Chapter 21: Nathaniel

The whole thing had gotten completely out of hand. Nathaniel sighed and tried to object for what had to be the fiftieth time since this plan had been suggested.

“It’s simply too dangerous, Leliana. I won’t allow you – or anyone else – to be hurt in my stead. This is my problem—”

“And this is how you’re going to solve it, yes? You’re going to get help from others who have more specific experience in this area.”

He turned to the King, hoping for some support. “Your Majesty, surely you don’t think—”

Cailan laughed. “Don’t look at me for help. I spent most of a year bored to tears in Redcliffe while people fought and died for me, all for the greater good, or so they tell me. You’ll get absolutely no sympathy from me!”

Leliana giggled. “Poor man.” She sobered a little and turned to Nate earnestly. “Zevran is already in place anyway. We can’t stop now without the conspirators realising that we’re onto them. It’s too late, my Lord.”

“Look,” Aedan said, “we’ve got this. But it won’t work without you. Zev knows what he’s doing, and I’ll be watching too. But we need you on board. Are you with me?”

Nathaniel sighed reluctantly. “Not that I apparently have any choice in the matter ... but fine. Let’s go.”

The plan, such as it was, was simple. The problem was that it put Zevran in danger, and the worry made Nate’s stomach ache. Not that the assassin was weak or incompetent – he was a professional; Nathaniel just wasn’t comfortable with someone else taking his risks.

But he’d been over-ruled – and now he would have to live with the consequences.

Leliana was called away on a last-minute delivery; dutifully she mounted her horse and rode out of camp in a rush.

Playing his part, Nathaniel approached the command tent alone. After a few minutes of quiet discussion, he stood meekly while Cailan shouted at him; for his part, the King was enjoying the theatre of it and worked himself into a right froth, upbraiding Nathaniel for some imaginary mistake. Finally creeping out of the tent, face red with suppressed laughter – though he hoped anyone watching would assume it was shame or anger – Nate strolled over to the Wardens’ fire, like he did every evening. This time, though, instead of sitting alone as he usually did, he accepted the dwarf’s offer of a sympathy drink. Oghren was crudely amusing, almost always drunk – though apparently recently had become less ... sloppy was the word Sierra had used for it – and constantly challenged those around him to drinking contests. Faking his own shame, grunting something about needing a drink after the day he’d had, Nate took up the challenge and proceeded to gulp something from the flask the dwarf held out. Afterwards, they took turns swigging from that and the bottle of Antivan rum that Nate produced.