Fanfic: Language
Title: Language
Rating: T
Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/F!Mahariel ... sort of.
Cameos: None
A/N: Minor Awakenings spoilers, as well as Dalish Elf Origin spoilers from base game.
Also posted at nathaniel_howe
Summary: After a tentative first mission, the newest Warden recruit receives sympathy - and a foreign language lesson - from a potentially unexpected source: the Commander of the Grey.
She found him sitting at the top of one of the battlements of Vigil's Keep, looking out over the courtyard, quiet even for him. She sat beside him, not too close and not saying anything at first, and watched him brood out of the corner of her eye. After a long moment, when it became clear that he wasn't going to say a word, she told him, "I'm sorry about Adria."
Nathaniel Howe turned his head to glare at the elf sitting a few feet away from him, but she did not meet the glare, content to look over the courtyard. He took it for casual contempt - this was the woman who slew his father and turned his family name to mud, after all, and was an elf besides; she had no cause to love him, nor he her - and sneered where he thought she couldn't see. "Why? Just another faceless tainted ghoul; meat for the Wardens, I expect." He turned his gaze back onto the people far below. "You probably enjoyed it. Dalish have that reputation, when it comes to humans."
She refused to give him the satisfaction of showing how that comment hurt. Instead, she said, "I take no pleasure in killing. Not the way you mean. Particularly not barely-armed souls who aren't themselves. But ... I was glad to do it. For her sake. And for yours."
"Yes, of course," growled Nathaniel. "You slew my old nursemaid for my sake. What would I do without you, Commander?"
"Would you rather she had been forced to live with that agony?" She spoke the question quietly, but there was a depth of feeling in her words that ran at odds to the volume - rage; not at him, but at the taint itself. Regret. Sorrow. "It burns. You know it burns. You took the Joining. You know better than most."
Nathaniel turned his head and looked at her again. "Better than most, yes." After a pause for thought, he added, "But not as well as some?"
"I've seen ghouls before," she told him. "I have seen one retaining enough control - barely - to beg for release. Because death was better than the alternative. Because he couldn't live with the pain ... or with the Calling." She shook her head. "It's hard, when it's someone you know - someone you care for. I know. But when it happens, whether they can say so or not ... it's a mercy. I promise you that. On the honour of my clan."
Watching his Dalish Commander, Nathaniel got the impression that, as adept as she was at self-control, she was on the verge of tears. He debated with himself for a long moment, and then curiosity got the better of him. "Who was it you lost?"
For a time, it seemed as though the Commander would not answer him. Finally, she said, "My best friend." Then she turned her eyes his way, watching him again out of the corner of her eye. Reading the question in that sidelong look, she continued a little further. "We were both tainted. Duncan found me, said that the Joining was my cure. Which it is, in a sense. But we couldn't find my ... friend. He ... survived longer than most. Found me ... much later. So I could put an end to his pain."
That was enough for Nathaniel, and he told her this by turning his face back to the courtyard, colouring in the picture her words had painted. Watching her sidelong from the corner of his eye as she had watched him, he could read the finer details: the frustration at the fruitless search for her friend or at least a body; the constant guilt until he presented himself to her, tainted and struggling and half-mad with pain and whispers... Always ... loved you... He closed his eyes and focused on Wade and Herren bickering in the courtyard, feeling as if he had invaded her privacy somehow.
They sat silently for some time before Nathaniel trusted himself to speak again. "I ... think I require a word that goes somewhat deeper than 'apology'. Have the Dalish such a word? Sometimes the human languages are lacking."
The Commander shrugged. "There is one. Abelas. It can be used as an apology but it goes deeper. It speaks of sorrow, and regret."
"Ah." More silence followed, and then he spoke the word, all careful pronunciation and emotional investment. "Abelas, Commander."
She looked at him again, only barely tilting her head to get a good look, and then she said, "Abelas ... Lethallan."
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her. His knowledge of the Elven language stopped short at the surface meaning of 'Shemlen', and he could not translate the term used to address a familiar face - a friend. But since the tone suggested less insult than a species of respect, he held his tongue, and explanations went by the wayside as he and the Commander of the Grey Wardens watched over Vigil's Keep.
Rating: T
Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/F!Mahariel ... sort of.
Cameos: None
A/N: Minor Awakenings spoilers, as well as Dalish Elf Origin spoilers from base game.
Also posted at nathaniel_howe
Summary: After a tentative first mission, the newest Warden recruit receives sympathy - and a foreign language lesson - from a potentially unexpected source: the Commander of the Grey.
She found him sitting at the top of one of the battlements of Vigil's Keep, looking out over the courtyard, quiet even for him. She sat beside him, not too close and not saying anything at first, and watched him brood out of the corner of her eye. After a long moment, when it became clear that he wasn't going to say a word, she told him, "I'm sorry about Adria."
Nathaniel Howe turned his head to glare at the elf sitting a few feet away from him, but she did not meet the glare, content to look over the courtyard. He took it for casual contempt - this was the woman who slew his father and turned his family name to mud, after all, and was an elf besides; she had no cause to love him, nor he her - and sneered where he thought she couldn't see. "Why? Just another faceless tainted ghoul; meat for the Wardens, I expect." He turned his gaze back onto the people far below. "You probably enjoyed it. Dalish have that reputation, when it comes to humans."
She refused to give him the satisfaction of showing how that comment hurt. Instead, she said, "I take no pleasure in killing. Not the way you mean. Particularly not barely-armed souls who aren't themselves. But ... I was glad to do it. For her sake. And for yours."
"Yes, of course," growled Nathaniel. "You slew my old nursemaid for my sake. What would I do without you, Commander?"
"Would you rather she had been forced to live with that agony?" She spoke the question quietly, but there was a depth of feeling in her words that ran at odds to the volume - rage; not at him, but at the taint itself. Regret. Sorrow. "It burns. You know it burns. You took the Joining. You know better than most."
Nathaniel turned his head and looked at her again. "Better than most, yes." After a pause for thought, he added, "But not as well as some?"
"I've seen ghouls before," she told him. "I have seen one retaining enough control - barely - to beg for release. Because death was better than the alternative. Because he couldn't live with the pain ... or with the Calling." She shook her head. "It's hard, when it's someone you know - someone you care for. I know. But when it happens, whether they can say so or not ... it's a mercy. I promise you that. On the honour of my clan."
Watching his Dalish Commander, Nathaniel got the impression that, as adept as she was at self-control, she was on the verge of tears. He debated with himself for a long moment, and then curiosity got the better of him. "Who was it you lost?"
For a time, it seemed as though the Commander would not answer him. Finally, she said, "My best friend." Then she turned her eyes his way, watching him again out of the corner of her eye. Reading the question in that sidelong look, she continued a little further. "We were both tainted. Duncan found me, said that the Joining was my cure. Which it is, in a sense. But we couldn't find my ... friend. He ... survived longer than most. Found me ... much later. So I could put an end to his pain."
That was enough for Nathaniel, and he told her this by turning his face back to the courtyard, colouring in the picture her words had painted. Watching her sidelong from the corner of his eye as she had watched him, he could read the finer details: the frustration at the fruitless search for her friend or at least a body; the constant guilt until he presented himself to her, tainted and struggling and half-mad with pain and whispers... Always ... loved you... He closed his eyes and focused on Wade and Herren bickering in the courtyard, feeling as if he had invaded her privacy somehow.
They sat silently for some time before Nathaniel trusted himself to speak again. "I ... think I require a word that goes somewhat deeper than 'apology'. Have the Dalish such a word? Sometimes the human languages are lacking."
The Commander shrugged. "There is one. Abelas. It can be used as an apology but it goes deeper. It speaks of sorrow, and regret."
"Ah." More silence followed, and then he spoke the word, all careful pronunciation and emotional investment. "Abelas, Commander."
She looked at him again, only barely tilting her head to get a good look, and then she said, "Abelas ... Lethallan."
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her. His knowledge of the Elven language stopped short at the surface meaning of 'Shemlen', and he could not translate the term used to address a familiar face - a friend. But since the tone suggested less insult than a species of respect, he held his tongue, and explanations went by the wayside as he and the Commander of the Grey Wardens watched over Vigil's Keep.