Part 9

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Nine: Nathaniel

Nathaniel was no blushing virgin; as an unmarried young noble squiring in the Free Marches, he'd had a variety of experiences with women. The first time, of course, he'd thought he was in love; the miller near the estate where he'd lived briefly in Markham had a beautiful, blonde, curvy daughter, and she'd held a teenaged Nathaniel spellbound from the first time he'd laid eyes on her. He'd given her presents, courted her favour, and one day found himself fumbling around in the dim light of an unused storage shed; she'd been gone as soon as he'd finished, and had never spoken to him again. He'd been heartbroken – for a week, until the girl who ran the fruit stand at the market caught his attention.

He'd not made the mistake of confusing lust for love again, but he'd had plenty of opportunities to satiate that lust, earning himself a reputation as a lady's man – but not a knave, either. He was careful never to lead anyone on, ensuring there were no hurt feelings – and no unexpected 'consequences' a few months down the road, either. He just enjoyed himself, without strings attached, and made sure his partners did the same.

But after a while, the novelty wore off. With his future so uncertain – squiring wasn't something he could do forever, even if he'd wanted, but he'd had no inkling that his father would ever recall him, either – he couldn't pursue anything more, and he'd had ten years in the Free Marches to have casual, meaningless sex. He really could no longer be bothered; he hadn't been with anyone for some time before returning to Ferelden, and since the Landsmeet, he'd been simply too busy.

He was rusty. He knew he was. But though he may have been out of practice, he remembered his experiences well enough to know that something about this was...different.

Oh, he desired her, there was no mistaking that; for the first time in a long time, his body stirred, his heart sped up, and his stomach dropped in that horrible pleasant way it always had when he'd pursued someone he found attractive. He had spent nights hard and aching for her, his mind flashing back to that brief glance he'd seen of her in only a chemise lying in his bedroll; he would flush and try to force the image from his mind, ashamed that he'd compromised her so unfairly, even if it hadn't been his intent. He couldn't help but compare himself to the monster he'd called Father for so long, and then he'd be overwhelmed by memories of the depravities he'd seen carried out at Rendon Howe's direction.

So his desire was familiar, if tinged with shame and guilt. And he had no intention of doing anything about it; he was an Arl now, he had too much to do to indulge in liaisons with anyone, and his station meant that any affair he chose to begin would be necessarily complicated.

The unfamiliar part was...something else. He was protective of her, in a way that defied logic; she was his best rider, requested by the Commies of various camps over and over for difficult assignments, but he kept her to the shortest, safest, least taxing route despite knowing he could desperately use her skills elsewhere. He worried about her even so, and spent most of his afternoons feeling like he couldn't breathe, until she trotted into camp before supper and he could finally relax. He was hyper-aware of her, a part of him keeping track of her whereabouts all evening even when he was otherwise occupied, and his gaze was drawn to her as if by a magnet. His cheek still felt warm where she'd kissed it, and he caught himself touching the spot unconsciously all the time. He laid awake nights worrying she would become tainted during the upcoming battle, assuming she wasn't killed outright – he worried more about her than Aedan, who was fast becoming a close friend, and was at far higher risk of death.

He desired her – but he also desired something more from her, and that was...odd. The thought of a brief affair, after which she would go on her way and he'd never see her again, made him feel physically sick.

This unfamiliar feeling left him uncomfortable and out-of-sorts; he would spend the nights berating himself for inappropriate thoughts, his days waiting breathlessly for her to return, and his evenings hoping pitifully for her company by the fire.

The fact that she so often provided him with the company he craved honestly just made it worse. She was unfailingly kind to him, smiling sweetly and listening intently, singing the songs she knew he liked best when she performed, saving him a meal when he was delayed in meetings – and a space by the fire. What her intentions were was a complete mystery to him. She'd seen him at his worst, malnourished, injured, bitter, drunk, and had no reason to look past his family name or his pathetic past to see the man underneath – but she did, he was certain. She saw him.

What that meant, when she hadn't done so much as touch his arm since she'd kissed his cheek, he couldn't fathom – and he had no idea how to go about finding out, either.

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