A complicated history, Nathaniel's familiarity with Caoilainn went back to his childhood. As a boy, he made frequent visits to Castle Cousland with his siblings. Often brought by their governess after their mother passed away, the Howe children made the most of these visits as reprieve from their home life.
Wartime friends, Rendon Howe, and Bryce and Eleanor Cousland brought their families together on a regular basis. Born only a year apart, the older boys, Fergus Cousland and Nathaniel Howe, grew up together. From infants to toddlers, and through their youth, they were practically brothers.
Encouraged to play as boys do, they fought with toy swords as soon as they could walk. Dueling in the yard of Castle Cousland, running through halls, they followed the models set for them by their fathers as heroes, fighters. The addition of their younger sisters only gave the boys more freedom to galavant through the castle.
Rebellious, stubborn, and spoiled, Caoilainn rarely complied with her mother's requests. A tomboy, Caoilainn admired her father and older brother, and preferred playing with toy weapons over dolls. She ignored Delilah, Nathaniel's younger sister, even though Delilah was just a few years older than Caoilainn. Caoilainn attempted to keep up with the older boys from a young age.
But Nathaniel and Fergus's friendship waned, parting ways when Nathaniel was sent off at age 20. The order to travel to the Free Marches, to be squired to his uncle, came from his father.
Abrasive and manipulative, Arl Rendon Howe offered his approval selectively but doled punishment with a heavy hand. 'Spare the rod, spoil the child.' Rendon justified severity and followed through with the exception of Thomas. The youngest of the Howe siblings, Thomas caused the death of Eliane in childbirth. Whether it was for this reason or another, Rendon's critical nature never found the youngest Howe.
But Nathaniel learned from his time in the Free Marches. Freedom provided a different understanding of people. Seen outside the scope of Rendon's profit-driven perspective, Nathaniel had a chance to learn about himself and his talent as an archer. His love for the Free Marches was interrupted by news of his father's death.
It lit a fire within him. Sparked by the ingrained need to gain Rendon's approval, never healed, leaving an infinite void. Discovering the girl he knew as a child was the murderer did not sway his pursuit for revenge. Her status as the slayer of the Archdemon, the Queen of Ferelden, or Commander of the Grey only riled fury. Memories of the bright-eyed girl who preferred playing in dirt to tea parties faded.
Nearing his 30th nameday, six months after the Blight passed, Nathaniel returned to Ferelden to find his family name spoiled by accusations against his father. Disinterested in any claim to the title of Arl, Nathaniel's infiltrated the Warden base. Vigil's Keep had been appropriated for the rebuilding of the Grey Warden order. But his plan to lay a trap and slaughter the Warden Commander changed upon viewing his childhood home. Nostalgia quelled thirst for revenge. Replaced with a desire to take back a few of his family's things. It led to a struggle with the Grey Wardens guards. With credit to Nathaniel's years of training in the Free Marches, it required five men to take him down. They locked him in the dungeon.
Then she arrived. Almost a decade younger than he, Caoilainn had assumed the responsibilities of Warden Commander with grace. She had also bloomed into an alluring young woman. Tall and lean, toned muscles accentuated by her armored body, covered in smooth leathers and chainmail. Ashen-blonde hair braided loosely along the side, secured in a knot that rested on her shoulder.
Caoilainn ordered her guards to leave.
Though he mocked her, challenged her to kill him, words coated in contempt, she conscripted him; a few days later he survived his Joining.
Her unexpected mercy failed to incite compliance. Nathaniel completed her orders, but not without finding every reason to hate the woman. Hatred in spite of her obstinate justness, her dutiful intractability, and her obvious love for the Grey Wardens. She aided him in assembling pieces of his father's guilt, including the traitorous murder of her family, Rendon Howe's supposed friends. But rather than reconcile his anger, the information only instigated his rage.
Nathaniel marched to Caoilainn's office, the day after their return to the Keep. Unnecessary risks. Problematic allies. Audacious decision making. Prepared to berate her, he swung open the door to find Caoilainn seated at her desk. Stacks of papers littered the surface, and she stared at a map in the center. Her thumb between her teeth, she bit down.
Caoilainn's gaze lingered, her eyes traveling up from the map to meet Nathaniel's glare.
"Can I help you?" Her question coaxed him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Nathaniel snapped, deliberate steps taking him closer to her desk. His gruff interrogation continued. "Do you have any idea what kind of risk you put us in when you take us into the Deep Roads like that?"
Caoilainn released an annoyed sigh and looked back to her map without answering.
"Answer me." He stared down at her from across her desk.
Searching eyes stared hard at the map. She responded without looking at him, "No."
"Caoilainn," he growled, "I cannot support this mission if-"
"Commander," her palms planted on either side of the map as her narrowed eyes traveled to Nathaniel's. "You will call me Commander."
"Fine, Commander." Towering over, he placed his hands on her desk to mirror her own. "Did you conscript me because you thought I'd go along with every careless decision you make?"
She pushed up from her seat, the legs of the chair screeching on the wood floor. Nostril flared, face reddening, her reactions belied her zealous confidence. Finally, he thought, I will break through her disregard.
But her words oozed venom. She hissed, "no, Nathaniel. I conscripted you because I mistook you for a Howe with a spine."
Teeth clenched, his glare pierced hers. Energy swelled, both intimidated the other to back down. Seconds dragged, their chests heaved as they leaned over her desk. With a quick motion, Caoilainn's hand rushed to his chin, squeezing Nathaniel's face.
Disgust bled through her malevolent gaze, her lip curled. Then she pressed her lips to his. Rough, smashing, messy. He made a muffled growl. Their mouths assaulting the other, aggressive tongues fought for dominance.
Nathaniel's hand rose to her head; fingers reaching to weave through her loosened locks, but she smacked it with her free hand. He retracted, backing down, stimulated by her assertion. Instead, her fair, petite digits laced his black hair, pulling from the roots. Panting, mouths fell open to breathe. Foreheads pressed. Breath calmed, catching the moment, processing the lustful rage sparked between them. She bit his swollen lip, then shoved him away.
Breathless, they stared, frozen in the aftermath of this mistake, the mutual fall of their personal guards. But something shifted. He saw it in her eyes. Fire and hunger, all roaring welcome. In a fraction of a second, he broke their gaze and his hands swept the papers from her desk to the floor. An ink bottle fell with a thud. Papers floated to the ground. An act of blatant disrespect toward the order to her chaos, sure to incite her anger. Her eyes widened as she watched the results of his destruction. Twitching temporal muscles showed her clenching jaw.
A guttural roar sounded frustration and anger as she stepped onto her chair, then onto her desk. Boots clanked against the flat wooden surface and she hopped to stand next to him. Without a word, her flat palm found his face, smacking hard enough to make his head spin and leaving a red mark. Fuming, his hand found the heated aftermath of her palm to his cheek as his gaze swung back. But he was robbed of an opportunity to retort when her fingers curled over the upper lip of his breastplate, pulling him down to her eye level. A hand reached his tresses again, and her mouth crashed into his. An impatient tongue penetrated his lips, rushing him to engage. Nathaniel obliged.
He groaned, hands finding hips and permitted to stay. His fingers gripped her muscular curves, directing her closer to him. She complied, allowing him to touch her. Energy cycled through reciprocated contact. Heat building, boiling with lusty anger breaking through whatever inhibitions remained. Caoilainn's digits traveled to his belt, unbuckling it from beneath his tabard. Belligerent kissing continued, fueling the fire that burned between them, both unwilling to give space for it to quell.
Watching her reaction, Nathaniel cupped her breast, testing boundaries for her consent while she worked to loosen his armor. She exhaled deeply, her lungs expelling oxygen as her eyes closed. He had permission. He blinked, appreciating her breast's fleshy roundness beneath layers of armored fabric. The tender massage morphed to militant. His palm pressed harder, groping with drive.
Then she freed him. His length released from the confines of his breeches. Their kiss halted. A second passed and she scanned him, studying his member with evaluative eyes. He waited; angry, throbbing, yearning for satisfaction, but unwilling to force the heated moment.
But she didn't back down. Fingers wrapped around him, and she tugged, hard, stroking his length with an unforgiving hand. Pained and frustrated he grunted and his finger inadvertently wrapped around her throat. He paused as her chin lifted, daring him, teeth bared.
She hissed, "do it."
And he obeyed. Digits restricted her airway, pressure applied prompted the throbbing of her artery. She closed her eyes, relishing the painful sensation. Her hand loosened his member. Light touches tickling its response. Being witness to her enjoyment of the unlikely stimulus urged blood flow. He released her neck.
Hasty hands traveled under her tabard, unlacing her breeches. But she shoved him again. This time with more force, causing him to stumble. He caught himself before he fell, looking up to see her pulling down her breeches herself. Slow steps took Nathaniel to the hostile Commander. Tempted by the Queen of Ferelden's exposed legs beneath her armor. Her head tilted back, exposing the length of her neck, spurning him to overpower.
And he did. Reaching her, his hands controlled her hips, turning her around and bending her over her own desk. Her palms pressed on the surface, controlling her body's movement. Her cheek rested on wood as she awaited his entry.
Nathaniel committed the moment to memory as one of his most distinguished achievements.
Though she had moaned quite audibly in pleasure, afterward, Caoilainn was livid. She threatened to have him discharged for insubordination. But she ordered him back to her office the following night.
And with another shove, this time he fell to the ground. Between steps, Caoilainn pulled off her boots and wriggled out of her breeches. Her small clothes came next.
Pushing up on his elbows, Nathaniel watched with confusion as she stepped over him, walking up the length of his body until she stood over his face. Looking down, a challenging eyebrow raised, arching with derision before she lowered. Legs bending with controlled calves, flexed thighs tight from training. Her heat, wet and waiting, hovered over his mouth.
Despite the handful of women Nathaniel had been with by that age, none had ever done that. And that was just the beginning. Games continued until the enemy was eventually defeated and the darkspawn returned underground. Duty to the Wardens kept them apart but when they were together, it was as if no time had passed. The relationship was convenient. Rules and guidelines formed over time in respect of their limitations and the innate need for secrecy.
Both knew not to ask the other questions about their outside lives; Nathaniel did not ask for information about Alistair or her responsibilities as Queen. Nor was he jealous when she had gone back to the Ferelden courts to serve alongside Alistair. Nathaniel's time with Caoilainn ceased, until she returned to commanding a few years later. Her explanation offered little: her heart was with the Wardens and she did not care for court life. Nathaniel knew not to press further.
Now, a decade later, Nathaniel concluded he lacked the capacity of being in a relationship and he saw that in Caoilainn, as well. Headstrong and over-dedicated to work, he found familiarity with the Warden Commander. Beneath the inappropriate liaisons, Caoilainn and Nathaniel found they worked well together. Respect for the other's boundaries and commitment to work allowed an unexpected friendship to bloom.
On the Wardens ride through the gates of Skyhold, Caoilainn was addressed by many loyal Wardens with smiles and appreciation. Senior Wardens with some time in the order, joined by a few promising recruits prepared to engage on their mission. Caoilainn could hear the smirk in Nathaniel's voice as he called to her from his horse. "I wonder… how do you keep up with us, oh Mother of Wardens?"
Caoilainn's eyes shot daggers. She gave a stern reply that transformed to a laugh, "patience and discipline. You should try them sometime."
Nathaniel's knowing chuckle resounded as his horse trotted closer to hers. "Discipline, my ass."
"Lieutenant!" Caoilainn snapped. "I will not tolerate such language from a Warden in uniform." She kept a cold face, but her humor was evident.
Few people knew Nathaniel's playful side. His flirty nature disappeared when he returned to his duties, making him a stoic leader reputable for his lack of humor. The dynamic made joking with him about his professionalism even more amusing.
"Fine," he replied stubbornly. "I will try your version patience and discipline until I am not in the blue."
Subtle but flirtatious, he referenced being out of the blue and silver tabard donned by those in the Grey Warden order; he tested boundaries.
She chastised him with an aggressive whisper, "Lieutenant, I'd suggest you choose your words more carefully." The mischievous twinkle in her eye opposed her curtness.
The two rode in silence as the other Wardens surrounded them on foot to Skyhold. It was common knowledge the two had known each other long before they joined the Order. If the other Wardens had any suspicion of the relationship between the Lieutenant and the Commander, none had been brave enough to question it aloud.