[OPEN]

[noble_son]

Who: Nathaniel & YOU
Where: In the grounds
When: Far too early in the morning (4am - 6am), April 1st
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nathaniel finds his way outside with a rudimentary archery target and a couple of lanterns. In the dark.

The Story:

He found it chilly when he stepped outdoors, but not enough to make him shiver. The cool air prickled through his clothing and nipped at his fingers for a few minutes before the mild exertion of walking warmed his blood enough to drive it off.

Carrying a large, round archery target under one arm and two lanterns in his hand, he moved far enough from the mansion to not be too much at risk of hitting anyone with a stray arrow (though close enough to be seen should someone peek out of the door or glance through a window) and carefully hung the target on the lowest bough of a tree. Beneath it and slightly behind, he set one lantern, retreating with the other and putting it down by his feet some three hundred yards away from his target.

THUNK

The first arrow hit with a satisfying sound and swung the target back, making the tree branch bob up and down.

He could be found there for the next couple of hours, long after the sky began to turn light and the lanterns became little more than ornaments. He paused briefly to turn them off when they were no longer needed, setting them together not far from where he stood. Almost anyone venturing near would find themselves easily spotted, the bow in his hand lowered and a small nod given to allow them to pass without danger.

[while Nathaniel is not overtly affected by the event in this post, I welcome anyone who is :D]

Comments

[morework]

THUNK

...No, not quite yet.

Two hours, rewind.

Two hours after midnight, and a cool breeze runs through Cullen's hair. The light of his lantern disappears past the forest line. The worst of the last event's aftermath has passed, but sleep did not come in its stead; first out of refusal, and then-- The event hits at midnight. Cullen will not know it until later. For the time he feels only the death of his unease, replaced by something cold and hollow. He tries to lie down, but sleep refuses him out of habit.

That is when he thinks to exhaust himself, and try again in the morning. The light of his lantern disappears past the forest line, and for over two hours he fights, stances and swings practiced beneath the trees. When he is satisfied with the exhaustion in his limbs he extinguishes the lantern, and heads back to the mansion's lights in the distance, when--

THUNK

Now. An arrow buries itself in Cullen's side, and he falls to his knees with a startled cry.

[noble_son]

Nathaniel is entirely unaware that anyone else might be keeping such inhospitable hours. While he's alert, as a rogue ever is, there's a certain relaxation in being alone despite the creeping unease he's felt for the last few hours. Arrow after arrow smacks into the target, the only brief pauses taken when he needs to retrieve his ammunition.

He may be three hundred yards from where he aims but his grandfather's bow is a powerful weapon. Even without the chilling cry of pain to go along with it he knows that one of the few shots flying wide did not simply hit another tree. There is a certain sound that an arrow hitting flesh produces, and he knows it far too well.

"Maker!" he curses under his breath, breaking into an immediate run towards the source of the noise, lantern in hand.

"Hello!? Where in Andraste's name... Make a sound, if you can!"

[morework]

It takes a split second for Cullen to shake off the surprise, and make a hasty grab for his shield. With it he stumbles to his feet, backwards until the trunk of a tree steadies his weight. Blood runs down his leg, and Cullen groans through grit teeth. The movements didn't do the wound any favours, but if he's become the target of an archer in the dark, then he risks worse with every instant his shield isn't raised.

--Except even as he searches the area for the culprit he catches something hanging over his head, swinging lightly in the breeze. Something round and-- for the love of his sweet Maker's Bride, this can't be happening. Cullen sways on his feet. A small part of that, he suspects, is the injury. The much greater credit goes to the sheer annoyance and embarrassment at the discovery of what truly just transpired.

Confirmed further by the voice, which has little in common with an enemy stealthily looking to fire another shot. Cullen reaches for the hilt of his sword all the same. A precaution, before he calls out.

"Over here! I'm f_ine," he does not quite manage to rasp out anymore. Considering that he slumps against the tree immediately afterwards, it may have been a slight embellishment, after all.

[noble_son]

His keen hearing picks up the voice, heel digging into the ground as he turns on it and makes his way briskly towards the returned hail. His heart is pounding in his ears, no room for mortification at having hit someone for the sheer horror that he actually hit someone. His bow is lowered and he stows it with the string across his chest as he speeds his pace to a jog, coming to a stop by Cullen's side.

That.. that is definitely his arrow.

"Maker," he curses again, darting a glance towards the mansion. The last thing he needs here is a third party. "I didn't see you- Sit. I know a healer. He'll come out here if I have to drag him by the back of his robes myself."

[morework]

He squints against the sudden brightness of a lantern, and tries to make out features beyond a blurred silhouette. The voice is unfamiliar, but when he hears the words Cullen gives himself permission to drop the shield between them. Most attempted murders do not feature 'I know a healer' in their attempts. He needs to believe that this still applies.

"Should've watched where I was-," He swallows. Feels the difference starkly now, between the cool morning air, and the warmth that leaves him from the wound, pooling in his boot. Maker, he's regretting those movements.

Cullen braces himself against the tree, ready to sit down cautiously, when the man's last words reach him. His head pounds, but not so badly that it cannot bring a suspicion to his mind. There are only so many people here, only so many who have the skills to help. And only so many of them in robes.

Perhaps some murders do start with 'I know a healer', after all.

"Waitno. Clinic. They k-- They keep a clinic on the first floor. Someone- someone there."

[noble_son]

Said healer in robes is the only one that Nathaniel knows, but he wouldn't doubt that Anders is the only healer here. Honestly, who sneaks around in the dark like this without watching where they're going? He bites back the irrational irritation and nods curtly, moving to support the man as he obviously struggles to stand.

"As you wish," he concedes, huffing out a sharp breath through his nose. The stranger sounds Fereldan, yet hasn't recognised him. He can consider what that means once they have him in a better condition. The lantern lowers, casting sharp shadows against already angular features but making them easier to see.

"Can you walk? I hope this clinic of yours is consistently manned."

It's only lucky that they aren't far from the building.

[morework]

During moments of great duress Cullen has many times found strength and perseverance in the depth of his faith in the Maker. Tonight he finds that surprisingly similar strength can be found in the depth of his desire to not see Anders' face again.

"Hope so as well," he mumbles, because in truth Cullen has barely even been there once. Heard of its existence, and stuck his head through the door to confirm the truth of it. Saw strange instruments and appliances there, and hoped he would never have cause to discover their use.

Well.

Cullen pushes himself to his feet, and takes as little of the man's support as he can, carrying heavy legs towards the mansion, as best as he can.

[noble_son]

The rogue is not a man given to small talk and this situation is hardly one which calls for it. He aids the man in walking to the mansion door, awkwardly opening it and using few words to ask the direction of the clinic. From what he has seem of this place so far he isn't entirely sure of what to expect, but he has no doubt there will be at least some things that he will puzzle over the use of.

What concerns him more at this juncture is that there will be no one there when they arrive. Nathaniel is skilled with a bow or a set of lockpicking tools, but he is no healer or surgeon. The arrow will have sunk deep - far beyond his basic field abilities.

He calls out as they enter, and shoots a look tinged with concern at his companion, as if he might gauge the possible blood loss in doing so.

"I will check further inside. You should sit down."

[morework]

He puts his focus into the next step, always the next step. Somewhere he tries to think of a frustration to let out on the other man, but only one of them was skulking around in the darkness. Only one of their mistakes might have made the difference between a trivial wound and a blood-soaked cloak. He groans quietly. Still not as bad as his worse days without lyrium.

(That deserves a mirthless laugh, but then he might not make the next step.)

When the light of the entrance hall floods into view Cullen finally takes a closer look at the man whose shoulder he currently hangs on. Not a familiar face-- or is it? He squints, but that only makes the features blur more. Another time then, when--

Cullen grasps down on the man's shoulder hard. He points to the corridor on their left, quickly.

"Second door, that way. I c'n come."

He takes a first step in the direction, just in case his decision is mistaken for a point of debate.

[needlebearer]

Arya watches from the lower boughs of a nearby tree, eyes flickering from the archer to the target, enjoying the satisfying thunk the arrows make as they hit true. She hadn't expected anyone else to be around at this time, her own sleep pattern still not having recovered to anything resembling normal after so many months on the road, but watching the rhythm of the arrows, the familiarity of his actions, is a comforting distraction from her own thoughts.

"You missed."

An unwarranted observation that would surely be unwelcome, but it comes tumbling from her mouth before she can stop it.

[noble_son]

He hadn't expected the voice, but doesn't flinch. His gaze flicks briefly in her direction and the back to the arrow that flew wide, a faint arch to his brow as he sets another to the bowstring.

"I did," he concedes, his low voice and gruff tone conveying a kind of irritation that is rarely as strongly meant as it sounds. "But if one never misses, one never learns."

The next arrow strikes on the bullseye, and he lowers the bow to give the child a larger amount of his attention. They looked young to be out so late, but hadn't he been much the same? It wasn't his place to scold, either way.

"Thinking you've perfected an art only means that you've fallen into habits."

[needlebearer]

She moves around so that she's sat in the branch with her legs dangling down, swinging them back and forth and feeling the tree shake a little around her as she does so. "I can't argue with that. It's just good to see that grown ups still need to practice, too."

[noble_son]

"Any grown up who tells you they don't, is lying," Nathaniel tells her wryly, nocking another arrow and firing it off, hearing the 'thunk' and seeing the target swing backwards in the light of the torch beneath it.

"Are you an archer?"

[needlebearer]

"Not really." The corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile on hearing the satisfying 'thunk' of the arrow hitting true. "I used to sneak into the practice yard and use my brothers' bows. I'm not too bad, though."

[noble_son]

"You weren't permitted a bow of your own?"

Not unheard of, he supposes. Some families prefer that their daughters don't take on such pursuits. Nathaniel has met enough capable women to know that kind of reservation is often a foolish one.

"A pity. It can be a valuable skill."

[needlebearer]

"No, I was supposed to sit and do embroidery instead." She wrinkles her nose up to illustrate just what she thought of that.

[noble_son]

"Fitting enough for some women, but not all."

No, not by a long shot. Nathaniel is no stranger to not getting what he wants, but he has never been refused something simply on account of his gender. He glances at the bow in his hand, then back to the girl.

"Though I don't know that you could draw this."

[bowsniper]

Sometimes Clint found it difficult to sleep, or to stay asleep. He's spent years working as an undercover spy, an assassin, an Avenger, and that wasn't even taking into account the years prior to that. Sleeplessness was almost like a familiar companion some nights, which is why he was up on the roof just as dawn was breaking looking out over the grounds. It was hard to miss the guy shooting arrows at a target and Clint grinned. It wasn't often he found someone else who knew how to use a bow, most people back home preferred guns...or a shield or a hammer...

He made his way down until he was about a hundred feet behind the guy and he notched an arrow and let it said right passed him easily hitting the bullseye.

When Nathaniel turned around it would see Clint standing there with a cocky little smirk on his face, the ass.

[noble_son]

The smirk may not be so firm on Clint's face when Nathaniel immediately turns on his heel, an arrow nocked and ready to fly directly at his neck. This archer uses no modern bow but a single piece of carved wood, and three hundred yards is a modest distance to expect his arrows to travel.

His eyes narrow briefly, the tip of the arrow lowering only by a fraction.

"You are lucky, ser, that I am well trained in telling friend from foe," he says gruffly, easing the arrow loose in the bow. "That kind of game might have cost you very dearly."

[bowsniper]

Clint's not really bothered by Nathaniel pointing the arrow at him, he's used to people trying to shoot him. It's the bow that draws Clint's attention though, that is archaic, which is awesome. His smirk morphs into a friendly grin and he moves forward.

"Sorry, I don't find other people who appreciate a good bow, couldn't resist." He hooks his bow onto his back as he walks. "You're a good shot." He figured a compliment would help smooth the ice a bit, it's always a good thing to compliment an archer.

[noble_son]

There's a pronounced pause, during which the rogue weighs up the possibility that this man is just trying to get his guard down against the idea that he might be serious, then he lowers the bow entirely and makes a small 'hm' sound in the back of his throat.

"Thank you," he grunts in response, glancing over his shoulder. "So are you."

Compliments never hurt.

"Your bow is.. interesting. I don't believe I've seen its like."

[bowsniper]

Clint grinned and walked forward until he was standing just opposite the other archer. "Yeah, it's....well you've heard some people are from different points in time right, and worlds, this is probably from your future." He's trying to say that tactfully, and not call him old or anything. "You want to try it?" He doesn't let just anyone use his bow, but he figures if this guy tries to steal it he can't get far.

[noble_son]

"Or a different world entirely," Nathaniel muttered, mostly for himself. No offence was taken, though, and his expression instantly cleared at the offer.

"Ah? I'd be honoured."

Of all the technology he had seen in this place, this had to be one that interested him more than most. He couldn't think of any archer from Thedas who wouldn't jump at the chance of trying a bow that looked like that.

Oh god all my terminology is going to be wrong lol.

[bowsniper]

Or that too, which was more likely, but Clint didn't say anything, but stepped closer and offered up his bow. He let Nathaniel take the bow and look it over. "How long have you been shooting?"

That's okay I know nothing about archery :v

[noble_son]

"Since my early twenties."

He takes the bow, weighting it in one hand. It feels.. strange, if he's honest. Nathaniel rubs his thumb along the material, brow furrowing in a faint frown.

"What is this made of?"