Chapter 3: Nathaniel

He had dreaded telling his story, dreaded the inevitable revulsion he so richly deserved, especially when he finally opened his eyes and met her gaze. But what he was greeted with was not what he expected; he faced only sympathy and understanding, despite everything. Mixed with some pity, there was no way to hide that, but the overwhelming disgust he’d braced for never happened.

Her reaction was the most surprising. She knew. She looked at him, had listened to him, seen right through him, and she knew.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how that knowledge had come to her, but there was no mistaking it, amongst those who’d been through similar things. In fact, as he’d come to realise, everyone he’d met since being rescued had significant tragedy in their past – Aedan’s loss, of course, but also the dwarf’s oppression growing up Casteless, the would-be King’s obvious childhood neglect, the mages’ long battle with their Chantry overseers; even the unknown woman who’d known his name had a traumatic past, he was sure – but it was different, for those who’d been through torture. The blond elf understood, he made no attempts to hide his familiarity with it, but Nathaniel hadn’t expected to see that look of pure empathy from the beautiful bard.

It unnerved him, actually; he didn’t quite know what to do with knowing that she knew. He certainly didn’t want her pity – though that didn’t seem to be something she was offering, anyway – but it also felt like he couldn’t wall it off, his grief and guilt and suffering, couldn’t lock it away when she knew. Her knowledge was a breach in his defenses, and he scrambled from the room after he told his story to get away from her too-knowing gaze.