feel free to specify who is receiving the actions [ sew ] for one muse to have to stitch up the other [ fix ] for one muse to mend a dislocated joint [ alone ] for one muse to find the other trying to treat themselves  [ drugged ] for one muse to take care of the other while they’re delirious [ bullet ] for one muse to help the other after they get shot  [ lacerate ] for one muse to get stabbed while protecting/working with the other  [ broken ] for one muse to have broken a bone(s) [ scream ] for one muse to wake up because the other is having a nightmare  [ comfort ] for one muse to stay the night with the other after a hard day  [ wake ] for one muse to wake up to the other at the side of their hospital bed  [ sleep ] for one muse to sit by while the other is unconscious in a hospital  [ nurse ] for one muse to take care of the other while they’re sick [ appear ] for one muse to show up at the other’s doorstep injured

nathaniel’s found himself used to all types of weather, but snow was always interesting to him; throughout the changing of the seasons, he always found fall to be his favourite. the leaves and their never-settling colours, the crack of twigs and branches beneath his feet, the fresh breezes through his hair. it was all so preferable, much nicer than the disgusting heat that summer brought, or the endless rain that spring supplied.

but the snow was peaceful, and he found himself almost envious that damon could embrace it in such a way.

“when i was a child,” he began, watching the heavy snowfall begin to cover their tracks, “i remember sneaking out during the days where the snow was heavy, such as this. my father would typically be absent with work, so my siblings and i were left to be with the servants of the house or my mother. they turned a blind eye, seeing me sneak around.”

the briefest hints of a smile tug at his lips, and he sets both hands down in the snow, pressing down until he feels the solid ground of the frozen green hills they sat on. “there was one night where the snow turned into a blizzard. i wasn’t sure what to do. truth be told, it was so heavy i couldn’t even find my way home. i don’t even know how long it’d taken for my father to realize i was missing.”

he looks down, with a heavy sigh escaping him. “after all, the servants were afraid of his wrath. too worried of being fired than the outcome of a boy being frozen in the snow.”

he doesn’t reply verbally at first, instead propping himself up while a small grin crosses his lips; rare but genuine, at least at the moment. “i don’t believe i’ve gotten sick in years. i did get a rather nasty cold after that night, however. some hot cocoa helped.”

         ⸺ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 according to the seneschal. it took four men to actually capture and subdue him, so she didn’t really know what to make of him. it was HER decision, although. that alone was enough to induce some anxiety, since she wasn’t the person to be in charge of anyone’s fate. criminal or no. 

turned partly away, he finds the wall much more interesting than the warden now. to face the woman who murdered his father, after hunting her down, for so long, and not even being able to AVENGE him . . .

“colour me surprised,” he begins, bitter, “that the fabled hero of ferelden forgets the howe who once sat with her at the children’s table when no one else would.”

Inktober 2019 - Day 19 - Sling

“Whether with sling or bow, I’ve never seen your lad miss a target. He has the gift of aim, that much is certain - purest I’ve ever seen! My boys pester him for advice every moment they’re together. You must be proud of him.”