faderift | OPEN | We're all told to dance but we never pick the tune

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OPEN | We're all told to dance but we never pick the tune

WHO: Nathaniel Howe and YOU
WHAT: Open log
WHEN: Wintermarch and Guardian
WHERE: The Kestrel House & Camp Shady
NOTES: Reading aloud of bad smutty romance novel.

Camp Shady

It's proper winter, which is aggravating the crap out of Nathaniel's rheumatism. On good days, he can practice with weapons. On bad days, he is wrapped up in layers of blankets and writing or drawing with a grimace on his face. Every day he reads reports from Warden scouts, scouring the world for signs of the Architect. Most leads become dead ends.

The Kestrel House

On one truly abysmal day, Nathaniel doesn't get out of bed. Every movement creates agony. He stays in the barracks wing with curtains drawn around the bed he and Anders share, sometimes rolling out to make tea at the fire. He is very pale to anyone who sees him, but makes no sound or complaint.

Closed to Anders

At the end of one of the bad days, Anders arrives back at the Kestrel House to find Nathaniel inside, working on a drawing. He glances up and gestures for him to come closer.

"I've something to show you."

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"Mm?" He draws close even without the gesture, hands moving to lightly rest on Nate's sides as he casts to see how Nate is doing with breathing and pain.

"What is it, love?"

At it turns out, when Inessa's present there usually is tea available. Sometimes it's exotic blends from up north, but more often than not, it's simple and black. Reading by the fire as Garahel stretches out and snores indelicately, she straightens upon spotting the Senior Warden. There's a small frown of concern at that pallor, but she strives not to be the nagging sort. Nathaniel is an adult and as long as he's not deliberately making it worse, then he's greeted with a simple nod as she pours some tea for him.

"We've a little cream and sugar, too, if you want it. I try to remember that not everyone wants it plain." Garahel huffs in his sleep, legs twitching. Maybe he's dreaming of a fennec to chase.

Edited 2017-01-29 20:19 (UTC)

Nathaniel's breathing is labored from the pain, but his focus is on what he is drawing. He shows Anders a plan for a tent with a fireproofed log chimney.

"I thought...maybe as a sort of wedding gift. We could have a little privacy and still keep warm."

Edited 2017-01-29 20:26 (UTC)

He shakes his head. Sugar makes the pain worse, somehow. "I like it plain as well." He sits down carefully, straightening his back and resting it against the wall by the fire. "Are you doing well?"

The truth of the matter is, neither of them are getting any younger. Sure Aleron and Nathaniel both are men arguably in the prime of their lives. But they're also teetering on that edge where things like joints and muscles betray how long they've been in use and how frequently abused in the bright spriteliness of youth. Not that you'll get an admission out of the Seeker that he's sluggish and stiff on waking in the morning. However, he will turn up to mildly tease an old friend.

He hovers in the space by the drawn curtain armed with books and a bland expression. "We've got to stop meeting like this, friend."

A slight glare. Nathaniel isn't crazy about being caught off-guard. But Aleron is never really unwelcome.

"Long-term consequences of my injuries in the summer," he explains gruffly before gesturing for the man to come in. "Some things never really heal."

Edited 2017-01-29 20:39 (UTC)

He presses a gentle kiss to Nate's temple as he works to ease some of the pain, before looking at the drawing.

"I like it. Especially the warm part. I'm fond of warm." One hand leaves Nate's side so he can pick up the drawing; he doesn't need both hands to heal. "Maybe a... little larger? It would be nice to have a writing table and some room for books and herbs. And possibly a bag of supplies for when I'm called in the middle of the night to heal."

"That can be arranged." Quickly, he's sketching an altogether different shape of tent, one with upright walls and a wedge roof. "Cheaply, in fact. A number of people are selling and trading tents."

His breathing eases as Anders works, and he leans against his partner gratefully. "Maker, that's so much better."

Not even a severe glare would put him off; Aleron became immune to them in his childhood spent with a very spoiled and extroverted twin.

"Don't I know it," is the very quiet and measured reply. Since their raid on Red Templars who'd taken Christine's father captive, Alerson's been experiencing headaches on a semi-regular basis. Nothing worth fussing a healer over, or fretting Bethany for that matter, just another challenge to endure in silence.

The books are held out for the taking without explanation. Something to occupy the mind when the body is being less than compliant. No dry theology this time, but two treatises on military strategy. Or so he thinks. The one titled Spears of the Qunari looks respectable enough, but it's actually a smutty intrigue that well... Nathaniel will have to read it and troll the Seeker later.

Nathaniel's grimace eases as he takes the books, looking intrigued. He doesn't know much about qunari military practices, so this should be a fascinating read.

"How are things with Bethany?"

"That looks excellent." A place for just them. Well, them and their two furry companions. Anders likes the Kestral house, enjoys the convenience of it, but he's always dreamed about having a small place with a partner. Sea view and cows are optional.

"And I'm glad. On all counts. I wish I could just stay here and ease the pain." Especially since he'd been the cause of it. "Tomorrow morning, if this is still so severe, I can make a paste and spread it on your chest that should ease some of it throughout the day. You'll smell strongly of herbs for the day, but breathing will be easier."

"Well, I think." Here he hesitates. Everything is going well with Bethany. Not even meeting his mother has scared her off, which he'd been concerned might have been the catalyst for a breaking point. "She's survived my mother and not run away screaming."

Actually he'd come away more than impressed with how deftly his sweetheart stood her ground against Mama and with grace and kindness to boot. As for Mama's choice words to her son about himself? That's better left not discussed.

A deep breath and then he reaches into a pocket to pull out an emerald and diamond ring, one that once graced Mama's hand as a young bride. "Mother pressed it on me at the Winter Palace. I thought to ask at Wintersend."

"I'd like that." It's been a hard winter, and next winter will be no easier. Now is the time to learn what works, before it starts getting worse. "Right now I'd just like to lie with you. Not--not sex, just lying in bed with you. Aleron gave me a few things to read. We could read together."

Nathaniel squints at the ring not because he's confused, but because the damn thing is so bright. He looks at Aleron again. Such a traditionalist.

"I can't think of a better man for her," he says honestly. "If you are happy with each other, you have my blessing."

A thoughtful look. "Anders and I are marrying at Wintersend. I know there's no real purpose to it, but we want to be proper, and celebrate with those we love. It'll be here, just Wardens and our friends, nothing very public. You could ask her during the celebration."

If Nate hadn't been in pain, Anders would be waggling his eyebrows and asking why not sex. As it is, he's nodding and pressing another kiss to Nate's temple before backing up to give him room to get up.

"I'd like that." As long as it isn't some sort of discourse on how Templars and Seekers are needed, he mentally adds, but at least he's able to keep that from coming out verbally. "We'll cuddle, Purrelden will try to turn the pages for you, it will be a very pleasant way to spend an evening."

He holds out a hand to Nate in invitation.

Nathaniel smiles and takes Anders' hand to lower himself into the bed. Once Anders is settled against him, he picks up Spears of the Qunari and begins to read. Obviously this won't be Anders' sort of thing, but it's a book and it's cuddling.

Shortly in, it starts to become clear this is not a military treatise. Nathaniel frowns when the petite Lady Fontainebleu, who he has never heard of before, is picked up in the arms of the qunari castaway.

"'Forbidden,' her mind told her, but her heart did not care, and her loins--"

That's when he stops, thumb keeping their place in the book as he flips it around to squint dubiously at the back cover, which only has an 'about the author' on it.

Technically, Yngvi isn't a stranger to Camp Shady. Back when Asher was first around, when they all realised that 'hold the fuck up why is there someone else with Nasir's face here' it was Yngvi and Gunnar that did some poking about. Then of course Asher died, everyone left, and since Yngvi's come back he's had shit to do and much more of Skyhold to explore. But it's been a while since the Wardens got looked at. Wardens need looking at because if people are good with Orzammar then what else are they good with.

So hello, here he is, combat rolling in which he usually only does if someone gets too close to a certain Orlesian noblewoman that writes her observations, remaining in his crouch. A nug trundles in behind him. (It's one of the four that Yngvi bothered to actually name.)

He was not expecting a person to be here because this is the price you pay for not having a brother to do your intel for you. "The fuck are you?" Said as if he is the wounded party, as if he has done nothing wrong, as if barreling into the life of a stranger at maximum velocity and with stylish élan is how you do things.

"Thank you, Nathaniel." For the blessing, the implied invitation, and the permission to use the occasion. While the faintest twitch of a smile starts to show up, Aleron nods his head in an open show of gratitude. He'll be formal until the end of his days, even among friends. Could almost make one question why Bethany didn't hang her heart on a more lively or interesting chap. A question he himself grapples with in private, truth be told. "I'm happy for you both."

Ah wait, there's a little bit more of a smile. "And you know I'm always in support of doing things properly." But on a more serious note, "I give you my word I'll be quiet in the doing and not upstage your day."

He gets comfortable and listens, closing his eyes so he can just enjoy the sound of Nate's voice. They open again when he hears a frown in Nate's voice, and by the time Nate's stopped he's grinning.

"You can't stop there. Her loins what? Burned, likely. Burned with a fire so deep only he could put it out? Are you sure it was Aleron who loaned you this book and not someone in a very clever Aleron disguise?" Shifting up, Anders peers at the unhelpful back as well.

"I want to know how well he wields his spear, Nate. Or spears. Maybe that's a very well-kept qunari secret - some of them have two."

A choking laugh at the last one. "It was most assuredly Aleron. I thought it was about actual qunari sp..eeear-wielders, not. This. Maybe he did as well."

A shuddering laugh this time, and he continues to read with a grin: "and her loins cared very much; she was already wet and throbbing when he pressed her into the mattress and opened her legs. His massive hands slid over her bodice, and she tingled in anticipation. If his hands were so big, what about the famed spear of the qunari? Would it fit? She shuddered under his touch.

'You are very eager,' he growled. 'Soft and pliant. Not at all like a qunari woman. And your sex is very small. But it will be made to fit. In this way, we qunari conquer. Once I have taken you, you will belong to me.'

Lady Fontainebleu could not help moaning at the words. He had barely even touched her and she was certain, despite being a virgin, that sex could not get better than this."

Nodding, she hands over the cup before pouring one for herself. "I'm managing, just appreciating a quiet moment before Garahel awakens. I plan to exchange these books when I visit Skyhold's library later. If you're restless and in need of reading material, tell me what you like and I can bring something back with me. It's no trouble."

It's been a while since she was bedridden herself, but Inessa remembers how awfully boring it can get when one is well enough to be alert but not enough to leave the bed itself.

Nathaniel turns to the dwarf and gives him a glower. A quiet glower that dares him to ask that again. He says nothing. He's had a rough enough day that he doesn't feel like he owes this little shit anything more than a Look of Death.

Anders rubs Nate's chest, working a blend of creation, fire, and ice in to the damaged areas to make those laughs a little less pained as he reads.

"Eager, soft, and pliant. This is a very educational book, on reflection. I've learned I'm not like a qunari woman in bed either." The grin on Nate's face is warming. Despite how he's not feeling well, he's enjoying himself and that makes Anders enjoy the reading all the more.

"I hope this isn't how Aleron became educated in the matters of pleasing women, though. Made to fit doesn't sound promising. Or barely being touched meaning unequaled sex. Do you think someone needs to have the talk with him?"

"Thank you." For the congratulations, really. The rest, Nathaniel isn't so worried about. "It will be a casual sort of event. Having another thing to celebrate should make everyone all the merrier. Perhaps as long as you make the announcement by buying everyone a round of drinks, we can call it even."

You know how you shouldn't prod sleeping bears? You shouldn't dare unruly dwarves that came out ~~their cage and they've been doing just fine~~ of the undercity.

"Mate." The 'oi' is implied. "Mate, the fuck are you?"

The nug peers up with those endless black eyes that you should not stare into because you will be lost, they are fathomless, they have witnessed such terrible things in such a short life already. But please look as the dwarf gets up, a short dwarf even by dwarf standards, as Kirkwall as they come.

"Are you the representative of the Warden crafters guild? You the contact?"

Wait, what?

Nathaniel's face barely changes. He lifts his chin a bit and keeps glowering. Saying anything now would be interrupting a certain natural order. Maybe the Little Shit will explain without being held up by his ankles.

Edited 2017-01-29 23:10 (UTC)

"I think I can manage that." A pause. He's not made much noise about what his mother's gotten up to in this last year. He's not sure he wants to, but it's bound to come out sooner or later and he doesn't see a way to escape her headlong progress into her schemes. "I know I'll be able to manage it."

Both of them are well-born, but there is a world of difference in the prospects of being the younger son and being positioned as a parent's heir. And Mama is quite set on pushing her only son forward ahead of his sisters. Whether it's what Aleron wants or not. But for today, he's going to leave that headache be.

Folding his arms over his chest, he does broach a related query he's got. "Do you think Bethany will want a grand event? I know second marriages aren't meant to have the pomp and attention, but it will be her first." Of course, he'd give her the sun and the moon if she asked it of him, so his deferring to her wishes isn't in question.

That causes Nathaniel to think for a moment.

"I think," he says slowly, "that Bethany is too humble to ask for a grand event, but it would mean a lot to her nonetheless. Much of her life has been spent in the shadow of her sister. To be a bride, the center of the world for a day, I think it would mean the world to her."

"If you see anything about history or warfare, I wouldn't say no," Nathaniel muses before sipping his tea. What a good kid Inessa is. "Rheumatism, lass. Be careful with your body while you're young or you'll wind up like me."

Nathaniel wheezes a bit, the pain of the laughter eased by Anders' casting. Maker, there are benefits to having a healer for a partner, though that is far from the reason they are together.

"He's been married before, I'm certain he will have no trouble with Bethany. Let's see."

He clears his through, though he's still grinning. "And so he began his to conquer her, ripping open her bodice with his strong hands and smoothing over the linen chemise beneath.

'Your breasts are very small,' he said critically, 'but I can make do. My orgasm will be no less for it.' Now tell me love, have the size of my breasts made for less pleasure on your part?"

"I'll see what I can do." It shouldn't be that difficult, though looking for something that isn't bogged down in Chantry bias might be a challenge. Then again, someone did helpfully scrawl some corrective notes in some of the elf-related topics. Cradling her own between her hands, she smiles wryly. "I'll keep that in mind, but I also suspect circumstances will continue to make that an uphill battle."

She finally takes a slow sip, rubbing at Garahel's exposed belly with a foot. "How did you spend it exactly? From what you mean, am I right to assume it's not due to Grey Warden duties?"

A soft grunt as Nathaniel shifts to a more comfortable position. "My chest was crushed by a Vengeance demon last summer. Specifically, the one that previously possessed Anders. It knew me, and had no fondness for me."

Natasha hates being cold. Not that she thinks there are that many people who really like it. If they exist, she's pretty sure she doesn't want to meet them. Someone who can be chipper in the show when everyone else is freezing. Ugh.

She's holed up in the tavern with a mug of warm wine, chair pulled very close to the fire, boots propped on the hearth. She's warm and she's dry and she plans on staying that way.

As Nathaniel is sitting and reading and looking grumpy one day, a blur of white and orange launches itself into his lap, a paper twitching in such a way that he clearly thinks that vanquishing it is of the Utmost Importance. Velanna had been walking by with the adolescent cat when he'd veered off course.

"Fen!" she hisses, walking over to grab the cat before he rips anything or inadvertently draws blood in his glee.

"Mm. Let me consider this." Anders opens Nate's tunic up before giving his chest a critical look. He lets the moment linger as the corner of his mouth quirks up despite his efforts to keep a straight face, and then he's shaking his head.

"They've always seemed rather perfect to me. Then again, all of you has seemed rather perfect to me, and I've never thought small or large was a deterrent to enjoying one's self. This qunari is an idiot who doesn't know that it's about how one uses what they have is what matters." He leans down to press a chaste kiss to Nate's collarbone.

"Mm, sorry, did I do that wrong? Should I have torn your tunic? Tell you how my pleasure last night was all the better due to how you're shaped?"

Inessa grows solemn and nods as she recalls the previous summer, a fair portion of which was spent elsewhere before reaching Skyhold. She hadn't met Nathaniel immediately, and this is undoubtedly the reason why. "I remember hearing about that as a relatively recent event, when I first arrived. It reminds me of other such attempts I read about...though many of those resulted in disaster. I'm glad yours ended as well as it did, all things considered."

What is this even, who are you? Is this what golems look like when the humans think they can do it? Actually they probably would because humans are weird in various stages, and if there are humans who would crack the golem thing then it'd probably be Wardens.

Shifty buggers.

"Do you," he tries because no one can say he doesn't try, "speak." Even throws in a mime with both hands but they look more pincer-y than anything. "Parsley voos Orlesian?"

(By the way his Orlesian is shit and got dragged through the Kirkwall gutter.)

"Nathaniel, honestly."

Bethany rose from the fire, and made a shooing gesture at him. "Get back to bed. I'm still trying to figure out this polstice for you and your aching bones. You're just going to make it harder if you re-injure yourself. Besides, if you wanted tea you know I would just get it for you."

Nathaniel is up in Skyhold today running an errand, but he makes a stop in the tavern to warm up before heading back down. He gives a silver to the bartender, who gives him something strong in exchange. He downs it quickly.

"Purrelden!" Nathaniel growls before realizing the cat is not black at all. And then there is Lady, who thinks it is time for play and starts barking and racing toward the cat. Purrelden never lets her get away with this for long, but it's fun for the time it lasts!

"I'm not going to re-injure myself," Nathaniel grunts, but he knows better than to talk back to Bethany. It's nice, having someone who can fuss over him without him feeling bad that Anders feels bad for causing this...yes. He sinks back into bed with a relieved sigh. Fucking gravity.

"No, you are not going to, because you are going back to bed." Bethany stated simply, as she nudged him back towards his blankets. "Now, tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

Nathaniel's response elicits a long and somber moment of thought and reflection from Aleron. On the surface, the answer gives him the answer he requires and prepares him for what to expect. The undercurrent of the direction of Bethany's thoughts and desires is what gives him pause... and some feelings of guilt. She's lived in her sister's shadow just as he has under his own sister, and yet not once has she ever complained of it.

It's not his own bitter grumbling about Ravonild that nags at his conscience, however. It's the ring he's still wearing after 17 years. He's tried over the years to bring himself to remove the wedding band. Tried and failed. At first, he was not ready. Then he was resolved to remain faithful to Mirielle until his dying breath. He owed her as much for having squandered what little time they'd had in giving himself more to the execution of duty than appreciating her presence in his life. It was Bethany who'd broken through that fog of self-recrimination and made him realize that the lesson he should take away was not to squander time or opportunity further.

And yet here he is, fool that he remains, about to ask for her hand with an outward sign of living in the shadow of yet another woman. She's never breathed a word all these months, but now he wonders if he's indirectly brought her heartache with his inability to break with his past fully.

Aleron finally releases the breath he didn't realize he's been holding and nods slowly. "You are right. She deserves to have a day where she is the one to shine brightest."

Without making a show of what he's about, he slides the ring off and holds it in a fist by his side. It's done. If he is to commit to her, it needs to be fully, or not at all.

Edited 2017-02-06 10:34 (UTC)

Natasha knows the face, knows the name, but hasn't yet actually met the man. A part of her wants to get up, strike up a conversation, do a little digging. A much larger part of her is focused on how very warm and toasty she is, how the heat that's suffused her boots is possibly the most blissful thing she's felt since she got to Skyhold.

She's got a good straight line of sight, though. She can watch him until he leaves or does something interesting, and she's so comfortable she doesn't even try to be subtle about it.

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OPEN | We're all told to dance but we never pick the tune

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The Kestrel House

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Kestral House

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camp shady;

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reading aloud of smutty literature

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[mr brightside intensifies]

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tavern

camp shady

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The Kestrel Home

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