faderift | 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."

Threaded | Flat

"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)

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."

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.

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.

"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."

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