#scratching at the walls chewing on the drywall etc etc etc alsdkfj

[thanflowers]

        elspeth laughs, but there is no humor in it. neither is it cruel, exactly. if anything it sounds a little bit mad. a little bit hysterical. a laugh of disbelief that this is actually real and happening, not meant to do anything but relieve the nervous knot forming in her belly. it doesn't, though. she still feels it there, tight and heavy as she realizes this is, in fact, real, and he is truly making this request.

        “you don't want to be a warden,” she says quickly. and even though she knows she's not supposed to, she continues: “if the joining doesn't kill you, the taint will do it, or the darkspawn. it's not a good life. it doesn't come with a happy ending.” and she means that, though her reasons for saying so to nathaniel are hardly altruistic. she knows that if he joins the ferelden wardens, she will have to see him every day, and she doesn't know if her heart or her nerves could take it.

        she also struggles to see the wardens as a path to redemption. the blight and all its related responsibilities had been thrust upon her, and she continues to carry them now because there is no one else, and a cousland always does their duty. she wouldn't be here now if she felt she had any other choice.

        “why do you think this is going to somehow redeem your family name?” she asks, casting around in her mind for any more reasons why this is a bad idea. “why would you think i'd want you for a recruit?” she does not know how much he knows, if he's aware of how desperate their needs are with regard to fresh blood. “and what makes you think i owe you a path to redemption, anyway?”

pride was the downfall of many men. nathaniel had it. he nurtured it with care and sat it aside when the moment demanded so. it was set aside , now , too. when his eyes held hers steadier than she seemed to think he ought be able. accused him with her laughter of such , even now. for all her feigned bluster , he could see it , again. the little girl with freckled face and wide eyed wonder as he made an ' impossible ' shot against a political backdrop ill - fit for children. she had clapped , too. it'd almost been loud enough to drown out his mother's cold order to stand straighter. it'd almost been enough to cloak his father's unimpressed sneer. it was almost enough to make him turn around and leave.

but he doesn't.

" whatever my father did.. " for it was something to amass a small army to his doorstep , regardless nathaniel's skepticism over the details given , " there's no one left of the howe name to right his wrongs. " blood can't be unspilled and the dead reborn , but the sentiment , sincere and slept on for days , makes demands of its own. it begs his gaze to soften , hard steel turning careful grey as it searches for reactions. be them good or.. more expectedly , bad.

" there's no one , but me. " the free marches feel so long ago. vigil's keep was a plundered monument. painting put to the pyres beyond their gates.. what worth is left of a howe is debatable , but there was enough perceived in himself to raise his chin higher. straighten his back. nathaniel is the tight - jawed determination of a man prepared to fight for something , just not her life.

" make me a warden. " quiet conversations atop battlements amidst repair have betrayed to him her need for recruits.. and the dangers what came with it. " you knew my brother.. and my sister. they don't deserve to lay dead in the shadow of his choices. let me make it right. "