Strings Attached Ch. 01-05

He supposed he should have felt lucky – vomiting until his stomach bled didn't really appeal – but given what he did remember about the night before, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't prefer to spend the day sicking up all over himself than facing the people he knew waited for him down the hall.

'How could I?' he berated himself. That soldier who'd glanced at Kallian hadn't even said anything, never mind done anything inappropriate; Nate had been lucky the man's friends had realised who Nate was and dragged them apart before Nate had done something unforgiveable – or had his ass handed to him if his friends had chosen a different way to intervene. And then Sierra...he didn't even know her, but the poor woman – Aedan's sister, and wasn't that just the most insane thing he'd heard? Which was saying something given he'd just spent weeks being tortured by his own father – certainly hadn't deserved to put up with him as a maudlin drunk. He remembered pouring his heart out to her – awkwardly, given his intoxication – but not much after that.

He had a vague memory of everything sliding sideways, the hallway lurching as he was carried, and then...nothing.

He had slept better than he could have imagined – he had expected nightmares, at the least. I guess all that practice at the archery butts paid off, he mused as he slowly got dressed. It had been a strange experience, yet somehow so calming, standing next to someone and firing arrow after arrow, not even looking to see where he'd hit, trusting his aim and losing himself in the rhythm. It reminded him of cold mornings as a child when he'd escape outside to practice rather than listen to his parents scream at each other in the family quarters – he'd learned to let it all go, to clear his mind and let the time slip around him until a servant would come looking for him for a meal or a lesson. It had all come back to him in a rush, and he had given in to the soothing familiarity gratefully. It had clearly helped more than he had any right to expect, too, because he felt reasonably well-rested and surprisingly light of heart.

He thought about what Aedan's sister had said; he considered everything from Kallian's perspective, in the cool light flooding the barracks, and while he didn't think he'd ever completely forgive himself for giving in to his father, he could also admit that he hadn't been entirely wrong to make the decision he had. He was just grateful not to have had to go through with it, and he realised he'd neglected to thank those who'd rescued him. He resolved to fix that oversight, and with a small smile, left the barracks to do just that.

He was pulled into a meeting almost immediately upon emerging, and had been relieved when he'd thought he was being dismissed – only to feel like someone had punched him in the gut when Aedan called him an Arl. He gaped at the man – and then at Eamon who backed him up, and Anora who didn't object – his mind reeling.

An Arl? That wasn't something that was ever supposed to happen. His last day in Amaranthine before being exiled to the Free Marches crossed his mind; he'd been so angry with his father, so hurt, torn between wishing to please him and wanting to punch him. And Rendon...he hadn't even cared enough to respond in kind. He'd been cold, harsh, pragmatic. "You're a disappointment to me, boy. I was prepared to do whatever it took for you to advance – but you're too soft, too weak. You'll never be the man you need to be to succeed me, I see that now. Your place is in Markham now – squiring will probably agree with you admirably. Get out of my sight, and don't come back." And Nathaniel had taken those words to heart – and held them close desperately ever since. If having power meant you had to be like his father, he was more than content to stay a squire forever.

Only now, Aedan was smiling at him, and even Eamon gave him a grudging nod of respect. Heart pounding, he vowed to himself that he'd kill himself before he let himself become like his father.

It was she who had put it in perspective for him, however; after the meeting, she'd settled on a divan nearby as he'd pondered the strange twists of fate that had brought him there, greeting him politely by title and giving a throaty laugh when he'd objected vociferously.

"Your father was a monster – now it will be up to you to decide what legacy to leave. You may have been born to privilege, but it is entirely up to you what you will do with it."

And then she'd entertained him with stories of the nobles she'd known in Orlais, their ridiculous intrigues and foibles – but each story demonstrated a clear point. There was always a place where someone had to choose between what was easy, and what was right – and there were always consequences. The question was, which consequences could you face when you looked yourself in the mirror every morning, and which would leave a piece of your soul behind until you were nothing but a shadow of who you'd once had the potential to be?

Nathaniel hadn't noticed, until she'd pointed it out, how few mirrors his father had tolerated. There hadn't been one anywhere at the estate, that he'd seen – and there hadn't been many at home after his mother had died, either.

He decided not to think about exactly what that meant.

And so, to his surprise, he was going to be an Arl, if the Landsmeet approved. He'd done nothing to earn it – though given what an unmitigated disaster his father had been, he probably couldn't make anything worse – but he resolved to do whatever it took to make things right, to clear his family name, and to prove that he was nothing like his father.

And she had smiled at him – pleased, and maybe a bit proud? – and had promised to help.