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When Warden-Commander Cousland finds Nathaniel Howe in the dungeons, she remembers.
It’s a strange thing that strikes her, like missing the last step at the bottom of a staircase. The world falls out from beneath her for a breath before she catches herself, and she’s left standing with her heart in her throat in front of a ghost.
The air beneath Vigil’s Keep is acrid and cold. When he stands to face her, the dim torchlight catches the hollows beneath his eyes and for the briefest moment, she feels pity.
He is different from the boy she remembers. Not simply older, but a new man entirely, sprung from the wreckage of something terrible. The mischievous joy in his face is gone, smothered behind a weariness that she thinks must reflect her own.
But the pity is snuffed out when he steps forward and wraps a bruised, cracked hand around the bars between them. The angry lines carved in his face make him look like Rendon, and there’s an instinct she has to fight that begs to bury her blade in his belly.
“I see little Lady Cousland is all grown up now. Must be nice to play hero, to marry the bastard king and live happily ever after.” He cocks his head as he sneers, black hair spilling out around the tops of his shoulders. “Tell me, did you think of everything we’d done together when you drove your sword through my father?”
Hatred burns at the back of her throat. She barely registers Anders’s faint noise of protest as she moves forward to slam her fist against the bar closest to Nathaniel’s face. “Your father was a monster and I would kill him a thousand times for what he did to my family!”
He doesn’t even have the decency to flinch. “And what of my family?”
“Seems a small price to pay for justice.”
“Justice,” he scoffs. “What do you know of justice? You punched your way through the Blight by the skin of your teeth, leaving destruction in your wake. And what did you get as a thank you? A crown and a royal wedding. A noble-born hero is not impressive or justice to those who have suffered.”
“And I suppose you, a son of the once-mighty Howe family, must know all about suffering.”
“Far more than you, Warden-Commander.”
She narrows her eyes as she steps back. Anders presses a reassuring hand to her shoulder. There’s a thousand things she wants to say. She wants to make him hurt as she did, to wallow in the small flame of satisfaction that flickers to life when she looks away and catches the sadness on his face out of the corner of her eye. She shakes herself of it.
She hears Nathaniel shuffle around. He snorts. “I came here to kill you, you know. But then I realized it wasn’t worth it. I just wanted to see my home again, to take back what few things made us happy.”
She startles at that, glancing back at him. “You came here to kill me?”
“Is it really so surprising?”
She remembers the little boy again, sneaking off with her away from the stuffy party, sweet cakes spilling out of his pockets. She remembers the young man, his mouth pressed hard against hers because he can’t bear the thought of leaving.
Yes , she wants to say. It should be surprising, but the terrible part is that it isn’t. Their whole lives seem to be built on things that should’ve been.
Her family should be alive. He should be in the Free Marches. She should be dead.
Another sickly thought falls through her chest, snags on her heart.
She and Nathaniel should’ve never seen each other again.
“No,” she says finally. “No, I guess it isn’t.”
He watches her from his cell, eyes void of light. She can make out where the skin is swollen and split across the bridge of his nose. A frown tugs at his mouth. “So what are you going to do? Hang me? Let me rot in prison?”
“All viable, deserving options.”
He laughs at that and it almost feels like they’re young again. All that bickering and banter that defined them.
There is still some softness left in her. She’d fought hard to keep it tucked away and protected during the Blight. There were times when she thought she’d lost it forever, when mercy and forgiveness had been hard to find. As she looks Nathaniel in the eyes, she thinks of Alistair. Kind and hopeful and strong, Alistair.
If he were here, what would he say?
Nathaniel stares, waiting.
“No one expects to find mercy here anymore,” she says, lifting her chin. “But I’m tired of fighting. Nathaniel Howe, you’ll live out the remainder of your days as a Grey Warden.”
The whole room erupts into chaos and objections but she hears none of it, instead turning on her heel and moving up the dungeon stairs with her jaw set in a defiant line. Leaving before she can change her mind; before she can do something truly foolish like throwing her arms around him and beg for everything to go back to the way it was.
The party is about as boring as he expected. His doublet itches and there are far too many nosy nobles inquiring as to when he plans on getting married.
Never , he almost says, but he manages to bite his tongue. He smiles instead and nods obligingly, “One day soon, Maker willing.”
They clap their hands together and scurry off to find their respective daughters. Marrying the future Arl of Amaranthine would be a most advantageous move for their family. It’s ironic though, since none of them know he’s about to be sent away. He could laugh at the scandal of it all. The once-heir of Amaranthine being shunted for his younger brother, disappearing from Fereldan society to squire for a cousin he’d never met under the Vaels.
But the thought almost makes him sick with panic. Being Arl, going to Starkhaven, marrying someone he didn’t love, staying at this blighted party for one more second.
He’s leaning against an archway on the edges of the ballroom, arms crossed over his chest when Andromeda Cousland finds him. She seems to appear out of thin air, grinning devilishly and tugging on his hand.
He lets her pull him from the pillar. “Thank the Maker you’re here, I was about to pitch myself off the battlements.”
“No need for that today,” she says, threading their fingers together. “Though I have been looking for you for almost an hour.”
“I’ve been trying to hide.”
She laughs and he wishes he could save the sound forever.
They slip from the party unnoticed. Castle Cousland is almost as familiar to him as Vigil’s Keep, even in the dim light. It strikes him that perhaps this is the last time he’ll ever be here, ever be with her. It lumps in his throat.
He pulls her into an empty storage room and kicks the door shut behind them. While he’s busy making sure it’s locked, she finds a crate and hoists herself up onto it.
He feels her eyes on him as he gives the handle one last jiggle. “Stop staring at my ass.”
She snorts. “But you have such a nice one.”
When he turns back around, she’s smiling at him. Her skirts are pulled up over her legs, tucked beneath her as she swings her feet like a child. She spreads them as he stares.
“Andi,” he says, barely more than a whisper.
“Nate.”
It looks as if she’s about to say more, but he crosses the room and steps into the space between her knees. His hands rest on her hips. It almost hurts to touch her, but it slips from his mind when she brings his mouth to hers.
The kiss is soft at first, reverent and wanting. She smiles against him, her hands cradling his jaw. He runs his hands around her back, tracing the shape of her spine until he pulls her closer, flush against his chest.
A low, sweet sound escapes the back of her throat and it’s nearly enough to make him forget about the Free Marches entirely. Nearly , but he still believes if he kisses her hard enough, everything else will disappear. There will be no Amaranthine, no Starkhaven. Just them, and that would be more than enough for him.
Their kiss loses its softness, snagging on a desperate need to feel teeth and tongue and edge. He pulls back to follow the line of her neck with his lips. Her fingers tug at his hair.
“Nathaniel,” she says. “Nate, what’s wrong?”
He burns. The panic rises in his chest again. He tries to chase it away. His teeth sink into the space where her neck meets her shoulder and he sucks at the skin until it bruises.
She has to bury her face against his shoulder to keep from crying out.
You’ll never see her again. The thought lances through him. He pulls back suddenly. Her eyes are wide, dark hair coming undone from the braid crowning her head. There’s a rose-colored mark on her neck.
She licks her lips. “Wh—”
“I’m leaving.” It comes pouring from his mouth ungracefully. He’d meant to be kind, to be softer. Instead he gives her this abrupt thing that makes his hands shake against her skin.
“Leaving?” Her eyebrows pinch together. “Now? Nate, no one is going to catch us.”
“No, I mean I’m leaving Ferelden. My parents are sending me to the Free Marches.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fall. She seems to ponder it for a moment before she perks up again. “When will you be back?”
“Andi,” he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I don’t think I’m coming back.”
She looks younger then, innocent in a way that fills him with guilt and shame. “I don’t understand,” she says, “I thought—”
“I’m not coming back to Ferelden. I’m not going to inherit Amaranthine.”
She stares at him, wounded and confused. He leans forward to kiss her again but she braces her hand against his chest. “How long have you known?”
“Just under a month. I would’ve written but I wanted to tell you in person.” He places his hand over hers and squeezes her fingers. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go.”
Tears well in her eyes, though she tries to blink them away. “Will I ever see you again?”
He traces his thumb across her cheek. “I don’t know.”
She opens her mouth to speak but all that escapes is a soft sob. He pulls her to him and she tucks her face against his neck.
It isn’t fair. To him, but especially not to her. He’d give anything to take her hurt away but what was left of him to give? Would they run away? Elope? And then what?
She deserved better than what he could give, as a knight or as a runaway.
She would forget him and she’d find someone kind and worthy of her, as much as the thought filled him with dread. So he holds her for now, praying to the Maker that somehow the pain would be worth it.
When her cries soften, he presses his lips against her temple. “We should return to the party, I’m sure someone is looking for us by now.”
“Promise me you’ll write.”
He laughs and untangles from her. “I swear to you that I’ll write.”
Her eyes are bloodshot and glassy as she stares up at him, but earnest all the same. In the dark, her pupils are lost in the deep brown of her iris. “And promise that you won’t forget me.”
He steals a quick kiss at that. “Andromeda Cousland, there is nowhere I could go where I would ever forget you.”
She doesn’t follow as he slips away from her and towards the door.
As he opens it, she calls out, “Nate.”
He pauses.
“Are you staying in the castle tonight?”
“I am.”
“Will you come to my room? When everyone goes to bed.” She chews on her lower lip after she finishes, waiting for his answer. “Please.”
“Are you sure?” He looks at her over his shoulder. “You don’t--”
“I want to be with you... before you leave.” She flushes, nerve suddenly lost. “If you want me, that is.”
“Of course I do,” he says. And he did, almost more than anything. “If you’ll have me, I’ll be there.”
There’s a hopeful smile that blooms across her face. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”
He nods. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He leaves the door slightly ajar behind him as he leaves, making his way back towards the party. He is thankful, at least, for the new sense of nervousness that makes his heart almost feel lighter.
Almost.
Andromeda Cousland follows her older brother around like a shadow.
Nathaniel and Fergus trek through the woods outside Highever, wooden swords in hand, when Andi bursts from behind a log. She is six at the time, though she shrieks like a ghost and sends them tumbling back through the thicket.
For being the daughter of a Teyrn, she is a feral thing. She cackles, twigs in her hair and skirt tied above her knees, as the two boys fight for the last bits of their dignity.
“I scared you!” She doubles over with her arms around her ribs. “I can’t believe I scared you! You two are the biggest babies in Ferelden!”
Fergus scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Mother?”
She wipes a tear away. “Probably. But this is more fun.”
Nathaniel, despite himself, laughs. He had siblings of course, but none of them came close to being as fun as Fergus and Andi. Or as troublesome. Andi shoots him a grin, one of her front teeth missing.
Fergus brushes the dirt from his pants as he stands again, still frowning and shooting dirty looks at his sister. “You shouldn’t have followed us, you could get lost.”
“More like you two would get lost without me. You’ve been going in circles for an hour.”
“We have not!”
Nathaniel tries to school the grin on his face, if only for his friend’s sake. “We have, actually.”
The tips of Fergus’ ears turn pink. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he cries, giving Nathaniel a desperate look.
“I didn’t want to embarass you.”
Andi howls again. Fergus groans and throws his hands in the air. Apparently fed up with the lot of them, he continues further into the woods without stopping to see if anyone was following, wooden sword forgotten. She takes a swipe at his shins with a stick as he tries to march past her. She misses, but he still pauses long enough to shove her to the ground.
There is a terrifying collection of seconds where she looks as if she might start to cry. Instead, her watery eyes slide from glaring at her brother to Nathaniel. They shift from anger to amusement as quickly as a blink. It does little to quell his nerves.
A wicked smile curls across her mouth. “Did you hear me sneaking behind you?”
He had. “Not a sound.”
She pumps her fist triumphantly and scrambles up from the ground, using his legs to hoist herself up.
He flicks a leaf from her hair. “We should make sure your brother doesn’t get lost.”
Scrunching her dirty nose, she waves in the direction Fergus had gone. “He deserves to get lost for pushing me.”
While Nathaniel doesn’t necessarily disagree, he smirks. He plucks Fergus’s abandoned sword from the ground and holds it out for Andi to take. “Even so, don’t you want to be a hero? What if there’s dragons out there?”
She snatches the sword from his hand. “Don’t worry, Fergus! I’ll save you!”
He watches as she scurries off into the woods after her brother. It is the first time in a long time he feels like he might have a family again.
“You swore to me that you would write, Nathaniel Howe!”
He’s half-buried in the mud, blinking past rain and blood. He’s unsure if it’s his blood or darkspawn, but there’s a terrible ache above his brow and it hurts to breathe. Broken ribs for certain, and a part of him half-fears, half-hopes whatever else is injured might be enough to finally put him out of his fucking misery.
Andromeda looms over him. The sky is dark and angry behind her like a wrathful halo. Her sword and shield are limp at her side, and they too drip with blood. When the lightning flashes, it looks like she might be crying. But tears or no, her face is pinched in fury and her chest is heaving beneath her armor. “You swore you wouldn’t forget me!”
Anders and Oghren stand off to the side. They huddle beneath a tree and try to hide themselves from her grief. Nathaniel absently thinks that this is a less than ideal place to be having this conversation.
He had almost died. It had snapped something inside of her, in front of everyone.
“You swore,” she says again, small and broken.
“Warden-Commander—” When he tries to right himself from the earth through the pain, she swings and presses the tip of her sword beneath his chin.
“No! That’s not my name!” She’s shaking, he notices. Her knuckles are white around the hilt of her sword and her hair clings to her forehead. “I want to hear you say it.”
He stares at her for a long moment. Thunder continues to crash in the distance. There are tears now, he’s sure. They mix with the rain on her face but he’d seen her cry too many times not to recognize it now as she finally starts to crumble.
That long-buried instinct in him to protect her comes roaring back to life. It makes him want to turn and vomit into the mud.
She snarls, pressing the blade into his throat. “You lied to me.”
He presses at the gash on his side and pulls back a blood-soaked hand. “I’m sorry, Andi.”
As soon as he says it, she drops her sword and shield and collapses into the mud beside him. She’s weeping as she pulls him to her and wraps her arms around his neck.
The pain steals his breath, but even so he returns the hug after a moment. His fingers cling to her shoulders through her armor. He anchors himself to her, afraid that without her the storm will sweep him away. She feels the same as when they were young. She feels infinitely different.
Her mouth his buried in the long hair that sticks to his neck. “You’re not allowed to die here, Nate.”
He manages a dark chuckle before the pain starts to turn his vision black. “As if you’d let anything kill me but you.”
All three Vael sons are righteous pricks, but Nathaniel hates Sebastian the least.
The youngest of the Vael boys notches another arrow and looses it right into the center of the target. He laughs when Nate makes a noise of disgust.
“Jealous, Howe?”
Nate scoffs. “I’ve yet to see anything worth being jealous over.”
Sebastian raises a brow. Without replying, he readies his bow again and fires another arrow. It wedges into the straw next to the other with a dull rattle.
Another bullseye.
Another hearty laugh from Sebastian. “Are you sure about that?”
“Fine!” Nate throws his bow down. “You win, again!”
“Don’t worry, Howe. I’ll let you make it up to me at the tavern.” Sebastian winks at him and turns to hand his bow to the servant waiting at the side.
“Oh no.” Nate shakes his head. “I’m not going with you to the tavern again. The last time we went you disappeared with triplets and no one saw you for two days.”
Sebastian laughs again, throwing his arm around Nate’s shoulders. “Aye, and what a beautiful two days those were, my friend.”
“Your family thought I’d killed you. It nearly cost me my head.”
Sebastian leads him through the gardens at a leisurely pace. “If I find you a set of triplets, will you forgive me?”
Nate falls silent as Sebastian ushers him to one of the gates that protect the Vael’s property.
The castle at Starkhaven is made of brilliant white stone, with more barns and gardens and outbuildings than Nate can keep up with. It’s beautiful. Under different circumstances, he might’ve even called it home.
Sebastian clicks his tongue in disapproval when Nate doesn’t reply. “Don’t tell me you’re still whinging over the Cousland girl.”
Nate scowls. “I’m not whinging.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Brooding, then.”
“I’m not brooding either.”
“My friend, you’re always brooding. It’s one of your many charms.” He finally lets Nate go and pats his cheek with a knowing look. “With that attitude and your handsome noble face, you could have anyone in Starkhaven you wanted!”
Sebastian looks up at the guards posted above the gate and whistles. They bow, turning to twist the crank that opens the gates to the city. The chains rattle and the gate begins to rise.
“I don’t want anyone in Starkhaven,” Nate mumbles.
Sebastian flashes him a smug grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Nathaniel spends his nights in Starkhaven at Sebastian’s side, burying thoughts of Andromeda in expensive wine and girls with eager, bitter mouths.
He’s trapped at Vigil’s Keep for a month as he heals.
It’s worse than the dungeons, he thinks. He’s never quite alone enough to get comfortable, and that Maker-forsaken blond mage never shuts up. And he feels more like a ghost in this place than he ever did as a child.
The weather is creeping towards winter by then, and the air in Amaranthine is bitter and spitting snow beyond the windows of the keep. Most people huddle around the fireplaces, nursing tankards and old war stories.
Nathaniel, however, is in search of And— the Warden-Commander.
She’s not out amongst her men, and she’s not hidden in the library or kitchens. He doesn’t particularly want to venture out into the cold, seeing as his arm being tucked into a sling is a great hindrance for outerwear, so the last place he decides to look is her private quarters. His free hand knocks on her heavy door.
The hall outside her room is empty and sparsely lit with torches. He remembers that there had been a time like this before, where he’d found himself leaning into the shadows around her door, waiting for her to answer so he could sneak in.
But that had been a lifetime go, and he scolds himself for thinking of it at all.
There’s no answer. He knocks again and waits.
A foolish, dangerous, terrifying thought pierces his skull. When she still doesn’t come to the door, he reaches for the handle and finds it unlocked.
Cursing himself, he slips into her room and shuts the door quietly behind him.
Her room is surprisingly sparse, and it is empty of her. There is a simple unmade bed, a wardrobe, and a desk stacked to the heavens with papers. Her armor is stacked in the corner and it smells of the oil she uses to polish it. It smells of her.
He stares for a moment with his back against the door, warring with himself as to if he should go in further or run away completely. She is his Warden-Commander. She is his queen. She would fucking kill him for going through her things.
The smart idea would be to leave and never come in without permission again, he decides. But he’s never been a particularly smart man.
He makes his way deeper into her room, running his hand along the furniture and taking in the simplicity of it. There is something cold about it though. It is empty and void of warmth. He remembers her room at Highever, girlish and homey and her . She kept sketches and their childhood letters pinned to her walls, overstuffed cushions piled everywhere, her father’s wood carvings lined up on her mantle.
As he wanders his way over to her desk, he has no intentions of reading her notes, but as his eyes land on a letter he can’t stop the strange pain that claws at his heart. He leans closer to read it entirely.
My Andi,
I have discovered I’m simply no good at this nobility thing without you. You must return with haste lest the whole of Denerim society collapses into the Deep Roads. Did you know there’s a fork specifically for salad? I tried to use it to eat a meat pie and I thought a griffin was going to fly out of the Orlesian ambassador’s head.
Maker’s breath, I miss you. Every morning I wake up alone-- save for Pollux, of course-- and wonder where you are, if you are warm or if you are safe. It kills me I’m not with you. I would take a thousand darkspawn over a single nobleman anyday.
But never doubt my faith in you. I trust you more than anything, and in your friends and in the army you have built. They would give their dying breath for you. As would I, as would we all.
I love you. Stay safe. Come back to me.
Your husband,
King Alistair Theirin
PS. I didn’t get your second letter until I had finished this, but give your friend Nathaniel my best wishes. I hope he recovers soon. He sounds like a fine man and anyone who was ever that important to you is important to me. I would be glad to meet him someday.
Shame comes rushing over him. He wants to pitch himself out of a tower or bury it in a thousand barrels of wine.
She is happy without you , he reminds himself. She got the good man you’d hoped she’d find. He loves her far better than you ever could.
And yet it feels like his chest is caving in.
With shaking hands, he stumbles back away from her desk, nearly tripping over his own feet. His back meets the door with a thump. He fumbles for the handle and slips back into the hall like he’d never been there.
And runs right into the Warden-Commander.
She nearly drops her plate of food as he smacks into her shoulder. “Nate—!”
He nods curtly in her direction, trying to peel himself away from her. “Warden-Commander.”
“Andi,” she corrects. She frowns and glances past him to her door. “Were you waiting for me?”
He can’t make himself look at her. He stares at the floor beneath her feet. “I was, but I just remembered I was supposed to meet Velanna for dinner.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t look like she quite believes him, but lets him slip by without protest. “Did you need anything?”
He takes off and waves over his shoulder. “Nothing important.”
When he rounds the corner away from her room, he collapses against the wall and buries his head in his hand.