Chapter 7: Nathaniel

Nathaniel watched the bard surreptitiously through half-closed eyes, forcing himself to focus on her face, and not the long expanse of pale skin on perfectly formed legs that he’d been unable to avoid noticing in the night. It was clear from her frenzied movements and her quick, shallow breaths that she was anxious, and he couldn’t blame her – when he’d asked to have Leliana directed to his tent once she’d arrived, he hadn’t expected to find her undressed and dead to the world in his own bedroll. He’d tracked down the scout who’d spoken to her, and come to realise that she’d probably believed the tent to be meant for her – and had clearly fallen asleep before even finishing getting ready for bed.

She’d been shivering, and her face had been pale and gaunt; he’d chosen to wrap her in his blankets rather than wake her. He’d known the messengers were being run ragged, which was why he’d asked to take over organising them; he’d planned to allow her to sleep in his tent for the night anyway, though he’d rather expected she’d have her own bedroll. But he’d been delayed in his meeting with the king, and by the time he’d found her, she was fast asleep and his bedroll had been occupied. Conscious of how waking half-naked in the tent with a virtual stranger would seem to her, he’d decided to stay as non-threatening as he could – so he’d stayed dressed, planning to sit, awake, as far away as he could and keep an eye on her through the night. But he hadn’t slept well since ... well, his father, if he was truthful, and he’d been spending long days training with his men and meeting with Cailan and the other leaders, and his fatigue had caught up with him.