midwinterludes: tales from amaranthine (two of three)
Title: Tales from Amaranthine (Part 2)
Author: w0rdinista with encouragement from pagerunner_j
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Elinora/Nathaniel
Summary: One never is too old to learn new tricks.
From the personal correspondance of Elinora Cousland, Commander of the Grey, from Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever:
Dearest Little Sister,
It occurs to me, however belatedly, that I should perhaps refrain from opening my letters this way. You are, after all, the most fearsome Commander of the Grey - a warrior without peer, a force to be reckoned with, and one of the most intimidating figures throughout Ferelden.
By the way, I ran across "Tadpole" the other day. Surely you remember Tadpole - Maker knows you dragged that blasted dog everywhere you could, and a few places you couldn't! - and wondered if you'd like me to send him so you might have some company in Amaranthine. No? Very well; it will be here when you come home.
Ah, but I tease you overmuch - you can't blame me, surely. It is merely a side-effect of missing your company. (How odd to say that after so many years of pulling your braids and threatening to behead the very toy I've now set aside for you.)
All goes well here - as well as can be expected, at any rate. It will take time, but I truly believe we can restore the castle and the lands to their former glory. But you know this, and I won't bore you with things you already know.
I confess your last letter has me concerned, but not surprised. I've no doubt that there are more than a few asps loyal to Howe hidden away like the snakes they are. Do be careful. (It figures, doesn't it? What was meant to be a brief assignment rebuilding the Wardens has suddenly become soaked in political intrigue. Is nothing ever simple? Don't answer that.)
Your hound misses you terribly. For such a huge, terrifying beast, he's quite a baby when you're away - moping around like he's lost his best friend. And I suppose, in a way, he has. (I think he also resents your decision to keep him here to protect the castle - perhaps an errand below him? Hard to say.) Sers Perrin and Markham (who, it would appear, has quite a way with animals; his father breeds mabari, doesn't he?) have grown fond of him, and though he frequently keeps an eye to the east, know that he is receiving the best care and the best selection of table scraps in the castle.
It sounds as if you've got yourself off to a reasonably promising start insofar as recruiting goes. Speaking of which: Nathaniel Howe? Truly? You are a better person than I, I'm sure - I'd have sent him to the gallows as soon as look at him! But then... I suppose it is no more his fault that his father was a vile bastard than it is our fault our father was a good man. Perhaps the time spent abroad improved him. My admittedly vague memories of Nathaniel are of a sullen, contrary boy. I imagine if he is still of such a temperament, you'll beat it out of him one way or another.
Elinora lifted her eyes from Fergus' letter and watched as the sun continued its slow trek over the horizon, bathing everything in a gentle golden glow. Considering the amount of rain this region typically got, such a morning was rare indeed - it was no surprise that Elinora had taken a packet of personal correspondence and a cup of tea up to the battlements. It was during these early hours of the morning that Elinora could truly relax - Vigil's Keep was quiet, aside from the groundskeeper and a few guards. Up here, tucked away and unseen, she could watch as the Keep slowly awoke to face another day.
The heavy sound of a door opening and closing drew her ear and Elinora glanced over to the main courtyard in time to see Nathaniel, dressed not in his customary leathers, but rather a simple tunic and breeches, his favored, ancestral bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. With purposeful strides he made his way to the line of targets and practice dummies set up to train guards and new recruits alike. She watched as he pulled the bow from his back and slid an arrow from its quiver. Elinora had always been a very poor archer, but she recognized superior training when she saw it: Nathaniel's stance was perfect, his movements impossibly fluid as he nocked the arrow and sent it shooting through the air with unbelievable control and speed, embedding itself solidly in the center of the target.
Taking up her empty cup and the loosely-tied packet of letters, Elinora crept down the stairs to get a closer look. She couldn't help but wonder what she'd been doing wrong all these years, resulting in a number of incidents that were embarrassing enough to prevent her from laying a finger on a bow ever again. She watched his form, noting his stance, how straight he kept his back, how he held the bow, aimed the arrow...
And then Elinora realized something wholly unexpected: Nathaniel Howe was quite pleasing to watch.
The realization jolted her somewhat; she hadn't considered him in those terms, exactly. He was skilled, certainly; watching him now told her more than enough to ascertain that. There was a confidence in him - never more evident than during times like these, when every movement was fluid, certain. No motion was wasted: the progression of the arrow from quiver to bow to target was utterly seamless. He was quiet, too; he did not engage her in frivolous conversation like some did, and for that she was truly thankful.
She drew closer, still studying his form, wondering how it was his arms weren't trembling from exertion, when he turned to grab another arrow, stopping suddenly at the sight of her.
"Commander," Nathaniel said, blinking and glancing around. "I apologize; I didn't hear you approach."
Elinora stood up a little straighter and inclined her head. "I didn't want to interrupt. You looked rather intent on your task."
"Ah, just a bit of fun," he replied, rolling his shoulders before returning the bow to his back.
Elinora came a few steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby bench. "What you call fun, I call endless torment and humiliation," she said, and only the brief, fleeting smile told him she was half kidding.
Nathaniel arched a dark eyebrow at her (and was it her imagination, or did his eyes linger a bit on the curve of her hip in her doeskin breeches? Her imagination, surely). "Not much for archery, then?"
"That might be understating it a bit," she replied, with a wry twist of her lips. "My stray arrows were legendary in Highever." She paused, her brow furrowing at a particularly vivid memory. "Though 'infamous' might be the better word."
He grinned a little and shook his head. "It really isn't that difficult to learn."
"Of course you'd say so," she retorted, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You're good at it. I, on the other hand, have long since come to the conclusion that I haven't the finesse for archery."
He crossed his arms and regarded her with a maddening smirk. "You're trying to tell me that this unconquerable slayer of darkspawn can't shoot a simple arrow from a bow?"
Elinora braced her arms behind her and crossed one leg over the other. "I'm trying to tell you that I refrain from doing so as a safety measure for those around me," she countered.
"You must be exaggerating," said Nathaniel, shooting her an incredulous look. "No one can be that bad."
She leveled a look at him. "Oh, come now. I can see what you're doing."
His expression was patently bland. "'Doing,' Commander?"
She arched an eyebrow at him and looked pointedly at the bow in his hand. "Either you're trying to accuse me of false modesty, or you're trying to bait me. And either way, it's only because you're dying to see if I'm as bad as I say." She stood with a heavy sigh and collected a longbow from a nearby weapons rack. "I will indulge you, if it will persuade you to leave the matter alone."
He pulled an arrow from his quiver and handed it to her. "Very well. Shall I stand behind you then? In the interest of my own safety?"
"Trust me," Elinora muttered, accepting the arrow, "there was one occasion when those behind me had been at the greatest risk." She loaded up the arrow, aimed at the target, and, focusing herself completely on the task, let the arrow fly.
It promptly swerved in a wild arc before solidly plunging into the well-packed ground.
Following this particularly unimpressive display, Elinora turned, half expecting to find Nathaniel in the grip of hysterical laughter. Strangely, though, he was watching her studiously, brows drawn together, his arms folded.
"Well. You are quite terrible-"
"I told you."
"-but not hopeless." Here he gestured at the bow she held. "May I?"
"Of course." Her curiosity piqued, Elinora handed over the bow, but Nathaniel only shook his head.
"Assume the same stance as you had before."
Raising a quizzical eyebrow at him, Elinora complied. And then, before she could be sure of what he was doing, Nathaniel came to stand behind her, so close she could feel the warmth coming off of him. Her breath caught suddenly, her stomach giving an odd little lurch.
"Your stance is too wide," he murmured, and Elinora hated the little shiver that chased down her spine at his voice. "Don't distribute your weight the way you're accustomed to doing. You haven't got a sword and shield, remember. Balance your weight accordingly. Find your center of balance."
She closed her eyes, focusing on what Nathaniel was telling her, making a number of minute adjustments as he spoke. But then his arms went around her, one hand closing over hers where it held the bow, the other gently clasping the hand that steadied the arrow.
"If you're always this tense," he murmured, "it's no wonder you have such trouble."
"I'm not tense," she muttered, forcing her mind towards her task and pulling back on the bowstring until it creaked. When Nathaniel chuckled, Elinora felt the reverberations at her back; her blush was almost instantaneous.
"You are exactly as tense as that bowstring."
Scowling, Elinora loosed the arrow. This time the bowstring gave a mighty twang, and the arrow flew toward the ground, kicking up dirt as it skidded and skipped across the yard. Elinora barely noticed where the arrow had landed, however - she'd placed two abused fingers in her mouth, stinging terribly where the bowstring had caught them.
"Of all the blasted, stupid, foolish-"
Shaking his head at her, Nathaniel pulled her fingers free and examined them. They were reddened and tender but otherwise fine. "I'm fairly certain we won't have to amputate," he deadpanned, before relinquishing her fingers.
"Mmm." Elinora still scowled at her sore fingertips. "I suppose it would be considered a gross abuse of power if I were to command all bows and arrows to be used as kindling from this day forth."
This time Nathaniel did laugh. It was a far pleasanter sound than she would have expected, and it made Elinora look up suddenly as something pleasant went humming through her. "You can't blame the weapon for that one, Eli-" he caught himself and stiffened somewhat. "Commander."
At his slip, she looked up, eyes widening a little. She saw the faintest coloring at his cheeks, and now Elinora was perplexed.
"I beg your pardon," was all he said, his gaze darting off to the side.
Silence ticked by, filling the space around them until Elinora cleared her throat and spoke. "I... I would have no objections."
Another beat of silence passed, this one loaded with what felt like incredulity. "Truly? You wouldn't find it horribly inappropriate?"
Elinora shrugged a little. "Perhaps... perhaps it would be acceptable if you were to call me by my name when I am unarmed."
Nathaniel only looked pointedly at the bow in her hands; for the first time in a very long time, Elinora laughed. It was a genuine sound, and the way it reverberated in her throat felt entirely odd.
Odd, but strangely... freeing.
"This is hardly a weapon in my hands, Nathaniel, unless I got it into my head to beat someone with it," she said, grinning up at him.
Nathaniel folded his arms and shook his head with an air of something that looked a great deal like indulgence. "It's just a bit different from what you're accustomed to. I remain unconvinced that it is a skill entirely beyond you." He gestured at the longbow as he reached down and pulled another arrow free. "Come now, try again."
Swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat, Elinora nodded and assumed the stance Nathaniel had talked her through before. Again his arms were around her, steadying the bow, and making slight adjustments to her position. She felt herself growing tense, felt something tighten in between her shoulders, all the way down to her belly - and that sort of tension was entirely unexpected.
"Relax, Elinora. Breathe."
She drew in a deep, slow breath, filling her lungs and holding that breath for a moment before letting it out, just as slowly.
Again, Nathaniel's voice was by her ear. "Whenever you're ready."
She let the arrow fly.
It was, perhaps, not the straightest arrow ever shot - it wavered slightly as it soared through the air, but unlike any arrow Elinora had ever attempted before, this one hit the target.
"Andraste's frilly britches," she breathed. "I bloody well did it."
Nathaniel let out a laugh and Elinora twisted around to see him, letting go of the longbow - Nathaniel retained his grip on the bow, however, which kept Elinora just inside the circle of his arms.
"Indeed you did. Very well done." He sent a small smile down at her, and after a moment, Elinora leaned up and brushed a quick, impulsive kiss across his cheek.
"Thank you."
Nathaniel cleared his throat and switched his grip on the longbow to one hand, giving himself room to step back. "You're quite welcome, Commander."
Elinora tilted her head, still smiling. "Oh, come now - I haven't a weapon in my hands, remember."
Neither said anything for a long while, and Elinora became vaguely aware of... something different, now between them. A shift. It was a subtle change, and Elinora couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed - only that something had. They stood closer than they ever had - the recent lesson notwithstanding - and Elinora felt suddenly and unaccountably awkward. She fought against the urge to clasp her hands behind her back, forcing them instead to remain by her side.
Nathaniel looked at her for a very long moment, his eyes suddenly guarded, his expression entirely inscrutable. "As you wish, Elinora."
"Nathaniel, I-"
"We probably shouldn't-"
Their words stumbled over each other, tangling, and only exacerbating the awkwardness that was thickening like a cloud around them, when finally Nathaniel dropped the bow and, muttering, "Maker, take it," took a fateful step forward and let his mouth descend on hers.
It was one of the last things she'd expected him to do. The last thing Elinora had expected to do was reciprocate. But there it was.
As limited as her experience was, the first thing Elinora noticed were the differences: Nathaniel felt different, pressed against her - he was lean and muscular, and taller than he looked; he tasted differently, of the brutally strong tea and spice bread he'd had for breakfast; he wasn't shy, not in the slightest - in fact, there was no hesitation at all in his movements, from one hand coming to settle firmly against her back, to the other hand resting gently just beneath her chin. Despite its beginnings, the kiss grew slowly, deliberately, and Elinora had no doubt that, when she felt her mouth coaxed open, it wasn't a moment sooner or later than Nathaniel had planned.
She gave herself over to it, forcing herself to stop cataloging the differences, and start relishing them.