Something happened that I never understood
Title: Never Understood
Characters: Cousland/Howe
'Verse: Dragon Age
Rating: PG-13
He doesn't know what to think.
No, that's a lie. He does know what to think. His family name, shattered because of her and her family. It hits him over and over each time he looks at her. And then he remembers, and it's bitterly coiled in his stomach, turning his blood cold with a wash of new emotions, guilt and pity and so much pain that he isn't even sure anymore how he can keep up the charade that he does.
Her family, destroyed, in front of her eyes. He's heard the whispers, of course, how she found her sister-in-law and nephew, killed by his own father. His own father.
Rendon Howe was his hero, blast the Maker.
Nathaniel knows what to think, but he thinks too much. Hate and anger and sadness and hurt an emotional swirl inside of him, and Andraste save him...
She's beautiful.
The way her power flows off her, and the art form that is her fighting. The blood that erupts from the darkspawn that she's just cut down is covering her, but she doesn't fear it. They are all already tainted. He's watched her enough to the frown tugging at the corner of her lips, minute really.
He doesn't know why he can see it. Hates himself for it, really.
She glances at him as they walk inside of the Keep, her own eyes wary as she regards him. He owes her everything, they know this. But she isn't the kind of person to lord that over him. It's as though she can look at him and see past the Howe part of him, even though in his heart, he knows that the pride of his name is still important. And then she smiles, and it almost drowns out the wariness, and he's sure that he has to say something to her.
Anders rescues him, the both of them, and Elissa becomes enraptured by the mage.
He isn't sure if he should feel grateful or jealous.
Both, he supposes, since he does.
“Nathaniel.”
His name, from her lips. It hits him hard, and he has to take a deep breath. “Commander?”
She pauses, face impassive, head tilted back as she looks up at him. He's forgotten that she is shorter than him, which he finds sadly amusing. They stand in silence, waiting for her. “Do you hate me?”
He's surprised, and the look that covers his face registers it all too clearly. “No... No, I don't think so.” Because suddenly he's unsure. Suddenly he's all too aware that she's a Cousland, and that it is her fault his father is dead, and that his name is ruined, and that his family home is gone, and that he's a Warden. It is a long list of things to hate her for, he realizes. It burns inside of him, because he does. Maker help him, he hates her, and he hates her so much that he-
Her body is against his before he can react, hard and soft and her. She shoves him against the wall, hands on his shoulders and pinning him. They are strong, but he understands all too well that she is a warrior and all he wields is a bow. That's his excuse, he tells himself. For not moving. For watching her and wanting her.
There's a fire in her eyes as she keeps quiet.
“Elissa, unless you intend to do something, I think you should let me go. This isn't the time for purposeless questions,” Nathaniel tells her, and his words come out in a breathy pant that she can't miss.
She's breathing harder now, cheeks flushed, and all they are doing is standing there, her pinning him to the wall. It's all so backwards and convoluted. Her lips find his, rough and commanding, like her prowess on the battlefield, and he doesn't hesitate to kiss her back, to use his teeth in response to hers. Their hands find ways to clutch at each other, arms and hair and waists. He pulls her closer, tighter, and she breaks.
It's a shuddering sob, her face burying into his chest as she clings to him. He's struck dumb; it's the only way he can describe it as she cries. He continues to pull her closer, but his touch is softer. At least he hopes it's softer, fingers in her vibrant red hair as he lets her pour her emotions out.
“It's wrong,” she tells him in harsh voice, pain and lust strangling her throat.
“It is,” he agrees.
“I don't care,” she mutters in return.
He gives a low chuckle, self-deprecating at best. “I don't think that you would be the Warden Commander if you cared about silly things like propriety.”
“Don't leave me, Nathaniel.”
It's a command. He can hear it in her voice, the way her tone changes, and he doesn't feel like he can disobey even though everything in him screams to leave.
They move until she's pinned against the wall, his lips brushing over her cheeks, tasting her fears and anxieties and needs. His fingers wrap around her wrists, dragging them up the stone wall until they're pinned. A wry smile tugs at those beautiful lips of hers, and they both know all too well that if she wanted to struggle, it would be one mess of a fight.
She doesn't.
Characters: Cousland/Howe
'Verse: Dragon Age
Rating: PG-13
He doesn't know what to think.
No, that's a lie. He does know what to think. His family name, shattered because of her and her family. It hits him over and over each time he looks at her. And then he remembers, and it's bitterly coiled in his stomach, turning his blood cold with a wash of new emotions, guilt and pity and so much pain that he isn't even sure anymore how he can keep up the charade that he does.
Her family, destroyed, in front of her eyes. He's heard the whispers, of course, how she found her sister-in-law and nephew, killed by his own father. His own father.
Rendon Howe was his hero, blast the Maker.
Nathaniel knows what to think, but he thinks too much. Hate and anger and sadness and hurt an emotional swirl inside of him, and Andraste save him...
She's beautiful.
The way her power flows off her, and the art form that is her fighting. The blood that erupts from the darkspawn that she's just cut down is covering her, but she doesn't fear it. They are all already tainted. He's watched her enough to the frown tugging at the corner of her lips, minute really.
He doesn't know why he can see it. Hates himself for it, really.
She glances at him as they walk inside of the Keep, her own eyes wary as she regards him. He owes her everything, they know this. But she isn't the kind of person to lord that over him. It's as though she can look at him and see past the Howe part of him, even though in his heart, he knows that the pride of his name is still important. And then she smiles, and it almost drowns out the wariness, and he's sure that he has to say something to her.
Anders rescues him, the both of them, and Elissa becomes enraptured by the mage.
He isn't sure if he should feel grateful or jealous.
Both, he supposes, since he does.
“Nathaniel.”
His name, from her lips. It hits him hard, and he has to take a deep breath. “Commander?”
She pauses, face impassive, head tilted back as she looks up at him. He's forgotten that she is shorter than him, which he finds sadly amusing. They stand in silence, waiting for her. “Do you hate me?”
He's surprised, and the look that covers his face registers it all too clearly. “No... No, I don't think so.” Because suddenly he's unsure. Suddenly he's all too aware that she's a Cousland, and that it is her fault his father is dead, and that his name is ruined, and that his family home is gone, and that he's a Warden. It is a long list of things to hate her for, he realizes. It burns inside of him, because he does. Maker help him, he hates her, and he hates her so much that he-
Her body is against his before he can react, hard and soft and her. She shoves him against the wall, hands on his shoulders and pinning him. They are strong, but he understands all too well that she is a warrior and all he wields is a bow. That's his excuse, he tells himself. For not moving. For watching her and wanting her.
There's a fire in her eyes as she keeps quiet.
“Elissa, unless you intend to do something, I think you should let me go. This isn't the time for purposeless questions,” Nathaniel tells her, and his words come out in a breathy pant that she can't miss.
She's breathing harder now, cheeks flushed, and all they are doing is standing there, her pinning him to the wall. It's all so backwards and convoluted. Her lips find his, rough and commanding, like her prowess on the battlefield, and he doesn't hesitate to kiss her back, to use his teeth in response to hers. Their hands find ways to clutch at each other, arms and hair and waists. He pulls her closer, tighter, and she breaks.
It's a shuddering sob, her face burying into his chest as she clings to him. He's struck dumb; it's the only way he can describe it as she cries. He continues to pull her closer, but his touch is softer. At least he hopes it's softer, fingers in her vibrant red hair as he lets her pour her emotions out.
“It's wrong,” she tells him in harsh voice, pain and lust strangling her throat.
“It is,” he agrees.
“I don't care,” she mutters in return.
He gives a low chuckle, self-deprecating at best. “I don't think that you would be the Warden Commander if you cared about silly things like propriety.”
“Don't leave me, Nathaniel.”
It's a command. He can hear it in her voice, the way her tone changes, and he doesn't feel like he can disobey even though everything in him screams to leave.
They move until she's pinned against the wall, his lips brushing over her cheeks, tasting her fears and anxieties and needs. His fingers wrap around her wrists, dragging them up the stone wall until they're pinned. A wry smile tugs at those beautiful lips of hers, and they both know all too well that if she wanted to struggle, it would be one mess of a fight.
She doesn't.