The villagers who found him first thought he was dead when they discovered him in their field. Only when they turned him over did the missing King of Antiva splutter out a weak cough, urging his rescuers to swiftly relocate him indoors. A fever took hold after their elder treated the unconscious stranger, three days and nights it took before it eventually broke, but it wasn’t until the fifth day Frank opened his eyes, body weak from his ordeal. From what he had been fleeing he had no recollection. His name he knew began with F, his accent obviously foreign to which his hosts informed him was Antivan. From their grumblings it wasn’t well thought of, but he couldn’t offer anything to refute their feelings, despite the uncanny gnawing desire to do so.
He spent a few weeks with the village, relearning and discovering some clues to his past. Music was particularly important to him, the singsongs of the few farmers daughters caught his ear and without much encouragement they allowed him to sing with them. After such an encounter, Frankie was offered a lute, discovering that plucking and strumming the strings came as natural as breathing. It wasn’t until he’d joined a few of the men to a tavern that a bard and his ensemble caught the man’s eyes and ears. There was something about the man’s instrument that called to him, even if he couldn’t recall the name of the damned thing.
A violin.
Sitting, drinking, chatting with the bard he eventually was able to have the man part with it briefly, allowing the confused Antivan a brief go. That first drawn bow string nearly brought him to tears. The cleanest, sharpest note was swiftly followed by a mournful melody, his body and musicianship clearly outclassing the poor unsuspecting bard. The remaining patrons watched in silence, gobsmacked by the unique skills piquing their interest over where and who exactly this man was and came from. Frank merely stared at the instrument, heart pounding against his chest but unaware of the reason or meaning as to why. Yet, simultaneously he was practical about it, he had a means of income and a way to repay his rescuers.
Eventually moving on after repaying them as handsomely as he could, the oblivious Royal took to the road, eventually finding his way to Kirkwall. This place seemed familiar, these streets he had seen before and for the first time all over again. A jarring sensation that only perpetuated when one tavern turned him away almost instantly while another did a double-take, muttering something under his breath that he couldn’t quite hear, but eventually relented and allowed him to play.
There was a part of Nathaniel that didn't like being away from Ferelden with everything that was going on, but there was a much larger part of him that had jumped at the chance to take a mission that involved going to the Free Marches to try and convince the wardens there to go south and help the Fereldens, especially since if the Orlesians weren't able to keep their blight at bay and were overrun, then that would mean even more darkspawn filtering into Ferelden on top of what they already had, they needed the support. Of course, the fact that he figured he'd also be able to take the time to have a little much needed break, some refreshing rest and relaxation, that was totally a side point, he barely considered it when agreeing to the missions.
After settling things with the wardens, and getting a firm, we'll think about it and consider your request, Nathaniel decided to blow off some steam at the first tavern he came to. It was much needed, long needed even. He went in and immediately ordered a drink and then turned his attention to the man playing the violin. He listened for a few moments and then promptly decided the song that was being played was way too fucking depressing. He yelled out.
Play something else!!!!!! You're depressing the fuck out of me!!!! I came here to unwind!!!! As he finished his first beer and turned to order another.
A voice, maybe his own, he wasn’t sure, chimed in the back of Frank’s mind.
[color=#e82a1f]Everything South of home is brimming with Uncultured swine.[/color]
Frank sighed, the downward draw of the bow stilled and eventually dropped to his side. Back straightening, his eyes would scan the room for the heckler and upon finding him, grinned thinly before striding up towards the bar. The violin in his hands shifted position, cradled as one would a lute. Frank plucked the strings in a jaunty jig, [color=#ff857a]“a pint and I can unwind the tightest spring, friend.” [/color]
Drawing up alongside, he would lean his back against the bar, one foot pressing into the wood to aid in supporting himself. In his pinkie the bow dangled, the rest of his fingers pressing light touches along the string and neck. Frank observed the man with a grin, [color=#ff857a]“I’m afraid I draw the line at bedding privilege's, however, you… remind me too much of myself and I’m afraid, literally fucking myself, is not how I wish to spend my evening.”[/color]
Nathaniel wasn't sure what he'd expected to come out of his comment, but having the bard come down off the stage and walk over to the bar to casually speak with him certainly wasn't one of the outcomes he'd imagined. He smiled at Frankie, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and promptly ordered a drink for Frankie. He'd almost swear that Frankie was flirting with him, though not in any serious way, which was something Nathaniel could relate to. Though he wasn't sure about the privilege comment, sure once upon a time he'd been a privileged noble, living in the Free Marches, engaged and in love, but that was another lifetime ago, the last eighteen or so years he'd just been a regular schmuck working up the ranks of the Grey Wardens. He raised an amused eyebrow.
Well, we wouldn't want that now would we, I'll just have to settle for sharing a drink with you. He said with a slight wink, he was straight of course, but it didn't stop him from flirting when the opportunity at hand proved to be such an amusing one. So, 'do you play here often', sounds like such a cliche, how about we just stick to drinking. Not that he wouldn't answer personal questions, nor that he wasn't curious about who the bard was, but he always found small talk awkward.
There were few things he understood about the world, lesser things about himself but there were two truths Frank was certain of. He loved music and held firm attractions towards women, despite the niggling gut wretching feeling whenever he got remotely close to an interested one. This patron seemed to understanding his harmless jesting, fingers plucking out a grateful merry tune. [color=#e86e04]“Much obliged, dear ser?”[/color] He gave a half-bow as his body rested against the bar. Eyes scanning him over for inspiration to what may suit his tastes.
[color=#e86e04]“A drink is fair, a night of music and storytelling helps ease troubled minds but between a woman’s legs is the true heaven no?”[/color] the bard would snicker, tongue catching between his teeth as he flashed the man a knowing wink. [color=#e86e04]“For me it is anyway.” [/color]
As he waited on the barkeep to deliver the drinks, Frank drew back up his bow. His shoulders shrugged at the question. [color=#e86e04]“Truthfully? I … think I have been here before, but I can’t quite recall the details, or when it was.”[/color] It was a fact he was quickly having to come to terms with, the lack of certainty about anything and everything and one he met was a daily discovery and only cautiously approaching them would he understand if they meant him ill or not. Such was a bards life, one didn’t always know if they were seducing, even innocently, the lover or partner of some magistrate or not. [color=#e86e04]“I haven’t had anyone’s husband come knocking, so.. So far so good?”[/color]
Nathaniel nodded and took a drink from his drink, it felt good to blow off some steam. Though he also couldn't shake the feeling like he should have just gone straight back to Ferelden, but they'd been fighting for months, he was tired and in need of some rest. He chuckled a bit as Frankie talked about storytelling, music and women. If only they could end the blight and cure the taint, now that would be impressive.
I imagine for a lot of people, not sure it would be enough right now to get my mind off things, but I'm always up for trying. At some point Nathaniel started thinking about the last time he was in Kirkwall, which was a rather long time ago, back before the fifth blight. Felt like another lifetime or two now though. I've been here a few times, but not for a very long time. Back when I lived in Starkhaven we'd occasionally make the trip to Kirkwall for something fun to do.
Maker, if the taint could be fixed by the sweet centre of a woman Frank would be the first to offer his services, but alas, fate was not so kind. Still, it had the bard smirk. [color=#c14700]“My good man that is either because you have not found the right one, your attractions lay elsewhere,”[/color] his brow quirked cheekily, mischief tugging at the corner of his lips.[color=#c14700] “Or, is it someone unattainable? Forbidden fruit? I need details if I am to help you.”[/color] There was nothing worse than a dry spell, tension was either uncoiled with a good bedding or blood would likely be spilled and that was to be completely avoided. It would ruin his clothes for one thing and he couldn’t afford to waste coin on thread.
Something played at the far reaches of his memory while the patron spoke. Which was a feat given he recalled so little.[color=#c14700] “Starkhaven.. Such a dull place compared to Kirkwall. Too many Sisters and I’m positive the Princling is a soft welp. He’s notorious, but not infamous,”[/color] he chuckled, as if understanding the context of his own joke when Frank had no idea why or even how he knew it. What exactly had he gotten up to before his accident to give him that confidence?
[color=#c14700]"So, does the man in need of distraction have a name? Or am I to pick one for you, to thank you for the drink?" [/color]
Nathaniel wasn't sure if Frankie could help since a big part of his issues laid in the fact that he was a grey warden, then there was the fact that he left his fiance at the altar like eighteen years earlier in order to infiltrate Soldier's Keep and try to get back some of his family's belongings, which had clearly gone terribly wrong. Though guilt about that had dulled with time, he still couldn't help but think about it from time to time.
Well, part of the problem is that I'm a Grey Warden, which is fine for casual things, but serious things there's the whole, can't father children and that tends to be a deal breaker with some. He decided not to add that he wasn't that great at casual things, as his sexual attraction hinged on romantic feelings, he was occasionally made fun of for that, not that he cared what other people thought, but it did make him less open about what he was.
Oh, Nathaniel, Nathaniel Howe. Just taking a break before I have to head back to Ferelden with news from the Free March Grey Wardens. He said, offering up why he was there, not that Frankie had asked but he felt like sharing.
[color=#e86e04]“Ah,” [/color]the bard quietly exclaimed. [color=#e86e04]“I suppose it does throw a wrench in the works.”[/color] Magic could only go so far and more than often the bitch that was life barked and bit one's hand indiscriminately and randomly. His own experience to some might be a blessing, a new, almost fresh start, but for Frank, all he knew was that something important was going on without him and he had to discover what it was. Retracing what memories or fleeting familiarity with places were helping, but nothing concrete enough to have him stay. He’d move on from Kirkwall eventually.
After taking a sip from his tankard, Frank bowed his head into his chest as introductions were made. [color=#e86e04]“Frank. Just that. I can’t recall if I have a surname or not,” [/color]he laughed, shoulders shook with a heavy shrug.[color=#e86e04] “Not even completely sure Frank is my name, but I’m finding the mystery simultaneously entertaining and vexing.” [/color]Adding dangerous didn’t come to the forefront of his addled mind despite his gut internally twisting some.
[color=#e86e04]“Given that most now understand your order better than I think you all like. Fathering children is likely the least of your concerns.” [/color]The task of fighting the darkspawn was not often a long existence except to the lucky and extremely skilled. [color=#e86e04]“With some?” [/color]his brow quirked upwards, latching onto the gossip under the surface. [color=#e86e04]“So there were few who didn’t find it necessary to populate the world with more hungry, disgusting crotch goblins.”[/color] Right now, he was uncertain of having any spawn from his loins. It raised too many feelings and sensations that he could neither place or begin to process without context. Instinctively his hand reached for the drink, shifting to listen to Nathaniel's answer.
Nathaniel nodded at the whole, throwing a wrench into the works, then shook his head slightly in a sort of, sympathetic way, when Frank introduced himself and explained that he couldn't remember if he had a surname or not, and how he wasn't even completely sure if Frank was his name. Nathaniel couldn't imagine what that must be like, feel like even, to not know who you really are.
That must be rough, I can't imagine. I mean, there are times I joke I wished I could forget about my life, but to actually have it happen. That's another thing altogether! As the conversation turned to the fact that Nathaniel had used the words, with some, when it came to women who not having kids was a deal breaker, he chuckled at Frank's reaction. Well, some have said it would be fine, in the moment, but I can't say for sure if they really meant it or just hoped they meant it. People say a lot of things in the moment, not always things they really mean, but perhaps things they hope to mean. Some day down the road they might wake up and suddenly regret their choice. He said with a shrug.
As usual his circumstances, once explained, derailed any further conversation to be had for a time. So many questions, most repeated enough that he was ready with a well rehearsed spiel of quick facts and answers. Most faces fell in the usual way his companions did, nearly every single one apologised. Frank found it ridiculous. There was nothing to be done and they had no hand in it. Or did they? In any case, if ever presented, how would he even know?
[color=#c14700]“Yes. It does make my new lease on life rather interesting. Kirkwall is the first place I have felt any familiarity but still, nothing of note has revealed anything more to my past.” [/color]
The question over family though gave him some pause. Out of nowhere, he rested a hand over the man’s shoulder, the tone more serious than his previous jovial teasing.[color=#c14700] “A family does not lend itself to the sharing of blood. A child does not have to be yours to love and cherish, or to pass on the mantle to. Not every woman enjoys pregnancy.”[/color] Slapping Nate’s back, Frank would suddenly laugh. [color=#c14700]“Not that I know anything for certain. I am a man without any idea of himself, just that he is lost in the world with nearly zero regrets to weigh him down. Currently, anyway” [/color]
You know, you speak of children as if you have intimate knowledge, your tone changed a bit. I realise you don’t remember anything, but perhaps that’s something. Like a muscle memory, somewhere deep down. Not that I know anything of course, but I have a friend that’s a doctor. She’s convinced she can find something to help the grey wardens, but I don’t want to get my hopes up, but someone had a head injury once and she talked a bit about amnesia. I only wish now I’d paid better attention, perhaps then I could have offered up some better insight. He said with a shrug. He didn’t get to hang out with Rosalie often with his warden duties, but somehow that conversation was coming to the forefront of his brain, he just couldn’t remember all the details of it.
Frank mulled it over, it wasn’t something he hadn’t thought over already. [color=#c14700]“Perhaps. Perhaps not. If I did, then the first question is why haven’t they found me?”[/color] He let out a small sigh, [color=#c14700]“Perhaps I did something and they washed their hands of me? It could happen, from what I know already.”[/color] Yes, there were clear impulses and drives he could immediately recognise as his, but those paled when compared to remembered experience. [color=#c14700]“I know for certain, though, that whatever made me forget, or was stolen from my mind, won’t return on its own.”[/color] It was just out of his reach, or something blocked him from delving further.
[color=#c14700]“It does make life interesting though,”[/color] he’d add with a chuckle, amusement bubbling again across his features. [color=#c14700]“And I prefer it to be interesting than dull.” [/color]
Family is usually rarely simple. Maybe they washed their hands of you, fuck maybe you washed your hands of them. I love my mother and sister, don’t get me wrong, but where my father is concerned. I’d be more than happy to bring him back from the dead so I could kill him myself for the things he did and the damage he did to our family name. Elanna Cousland forgave him for his father’s deeds, but even to this day, nearly twenty years later, there were still Fereldens that cursed the Howe name, not caring that all the atrocities had been perpetrated by his father and few of the others. Maybe a couple of distant cousins and an uncle, but for the most part very little of the Howe family had a direct hand in the events of the Fifth Blight.
[color=#c14700]“Perhaps mine, if I have any, are quietly glad. Perhaps one day I will remember, or be found. It is of no consequence for now.” [/color]From the villagers finding him, to his recovery and finally being able to leave, he had spent nearly six months in the back-end of nowhere. [color=#c14700]“Perhaps I’ve not created enough ruckus to gain their attention,” [/color]he’d chuckle. It would eventually fall into a sigh, given the morbid dip in conversation. He nudged Nate’s tankard with his own.[color=#c14700] “Don’t mourn dead weight. Any evil he did can be remedied in time.”[/color] Sage advice, though where it came from, Frank had no idea. It felt bookish. So, he was well-read then? It would explain some of the stirrings he’d felt of late, an itch to be scratched.
