He'd slept longer than he'd intended. Nathaniel was made to sit off to the side while the others pitched his tent. He was ushered inside like a damn invalid, and despite his irritation, he fell into a deep sleep the moment his eyes closed and his cheek was on his pillow.
Nathaniel had fallen asleep to the sound of birds and soft voices, and the sunlight through the trees made the canvas of his tent glow with dappled light. It was night when he awoke, hearing the crackling of a fire in the darkness and the voices of the Wardens gathered around it. He could spell meat cooking over the flames, and felt his hungry stomach ball up like a fist.
"So where did you get it?" he heard Lindise ask.
"From your people." It was Vash who answered.
Nathaniel rolled onto his side and winced slightly when he reached out for his bag. The healing magic of the dagger was nothing like Anders' spells. He was tired and sore, and Vash had asked him to sip at healing poultices regularly.
"My people?" Lindise said in surprise. "Do you mean elves or mages?"
"The Dalish."
Alistair chuckled, "This I have to hear. Promise us you'll tell us a story every night."
"When I arrived in Rivain," he heard the kossith say, "I had nowhere to go. So I lived in the Chantry. The sisters there seemed eager to keep a former qunari, a trophy to show the power of the Chant over the Qun. I was content to have a warm bed and free meals, and I would try to heal the sick and wounded who sought sanctuary. But I did not belong there. Trading one unsatisfying doctrine for another was pointless. They had no answers. My time there was short."
"Hard to imagine a kossith in a Chantry." Elissa. Nathaniel swallowed a mouthful of the sour red potion, and reached a hand out to part the canvas covering the tent's entrance.
She sat beside the bastard prince, her brown curls let down and glowing in the firelight. They were eating together, what looked like rabbit and wild carrots. Paien was missing, no doubt taking the first round of sleep before his watch, as usual.
"As I said, my time there was short." Vash nodded to Elissa from the opposite side of the campfire. "So I left. Seeking, wandering. I soon became lost in the wilderness and the Dalish found me."
"And they just… welcomed you into their camp?" Alistair asked with a dubious look.
"No. They attacked me. I was barely alive, dragged back to the Keeper as a curiosity. She recognized me as former qunari. Many of her people had left the Dalish way of life to embrace the Qun. It is so much easier to have answers given to you than be forced to seek out what has long been forgotten. Once again, I was a symbol and a prize." He paused to suck the last morsel of rabbit meat from a bone. "But," he continued, "the Dalish were very different from the Chantry sisters. The Keeper healed my wounds, and I gave her advice during the process. She thought this very amusing, and we were soon friends."
"Wow," Lindise breathed.
"I lived with the Dalish for a very long time. I was content. With them I found a freedom from purpose. With them, I merely existed." He paused. "The Keeper gave me the blade. Some old artifact found in elven ruins, its intent long forgotten. When she died, I knew that it was time for me to move on."
"Why?" Lindise asked.
"Her First did not care for me." Vash pitched the naked bone into the fire. "He became the Keeper, and I left the clan for Cumberland."
Elissa rose, stepping carefully around the fire with plate of food in hand, "Nathaniel hasn't eaten, I'll be a moment."
He quickly withdrew his hand to let the tent flap fall. He tucked the health poultice back into his bag, and his eyes fell on his leather chestpeice. It lay on the ground beside his pack, sliced and stained with blood. He rested his hand on the center of his bare chest. It had its share of scars, including the new one from today, pink and fat as an earthworm. He stroked the mark thoughtfully, and looked up as Elissa Cousland stepped into his tent, plate in hand. "Elissa."
She sat across from him, holding out the plate of food, "Feeling better?"
He grimaced, but nodded, taking the plate from her. "It was a foolish mistake," he muttered, then shook his head. "That fool should not have been jabbering on like he was!"
"We were ambushed."
"And I would have seen it coming if not for his inane distractions."
Elissa was silent, searching his face. "Stop it," she said softly, shaking her head. "Just stop."
His gaze fell, and he set the plate off to the side. "I could have died today," he murmured.
"I'm thankful that you didn't."
His thin, pale hands reached out and took hers, and he ran his thumbs, rough from years of plucking bowstrings, over her knuckles.
When Nathaniel was eleven, he and Fergus had come to the conclusion that girls were disgusting creatures, and they wanted nothing to do with either of their sisters. This arrangement was perfectly fine for Delilah. She was far more interested in playing with dolls and tea sets. But for Elissa, it was unacceptable.
One sunny summer afternoon, he, Fergus, and Thomas had gathered in the courtyard with wooden swords. Elissa wanted to join in their tournament, and Nathaniel, in a particularly foul mood, told her to sod off. Young Elissa Cousland burst into tears and ran off, only to return ten minutes later with her father. Bryce Cousland scolded the boys and demanded they let her play.
This was the last straw. As soon as her father left, Nathaniel tossed Elissa a wooden sword. "You want to spar with us? Fine."
He was twice her size, and she made a few fumbling jabs at him. For some reason, Nathaniel swung his sword and rapped it hard against her knuckles. Elissa cried out in pain and stumbled back, tears welling up again.
Father had done that to him during a swordplay lesson the previous day, with the flat of a real blade, and his hand was still swollen and bruised. Nathaniel sneered at the girl, "You're going to cry now? You can't come out here and play with us and pretend to be a warrior if you're going to cry."
Fergus jumped up to defend his baby sister, "Cut it out!"
But Elissa's hand tightened around her sword, and she gave Nathaniel a dark look. She swung at him with her own sword, holding it in both hands like a club, and caught him on the arm. He shouted in alarm and pain, said something nasty to her, and she threw the sword down and ran off. He assumed that she dashed off to find her father to tattle again, so he and the other boys ran off to the woods. When they finally returned for supper, there was no harsh punishment waiting for them, only a silent and surly eight year old who kept shooting them dirty looks across the table.
All these years later, here she was again, sitting across from him in silence. After everything he had done to her, here she still was. He stroked her knuckles again, shaking his head. "This is torture," he said in a low voice. "Pure, cold, cutting torture."
Nathaniel finally looked back at her face to see it a brilliant shade of red. Was she embarrassed or excited? He lifted one hand to touch her beautiful face, and she did not pull away, wide eyes locked on his. He could have died today, and he wasted no time in leaning in to take a sudden, breathless kiss.
She did kiss back, only briefly, sucking in a sudden breath before pulling away, not looking at him. "Nathaniel," she breathed and shook her head.
He dropped his hands back into his lap and let out a slow exhale. "Not... having done that would have been my only regret." Nathaniel watched her closely, her large eyes staring at the ground, chest rising and falling a bit too quickly, the red in her face having spread to her ears. Honestly, he was bracing himself for a slap or an angry tirade.
"Don't-... I-..." She shook her head once more, and motioned to the plate, "You need to eat. Vash says you should be all right to carry on come morning."
He felt a slow smile creep over his features. He had never seen her flustered. Never. That was... promising. Nathaniel dipped his chin in a nod and picked up the plate. "Yes, of course."
She nodded back and scooted backwards on her hands and knees towards the tent exit. "Right. See you in the morning, then." Elissa was gone, out into the darkness and back to the fire with the others.
Nathaniel reclined back onto his bedroll, chewing thoughtfully on a morsel of boiled carrot. He rested a hand on his new scar and murmured to the darkness, "Hope springs eternal."