Chapter 15 – The Depths of Depravity

As the others stood one after another and shuffled to their tents with mumbled good nights, Nathaniel sighed with relief. First watch had never been so welcome as it was this night. He stood and stretched, taking in the beauty of the star-strewn sky and the soft crackling of the fire. It was a perfect setting for a man to be alone with his thoughts, something he sorely needed at the moment.

Staring into the fire, he recalled the events of the day and shook his head in mild amusement. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such a wide range of emotions, and all in the matter of hours. Yet as they had sat together after their evening meal, Nathaniel realized that he hadn't felt this relaxed in a very long time.

He had offered to sharpen Alyx's blades with the whetstone she had given him a couple of days ago. She was surprised, but readily agreed when he told her he needed something to do with his hands or go crazy. What he hadn't told her was precisely what was driving him crazy.

Anders had taken it upon himself to flirt with her at every given opportunity, which wouldn't have been quite so annoying if she had ignored him. Instead she seemed to enjoy his company and responded to his glib comments far too often for Nathaniel's comfort. Yet the menial chore he had tasked himself with did wonders for his equilibrium. The more he sharpened, the less he wanted to use the mage for target practice. Soon their murmuring voices actually began to take on a soothing cadence along with the familiar scent of Oghren' pipe.

His ears had perked the moment she began to tell them of her training, and he soon found himself engrossed in the story and in the soft rhythm of her voice. She was an excellent story teller, and though he doubted she realized it, her face was lit with the emotions that were so evident in her voice. He found himself intrigued by the methods Michiaki so meticulously instilled in her, and before he fully comprehended what he was doing, he was asking her to train him in turn.

Every time Anders butted into her story, Nathaniel had to bite back a scathing retort. He had ever considered himself a level-headed man but the mage was proving him wrong. Then again, perhaps it wasn't him at all but the woman sitting beside him. Alyx continued to puzzle him, as did his insatiable curiosity when it came to her. He was man enough to admit his attraction. She was a beautiful woman, blessed with incredible intelligence and skill. He would have to be dead or a eunuch not to notice her. Surely that was all there was to it…right? After all, they had only just begun to get to know each other.

After a time, Nathaniel collected his pouch and pulled free the leather-bound volume he had put off reading since Alyx had given it to him.

His Father's journal.

With a deep breath he cracked open the tome and ran a shaky finger over the worn, yellowed pages within. His Father's thoughts were right there in front of him, just waiting to be read, but would he truly find the answers he wanted there? Or would he be better off never knowing the inner workings of Rendon Howe's mind? There was only one way to find out.

He began to read, surprised at first at how far back the journal begun, but then soon realized that its contents were mostly a collection of random thoughts instead of the full entries he initially expected. There was one disturbing fact that made itself clear within moments of first opening the tome…his Father had been planning Bryce Cousland's death for years. Every entry that included the Cousland name dripped with the vitriol his father concealed in person. All the while he formed his plans, step by excruciating step. He'd convinced himself into believing that Highever had been stolen from the Howe's in the first place, and that taking it back from the Couslands was merely an act of justice. It was strange to think what lengths a man like his father would go to gain the power he thought he was owed, and it was painfully obvious that he believed he deserved every bit of his ill-wrought winnings.

Nathaniel froze when he read the first entry that mentioned his own name, and then felt ill as the words began to sink in. He didn't need to check the date to know when it was written:

I have finally received confirmation of the intelligence I received last month from my scout in the Free Marches. Rockfort is dead, and my ungrateful son is responsible. I shouldn't be surprised. Nathaniel has always been a disappointment, from the day he slipped from between the thighs of the milksop bitch I'm unfortunate enough to call wife. If it weren't for the boy's physical attributes I would think that the woman bred him off of another. I almost wish she had, perhaps then I would have an excuse to discard her like I should have done years ago.

I will never understand the boy. He has always been too independent, too willful for his own good. When he was old enough to learn a weapon I bade him study the sword, and instead he chooses the bow. A coward's weapon if you ask me. What's the point if you cannot feel your enemy's flesh tear asunder beneath your own two hands and see the life slip from his eyes? I had hoped that Rockfort would make a man of him, but now I see it will never come to pass.

Nathaniel has lost me my foreign contacts as well as a most lucrative business venture, an unforgivable misstep that will cost him his inheritance. He is no Howe and no longer any son of mine. Tomas at least shows some promise and is far easier to mold in whatever fashion I choose. I have told my family and the staff to never again mention Nathaniel's name in my presence and have asked my Seneschal to strike his name from my will. Tomas will inherit everything. If Nathaniel ever again steps foot on Fereldan land, he will pay dearly for his transgressions.

He had known, of course, that he'd been disinherited. Hadn't Delilah told him as much? Yet never in his wildest dreams would he have believed that his Father had hated him so much. It didn't jibe with the memories he had of the man who patiently showed him how to ride his first horse, or who introduced him to visiting nobles with the pride of a loving patriarch. Either something had vastly changed his opinion of his son or he had the skills of deception that rivaled a master bard's. Nathaniel wanted to tear the journal to pieces, to forget that Rendon Howe ever existed, but instead he forced himself to continue.

He hadn't truly expected to be mentioned again, not after what he just read. Needless to say it was surprising to find yet another entry, though this one had been written a couple of years after the first:

Bryce asked after Nathaniel again. Had it been anyone else I would have put them in their place but such an act would only set me back. Apparently now that his daughter is nearing a marriageable age he seeks a match that would suit her fickle whims. The girl shows no interest in the men at court, though I can hardly understand her popularity to that end. She reminds me of a colt, all arms and legs and eyes far too large for her tiny face, but she has practically every youth in Fereldan eating out of the palm of her hand, including my Tomas.

Bryce coddles her too much if you ask me. Alyxandria has grown far too wild and headstrong for her own good, but Cousland refuses to rein her in. He encourages her even by allowing her to speak her mind and to practice swordplay as if she were a boy. Women are meant to be meek and subservient and above all, silent. Thank the Maker Maric died before he and Bryce finalized a match with Cailan. It makes me ill to think of a Cousland on the throne.

At any rate, Bryce believes Nathaniel will make a fine match for her. He spouted some drivel about what a bright lad he is, and how he is the only noble-born son that she has ever shown any interest in. I had to bite my tongue in order to keep from saying something irreparable. Instead I told him we should not make plans until the boy returns from the Free Marches, as her opinion of him may have changed over the years. Bryce bought it lock, stock and barrel, as the peasants say.

It has occurred to me, however, that I should fabricate some subtle little rumors to ruin her chances of a match. Far easier to put my plans into motion if she remains in Highever with her family instead of Maker knows where with an overprotective husband in tow. My man tells me she's been spending quite a bit of time with that red-headed lout, Gilmore. What a shame it would be if that little tidbit makes the circulations…

This was by far a more entertaining entry then the last one had been, though he had to admit the last bit had been disconcerting. He was surprised that Bryce Cousland had thought enough of him to consider him as a match for his daughter. Alyx had been his pride and joy. He would not have given her up to just anyone. Cailan would certainly have made sense, but he…an odd pressure began to build within his chest as he imagined Alyx as his wife. He quickly turned his attentions back to the journal before he could consider the sensation further.

As he read Nathaniel noticed that the entries grew more and more disturbing until they were little more than the ravings of a madman. His hair stood on end when he reached the entry just before the raid on Highever:

My plans have come to a head at last. After years of careful planning, I know there will never be a more fortuitous moment than this. The Cousland name will forever be wiped from the face of Thedas and Highever shall be mine…as it should be. Bryce has sent his eldest ahead to Ostagar with his men, leaving a handful of soldiers to guard the castle. I told him my men were delayed but they are even now lying in wait, just beyond the line of view. Those that I have with me will take care of the family whilst the others attack the gates, and Bryce…Bryce I shall take care of myself.

I initially ordered my men to leave no witnesses, but since then I have change my plans. I have asked them to bring the Cousland girl to me alive. After our interview in the great hall I can now see why Tomas pants after her like a mabari in heat. She has turned into a fiery woman with a young, supple body that would make any sane man sit up and take notice. I admit I was shocked at the strength of my lust upon seeing her, particularly as it grew in proportion at her blatant distaste and willfulness. I shall enjoy breaking her before I send her into the Fade with the rest of her misbegotten family.

Nathaniel saw red. He knew with a frightening certainty if his Father was still alive, he would kill the bastard himself…with his bare hands no less. His fingers tightened over the fragile pages as he tried not to be physically ill at the unbidden images that flashed through his head. When Delilah had told him of their sire's deeds he'd resigned himself to accepting his father's death in the face of the crimes he committed. For the first time since then, Nathaniel was glad that Alyx had killed him…gleefully, maddeningly overjoyed in fact.

Looking down at the tome in disgust, Nathaniel fought the urge to throw it into the flames. He didn't want to read anymore. No more proof was necessary to convince him that Rendon Howe had been the worst sort of villain, but he forced himself to continue on.

His Father had been furious when he found out that Alyx not only survived Highever but Ostagar as well. His apparent desire fell by the wayside in lieu of his obsession with tracking and disposing of her, though his words made it clear that he viewed her as a loose end and not as a threat. He had even sent an assassin after her, but obviously that had not gone as planned or she wouldn't be sleeping a stone's throw away from where Nathaniel was presently sitting. His Father's obsession with her was only seconded by his lust for power. It was disgusting, the depths of depravity laid out before him in such vivid detail.

A soft noise nearby nearly made him jump out of his skin, but then he noticed that it was only Alyx quietly emerging from her tent. Her hair was down and sleep rumpled as well as the blanket that was pulled tight around her small frame. Underneath, she wore nothing but a simple, cream-colored shift that had slipped down on one side, revealing the pale skin of her shoulder beneath. His entire body stiffened as he imagined what it would be like to brush his lips against that creamy expanse of skin, to peal the light fabric away inch by inch to reveal what lay beneath…shaking his head, he forcibly stopped himself from continuing his current train of thought. He placed the journal over the evidence of his musings, inwardly scolding his overactive libido. If this was the way he was going to react every time he saw her in anything other than bloodstained armor he was in a lot of trouble.

Taking a deep breath he smiled at her and opened his mouth to offer a friendly greeting, but then saw the expression on her face and froze. It was only a matter of looking into the haunted depths of her eyes to guess why she had stumbled from her tent at this time of the night.

"Nightmares?" he asked instead, startling her enough to make her jump.

Apparently she hadn't realized he was there, though he was sitting just a few feet away from where she was standing. A fleeting look of surprise crossed her features at his words but then she threw him a weak smile and nodded in affirmation.

"I guess you could say that," she replied as she sat across from him and hugged the blanket closer.

"I must admit, that wasn't something I expected of being a Warden…nor is it something I think I shall ever get used to," he continued conversationally.

"Just be glad you didn't join during a blight," she muttered, producing a look of confusion from him. "My dreams will always be worse than yours, though luckily the archdemon is no longer featured in them," she explained as she noticed the journal in his lap. "Partaking in some light reading?"

"Yes, well…" he began cautiously before a thought suddenly occurred to him."Lex, you…didn't read this…did you?"

Alyx sighed.

"I did, though I sometimes wish I hadn't. I was hoping to find something…anything really, to explain his actions, but of course I never did."

That was not the answer he was hoping to hear.

"It seems that I have more to apologize for than I originally thought," he murmured, shooting her a sympathetic look.

"Don't do that," she snapped, her eyes suddenly darkening with anger.

"Do what?" he asked, genuinely surprised at her reaction.

"Blame yourself for your Father's misdeeds. You have no reason to feel guilty for any of the vile things that was written in that journal."

"Perhaps I was not to blame, but had I been here…"

"Do you honestly think you could have stopped him?"

"I could have tried at least!" he growled, snapping the journal shut and tossing it aside. "I could have talked him out of it, maybe even warned your Father, or the king or…something."

"There was no changing his mind, Nate, and any man who stood in his way was quickly and brutally dispatched. After reading…that…can you honestly believe that he wouldn't have done the same to you?"

There was a long silence as they stared daggers at each other, but Nathaniel eventually sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"You're right. Of course you're right. It's just…hard to…digest."

Her eyes softened at his words, her hand reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder meaningfully.

"You are not your Father, Nathaniel Howe. You're a good man."

"I'm not a good man," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "I've seen things, Lex…done things—"

"We have all done things we're not proud of, Nate. So you have a past. We all do."

"Including the Grey Wardens?" he teased.

"Especially the wardens," she replied, her eyes momentarily sparkling with humor before they turned serious again. "Most people believe us to be heroes. Knights in shining armor straight out of some romantic adventure tale, but the truth is far from what they think. The sort of person that has what it takes to be a warden usually comes from a sordid and often criminal past. Hell, the Commander before me was to be hung for murder when he was conscripted, and he wouldn't be the first. Truth is, as questionable as our pasts may be we're the ones that are willing to make the decisions that no one else wants to. Sometimes it may seem brutal, even heartless if you want to be dramatic, but we do what we must for the good of everyone…even if that means making sacrifices."

"I—understand," he replied hoarsely, unsure of what else to say.

"What's done is done, Nate. You cannot change the past, no matter how much you may wish to. I should know better than anyone how pointless it is to torture yourself over what-if's. Instead, make the most of the present. You have an opportunity to reclaim your family's good name. Use it."

He nodded as she stood to leave, but before she could walk away he gently grabbed her by the arm.

"Why did you recruit me?" he asked on impulse, immediately wanting to take the words back as they jumped from his lips.

"What?" she asked, obviously confused by his question.

"Why did you recruit me? After everything my Father did to you, to your family…not to mention that I came back to Amaranthine to kill you. Anyone else would've had my head on a platter."

"I—well, to be honest there were several reasons," she began as she sat back down. "The first was the most practical. I desperately needed new recruits and you were both skilled and, well, there. Secondly, I realized that were I to kill you, I would become the monster you already thought I was." She stopped and studied him, her cerulean eyes taking in his features with a deep intensity that sent chills up his spine. She leaned a little closer as she lowered her voice. "But mostly I thought if there was anything left of the boy you were in the man that was standing before me, then he…you would be worth saving."

Wow, he thought, floored by her simple, heartfelt words.

"And—uh, what do you think now?" he asked, his throat hoarse with the countless emotions spiraling through him. "Was I worth saving, Commander?"

"Without question," she replied with a small smile as she stood and turned to walk back to her tent. She paused at the entrance and turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder, her eyes soft and radiant in the firelight. "Good night, Nate."

Nathaniel was speechless. He swallowed hard, only able to concentrate long enough to nod his response. It was in that moment he realized that this attraction he felt for her, the lust that had crept up on him and slowly took over his senses, had become ever so much more. Everything that had happened over the past few days had suddenly begun to make sense, culminating into a truth that he had refused, until then, to admit to himself.

He didn't just want her…he cared for her.

Hope crept in as he remembered the way she had looked at him just before slipping back into her tent, but he trounced it just as quickly as it surfaced. He could not let himself hope. Not yet at any rate. With the ghosts of the past chasing them both and the darkspawn threat gaining momentum...not to mention the myriad of other problems that insisted on cropping up everywhere they turned...they could ill afford such distractions. He began a mental list of reasons why it was unlikely a relationship between the two of them would ever come to pass. The harder he thought about it, the longer the list, and slowly his hope dimmed to the point of nonexistence. If a time came that they were not utterly surrounded by death and destruction, then he would reevaluate his chances. Otherwise, he would just have to settle with friendship. He only wished the word didn't taste so bitter upon his tongue.

*Muse Tunes:"Photographs" and "Kyra's Tape" by James Newton Howard (Sixth Sense OST); "Life On Earth" by Band of Horses; "The Gift of a Thistle" by James Horner (Braveheart OST).