she would still need to make the effort to put herself in physical contact with him. She stared at him for several moments, and then stood up from her desk, and went to him, allowing him to fold her into his arms. She tucked her face against his tunic, and allowed herself to cry. With deft fingers, her hastily pinned hair rippled down her back, and he stroked his fingers over it – long, smooth strokes from the crown of her head to the ends of her slightly wavy tresses and then back up to the top to do it again.

"I don't know how to do this, Nathaniel. I don't know how to be the woman who killed your father, the woman who did all these horrible things. I did them because I had to, but now I have to live with it, and I don't know how."

"Time," he said quietly, feeling a chill where her tears had dampened his tunic, her face still pressed against him as she spoke.

"I didn't want to become arlessa of Amaranthine this way. I hated Alistair a little bit for doing this, though I don't think he understood why. I had imagined it for so long, but this is not how. This isn't it. I was supposed to have you beside me."

"You do."

"I don't. Nothing is the same."

He didn't reply, just continued to stroke her hair. She quieted, her breathing slowing, becoming regular instead of riddled with her waning emotion. He pushed her away a little bit, to take her by the shoulders so that she looked up at him. Then his hands were on her face, forcing her to look at him while he spoke.

"Listen to me. Nothing has turned out the way we planned. So many things have come between us. But hear this, understand this: I never stopped loving you. Even now, knowing all I know, I can't hate you the way I think I should. I hate that I can't have our perfect story with you – you are not the only one who had dreams of that life. But do you hear me? I still love you. Maker help me, but it's the truth." He explained each concept as though to a child, eyes intent and focused. They darted back and forth, trying to puzzle out her reaction to his confession, but all he saw was confusion. He dipped his head to hears, still holding her face, and kissed her.

It was like the one in the mess – gentle, just a meeting of lips, but this time it was she who remained immobile while he did the kissing instead of the other way around. She let his lips move over hers, offering no protest when he kissed her again, only pulling away slightly when he made to catch his breath.

"This is not friends," she said quietly, not looking up at him, and tried to move out of his embrace, but he didn't let her, instead tilting her chin up so that she looked him in the eye.

"I have seen you face down darkspawn and run after them, crying for their grisly deaths, and you can't even look at me when you're pushing me away?"

"I-I'm not. Pushing you away, I mean."

"Feels like it," he said carefully, scrutinizing her blush and darting gaze.

"It's simply too confusing!" She pulled again and he let her go, let her stand in front of the little window with her arms wrapped around her body as though protecting herself.

"You said it first. You said you still cared for me. I was under the impression that meant I was free to express the same."

"I do," she replied quietly, and turned to face him, arms still hugging her torso. "But is this what you really want? I'm not confused, Nathaniel. I never stopped loving you –"

"Nor has your hearing improved, I see," he quipped, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did I not just confess the same moments ago? Or did I do that to some other obstinate woman?" He frowned, widening his stance, preparing for another argument.

"But you're just getting your feet back under you. You've just found your family again, and for you, this is all unsettled. Being a Grey Warden, being the last of the Howes. I've had years to acclimate to all these things you've only been dealing with for a couple of months. I don't…I don't want to start this with you only to have you regret it later. I can't…I won't do that, Nathaniel."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe it's my life and I'd like to make my own choices once in awhile? Stop deciding what you think is best for me! I'm not the bloody King of Ferelden that you can just order to and fro like a lapdog!" She flinched when he raised his voice, curling her lip to respond, but he plowed through. "Allow me to make my own mistakes!" She stared at him, and he relented, softening his tone. "And for the record, being with you would not be one of those mistakes. You have me beside you. You said you never gave up on us, even when you thought me dead? I never gave up on you." She continued to stare at him, and confessions continued to spill from his lips even though she had not given him a single reason to keep doing so – her body still rigid. "Even when I was sure you were dead, my heart…" he stopped, frowned. "Maker's breath, I'm not making a fool of myself anymore," he said, suddenly angry, and he spun on his heel and started to walk away.

She watched him do it, watched him cross the room, and reach for the door latch. Her words were caught in her throat, and all she could think was that she was a failure, and that she'd hurt him, but he made her so mad and then…he was gone, the sounds of his boots receding down the hallway.

"Nate," she said to herself, and clenched her teeth, trying to stem the tide of tears that threatened again. Her attempt did not hold for long, and she reached up to roughly wipe the moisture off her cheeks. She reached again for the dagger, and with no ceremony or dramatics, she severed the cord around her neck once more. She opened the drawer and after only a moment's hesitation, dropped the pewter token with a shallow thud into the mostly empty drawer. She shoved the drawer shut roughly and strode through the connecting door to her bedchamber. She shed one boot and then another, then her belt, her vest, her socks and then her breeks, leaving a trail from the door to her bed. The tunic she wore under it all was meant to be worn under a dress, but she'd been lax in setting things out for her laundress, and it was the last clean one she had. She climbed into her bed and curled into a ball, and let herself cry, stifling the volume with the quilt that she held tight to her face, soaking up the tears.

She fell asleep in the middle of the day.

# # # # # #

"That from last night? Gave me indigestion, I think. No more mutton for me," Anders commented, raising an eyebrow as he came into the mess to watch Nathaniel violently shredding bread into a bowl of leftover mutton stew.

"Shut up, Anders."

"Whoa, hey," he held up his hands. "What crawled up your arse and died?"

"Leave me alone."

"People always say that when they least want to be left alone," he said, less cheerful and more concerned as he slid onto the bench across from the archer.

"Bugger off," Nathaniel said harshly, and began stabbing the bread into the stew with his spoon, stirring it in with vehemence.

"What's going on?"

"None of your business."

"Well since the Commander has locked herself in her room, I hardly think the two are unrelated," he pointed out as blandly as possible.

"The Commander is none of my concern."

"Is that so?"

Nathaniel looked up from his vigorous meal destruction. "I'm sure you have someone else to bother. How about you go do that?" He looked back down and stabbed a potato in half, scooping it up and shoved it into his mouth. "No one appointed you Warden therapist, so sod off," he muttered with a mouthful of potato.

"You two need to stop this nonsense," Anders said sharply, and Nathaniel looked up, confused at Anders's tone of voice.

"Excuse me?"

"No, really. I'm sick of it. I thought things were going well, you were interacting like normal folk and then she locks herself in her room and you are rebutchering a dead, old sheep in a tin bowl. What in the name Andraste's knickerweasels are you two on about now?"

"Anders, what is and what is not your business seem to be confusing you. This," he stabbed the table with his index finger, "is not."

"I'm making it my business, because I've just started to make my home here, and when Mum and Da are fighting, it upsets the children," he barked back, and leaned away from the table, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning.

Nathaniel chewed thoughtfully and glared at Anders, but did not reply, merely refocused his attention on his stew.

"I don't see what's so difficult about the whole damn thing," Anders began again, and Nathaniel pointedly ignored him. "She loves you, you love her, and last time I checked people had happy, stable relationships on less. So what is going on?"

It was silent for several minutes, and then Nathaniel sighed. "She doesn't trust me."

"Why?"

"She suspects my…affections to be insincere. Or at the very least, inconstant. She feels I will come to regret revisiting our previous relationship."

"Will you?"

He looked up. "No. But it matters not if I or you believe it. She does not and that is the end of it. I'm done arguing with her. I'm done being a blasted fool trying to prove myself to her. If this is how she wants it, fine. There are Wardens in the Free Marches, and I belong here even less than I did there. Ships bound for Kirkwall leave every fortnight, and I will be on the next one. I have no intention of staying here and subjecting myself to this nonsense. She made me a Grey Warden, and so I'm stuck with that much. But no one said I had to stay here to carry out my duties."

"Nathaniel, really. Would you really leave?"

"I know Kirkwall. I still have acquaintances there. It would be a matter of a pint in a pub to find out where the Wardens in the Marches make their home. There is nothing here for me, and Ferelden certainly doesn't want a Howe within their borders anymore than she does."

Anders was quiet for a moment. "What about your sister?"

"As I said. Ships move back and forth often. Nothing keeping me from visiting. Spending time in Amaranthine does not mean I have to check in with her."

Anders sighed. "Don't you get it? She's scared."

"And I've given her plenty of room," Nathaniel snapped. "She made the first move, and then rejected me. I've no reason to put up with that."

"How about because you love her?" Anders's voice was quieter as he felt defeat settle upon them. There seemed little to be done to change his mind. He would…miss his friend.

"Yes, well, I'll cure myself of that soon enough. And far from here."

"Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"No," he said fiercely, and Anders pressed his lips together, and rose from the table.

"If she didn't care deeply for you, there was no reason not to hang you the moment she arrived. I think you're making a mistake, Nathaniel. A mistake neither she nor you will recover from. Believe me when I tell you about big mistakes you can't fix later. I know a thing or two about them, and if I had even half a chance at what you have with her, there would be nothing that kept me from it," he said, halfway to the door. "Not even scared heroes who can't figure out how to let people in. You're good with that sort of thing, so jimmy the lock. You're going to have to do it, because she won't."

Nathaniel waited for him to leave, and then pushed the bowl away from himself. It didn't taste very good anyway.