A/N: I first played DA:O a while ago, but had never played Awakening until...now. And once I started playing, all I could babble about was that dishy Nathaniel Howe. I looked at my Warden, imported from my first playthru in Origins and thought, "Girlfriend! How could you not have done anything about this? You two were neighbooooors!" And so I started imagining this story, where Elissa and Nathaniel have a past... that may interfere with their present circumstances. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and some of the dialogue, especially Nathaniel's, is from the game-some of it altered a bit to fit the scene a little better. But I SWEAR: that whole shooting bolts from the eyes and being ten feet tall is straight from the GAME. Srsly.

Chapter 1: (Rude) Awakening

"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."
― Cormac McCarthy

Elissa Cousland blinked twice in disbelief.

The dark haired man languishing in the small prison cell was none other than the former heir of Amaranthine.

She was immediately assailed by a juvenile urge to strike Nathaniel Howe with petty words out of sheer hatred for his father.

"I barely recognized you," she had wanted to say.

After all, she hadn't seen him in ten years or so.

But it wasn't true, she realized, taking in the face that had always been handsome even when set in a brooding scowl, just as it was right then: the same strong jaw, pronounced cheekbones, full lips, and stern brow, except this was a grown man's face—not the boy she'd once known so well.

She settled for a milder but dismissive "Who is that?" pretending that he was nothing more than a stranger.

"He won't give his name," the guard informed her dutifully. "All I know is he was caught poking around the estate in the middle of the night. I'd say he was just a thief… but it took four Grey Wardens to capture him."

The barely contained admiration did not go unnoticed.

"You best be careful," the dolt continued, awed. "Whoever he is. He's no ordinary burglar, that's for sure."

Elissa awarded the guard her most withering glare.

Good Maker, spare me... I fought an Archdemon.

"Right," she stated dryly. "Leave me to talk with him."

"As you wish, Commander!"

The guard then rambled on about the seneschal and how he would relay her decision about what to do with the prisoner—whenever she reached her decision, that is.

"Anders. Oghren," she called out flatly. "Wait for me outside."

"Are you sure you won't need our aid? The guard did say it took four soldiers and right now we're just two and a half…" Anders teased.

"That half you are referring to better be your big mouth," Oghren griped, taking the bait.

"Why are we stuck with you? What a cruel twist of fate: poor Mhairi was much more pleasant."

"Out," Elissa ordered, aware she was now the object of the prisoner's stare.

The two skulked out, shutting the door behind them as she approached the prison bars.

Ten years is long enough for barriers to be raised and loyalties redefined… with impunity.

"Nathaniel," she stated coolly.

The man stared down at her.

"Well, if it isn't the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of evil," he stated sardonically in his raspy voice. "Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?" he mocked.

"Heh. That's only during certain days of the month." She crossed her arms, feigning a calloused indifference.

"Somehow I just thought that my father's murderer would be…more impressive." He'd emphasized murderer.

She clucked in sympathy.

"I regret to have disappointed you. But you know…It's interesting: unlike his son, it only took one Grey Warden to knock Rendon Howe down to the ground," she shrugged. "You see, Howe was as cowardly in death as he was in life," she revealed with a hint of cruelty. "I will say this much about the man: at least he was consistent to the end."

She had hoped to derive more delight from the momentary grief that crossed his expression.

She didn't.

"Well, I cannot… dwell on that. And I cannot change the past," he stated meaningfully, causing a shiver to course down her spine. "But these were our lands."

"Oh? And you came back to… what?" she puzzled. "Steal them back? Hope your pockets are big enough."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Your father brought this end on himself," Elissa concluded, unwilling to prolong the debate.

"My father served the Hero of River Dane and fought against the Orlesians! Yet our family lost everything!" he cried, giving in to his exasperation.

She peered back at him coldly.

"Losing everything is unfortunate: I agree. But it's better than losing everyone. That's what your father did to me."

An uneasy silence extended itself between them. He watched her as she paced to and fro before the prison door, struggling not to betray how the mere mention of the name 'Rendon Howe' still upset her.

"I came here…" Nathaniel began after a while in a low voice. "I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you."

Her head snapped up at his words, bewildered by the fact they had managed to be surprisingly hurtful. She was sure he had noticed her shock, but was met instead with his own disconcerted, confounded expression. He quickly averted his eyes.

"But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left."

She leaned against the wall.

"You wanted to kill me?" she marveled. "Did you give up once you saw how long the line for that was?"

"That was the plan," he admitted. He stepped away and stared at the ground. "Look, I don't know what happened with the Couslands. It sounds like it was horrible. The entire war was," he offered quietly.

That's it? You knew 'the Couslands' throughout your youth!

"I see you have mastered the art of the meaningless platitude during your exile. It is especially poignant that you are offering me your half-assed condolences."

"Whatever my father did shouldn't harm my whole family!" he entreated her. "Do you realize the Howes are pariahs now? Those of us left?"

Pride. History. The family name. He'd always been a little bit tiresome regarding his lineage.

"You could always change your name," she provoked.

His glare hardened.

"Our downfall is all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?"

You claimed I was responsible for deciding your fate once, a long time ago. Now I do so in earnest, she almost said.

But she held her tongue.

"I shouldn't be surprised that you would find irony in justice. But I am not here to clarify or justify anything to you. Besides, your family only has itself to blame for its troubles."

The memory surfaced in flashes, unbidden:

Tremulous hands, warm lips, bare skin.

"Perhaps you should work to redeem what little honor is left to your name," she suggested quietly.

That was long ago. Too long. The Waking Sea might as well still be between us.

"You're right!" he stated with sarcastic enthusiasm. "I'll go join King Alistair's service immediately. He'd be certain to give a Howe another chance!"

I would have…once, she remembered.

"Honestly, Nathaniel: do you hate me this much?" she sighed tiredly.

For the first time, he appeared to relent.

"The way I see it…The darkspawn are a menace. If it weren't for the Blight, maybe my father would never have…done what he did."

She smirked.

"'Done what he did.'" She shook her head. "How eloquent…" she mocked. "Call a spade a spade: he committed treason and murder. No darkspawn forced him to such mayhem…Inspired him, perhaps?..." she accused.

"I told you: I can't do anything about the past. And I can't do anything about them, can I?" He jutted his chin towards the prison window. "There's just you." His voice faded as if he were seeing her for the first time. "…And the Grey Wardens… here, in my home."

She shrugged.

"So tell me: why did we have trouble capturing you if you came on such a peaceful visit?"

The outraged look he shot her was precious.

"As if I would be granted safe passage! I had to take action: I am not without skills. My time abroad wasn't spent chasing skirts and drinking wine!" he emphasized the last bit for her benefit.

"Pity, " she quipped, a warm flush spreading over her cheeks. "It might have blunted your sharp edges some. So…what are your skills?"

"I am skilled at hunting. Scouting. Poisons…Why? What do you care?" he snapped.

What do you care?

The words echoed back to her, identical, from an ill-fated conversation: a different argument, another time.

"I've decided what to do with you," she announced after some thought, heading towards the door decisively.

His eyes widened, but he refrained from exhibiting surprise.

"Already?" he muttered. "Good!" he declared spitefully, turning away from her.