Chapter 6 –Reflections and Revelations

It's raining…again, Nathaniel grumbled to himself three days later as they trotted miserably down yet another mud-drenched excuse for a road. Not that he was really that surprised. This was his homeland after all. Tightening his cloak around his shoulders, he found himself yearning for a dry set of clothes and a bed…a real one with crisp, clean linens, a warm fire on the hearth and…stop, he told himself. You'll drive yourself mad just by fantasizing about such comforts.

They had only been on the road for four days total, yet it felt far more like an eternity. And exactly what have we accomplished? He scoffed to himself. Any positive thoughts he'd been able to muster about being a Grey Warden had died with the ashes of their first camp fire…though they had been few in number to begin with.

After that first day at the Vigil, Nathaniel had decided to barricade himself behind an invisible wall. It was a decision made as much for everyone else's protection as it was for his own. He was angry at the men that so casually walked through the halls of his home as if they belonged there, he was angry that the choice of his future had been taken from him without even a by-your-leave, and most of all, he was angry at her. He had felt the threads of his fury begin to fray ever so slightly that first day after his Joining, when he had witnessed the Commander's casual kindness and generosity, but a larger part of him held onto the cord like a lifeline, strengthening his resolve in the end. He would not buy into her pity, and he would not be affected by the subtle (and not so subtle) jibes that had been thrown in his direction from the soldiers in the Keep.

Years of service to the kingdom, all to be forgotten because of the lies of one woman, he thought maliciously. Many a Howe over the centuries had made their names as heroes, had bled and died, giving everything to the greater good, and it was all for naught. His father had been such a one, fighting at the side of King Maric against the Orlesians, and now he was dead. All of them were dead. He could almost forgive…if there had been some truth to his father's dealings…but it would not explain why the rest of his family had to suffer. That he could never forgive. Their faces haunted his dreams, fueling his rage, ever reminding him of why he was in this damnable position to begin with.

As the days progressed he found it harder to hold onto his resolve. Anders and Oghren were an equal source of entertainment and frustration, and Falcon…well…she kept mostly to herself, though she did take extra pains to be civil to him. He wasn't quite sure why, he could see the inner battle she was waging in her expressive eyes.

It confused him. He was the injured party here, wasn't he?

"There," Falcon said, startling him out of his thoughts. "That rocky precipice will afford us enough cover to build a fire for the night. I know it's early yet, but we can't go much further in this mess."

Nathaniel automatically followed the others as they dismounted and began to set up camp. It was miserable work even without the rain and mud, but they soon had their tents built and a nice fire going. Nathaniel changed into a set of lighter, plain-made leathers that were blessedly dry before joining the others by the fire. Anders was stirring something in a small pot that looked like a thin, brownish paste but smelled delicious, and Oghren was sharpening his war axe, little white rings of smoke rising from a long-necked pipe hanging between his lips. Falcon was nowhere in sight.

He nodded at the others before sitting next to the fire, rubbing his hands in front of the flames to gain some warmth back into his fingers. Before long his mind wandered to the events of the past few days.

He recalled the morning that they had left the Vigil. He had been surprised by her offering of a horse, and even more surprised by the shrewdness of her choice. Just the sort of beast I would have chosen for myself, he had thought with a shock upon seeing the stallion. Since then Sirocco had proven to be well trained, and all but a perfect match for his skills. He'd been even more surprised to find out that not only was Sirocco Valkyrie's foal, but she had meant for him to keep him.

"Why would you lend me such a valuable animal?" he had asked her before he could stop himself.

"I did not lend him to you, Nathaniel. He is yours now."

"But—"

"Do not look a gift horse in the mouth," she had replied with a smile tugging at her lips.

The dramatic change that the expression had brought to her face was incredible. It made him realize how rarely she smiled, and wondered why that would be so.

Another thread frayed.

Then a runner had stopped them before they could leave the Vigil. His master's daughter was being held hostage by bandits. They demanded a ransom he could not pay and had nowhere else to turn. Falcon promised aid and slipped the man a sovereign for his troubles, a sum that made Nathaniel's eyebrows shoot up in surprise though the others seemed unaffected by her generosity.

"So…Forlorn Cove, is it?" Anders asked as they continued down the road.

"No. We stay our course to the Trunoble Estate. Then we'll see about this kidnapping business," she had answered flatly.

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said! If it's a ransom they want, they'll keep her alive, at least for the time being. Darkspawn, on the other hand, waits for no man."

It was a sound decision; one Nathaniel could respect.

Yet another thread unwillingly frayed.

And then there was the massacre at Trunoble. His first real test as a Warden.

They had been traveling at a steady pace all day, reaching the road leading to the estate as the sun began its decent. Oghren and Anders were bickering again and Nathaniel had been attempting to ignore them when he noticed the Commander stiffen in her saddle. From there they had dismounted and continued on foot down the dusty road. No sooner had they passed through the gates of the farm-hold then it hit him. He had begun to get used to the low humming in the back of his head caused by the presence of his companions, but it had not prepared him for the dark vibrations that crawled just below the surface of his skin when he first sensed them. It had been so sudden that he nearly vomited at the impact.

"Y'Okay, Howe?" Oghren had asked, elbowing him in the side. Nathaniel could only nod in answer as he freed his bow from its tethers.

Pure ciaos had reigned once the darkspawn noticed their presence. At first he shot as fast as he could, but after the nervous energy had worn off he focused his concentration into every arrow he let fly.

They killed the first group rather quickly, but the second included a stronger hierarchy of darkspawn that proved to be more difficult to slay; including a giant, putrid-smelling ogre. He had never seen one up close before, and nearly had a heart attack when he saw Falcon approach it alone. And yet…she had taken it down swiftly and without help. Even Hector had backed off when she had charged it. He felt dumbstruck as he watched her jump gracefully off of its back after slitting is throat, nonchalantly hopping the fence as if she had just been taking an afternoon stroll. He watched as she slaughtered one darkspawn after another with brutal efficiency. She killed them without pity, without mercy. There was a calculated coldness to her movements that he could not understand, not until he got a good look at her face and nearly gasped. An empty chasm had opened up inside her eyes that he had never seen before. It darkened them to a pulsing storm of indigo filled with unspeakable pain and fury.

Falcon hated the darkspawn.

And not just the everyday, run-of-the-mill sort of hate that most people had for the brutes. This was finite hate…hate at its absolute purest…fathomless personal hate.

And then it was gone.

After they had done as she commanded and gathered all the bodies to be burned in the barn, she walked stiffly out of the farmhouse and motioned for them to move on without a word. Since then she barely spoke and made a point of staying especially distant from himself…or so Nathaniel thought, though he knew there was a possibility that he was being just a tad bit paranoid. He didn't know why he cared if she was ignoring him, he was supposed to hate her, wasn't he?

The next day they set off for Forlorn Cove. Their business there was short and surprisingly rewarding. Most of the bandits were easily dispatched in comparison to the darkspawn they had faced a couple of days before, and the few that remained threw themselves into the sea rather than face four heavily armed and angry Grey Wardens. That in itself had made it worth the trip (though of course he was glad that they were able to rescue Ser Bensley's daughter). Now they were on their way to Amaranthine.

Amaranthine.

Just thinking about the city left him on edge. He hadn't been there for more than a few hours since his return, and that having been at night when the streets were dark and empty. He hadn't had the opportunity to take a good look around then and wondered if it would still feel the same as it did in his youth. Would anyone recognize him? And if they did, how would they react? Would his family's legacy still be in evidence, or sponged away as it had been at the Vigil? So many questions swimming through his head, tumbling and meshing with the whirlpool of emotions that had kept him in turmoil since his return.

Falcon entered their tiny makeshift camp, shaking the excess rain from her cloak. She hadn't bothered to change into dry clothing as the rest of them had, but simply sat by the fire and warmed her hands instead. Hector walked up and plopped down next to her with a noise that came out as something between a sigh and a whine. She chuckled at the dog, bringing out a few small bits of jerky from her hip bag to toss to him. Hector lapped them up eagerly, wagging his nub of a tail in approval.

By then Anders had finished throwing together their meal and was handing them each a bowl of what Nathaniel assumed to be some sort of stew. They sat together in companionable silence as they ate, each too tired and consumed by their own thoughts to make much conversation. They all nearly jumped out of their skin when the sound of an approaching rider breached the tranquil pitter-patter of rain that had been the background music to their meager supper.

The Commander was the first to stand, but didn't reach for her weapons. So not darkspawn, Nathaniel thought, though a moment later he realized he would have sensed them if that had been the case. A soldier came around the bend, the Amaranthine coat-of-Arms emblazoned on his heavy cloak and shield. The man relaxed visibly when he spotted their little camp and dismounted a stone's throw from where they were gathered. It was obvious from the soldier's youth and stature that he was no more than a messenger.

"Warden-Commander! I've been sent to find you, by order of Senechal Varel," the boy said authoritatively, pulling a rolled-up missive from his cloak. Falcon accepted the note and looked it over, a frown creasing her brow as she read.

"Bad news?" Anders asked.

"No…well, not exactly. The Nobles wish to pledge their fealty, but they cannot do so until I return to the Vigil. Varel says they're getting 'anxious,' whatever that means," Falcon answered with a very unladylike snort. "You there! You may tell the Senechal that we will stop at the Vigil before proceeding to Amaranthine. Tell him that he should send word for the nobles to gather immediately. My time is too precious to be spent on petty trivialities of the upper crust."

Nathaniel nearly choked on his stew at her words. Is she mad? He thought.

"Y-yes, Commander," the soldier stuttered, his face draining of all color.

"Oh, and lad? Don't be afraid to tell him my words verbatim. He will know the message is from me, and will not punish you for my cheekiness," she continued with a wicked smile.

"Thank you, my Lady!" he replied, a look of relief spreading across his offered him a repast, but the young soldier declined and was shortly on the road again.

"You do know how important it will be to have the support of the nobility?" Nathaniel asked her cautiously once the soldier was out of ear shot.

"Of course I do," she replied flippantly. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it."

Nathaiel's mouth tightened in disapproval. The fact was that the nobles should be gathering to pledge him fealty, and instead they would swear allegiance to a woman who didn't seem to give a fig about the Arl-ship. Bloody brilliant, he thought.

"Do we have to attend this…pledging ceremony?" Anders asked.

"I'm afraid so. It will be important to present a strong, united front to the nobles of Amaranthine," she replied.

Strong, united front my arse, Nathaniel silently snorted to himself.

"Will there be booze?" Oghren interjected.

"Barrels-full," she replied.

"And women?" Anders asked hopefully.

"Yes, but hands-off, Anders. You can look, but don't touch the merchandise."

"Jealous, are we?" he drawled, his eyebrows waggling suggestively at her.

"Terribly…but I have enough problems without some Lord or Ser banging on my door, demanding the head of the mage that defiled his daughter or sister or niece or what have you," she answered with a wicked grin.

Anders shuddered theatrically, making her chuckle softly from across the fire. Nathaniel noticed how the mage watched her as she stood and turned to walk to her tent, saying a soft good-night to them all before disappearing behind the flaps. He desires her, he thought, ignoring the sudden flare of anger in his chest.

"Sooooo, Oghren. You've known the Commander longer than us," Anders began in a low voice.

"Yer point bein'?" Oghren growled.

"What…kind of a man does she usually go for? Tall? Devilishly handsome? Magically inclined?"

Oghren barked with laughter, slapping his knee with his free hand before taking another look at Anders, only to burst out with laughter once again.

"What? I didn't think it was that funny of a question! She's an attractive woman, and well…I just want to know what I'm up against!"

"You don't have a chance in Hades with that one, son," he said finally.

"Why not?"

"The Commander's…emotionally unavailable," Oghren replied carefully.

"Is she married?"

"Well, no—"

"Then I still have a shot!"

"You do recall the fact that she is your superior, mage," Nathaniel interjected.

"Right. I'm on to you, Nathaniel Howe. You just want her for yourself," Anders retorted, his eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"Not bloody likely," Nathaniel mumbled with a sneer. "But far be it from me to stop you from making an ass out of yourself."

"I'd jest like te see ye try, you skirt wearin' freak…and fall flat on that pretty face of yers," Oghren added.

"Ha! I'll show you, my smelly little friend. It won't be long before those long, delicious legs of hers will be wrapped around my waist like a Brecilian pretzel. Then I'll be the one who's laughing…and moaning if I have my way."

"Care to make a wager on it, twinkle-fingers?" Oghren said. "I have fifty silver that says she turns ye' down flat."

"You're on dwarf," Anders replied, shaking hands on the bet. Nathaniel could only roll his eyes and attempt to ignore the two of them for the rest of the night.

They arrived at the Vigil early the next afternoon. Senechal Varel had been less than pleased with the Commander's "message" but had assured her that the nobles would be gathered in the Great Hall that very evening.

Nathaniel enjoyed a leisurely bath in his chambers, but soon found himself pacing. He supposed a part of his restlessness was due to his time in the Free Marches. Rarely had he slept or ate under a roof over the last several years. Instead his life had been a stream of constant activity; hunting, fishing, scouting…and the occasional mercenary work when it was available. It was surreal to be under a roof again, but he knew it was more than that. He didn't want to attend the ceremony tonight. Being back at the Vigil without his family present was painful enough, but having to witness his Father's vassals pledge fealty to another…it was too much to bear.

Nathaniel threw on a light tunic, breeches and boots before stalking out of his room. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to walk. He found himself strolling through the courtyard, noting the damage done by the darkspawn and the makeshift stalls lining the inner wall. He passed the tavern and stopped in front of a small line of crofter's huts that had remained unchanged over the years.

He remembered playing here as a child with his sister and his younger brother. For an instant the ghostly figures of the children they had been passed before his very eyes, the wispy apparitions giggling innocently as they chased each other around the grassy knoll before evaporating into the waning light. He closed his eyes against the memories.

"My word! Master Nate? Is that really you?" a voice called from behind him.

Nathaniel turned to see a small, hunched figure carrying a bundle of twigs standing just behind him. The face was older than he remembered, but there was no mistaking the elf that stood before him.

"Groundskeeper Samuel?" he asked incredulously.

"It is you! We hardly believed that you would ever return from the Free Marches. It is good to see you m' boy!" Samuel said warmly as they clasped hands.

"And you, my friend. I didn't know any of the old staff remained."

"Ah, yes. There is but a few of us, but the Senechal is a good man, and a fair one. He kept on anyone who wanted to stay."

"Groundskeeper, I have to know…what happened to my brother and sister? I was told about my parents fate, but I—I have to know how my siblings died."

A look of surprise followed by one of confusion crossed over his old friend's face at the mention of his siblings.

"Dead? Your brother was most assuredly killed…during the siege at Denerim, or so we were told, but Delilah…she's not dead, lad."

"Delilah is alive! But where—"

"She's livin' in Amaranthine. Last I heard she married a store-keep there."

"Do you know where—" Nathaniel began, but stopped when he noticed the color drain from the old elf's face.

"Maker's breath," Samuel breathed, staring over Nathaniel's shoulder.

He turned to see Falcon approaching, a mixed expression of confusion and amusement on her face. He was surprised to see that she still wore her leather armor. Guess I'm not the only one who needed fresh air, he thought with a scowl before registering the Groundskeeper's next words.

"Well I'll be Andraste's handmaiden! It's the little Cousland lass!" Samuel crowed as she approached them.

What! Nathaniel thought.

"I remember you. You used to sneak me sweets as a child," she replied as she smiled at the elf.

"Remember that, do you?" Samuel chuckled. "Ah, what a surprise it is to see you, lass! We heard that your brother survived Ostagar, but—well, we thought you had died with your parents in the raid."

"I would have if it hadn't been for Duncan… the, uh, last Warden-Commander. He helped me escape the castle and in return I became a Grey Warden."

"Land sakes," Samuel breathed. "So you are the lady Commander everyone's been talkin' about." She nodded in affirmation. "Well, I'll be! At any rate, it's good to see you alive and well, my Lady, and the very picture of your Mother, if I do say so myself."

And she was, Nathaniel thought. Besides her eyes (a trait no doubt inherited from her Father) Alyxandria was the very picture of Eleanor Cousland. He felt like a fool for not noticing it before.

"Thank you, Samuel. It would have pleased her to hear as much, though I highly doubt she would agree with you," she told the elderly elf, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I always liked the Teyrna. She was the compassionate sort; not fussy like so many other noblewomen, and there never was a better man than the Teryn. He was kinder to us elves than most. I'm that sorry for what was done to your family," Samuel said sympathetically before his expression quickly changed to one of fear. "Now, don't go blaming little Nate for the Old Arl's evil-doin's. He had no hand in it, my Lady! I swear it!"

"You needn't worry, good man. I'm well aware of that," she replied warmly before shooting Nathaniel a look of warning. "I wish I could stay in chat, but I really must get ready for this evening's festivities. It was good to see you again, Samuel."

"And you, my Lady. May the Maker watch over you," Samuel said with a stiff bow.

Falcon leaned over and placed a kiss on Samuel's weathered cheek, surprising both the elderly elf and Nathaniel in the process.

"May He be with you always, my friend," she replied with a gentle smile, and then turned, leaving both men staring after her.

A Cousland!

Nathaniel's head was reeling with this new information. And not just any Cousland, Alyxandria Cousland…Fergus's little sister and the bane of his existence when he was a youth. Little Lexy, he had used to call her then. A silly name for a silly little girl…or so he had thought at the time. Now she was a woman in her own right and...and, she still killed your father you bletherin idiot! The familiar sensation of anger washed over him, only this time he was going to get answers. Falcon had nearly reached the inner portcullis when he caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm.

"Unhand me!" she cried, easily shrugging his hand away.

"Why didn't you tell me you are a Cousland?" he hissed at her.

She blanched, but recovered quickly, color flooding into her cheeks as she glared at him.

"To what end, Nathaniel?" she asked, voice cold with tempered anger. "So that we can argue over who killed whose father? I'll pass, thank you very much."

"Bryce Cousland was conspiring with the Orlesians," he replied quietly.

"Did your father tell you that? I suppose he also told you that my mother and sister-in-law were also conspiring with the Orlesians…or what of my six-year-old nephew? Was he conspiring with the Orlesians too?" she seethed. "Be grateful that it was I that found you in that cell and not my brother. He would have struck you down without a moment of hesitation."

Nathaniel snapped his mouth shut, unsure of what to say to that. Finally Falcon sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back up at him, her eyes ablaze with quiet fury.

"The only thing my father was guilty of was supporting the king. Do yourself a favor, Nathaniel Howe. In the future be sure you are certain of a man's guilt before passing judgment…and never call my father a traitor again or I will lock you back up in that cell and throw away the key."

*Muse Tunes: "The Princess Pleads for Wallace's Life" by James horner (Braveheart OST); "Cold" by Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz; Mr. Bad News" by Thomas Newman (Meet Joe Black OST);"Pure Spirits of the Forest" also by James Horner (Avatar OST); "Goodbye Godric" by Nathan Barr (True Blood Season 2 OST).