Twenty-Six: Leliana
He was gone in the morning when she woke, but he'd left a piece of parchment with a note scrawled across it in hasty handwriting: Your route is being handled by another scout for the day. I thought you could use some rest. I hope to see you tonight.
She sighed and stretched. She could admit she had been looking forward to waking up together but knew Nathaniel would be eager to report back to Cailan. It left her with a day to herself - a rare luxury - and she was determined not to waste it. She jumped up and dressed quickly, eating a brief meal of rations from her pack. There was still a small pile of ale-soaked clothing in the corner, and she gathered it up with a wrinkled nose.
Nathaniel's tent had been disassembled, leaving a small pile of belongings under a tarp made up of the old, torn tent; Leliana transferred everything except his bedroll into her, larger pavilion, determined that Nate would have his tent back. The bedroll she discarded; it smelled awful, and she'd never trust the assassin's needles had all been removed.
Thinking about the needles - and what she'd done to ensure none of them had harmed Nathaniel - left her pink-faced, but grinning.
She packed her own belongings, leaving them in one corner of the tent, and then went to the requisitions officer and got herself a new tent and bedroll, which she also stashed inside Nate's. She stepped out through the tent flap when she was done, and nearly knocked Sierra straight off her feet.
"You okay, Leli?" Sierra grabbed her arm, holding on until they were both stable. "I haven't seen you the last few nights."
"Oh, yes, my friend. How are you?" Leliana distracted the woman with small talk, having no desire to discuss what may - or may not - be happening with Nathaniel. But she made sure to borrow the small stone showerhead the Queen of Orzammar had gifted her, willing herself not to blush again as she considered the many uses to which it could be put...later.
The two women wandered through camp together, stopping to chat with several of their friends, who all seemed to be around, for once. Aedan started to talk about the assassination attempt, but Leliana shot him a look, tilting her head towards her friend when she wasn't looking. Did the idiot really want to discuss that with Sierra? His eyes widened, but then he nodded in understanding and changed the subject. Zevran just flirted with the both of them, a sly grin on his face, leaving Aedan sputtering; the dwarves were already well into their cups, and they didn't linger. Wynne and Anders were working in the rough infirmary, trying desperately to stem the tide of a stomach malady that seemed to be going through the camp; Wynne shooed them away to reduce their risk of catching anything. No one had seen Conrad all day, and by mutual unspoken agreement, the two avoided the command tent entirely. Leliana had no desire to have to school her expression around Nathaniel - and Sierra had no desire to get pulled into planning sessions with Cailan and Loghain shouting at each other endlessly.
When Sierra left to go find her husband - and how adorable were they? - Leliana began the preparations she had in mind to finally, hopefully, give her and Nathaniel the chance to see if there was anything more to their relationship than mutual attraction and awkwardness. She gathered some supplies, scouted the area surrounding the camp for a likely location, and then hastily scrawled a note and handed it to one of the young runners to deliver.
It was almost supper time. She wouldn't have to wait long.
Twenty-Seven: Nathaniel
He stood, staring at the open space where his tent used to be, mind spinning. He'd detailed someone to gather his things but had yet to requisition himself a new tent; the day had been busy, attending to Cailan and adding new routes for the scouts to cover amongst the various camps. He'd expected a pile of gear just waiting for him, but there was nothing.
While he considered his options - tracking down the servant who'd disassembled the tent, perhaps - a runner approached him nervously, holding out a note with slightly shaking hands. Nate took it, trying to hide his eyeroll from the poor kid; it wasn't the teenager's fault that he was now the Fereldan cautionary tale, and as such, apparently intimidating beyond belief.
He dismissed the runner with a wave, knowing it would be easier to deliver a response in person than force a terrified boy to stand there while he found writing supplies and wrote a reply. He didn't recognise the handwriting, but there was a subtle perfume scent on the parchment that immediately informed him who the author of the note was. He sniffed it appreciatively, furtively, before unfolding it.
"Arl Nathaniel Howe," he read. "My Lord, I have secured your possessions somewhere both safe and dry. I must insist on delivering my report to you in person. If this is acceptable to you, please proceed south from the edge of camp and follow the marked trail. If not, your former accommodations are prepared for your arrival."
He suppressed an outright grin; Leliana had left things vague enough that, if intercepted, the note would not implicate either of them in anything, however it gave him a clear enough impression: he was being invited to a secret meeting in the woods, but being given an easy out if he wished to end things without conflict.
He looked down at himself - the rumpled clothes he'd managed to pull out of his tent and change into early that morning, knowing his hair was unkempt and his face covered in stubble - and sighed. He could probably make her wait while he invaded her tent - he wasn't taking it back, no matter what she said - looking for clean clothes, but that clearly wasn't what she had in mind. He'd have to trust that his less-than-well-groomed self would be good enough.
He stopped briefly to speak to one of Cailan's many servants - Nathaniel hadn't really found time to hire his own, so Cailan had allowed him to borrow help when required. That done, he straightened his shoulders and started walking.
He followed her directions, leaving camp on the main path in the south, but quickly noted a flash of red to his right; upon further inspection, it was a thin strip of cloth the colour of Leliana's usual cloak. He untied it from the branch where he found it, only to realise that he was standing on a narrow trail leading away from the main path. Intrigued - and hoping he'd read her clues correctly - he followed the game trail west, finding another strip of cloth flapping in the slight breeze perhaps fifty feet further along. The trail meandered for a while, curving north and west, and leading up a slight hill, before taking a hard turn back towards the east and up a sharp incline. Another bright strip of red assured him that he was on the correct path. He didn't quite have to crawl up the slope, but was thankful for the scrubby trees and low-hanging branches on either side which he knew he could grab for if he lost his balance.
