#fereldendefiance

       “we’re the only thing standing between this world and its destruction.” 

"... Is that historically accurate—?"

Nanna, for her part, was fairly certain that Maric Theirin—once rebel lord and former King of Ferelden—did not, in fact, build the palace in Denerim. But the man was in an implacable mood, and he was stubbornly determined that he remember his way to the great hall all on his own.

It wasn't as though she hadn't tried to dissuade his determined hunt—Nanna had gently assured Maric once already that it really was fine if he didn't know his way. By his own account, it had been several years since he'd called the palace home, and between the changes made by the king and queen who'd followed him to the throne, it was natural that he didn't know everything from memory.

Maric, of course, would hear none of it, and was determined to seem very regal about it while he lead her about. The young mage blew a frustrated puff of air at the curl that had fallen over her eyes.

"Well, far be it from me to tell Your Highness how to get somewhere in your own halls."

She might have amused him with a teasing emphasis on halls that 'he built', but with his jaw set in that stubborn Theirin way, Nanna decided to lean back and let him have his way.

....

And just as quickly, she gave up on patience.

She smiled then, warmly receptive of the once-king's exuberance and friendly demeanor. Maric's energy had always been infectious, and though it caused his old friend no end of headache as she'd heard it, everything had felt a little brighter for it.

"And we are lucky to have you back, Maric." That made him smile. He had griped from the day she'd met him on the insistent use of a lordly title of some sort, all but begging for her to abandon her mousey courtesies. And to his relief, their relationship had opened when she did.

Though as Nanna slid a plate across the table with a widening smile, she wondered if he might feel a little less relieved at her newfound lacking decorum.

Even beneath the garden walkway of Skyhold, deep breaths and all, there was little doubt in Nanna's mind that the frustration carved within the dim halls of the war room lined her face even now. The tension made of a web of complicated relationships woven between she and two of three advisors never made for simple meetings, and never wished to make Leliana's task any more arduous than it was by nature. But the combined efforts of a certain gentleman's pleading eyes and stubborn, stalwart resolve against most any method short of imitating a hammer, tested her patience and had thus provoked her.

And so roosted the Albatross, the stone railing brightened by the gleam of sunlight off reddish gold hair, a marked hand waving in front of a grinning face mired in mischief. As Nanna was not formed for ill-humor, the silly joke quickly elicited a lift in the Warden's mood.

"Cheeky little bird," she teased, poking the elven girl in the forehead.

But for all its awareness and gentle mannerisms, the beast was big and very insistent on sniffing the face of the new little pup who'd entered his territory in the courtyard, so nervous little Nanna had been sent running in tears to the king's side.

It hadn't been so long since the King had brought her to the Denerim palace, its halls grand but cold to a child still fresh from the sandy shores of Nevarra, and it had taken time for her to come out of her shell this much after the mess the King and Teyrn had found her in.

Somewhere behind her, she could hear Cailan chattering on about her reaction, wondering aloud what she could possibly be so scared of, it was just a mabari, the following yelp of pain as Anora sharply elbowed him in the ribs, and stern-faced Loghain muttering calming noises to the hound while taking a firm grip of his harness, preventing him from taking the small girl's fleeing for an invitation to chase and play and undoubtedly making the whole affair worse for all parties. King Maric, on the other hand, chuckled warmly, and Nanna felt a large hand rest gently atop her pile of textured curls.

❝ there's nothing to be afraid of. ❞ / maric | fereldendefiance

Wide, watery eyes peaked out and up at him, this golden man who'd taken up the role of her father, revealing the tear stains left in blotchy dark patches on his leg.

"You promise?" came the muffled whimper, followed by a sniff. "What if he bites?"

"He won't," Maric assured her, leaning himself down to her level and keeping a reassuring hand on her back. "He's a good dog- and besindes, mean old Loghain's got a good grip on him. If the dog scares you too much, he'll probably bark right back and scare him straight back to the kennels."

Said 'mean and old' Loghain scoffed derisively, clearly wanting to say something sharp in return before thinking better of it, then turning his ice flaked eyes on her, something within softer than for Maric. "You won't be harmed. Mabari are smart, and they won't just attack out of hand unless ordered."

The look that passed between he and Maric and the king's following awkward laughter spoke volumes as to the implication.

With Maric's hand nudging her forward, Nanna tried again, her little feet shuffling slow and hesitant back to the mabari Loghain kept in place. The dog himself was stiff, seeming to be anticipating the second as much as she was, already sniffing even before she stuck her hand out, which after proper inspection, was given the tiniest lick. Contact successfully made.

Nanna hadn't known much at all about Rendon Howe by the time she faced him in the ugly pit of his Denerim estate, but with every penned declaration she came across -- and by the Maker, there always seemed to be one more -- she felt that much less inclined to pity for the means of his death. It seemed on top of slavery and recreational torture, the former thrice-named Arl Howe was determined to send his actual holdings into chaos with a flurry of contradicting deals across the noble houses of the arling. And now it had fallen to her to untangle the web of promises that surely would have been impossible to keep.

Nathaniel is better off, came the creeping thought, words she would not speak aloud for the displaced heir's sake, but neither could she reproach herself for thinking them.

"Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but you've someone here to see you."

Her face fell with a groan, fingers slipping over her eyes as though it would impede the oncoming stress headache.

"Send them away, please, Varel. I shan't concentrate at all in another meeting 'till I make some progress in unraveling this mess."

She waited to hear the door close again, but Varel hesistated.

"My apologies, Commander, but I'm afraid she's quite insistent," he insisted, casting an uncertain glance over his shoulder. "In fact, I doubt she'd allow me to dismiss her."

The grunt of confirmation was familiar, and it was only then violet eyes shot up to see who exactly was shoving their way tactlessly past her seneschal. Immediately, Nanna was on her feet.

❝ i hope all is well enough under the circumstances. ❞ / dreav | fereldendefiance

  The laugh that escaped her was half a sob at that. That was so like her, to just sweep in after so long in hiding as though no time had passed at all, away from the world that would have awaited their second hero. Like the months since she had last seen the elven woman hadn’t felt the weight of years since Nanna's own tenuous taking of Amaranthine. Like she hadn't missed Dreav terribly.

It was clear that her fellow Hero had come to her Keep with her own weariness. That surly expression of hers was ever present just as always, but there was a softness to her piercing blue eyes that peered out from beneath the dark red bangs that, in the mage's experience, seemed the marker of a Tabris. But even then, they seemed just as tired as Nanna's own, if not moreso.

With a light, albeit urgent trot, Nanna escaped the confines of that Maker-damned desk and quickly closed the distance between them with a crushing hug. In a sea of unfamiliar, hostile faces who felt so distant to the band she had bonded with during the Blight, this was a beacon of warmth in the wastes of loneliness. And when she felt Dreav tentatively return the gesture, she thought she might cry for sure.

    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 of a sanctuary since the Warden-Commander arrived. Today, however, something in the are seemed stilled. Those who flocked to whispered amongst themselves in how a certain gazebo suddenly seemed so overgrown. Had it always been so? Was the figure shifting within just a trick of the eye? Nanna knew she shouldn’t spark questions for those who wandered in the evening, but... Maker, she craved the quiet. Now, as ancient whispers deafened her senses, more than ever.

    “It is....overwhelming today.” She needn’t say what. Not to him. “I am afraid I would prove ill company today.”

    ❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐇? ❞ The Warden, having kept an eye out during the day’s travels, peaked her head over the Elven woman’s shoulder when their party at last rested. “If you are amenable, I might know a trick or two with spirit energy that might ease the burden somewhat. A little something a Justice spirit showed me.”