Despite Alistair's quips, Lothering was not, in fact, pretty as a painting.
As a major crossroads along the Imperial Highway and a stopping point between Denerim and Redcliffe, it was a large and busy village. At harvest season it hosted a bustling market where farmers from the Hinterlands and the southwestern Bannorn brought livestock and crops for trade.
For all that, it was also a very dirty and rustic village. Clearly the Bann of Lothering had no interest in improving it or turning it into the more sophisticated town it might have been with a little effort. The streets were dirt rather than cobbled, and now with the winter rains hard upon them, they ran with mud. The stream that wound through the middle of the village smelled strongly of offal and sewage, revealing that no effort had been put into proper sanitation.
The odor turned Rìona's stomach, making her swallow hard and hurry across the footbridge spanning the trench. She grimaced in distaste. Had one of the banns that looked to Highever run his village like this, her father would have rallied his freeholders and had him unseated and replaced with a more capable administrator.
Despite the mud, there was a large encampment of tents and lean-to shacks at the edges of the village where poorly dressed peasants huddled miserably. They were refugees from the Hinterlands, fleeing north ahead of the encroaching Blight. Just before reaching the village, she, Alistair, Conall and Morrigan had encountered a party of thugs looking to collect a "toll" for passage along the highway. The swine had thought it a great joke to have taken the last coin many of these wretches had possessed. When Rìona informed them that she had no coin to part with, the bandits had attacked her party, intent on looting the armor and weapons from their corpses.
It had been their last mistake, and now Alistair had flung over his shoulder a large satchel filled with the armor and weapons the bandits had been bearing, and Rìona wore at her waist a purse containing the coin she had taken from their leader; over a hundred silver that would help considerably in their efforts to resupply themselves.
Alistair, however, was scowling at the purse. "I can't believe you're not going to return that coin to the refugees those bandits stole it from," he said, not for the first time.
"Which refugees would those be, Alistair?" Rìona asked calmly, gesturing at the tents and lean-to shelters. "How are we to determine which of these poor wretches were robbed, and how much coin was taken from each of them? If we were to announce we are redistributing it, we would be mobbed with opportunists claiming they are due more than they actually are."
"Then donate it to the Chantry! Let them distribute it."
"And have it pay for the gold thread embroidering the Revered Mother's new robes?" Morrigan snorted.
"While I don't share Morrigan's cynicism, it is true that the Chantry does not lack for funds," Rìona said diplomatically. "We, however, cannot say the same. We need food, blankets and tents, herbs for poultices and potions, arrowheads and fletching. Morrigan has no shoes to speak of, and that splintmail you're wearing is about to rust right off your chest. We're not going to stop the Blight if we succumb to the elements or if a group of common bandits kills us because our armor and weapons are in disrepair. The Grey Wardens operated on tithes from the nobility, but we lack those resources and must make do however we can."
"You could always sell that sword upon your back," Morrigan suggested with a smirk. "That's gold laid into the hilt, if I'm not mistaken. 'Tis not like you actually use it."
Rìona touched the hilt of the Cousland family sword where it rode over her shoulder and shook her head. "This is the only heirloom of my family I have," she informed them. "I vowed to my father and mother that Arl Howe would die upon this blade."
The witch crossed her arms. "Your vengeance will not fill our bellies nor end the Blight."
Alistair shrugged helplessly. "She does have a point, if things are as bad as you say."
"Would you part with Duncan's sword if you had it in your hand, for any amount of money?" Rìona asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Alistair looked as though he might protest, then backed down. "No. I'd starve before I let go of a keepsake of his. I only wish I had one to remember him by."
"I promise I will consider selling the sword if it comes down to being the only thing that will keep us functioning until we can gather our army and end the Blight," Rìona offered, compromising. "Today, however, thanks to the generosity of our bandit friends back there, I'm spared that necessity. Now, let's turn to our business here in Lothering. I would like to be on the road for Redcliffe first thing tomorrow, so let us divide our labors. Alistair, you go to the Chantry. Speak with the Revered Mother and see what aid she may render. The templars seem to be keeping order around the village since Teyrn Loghain took the Bann of Lothering and his army back to Denerim when he passed through here, so speak with them and see if there is a reward for killing the bandits."
He gawked at her. "You can't be serious! Request a reward for killing the robbers whom we then subsequently robbed ourselves?"
"Will it salve your conscience if I also ask you, at the same time, to request that the templars inform those refugees who have reported being robbed that the bandits have been dealt with, and thus they might be able to recover their material possessions, if not their coin?"
Sighing, Alistair nodded. "Yes, that will help, thank you."
"Morrigan, you're the most intimidating of us," Rìona continued, turning her attention to the witch and handing her the purse. "I would like you to deal with buying our supplies. Get the best value you can for the gear we took off the bandits. Haggle like a fishwife and buy the merchants out of herbs, potions, and for the love of the Maker get yourself some boots. With this many refugees in the village, tents and blankets for bedrolls might be scarce. We may have to wait until Redcliffe to acquire those, especially with these wolf pelts you showed us how to stitch together into crude bedding. See what you can find, at any rate."
"What will you be doing?" Alistair asked, crouching to pet Conall.
"I'm going to look for odd jobs to bolster our funds," she answered, then looked at the mabari. "Conall, go hunting, boy!" Eagerly, the warhound ran off. After he had disappeared into the fields beyond the refugee encampment, Alistair stood as Rìona explained, "I overheard some of the refugees saying a mercenary company called the Blackstone Irregulars are recruiting at the inn. While I'm there I will also see if I can find us a decent meal and discover what other gossip I can pick up. My father always said if you want to know all the news of a land, sit in a tavern at a crossroads for a few hours."
"Right," Alistair gave her a skeptical look. "So we're off running errands while you're snug in the warm tavern with a bowl of stew and a tankard of ale?"
"I highly doubt there's any stew to be had in this town with all these refugees about," she retorted. "The Chantry should be warm enough. But hand over any coin you have on you; I don't trust that you'll be able to stand firm if the Revered Mother tries to guilt you into making a donation."
"Hey! I'm not that big a pushover!"
"Oh, really? So what was all that business at Ostagar about you running errands for the Revered Mother?"
He opened his mouth to protest then closed it with a snap and reached for his belt purse. "Maybe you ought to keep this, just in case."
"So you'd let your junior Warden hold your purse rather than stand up for yourself?" Morrigan asked disdainfully. "Will she be spoon-feeding you your supper next?"
Rìona pinned the witch with a hard stare. "Leave him alone, Morrigan. We've got a considerable amount of work to get done today; let's be about it."
She walked with Alistair for a while, intending to check the Chanter's Board outside the Chantry for employment opportunities before heading to the tavern. They parted at the doors of the Chantry and Rìona went back the way she had come after collecting a few notices from the Chanter's Board. She thought she might check on Morrigan's progress before continuing to the inn, but the witch was not in the market square where they had left her. At last, Rìona spied her standing between two men on the far side of the market, wearing an inviting smile and... laughing?
Puzzled, she drew nearer as Morrigan slid a hand down the muscled arm of one of the men. He wore rough homespun garb and looked very much like a farmer. Rìona couldn't hear what Morrigan leaned close to whisper to him, but she certainly knew flirting when she saw it. The man—who was not unattractive, but very unlike the sort of man she would have imagined the witch having a preference for—nodded eagerly and Morrigan took his hand and led him toward a nearby stable, with his friend following.
Rìona trailed after them at a discreet distance. She knew she ought to allow Morrigan her privacy if she had indeed decided to dally with a couple refugees, but she didn't trust the situation. The flirting woman she'd seen in the market square was not the same woman she'd been traveling with for over a week.
The door of the stable had been left slightly ajar, and Rìona peered inside to see Morrigan reclining on a mound of hay, her scrap of a shirt pushed aside to reveal her small but perfectly formed breasts. One of her hands toyed with her own nipple, pinching and then caressing soothingly. The other hand slid down her belly and into the loosened waist of the odd skirted garment she wore over her legs. Beneath the black fabric and leather straps, her fingers writhed as she pleasured herself.
The friend of the man she had been flirting with leaned close to her, touching her other breast and kissing her neck, but Morrigan pushed him away with a teasing laugh.
"'Twill be time enough for that later," she said. "Disrobe for me, both of you. I want to see what I am getting."
Obediently, the two men cast off their rough garments, stepping toward her again, but she evaded their hands with a flirtatious smile. "Not yet. I wish to see you both pleasure yourselves, as I am. Find your release now, and then you can watch me while you recover. 'Twill make the loving last longer."
The men looked hesitant, but Morrigan began masturbating more purposefully beneath her garb, moaning loudly and circling her hips. Their hands went to their shafts and began stroking, and their eyes quickly closed with pleasure.
The men were too distracted, pumping into their own fists, to notice the way Morrigan stopped pleasuring herself, all but the occasional stroke to maintain the illusion that she was doing so. Her eyes were intent upon them and her lips began to move. After a long, quiet moment, Rìona realized she was chanting in a strange tongue. Soon the unfamiliar words were overridden by the moans of the men as they worked themselves toward climax, their heads thrown back, the muscles on their necks straining. One achieved his release, his seed spraying across the hay, and the other began jerking and twisting his hand frantically. Morrigan released her breast, withdrew her hand from within her own garments and watched him, waiting.
A moment later he shouted, also finding his release, and then Morrigan called out a single word. A flare of power ran through the stable, jolting even Rìona. She blinked and shook her head to clear the buzzing in her ears and when she looked back at Morrigan, the witch was standing calmly, looking with a sneer of disdain down at the two men who were now lying on the seed-soaked straw and... snoring?
Completely composed, Morrigan turned to walk away, only to be brought up short when she found herself facing Rìona.
"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" Rìona asked, trying to control her surprise.
"'Tis simple, really," Morrigan shrugged nonchalantly and proceeded Rìona out of the stable. "My mana was drained in the fight with the bandits, and I do not feel comfortable being in a town with this many templars without any power available. The spell is very old, taught to me by Flemeth. She discovered it in her youth, the ability to harness magical power from sexual energy, or so she claims. I imagine it's possible the Tevinter magisters knew long before she did, though there is no account of them ever using such an ability."
"While I can respect your... resourcefulness," Rìona said carefully, "we cannot afford to generate any ill-will in this town, not while we're still poorly supplied and unready to travel. Surely when those two wake up, they'll send the templars after you."
"You believe they will actually confess to being lured into a stable by an apostate mage, made to cast off their clothing, and pleasure themselves in front of one other before being placed under a simple sleep spell, do you?" Morrigan asked incredulously. "Besides, they shan't remember much, if anything, of the encounter. 'Twill be quite puzzling for them to wake up nude with one another, I imagine."
"And what if you run into them again?" she asked the witch. "Will they recognize you, or hold any resentment?"
"They will be asleep for many hours yet, so long as no one wakes them. 'Tis my hope we will be well gone before then. Even if we are not, I should imagine the two of them will wish to hide their faces for a while after the humiliation of being discovered in such a compromising position together."
Rìona considered for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, so long as we are not making trouble for ourselves here. You're heading back to the market now, then?"
"I am. How is your head injury? Any more pain?"
"My head—? Oh, that's fine. Nothing to worry about."
"You're certain? Because if you still have headaches, I can brew some more of the tea Mother offered you."
"Thank you, no," Rìona said with a shake of her head. She glanced away, unwilling to risk offending Morrigan by telling her that her parents, ever leery of blackmail and assassination attempts, had long ago advised her never to accept a tonic she hadn't seen prepared herself. "I don't... actually care for medicinal teas all that much. I'll be off to the tavern then, if there's nothing else you need?"
"Courtesy of those two fools in there, I am now quite capable of seeing to myself," Morrigan smirked. "I will find you in the tavern when I have completed making our purchases."
Bemused, Rìona watched the witch walk quickly back toward the market square. She wasn't certain what exactly it was that troubled her about what she had seen. Surely she, of all people, could respect the way Morrigan had used sex to her advantage. Indeed, it seemed rather hypocritical for Rìona to disapprove; hadn't her parents raised her to do much the same?
She gazed out over the field between the stables and the windmill on a small hill and saw a the tell-tale silvery leaves of an elfroot plant sticking up from the ground at the base of the stonework wall upon which ran the Imperial Highway. Morrigan had been teaching her and Alistair to identify the plants she used to make potions and poultices. Knowing it could be useful, Rìona began to cross the field to get to it.
A sound behind her made Rìona turn to see a small group of rough-clad men running toward her from the village. Concerned that they were in need of aid, Rìona shouldered her bow and awaited them.
Too late did she realize they were bearing pitchforks and cudgels.
"Is this the one?" A man who seemed to be the leader of the gang asked another.
"That's her all right," another man nodded. "The armor matches the description of the Grey Warden Teyrn Loghain's men were asking about."
The leader nodded grimly. "Sorry, Warden. I don't know if you killed the king, and Maker help me, I don't care. But that bounty Loghain is offering will fill a lot of hungry bellies. Don't make us hurt you. You'll come with us until we can track down the teyrn's men and turn you over."
Stunned, Rìona stared at them, unable to believe for a moment what she was hearing. Loghain was claiming she had killed the king?
Of course. What better way to excuse his own crimes than to pin them upon the Grey Wardens. She was a fool to have not expected this from the moment she learned of Loghain's treachery.
If Loghain was spreading slander about the Grey Wardens, then whatever happened, she must be certain to conduct herself in such a way as to reverse that opinion. Which meant fighting the villagers was out of the question. Untrained and crudely armed as they were, she doubted they should pose much of a problem even with her meager skill with blades, but if she should kill any of them it would only serve as proof of Loghain's accusations once word got out.
"I don't want to fight you, good sers," Rìona said, setting down her bow. "Whatever accusations Loghain has made, I assure you they are false. While the bounty Loghain is offering may be significant—I cannot say, for this is the first I've heard of it—how long shall it keep your bellies full if the Blight consumes the land and there is no food to be had? Shall you eat today only to fall victim to the Blight sickness tomorrow?"
The leader frowned, but nodded reluctantly. "That's a fair point, Warden. But it won't make a lick of difference how far the Blight spreads if we starve before it gets to us."
That, too, was a reasonable point, and one Rìona needed to ponder before she could counter it. Whatever else she did, she must make them sympathetic to her cause and convince them so completely of her innocence that turning her in would be unthinkable. If Loghain was issuing proclamations against the Wardens, she would start a word-of-mouth campaign to the contrary.
"If I give you my word of honor that I will make no effort to attack you or your comrades, ser, perhaps I can accompany you and we can discuss the matter. Then you may decide whether it is truly to your benefit to turn me in to Loghain's men?" offered Rìona, extending her hand.
The leader stared at her suspiciously for a moment, and accepted her hand.
They took her to a man named Garrett Hawke, who turned out to be well-spoken and clearly educated. He could read and cipher and was generally considered by his compatriots to be a wise and reasonable man, which was why the villagers felt he was the best to determine whether or not they should turn Rìona in.
It was his younger brother, Carver, who had spotted Rìona and recognized her by the description of her armor. Rìona cursed herself for not having thought to get rid of the unique, custom-made set of leathers her father had gifted her before now, but how could she have known that Loghain would put a price on her head and accuse her of his own crime? Besides, even had she thought to sell the armor, here in the village there would be no one to trade it with. The few merchants that remained here were dealing in foodstuffs and survival gear for the refugees, not high-quality armor, even if she were willing to sell for a pittance of what the finely-crafted, gold-embossed dyed leathers were worth.
Rìona caught Hawke looking at her armor, his jaw tightening. Clearly the fact that her armor was well-made to the point of extravagance was a mark against Rìona in his book. Was he thinking Rìona lived a life of luxury while he and his family scrounged for scraps? She would have to disabuse this Master Hawke of that notion, and quickly.
He dismissed the other village men once they brought Rìona to the humble house on a freehold outside the village, instructing them not to make any effort to notify Loghain's men until he'd had a chance to negotiate with the Warden. The men agreed, treating Hawke with deference and respect. A natural leader, this Hawke was. They would obey his instructions because they had no reason to mistrust that he would act in their best interest.
Hawke treated her as courteously as any guest, offering to brew a pot of tea. It was an offer Rìona accepted gratefully.
"Thank you, kind ser," she murmured, accepting the cup of fragrant, steaming brew when it was prepared.
"Enjoy it," Hawke said gruffly. "It's the last of my tea and there's no more to be had from here to halfway to Denerim."
"Then I am in your debt," replied Rìona, sipping. "It's been a great many weeks since I've known such luxury as a hot cup of tea."
He gave her a skeptical look. "You don't look like you suffer for luxuries," he observed carefully.
"Would you like to see the soles of my boots, ser?" she challenged. "It's a certainty that they are well-worn by now, and in need of repair. Observe how begrimed my armor is with darkspawn filth. This simple home of yours is far more luxurious than anywhere I've slept recently. Nearly two months now, I've been traveling by foot and sleeping on the ground, since my home was overrun by brigands and my family slaughtered. I went to Ostagar seeking justice from the king, only to lose that as well to Teyrn Loghain's traitorous madness. Now I find myself called upon to unite a country against the Blight while Loghain attempts to divide it in civil war. If you think I've been idling in luxury, ser, you are a fool, and you do not strike me as a fool."
"Maybe that's true and maybe it isn't," Hawke shrugged. "All I know is that with these refugees flooding through Lothering, there's precious little by way of food and supplies to be found to provision us for the trip north, away from the Blight."
Rìona shook her head. "That plain porridge you have simmering by the fire is the most savory meal I've seen since awakening to find my comrades had been abandoned by the teyrn and slain by darkspawn. Game has been scarce and it has been many days since I've fed on aught but sickly and half-starved rabbits. I understand your plight well, if you care to take my word on it, for I've no interest in comparing tales of hardship any further."
"You speak like a noblewoman, and you have a lot of gear that could be sold to feed you," the freeholder argued. "There aren't many folks around these parts that can say the same."
"Would you like my armor?" Rìona asked curtly, rising to remove her pauldrons and unbuckle her cuirass. "I'll give it to you gladly. If Loghain has spread my description alongside his lies, it's become a luxury I can ill afford."
She set the cuirass aside, leaving her in her linen shirt. "It's yours if you want it. I doubt you'll have much luck selling it, however, at least not until you reach Denerim or the northern ports. And I'd be careful to whom you sell it, also, for if the teyrn has armor merchants on the lookout for it, you may find the bargain price to be Loghain's noose."
She bent to remove her war skirt as well, drawing from Hawke a startled glance. "You're serious?"
"I am indeed, ser. If your desire is to feed families, this armor could feed many and you'd be doing me a service helping me rid myself of it. I cannot offer you my bow, for it is the weapon at which I am most proficient, and my sword is a family heirloom."
"And just how do you intend to fight the Blight without armor, Warden?"
"I know not," shrugged Rìona. "Perhaps I'll be fortunate enough to come across another gang of bandits like the ones I slew on the highway to Lothering, perhaps this time with a woman amongst them who is near my own size. It is, I admit, a great deal to leave to chance. For certain, I shall not be able to afford even a simpler set, for my coin is scarce, but coin shall avail me nothing if I am taken by Loghain's soldiers.
"Besides," She favored him with an arched brow as she sat upon the floor in nothing but her linen shirt to remove her poleyns and boots. "What does it matter to you how I shall fight the Blight if you intend to turn me in?"
He had the grace to look discomfited at that. "All things being equal, I'd just as soon not, my lady Warden. But these are desperate times. Anyway, isn't that what we're meant to be negotiating?"
"It is indeed," Rìona conceded, rising and adding her boots to the pile of armor. She saw Hawke's eyes traverse the bare expanse of her legs between her woolen stockings and the hem of her linen shirt on their own volition.
That was interesting.
Rìona repressed a smile as she sat upon the chair once more to take up her tea cup. For once, carnal matters had been the furthest thing from her mind, stunned as she was by the news of Loghain's slander. But such was what she had been trained and recruited for, after all, and Rìona was quick to discern the advantages. He was an attractive man; it would certainly be no hardship to seduce him, if it came to that.
"Is there a Mistress Hawke?" she asked, sipping her tea.
"She died some four years ago of hydrophobia after being bitten by a mad dog," he answered, making himself look away. "The Maker only granted us one child, a daughter, and she died not long after she was born. My mother and younger brother and sister are all the family I have now. We'll be fleeing Lothering together."
"You have my sympathies, ser," said Rìona somberly. "I know only too well what it is to be without kith or kin."
"You said your family had been slain?"
Rìona nodded, her eyes growing distant as she told the tale of the attack on her home and Arl Howe's treachery. It felt wrong, using their deaths so cynically to play upon his sympathies, and yet she sensed in this man the sort of magnetism that made people heed his words. If she could win him to her side, win his support for the Grey Wardens, perhaps she might offset the worst of Loghain's damage.
Hawke gazed at her with sympathy. "Around Lothering, we know only too well about corrupt nobles. Our bann is a real piece of work, but there is no one else in proximity to throw our allegiance to."
"Why do your freeholders not choose to elevate new bann?"
"The bann already has all the troops and duty income. There isn't money or men enough to get a new bannorn off the ground, and with the Bann of Lothering already in possession of an army sworn to his service, any attempt to overthrow him would be a slaughter. Besides," he shrugged. "Lothering will soon be abandoned, anyhow."
Rìona inclined her head, acknowledging his point.
"You came here to make your case for why the villagers shouldn't turn you in for the bounty," Hawke said, draining his tea. "So make it."
Rìona sighed. "Most of those villagers have never seen a darkspawn. They know the Blight is a threat but they know nothing of the true extent of it. I've battled these creatures, felt the power of the archdemon driving them. I'm not unsympathetic to the plight of the villagers and refugees. I was glad to kill the bandits preying upon them. But times will be much leaner before all is said and done. What food they manage to buy with the bounty on my head will be eaten, but the Blight will persist long after my neck has been stretched by Loghain's hangman and their bellies are once again empty. They will win themselves a reprieve, nothing more."
"A reprieve may very well buy them enough time to flee," he pointed out.
"Flee to where?" Rìona asked incredulously. "Denerim? The Coastlands? Will my bounty buy all of them passage to the Free Marches or beyond, assuming they can find such passage in the first place? Ships departing the northern ports to dare the Waking Sea in winter will be over-full, and Loghain has no doubt closed off the mountain passes because he fears the Orlesians. He'll need to rebuild the army lost at Ostagar and in his madness, I wouldn't be surprised if he resorts to impressment, which means he's going to be loathe to allow able-bodied Fereldan citizens to cross the borders and flee to other lands. Without the Grey Wardens, it's only a matter of time before all of Ferelden will be overrun, and once the Bannorn falls, food's going to become very scarce indeed."
"All that may be true," acknowledged Hawke. "But the future matters little when the survival in the present moment is at risk. There comes a time when one must resolve to look to his present well-being and let the future take care of itself."
"I'm afraid I have no ready answer for that," Rìona sighed. "Die sooner of starvation or later as a cannibalistic creature corrupted by the Blight, the choice is yours.
"For myself," she rose in a fluid, uncurling movement, setting aside her tea to cross to him. His dark eyes were upon her, sliding up her bare legs and studying the movements of her linen shirt intently, as though it might give some indication of what lay beneath. Pleased that she had his attention, she knelt at his feet. "I'd rather die of hunger than as a ghoul, and choose the path of freedom."
"What are you doing?" he asked carefully, though the heat in his eyes spoke of something much less cautious.
"My journey has been long and wearying, and I am very much alone," Rìona murmured, unhappy with the lie but unwilling to let on about Alistair's presence in the village. "I've lost my family, my comrades, even my intended husband in these months past. If your decision is going to be to turn me over to Loghain's men, I should first like to have a final moment wherein I choose my fate."
His eyes narrowed with a canny look. "Do you think to sway my decision by offering yourself to me?" his eyes narrowed with a canny look.
Rìona smiled softly, taking up his hand and brushing her lips softly across the knuckles. His palms were calloused in an unmistakable pattern, as Duncan's and Cailan's had been; this man was familiar with the sword. "The thought had occurred to me. Alas, I've no time to be subtle about it. As you've so astutely observed, the survival of the moment sometimes takes precedence. You've been a widower for many years now. In a village such as this, discreet companionship cannot be all that easy to come by. But what I said before was true; I've known little of free choice these last months. I would have something of my own, before my fate is decided."
He stood abruptly, pulling her up with him by her hand. His fingers made short work of the ties at the side of the leather loin covering underneath her tunic and then plunged inside her smallclothes before it had completed its journey to the floor. Rìona whimpered and her knees buckled a little as his fingers found her slick and ready.
"Oh, Maker," she sighed, her head falling back.
Carefully he withdrew her hand. "You're not lying," said Hawke, looking at her in bemusement. "As honored as I am by the offer, you've already made your case, and it would be unconscionable of me to accept when my mind is already made up. And besides, my mother and sister should be home soon; there's no time to do the matter justice here."
Rìona's heart sank. "Then you've decided to turn me in," she said flatly, withdrawing from him. She supposed she ought to be impressed that he was honorable enough not to take her and then turn her in, but it still stung.
"Don your armor, Warden," Hawke replied with a hint of a smile. "Keep it until you can trade it for another, less easily identifiable set. You are free, and I should hate to explain to the other men of the village why you are in your smallclothes when I summon them in here to tell them my reasons."
Startled, Rìona blinked. "I.. thank you, Master Hawke."
He helped her back into her armor, and made free enough with his hands while he did so that she knew he did regret having to decline her offer. It was no great hardship to suffer his pawing, except for the frustration of unfulfilled desire which his caresses did nothing to alleviate. Only once she was armed again did he seize her, his hand clenching on the back of her head, and drag her forward into a demanding kiss, his tongue thrusting hungrily against hers.
"You'll never know what my gallantry this day has cost me, my lady Warden," he growled when it was over. "If your business in the village is not completed today, come and sleep here for the night. If you wish to."
"I thank you for the offer," Rìona replied, "but... I confess am not quite so alone as perhaps I made out. Forgive me the deception; I but sought to protect those who traveled with me. I have three companions; a mabari warhound, one other surviving Grey Warden, and an apostate mage from the Korcari Wilds who has come to help against the Blight."
"I see." His eyes widened when she mentioned the apostate mage, and a slight smile crossed his face. "Bring them with you, then. Even our barn will prove more comfortable than a bedroll on the cold ground, at least for the night."
