Chapter 23: Nathaniel

Nate’s smile fell, his hands clasping into fists at his side. “Maker take me, we had him. If I wasn’t such a blighted idiot...”

Leliana turned to him, her smile sympathetic. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known—”

“You did.” Nate sighed. “I’ll bet you all did. And I’ve just ruined any hope of pinning this on Esmerelle.”

“He wouldn’t have talked.” The Antivan seemed completely confident in his assessment. “I know the type. Anyone willing to poison themselves to avoid capture wouldn’t break. I doubt even his name was real.”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” He sighed. “Anyway, thank you again for your help. All of you. I’m not dead – and there probably won’t be time for another attempt before we meet the Archdemon, so I guess it’s a win?”

Aedan slapped Nate on the shoulder. “I’ll find someone to clean up the body. You, my friend, need a new tent and a new bedroll. Even without the needles, I wouldn’t want to sleep there.”

“Get checked for injuries, yes? I am quite certain I found all of the needles, but...” Zevran trailed off.

Nate nodded and turned to walk away – where he was headed, he wasn’t really sure. He had no intention of seeing the healers and would have to make a huge fuss to procure himself another bedroll and tent in the middle of the night, which he would never do.

He had gone only a few paces when he realised that there were footsteps following him. He spun, hand on the dagger sheathed at his waist, suddenly very anxious about a second attempt – but it was just Leliana, her red hair hidden in a deep hood, a sympathetic smile just visible in the dim light. She stepped towards him, closing the distance between them, and reached out to pry his fingers off the pommel. He released it with an embarrassed sigh, but somehow ended up with her hand in his, their fingers interwoven. Her hand was cold, and he shuddered at the contact – but it wasn’t the temperature that got to him. He just stared at her, his throat tight, eyes prickling with an unfamiliar emotion.

She didn’t say a word, just dragged him to the side, and after glancing surreptitiously around once, pulled him behind her through the opening of her tent. He hadn’t even noticed how close they were to the small pavilion he used to inhabit. He ducked his head as he went through the flap, looking up just in time to be blinded by the arcane lamp she thumbed on. She turned and pulled him into a tight hug, Leliana’s arms going around his neck, her fingers stroking his hair.

He hugged her back by instinct; he wanted to push her away, to protect her by keeping her as far from him as he could manage, but in that vulnerable moment he couldn’t do it. He bent down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his arms around her waist tightly. It suddenly hit him: someone had tried to kill him. It was different, being in combat where you could die, compared to having someone try to murder you in cold blood. He started to shake, and loosened his arms, embarrassed at his reaction, but Leliana seemed unfazed – and unsurprised. She kissed his ear, then his shoulder, and tightened her fingers in his hair to provide some pressure. She hummed softly, something soothing that he didn’t recognise.

With a gasp, he sank slowly to his knees, and she came with him, half-supporting and half-directing his fall until he ended up cross-legged on the ground, with the bard in his lap.

“Leliana,” he began, his voice unsteady, but she just hushed him and refused to let go. It was too much, and the sob he’d been holding back finally broke through. He lifted his head, knowing there were tears streaking down his face, wanting her to see them, to see the coward he was. “I’m sor—”

She interrupted him with a kiss, open-mouthed, her tongue tracing his lower lip, her sweet-smelling breath in his face, and suddenly nothing else mattered. He crushed her to his chest, kissing her back desperately, willingly losing himself in the feel, the taste, Maker, the smell of her.

He never wanted the kiss to end.