#do queue have a point

[howeveryclever]

     Inara could not, for the life of her, ever remember being in a silence more uncomfortable. 

     She had to admit that it probably wasn’t all Nathaniel Howe’s fault, however – she had a hard time imagining that anyone could take kindly to a stranger introduced to them in Rendon Howe’s bitter, nasal-y lilt of a sigh as he said, “And this will be your… wife.”

     The word had packed about as much venom as the stare the young man now leveled at her from across the table, the two of them left alone to ‘get acquainted’ at precisely the same moment Nathaniel had been left to contemplate the fact that, by marrying Inara, he would in fact be signing over his family’s ancestral lands to the Grey Wardens and be Arl of Amaranthine or anything in name only. There was no future for his family in title or lands, no status besides that of not completely disgraced, his siblings thought dead and his father sentenced to what would essentially be death dealt quietly, as to avoid further scandal. Everything he’d spent his life getting ready to be, everything he’d spent striving under his father’s watchful eye to earn, would be signed away to the Order of the woman across the table. 

     So no, she couldn’t bring herself to blame him.

     "They tell me you were in the Free Marches during the Blight,“ she said after some time of waiting patiently for the tension to pass or Nathaniel to twitch – neither of which happened.

     In response, he frowned. "What of it.” It wasn’t even a question, really; more like a challenge, Inara thought. She still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t plotting to leap over that table and strangle her, as little good as it would do him.

     "I heard a lot of refugees fled there. Did you see many?“ 

     "Refugees do not often wear flags,” the sharp-nosed young man chided with all the charm of a close-to-retirement schoolmarm. “I saw many refugees around the battlefield, but I do not know that they were Fereldan.”

     Inara nodded as if in thought, and the pair passed into silence again, Inara tracing the patterns of the wood grain in the table with a finger as she tried hard to imagine how nice it would be to be anywhere but there. 

     "What is your family’s background?“ Nathaniel asked her abruptly, and she looked more startled than she’d have liked when she looked up. It made him frown. 

     "Don’t know. Kind of an orphan,” she answered with a shrug. 

     She almost swore Nathaniel’s actual nose turned upward. “Lovely,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a great and sudden interest in the wall to his left. 

     "You won’t have any in-laws to deal with,“ she attempted light-heartedly. 

     "Neither will you, as I understand." 

     "Ah, yeah.” Inara wasn’t sure what was lower – her confidence or her heart in her chest. She could only hope death would find her soon – it would be a long existence married to Nathaniel Howe. 

[howeveryclever]

     "No roses,“ Inara murmured against Nathaniel’s chest. She could tell she surprised him – both of them were fairly certain she’d have fallen asleep, lying there against him in the afterglow, breathing in half-rhythm with his heartbeat with her head rested against him, his fingers sliding slowly through her hair while the other hand paged through his meticulous event notes. "I don’t want any roses at our wedding.”

     "Speaking of,“ Nathaniel mentioned, the tightness of his voice making Inara perk up a little further out of sleep. "If we are to be married soon, we might want to think about announcing it.”

     Inara was quiet for a time… until Nathaniel frowned and said, “I know you’re not asleep.”

     She wasn’t sure what to say – a hundred things swam through her head, but all of them fell just short of grasping at her tongue securely enough to make it past her lips. She managed, “You do that.”

     "Is there a reason for your hesitation?“ he asked carefully, pairing the inquiry with a nice stroke of his fingers through her hair. 

     But it clearly wasn’t enough to keep her subdued. Inara sat up next to him, pulling a pillow to her chest as she peered over at him. "I’m just nervous.”

     "Nervous?“

     Inara pouted a bit. Of course Nathaniel didn’t understand – after all, she had asked him to marry her. To him, it must have seemed like a contract. A business arrangement. Something they could write out and plan out and execute like a strategy. 

     Her eyes fell away from his. Vomiting feelings all over him probably wouldn’t help anything. So she said, "You’re going to ruin my vibe.”

     His eyebrows raised. “Your vibe?”

     "Yeah. I’m the fun boss! The one who likes to have a good time and play around and relax. You’re the mean boss who hates music and alcohol and happiness,“ she explained, ignoring him when he started I do not hate– to continue on, "If everyone knows that I like you, they’ll think I like that you hate those things and that I secretly hate those things too.”

     "You don’t have to marry me,“ Nathaniel pointed out curtly, expression flat and bleeding bitterness. 

     "But I do like the way that you are,” Inara replied, reaching over to slip an arm through his arm and pull him closer to her, though it made him frown and attempt to lean away. “I need someone to keep me from avoiding all the serious stuff all the time. I need you.”

     "Then perhaps your recruits will understand,“ Nathaniel told her, still frowning a bit at her, though not as harshly. 

     "I guess,” she sighed, resting her head back on his shoulder until she felt him soften against her, apparently accepting his lot in life once more. For a moment, she almost considered spilling her tongue. I married someone once. It didn’t work out. I’m afraid that this won’t work out either. I think I’m in love with you. I’m afraid you’ll never feel the same way. 

     But those thoughts were messy. Scary. Too much for her, and certainly too much for him. “Marrying you will make me proud,” she told him.

     That, at least, he deserved to know.  

[howeveryclever]

"You know, if I were you, I'd have sex with me."

“I believe you’d have a very difficult time being me, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

[howeveryclever]

Take Shelter [crcwnedsacrifice]

Nathaniel tries not to think about how long it had taken him to get an audience with the King – pardon, Prince-Consort. He’s not sure if the delay is a product of his heritage (thank you, father) or stalling tactic on Gareth’s behalf, not wanting to deal with a certain persistent archer who had started taking his Warden duties Very Seriously. In hindsight, no one could possibly find his sudden interest surprising. What with the Architect dead and the brief uprising of sentient Darkspawn dealt with, Nathaniel has had quite a bit of free time to spare on the mundanities of running an Arling now owned by a handful of Grey Wardens. A healthy sense of duty, combined with a rather extensive knowledge of the Arling itself, had been more than enough to drive him to do more for his new family, and if they didn’t like it, they could shove it.

Or delegate more tasks to him and flee the premises to hide in Denerim. One or the other.

Regardless of the reason for the delay, Nathaniel had shown up in full Warden regalia all the same, if only because he has no intention of being turned away after he’d made the trip to Denerim. It’s a good reminder to the citizens, even if their hero would rather lock himself in his study and be the epitome of a good eldest son. The Couslands would be proud of their son; they’d always prided themselves on serving their country above all else. Nathaniel, on the other hand, just wanted Gareth to come back and deal with his backlog of work before it threatened to eclipse his desk and start crawling towards the archer’s like some kind of malicious mold born of indignation of unopened letters with important seals.

Rapping his knuckles against the door of Gareth’s study, he waits until he’s been given permission to enter before pushing the door open with a single-minded purpose. He pauses on the threshold, clasping his hands behind his back and surveying the man before him.

“I’m beginning to wonder if you have developed some kind of life-threatening allergy to your desk at the Keep, Commander.”

@crcwnedsacrifice​

[howeveryclever]

"You're on my list of things to do tonight."

“Presumably after the spots for ‘doing the dishes’ and ‘removing my filthy socks from the bedroom’ if you wish to accomplish that item.” 

[howeveryclever]

"My bed is broken. Can I sleep in yours?"

“No.”

[howeveryclever]

BOLD any fears which apply to your muse. italicize what makes them uncomfortable.

TAGGED BY: @spiritmark

the dark. fire. open water. deep water. being alone. crowded spaces. confined spaces. change. failure. war. loss of control. powerlessness. prison. blood. drowning. suffocation.public speaking. natural animals. the supernatural. heights. death. dying. intimacy. rejection.abandonment. loss. the unknown. the future. not being good enough. scary stories. speaking to new people. poverty. loud noises. being touched.

TAGGING: @empyreanchimera, @fireinherveins, uuh anyone who wants it go ahead!

[howeveryclever]

Iirc you said that nathaniel is also a gift-giver when in a relationship, but how gracious is he about receiving them? Would he be comfortable with his li pampering him? How much is too much?

// I’m not sure I’d called Nathaniel a gift-giver in the way that he likes to spoil his LIs or provide them with extra nick-knacks and trinkets. The gifts he gets them, if he gets them anything at all, are things that he thinks they’ll need. They’re generally so practical in nature that I kind of hesitate to call them “gifts” because he’s exactly the kind of person to notice somebody’s bathroom was dirty and buy them cleaning supplies, you know haha?

While he is used to living a life of somewhat luxury, do to his upbringing, he shares his father’s dislike of frivolities.He is very gracious about receiving practical gifts from his LI; things that he can use, things that help him do his job better, and things that help him keep his equipment in proper repair are all greatly appreciated. That’s not to say that he doesn’t like getting things other than whestones and fresh vials; he can also appreciate well-made “luxury” items like fine clothes or fine jewelry, and so long as he isn’t being lavished with these things he’ll accept those as well. One nice item per year is generally more than enough for him. 

He’s not interested in being pampered on a regular basis, and he especially dislikes being fussed over. Things like breakfast in bed - provided he’s still in bed to eat it - generally have mixed results, depending on his mood. If he’s sick, it’s better for everyone if he’s left alone, as he just gets irritable. There are moments where he’ll let a LI give him bits of “pampering” physical affection, like massages or joining him in the bath, but the mood has to be right. He has an inherent dislike of anything that resembles coddling, and being generally mistrustful he tends to be more prickly than receptive about acts of kindness.