Blades of grass emerged from the path they followed. Earth pressed beneath horse hooves, damp from condensation. Cold humidity caused by Lake Calenhad contradicted the dry mountain air blowing from the east. Hills had lessened as they passed over Orzammar, only to return in the tree-covered foothills of the Frostbacks through their days of travel.
No further signs of the ghoulish Wardens appeared, but the lingering fear of their possibility haunted the travelers each time they came upon a passerby on the road. Concerns muttered each time someone approached, but Philippa's relief alerted them each time she did not feel the bond.
Alistair and Nathaniel kept themselves at separate ends of the travel party, avoiding the risk of any conversation. The group communicated between them, determining decisions of stopping times and locations through the leaders. But the two men agreed more than they cared to admit, making navigating through their disparateness easier for the rest.
Each morning, Nate found gratitude for the pleasant reminder of his companion. Conserving space in their saddlebags, Hale chose to forgo her own tent. She shared Nate's bedroll, a benefit to both as they endured through the lower temperatures. The added body heat lessened the burden of the cold.
They chose an inn when they passed through Crestwood two days prior. Heated rooms had provided actual beds with sheets and quilted blankets gave a comfortable reprieve. That night had long gone. Now, Nate piled on layers of sleepwear, a tunic and linen pants. Similar attire clothed the Huntress. She curled up against him on her side, and his arm wrapped around her back. Feeling her breathing change against him, he knew she had woke. Early stages of dawn gave him visibility of Hale. The sound of dragging feet and grumbles outside their tent indicated they were not the first to wake. They should be preparing to depart for another day of travel.
"Morning," his gruff tone greeted her.
She yawned, keeping her eyes closed. "Five more minutes."
"That's what you said five minutes ago." Nathaniel pulled her closer, knowing the movement would require her to wake.
She groaned, flexing the muscles of her back and stretching along his frame. Her hand rested on his stomach and she sat up, her hair messy on one side. "Fuck. It's colder here than when we camped by Lake Calenhad." The small smirk she gave suggested she enjoyed it.
"We're between the Lake and the Waking Sea. Wind's carrying cold air from the mountains, and the water makes it worse. But it's just another day and a half to Jader."
She bit her lip and looked up, recalling what she had learned about their route. "Then it's Cumberland, right? By boat?"
He nodded. "We're avoiding as much of Orlais as we can."
"It's warmer in Nevarra, innit? That's what I heard." Her mouth opened, unable to refrain from yawning loudly again.
The spectacle of the young woman brought a smile to Nate's face. "It's warmer up north than it is in Ferelden."
"It'll be good for these wankers then." She brought her head to lay on his chest, procrastinating rising, instead prolonging their time conserving warmth. Her hand journeyed up his shirt. "They can't take the cold."
"I think you are the only one among us truly immune to it." With a gentle chuckle, Nate stroked Hale's hair.
"That ain't it. There's just nothing to bitch about if you know how to stay warm." Her flirty tone accompanied her flattened palm traveling down his chest to his pants. Warm skin against skin, nimble digits snuck under his tied waistband.
Their intimacy had lessened due to exhaustion and environment. Days of riding did not stimulate desire and others overhearing them seemed inevitable with their current, mostly irritable, company. Even the notorious Warden appetite seemed nonexistent under the circumstances; at least Nate had assumed the same for Hale. Her current behavior suggested otherwise.
He caught her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, preventing it from traveling further into his underclothes, then changed the subject. "How is your reading coming?"
Annoyed, she snorted and pulled her hand away. "Well enough. It's how I found out about Nevarra."
He decided to teach Hale to read back at Skyhold, and upon her return to Vigil's Keep he had arranged her lessons. She had spent an hour each day with a Warden tutor, and evening practicing with Nate before bed. Her progress had been steady, even in the few weeks of practice, and he wondered if she had continued learning with her time away from the Keep.
"Good, I'm glad," he mumbled, a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth. But he wasn't blind to Hale's displeasure. "Huntress-"
"Stop," she interrupted, shaking her head and leaning away from him. "It's only been five bloody days into this trip and you ain't barely touched me."
Despite her exaggeration, he didn't wish to argue. With a sigh, Nate sat up, leaning toward her. "Keep your voice down, everyone can hear us."
"So? They all know we plough; we share a fucking tent." No sense of discretion, the Huntress barked at him.
"That doesn't mean I want anyone to hear us."
"We can hear you!" Alistair's irritated voice called from somewhere outside.
Ignoring the interruption, Hale glared at Nate. "That's not it, and you bloody well know it. We could be quiet."
Nate scoffed and cocked a doubtful eyebrow. "Really? You, quiet?"
"Fuck you, Nate. Just admit you don't want to."
"What about Crestwood? Does that count for nothing?" He had given his complete attention, a heated endeavor against the wall until leading to sweat-soaked pounding on the floor. The Huntress's moans and writhing gave more than enough evidence of her enjoyment.
"For fuck's sake, you kept staring at your sodding bag and as soon as we were done you checked your map." She crossed her arms.
"I have a lot on my mind." He exhaled and looked away.
"Whatever's going on with King Arsehole, yeah?" Her lip curled, sneering at Nate. "If he's on yer mind so much, you should fuck him then."
"No thank you!" Alistair hollered again.
Hale's jab was immature, unworthy of a response. Nate only rolled his eyes, sighing.
The Huntress looked him up and down. "Don't ask me about my fucking reading or hold my hand like it's better because it's not and you know it."
"Fine, I've said it. I'm sore from riding, the cold, I'm concerned about the Wardens," he lowered his voice, "the particular company we're in is not my favorite. Sleeping with you is not high on my list of priorities."
Her watery eyes narrowed at him and her teeth clenched. She withheld a retort.
"You wanted me to be honest." His hand opened between them, a subtle movement offering an apology and excuse.
"Well, fuck your honesty!" She scoffed, and wiped the tears from her eyes with the edge of her hand, then reached for her boots. "Just lemme know when we can pack the tent."
He grabbed her arm, and gave a light tug for her to look at him. Piercing green glared up at him, hurt, marked by smudged make-up caked under her lower lashes, worsened by stray tears. Nathaniel wrinkled his forehead; her response confused him.
"Hale, it doesn't mean I love you any less. I need some time to get my head straight." He extended a hand to her cheek. She blinked, and blinked again, then leaned her head into his palm. Gentle, his thumb wiped a pooled tear from her eye.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Hale fell into his arms, her forehead resting on his chest. Pine trees and flowers, the smell of her hair filled his nose. He closed his eyes in appreciation of her. Slender bodied and strong, one of her shoulders sat higher in this position, her drawing arm, just like his. A small detail of the woman he had come to love, he valued the imperfections.
The Huntress's body gave a timid shake, and another. Then she inhaled and gathered herself, wiping any remaining tears from her cheeks. She looked at him; the young woman's proud chin lifted.
Now is as good a time as any. Despite the argument, they were in communication. He had wanted to ask her this since she came back to him. The right time had seemed non-existent, always interrupted by their duties as Wardens and responsibilities of the Keep. Although he heard the other's packing the camp outside their tent, Nate decided to take advantage of this opportunity.
"Hale, I'd like to ask you something." Clearing his throat, his eyes searched her features. His stomach knotted.
She raised an eyebrow, skeptical of him. "S'this about then?"
Nate swallowed. "You know I have feelings for you I share with no one else. Not even Caoilainn."
Blushing, the Huntress covered her embarrassment with a sarcastic chuckle. "Oh, shut it. What's the point?" Her eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.
His hands rested on her shoulders; he dipped his forehead toward hers. "I want to know if you would say the same?"
Shifting eyes tracked through inner thoughts, Hale considered her reply before speaking. "Well, yeah, Nate. Told you I love you. Never been like this with no one else."
"I know." Nodding, Nathaniel gave a mild smirk, appreciating their likeness. "I can relate... It's why I want you by my side, Hale."
"I'm here aren't I?" An amused giggle escaped her; she shook her head. "Left my tent at the Keep and everything."
Mouth opening to argue, then quickly shutting, Nate's lips pressed together. He struggled to find words. "I mean exclusively."
Silence followed, she took a moment to think about his words.
"Sorry, mate. I dunno what that means." A careless shrug followed the Huntress's reply.
Literally or figuratively? He questioned if she hadn't heard the word before or if she lacked the capacity to comprehend it. Knowing the wild woman, either option was possible.
A deep breath prepared him for another attempt, awkward delivery of a request for something representing monogamy with Hale was not going as smooth as he had expected, and he hadn't expected it to go well.
"Hale," he let go of her shoulders and lowered his hands to his lap. "I want to be with no one else but you." He saw her squinting as she waited for him to continue. "It could be the same for you."
"Like married blokes?"
"Yes, similar." Nate's weary nod confirmed her correlation. "They are loyal to one another."
"So you wanna marry me?"
Shit. Her question sparked an involuntary cough. Nate raised his hand to cover his mouth. "Oh, well, I don't- "
"'Cause that shite ain't for me." She shook her head and made a cynical laugh. "Nope. Never."
He looked at the ground, and grumbled aloud, "Me either." Returning his gaze to Hale, he added, "But that's not what I meant."
"Well, I don't fucking get it, mate." After a roll of her eyes and she shifted to stand.
"I don't want you to sleep with Damia when she wakes up, or anyone else." The words fell from his mouth, hurried and blunt. He regretted it immediately, unsure how she'd take anything that resembled a limitation on her freedom. Shit.
A blank stare faced him, unreactive, startled. She was thinking. He wasn't prepared for her answer to be no.
"Think about it, please." He stroked her hair, but she pulled away.
"Right, yeah." She stood up and grabbed her clothes to change. "I'll think about it."
They finished dressing without talking. He questioned her commitment, still unsure if he had made the right choice. Youth and the freedoms that associated did not influence his decisions, but the deep seed of guilt for his age over Hale returned. Was she too young to make this decision? Was it unfair of him to ask?
The vibrant and lively energy of this particular woman had captivated him, drawn from within a reaction he thought impossible. It was uncontrollable with Hale, requiring him to break boundaries and change rules he had long since placed for himself. Love created a challenge for him to grow into a better human being.
When they left their tent, and expectant group faced them. Soggy earth, moist from the land they camped on caked mud on the bottom of their boots. As carefully as they could, they packed the camp. None confronted Nate's delay or mentioned the conversation he was sure they overheard.
The elven woman had sparked conversation with Alistair on more than one occasion, and he couldn't help but wonder why? He had berated her for the betrayal at Redcliffe, his words harsh and warranted. Yet she had since remained kind in their limited interactions, understanding of his decision to ban her. She did not beg for mercy or spew shallow apologies. Fiona had owned her mistake and accepted his judgment. Lifting her banishment upon Caoilainn's successful revival, in addition to contributing to his cure seemed fair. The woman had proven her loyalty through actions rather than words.
Remembering the boiling rage when he had discovered his mercy had come back to bite him, he still needed answers. As he learned more about Fiona, experiencing more of the underlying sadness he had detected at Skyhold, he realized more questions emerged.
"So what actually happened in Redcliffe?" Alistair asked Fiona over dinner.
The steady burn of the campfire heated a pot that held the evenings' provisions, an improvised stew of rabbit and potatoes. The food filled their bowls, and most ate in silence, appreciating the warmth of the soup in contradiction to the cold. In their ongoing conversation, Alistair learned more about Fiona; her opinion on the politics in Orlais, mage rights, and her favorite place in Ferelden- the woods near a thaig East of Orzammar. A much more interesting woman than he had previously gathered, she had a clever and blunt sense of humor that he appreciated. A few of her phrases reminded him of things he had heard Duncan say.
Regardless of her personable nature, and the sound and comforting advice she continued to offer him, he couldn't shake his suspicion. The dichotomy confused him.
"It was brainwashing. Alexius was experimenting with time and I became part of it. I trusted him when I shouldn't have and the Redcliffe Chantry suffered."
"I see," Alistair said, leaning back at his seat, a log near the campfire. "It was a blow to my ego more than anything, but I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you."
"I deserved it." She bunched her lips in remorse. "But my mind wasn't all there. I was trapped in a nightmare. I am in debt to the Inquisitor for freeing me from it."
"Yes, the Inquisitor." Alistair responded skeptically, weighing his experience with the woman. "I have to say I'm not particularly fond of her."
"Many aren't," Fiona shrugged, "particularly in Ferelden. Orlais has repaid the Inquisition with power."
"I'm not a fan of that either."
"It will last until Orlais decides it no longer needs the Inquisition's favor. Now that the breach is closed, I imagine the ally is more to make a statement to neighboring countries." She stirred her stew with her wooden spoon.
"What an Orlesian thing to do." He mumbled, aware that the woman he spoke with was Orlesian herself. He changed the subject, "What did you do before you were Grand Enchanter?"
A memory of a previous conversation with Fiona had followed him back to Denerim, hidden in the back of his mind until these new conversations made it resurface.
She stood in the doorway, offering a few final words before departing. 'You're the king Ferelden needed. Your father would be proud.' A quick nod and she left the room, leaving him in shock to consider the statement. But Caoilainn's care took priority, he let the thought go to more urgent matters.
Fiona paused, a delay in answering his question. "Just another Circle Mage who desired change."
King Maric wouldn't have visited an Orlesian Circle. That much was clear. His suspicion around Fiona rose. She's hiding something. He assumed the connection to whatever he overheard Nathaniel and Hawke discussing the night at Vigil's Keep.
"Always?" He eyed her for a reaction.
"Not always." She looked him in the eye for a brief moment, and he saw remorse, sorrow. Then she sighed with amusement and it was gone. "But sometimes history is best left in the past."
The open, warm kindness he felt from Fiona before seemed to vanish. All invitation for dialogue had ended. Small talk or silence his only remaining options, he chose the latter, taking the opportunity as more time to think.
It had almost been a week with this new group of people, smaller than the group of scouts Hale had called her comrades. Preoccupied with research, Philippa spent more time talking to Hawke and Fiona than recalling the antics of the scouting group's mission to the Arbor Wilds. When the King of Ferelden and Fiona were not engaged in conversation, he sulked by himself and she discussed magic with the other mages.
Hale had not felt so out of place since her early days with the Wardens. Obviously unwelcome, this group either ignored her completely or passed judgmental stares. Everyone was Nate's age or older, and no one seemed to have any inclination for fun. Her usual forms of bonding with her cohort, crude jokes and drinking games did not appeal to most of the travel party, and Garrett Hawke annoyed the shite out of her.
Her only companion was distracted. Nate's insecurities about leading the group, saving the Wardens, and dealing with Alistair kept his mind preoccupied. No matter how well she understood him and his tendency to obsess over his work, it didn't aid her loneliness. Even physical connection, a reliable means of communication when outside circumstances kept them distant, was unavailable.
The day had dragged and Hale kept her distance from Nate, needing the silence to let her think. In truth, his request was minor. Nate met her needs, and she desired little aside from her time with him. Feeling loved, cared for, and valued as more than an easy smash or a drinking pal, her feelings for Nate were unique. But the cherished freedom to do what she wanted had defined her life.
The level of commitment Nate requested was new and terrifying. It would limit her. Granted, when she found no desire when she considered being with anyone else, even Damia. With Nate she found respect in spite of her age, shown through morning conversations, the rare revelations of his insecurities when he admitted his struggles, and safety; falling asleep at his side each night, feeling understood in a way she had assumed impossible. The fulfillment didn't prevent her reservation around commitment. Sex was secondary; she didn't belong to anyone.
He should have known this request would be difficult for her. This would limit her even if given the choice she would choose him anyway.
There was no time to dwell. Saltwater permeated the air as they neared the docks at Jader. But nightfall had beckoned another night of camping. It was unsafe to travel at night, even though Jader would have at least one decent inn. Campfire built, dinner made and eaten, the party divided.
Hale sat on a log by the fire. She quietly patted her drum, uninterested in dealing with the rest of the group bitching at her. Nate fixated on a journal of notes, and Hale was torn. She appreciated the space he gave and wanted more, for him to put away his work, to pretend they hadn't had the conversation that morning. Wishful thinking changed nothing. She noticed Alistair's absence, likely sulking in his tent. An earlier conversation he had with Fiona seemed to had come to an abrupt end. Now Fiona and Philippa talked while they prepared potions.
Hawke sat beside Hale, knees wide, his forearms resting on his upper legs. He gestured a hand toward her drum.
"I'd make a joke about your banging capabilities but that would be woefully inappropriate."
She kept thrumming her fingers against the stretched leather and gave a wry chuckle. "Yeah, and I'd have to punch yer ugly fucking face and I don't wanna get my hand dirty."
"There's nothing wrong with dirty." Hawke laughed and reached for something to his side.
Hale scoffed, guarding herself to this forward fellow. "What d'you want?"
"A laugh? Something less doomy than this fatalistic crew. Would you care for a drink?" He lifted the bottle of wine toward her.
She squinted at the bottle, then at Hawke. "Aye, it'll help me deal with you. Gimme that."
Hawke extended the wine toward her and Hale took it, bringing the bottle directly to her lips. Her head tilted back, and she took a few long gulps from the bottle. With a satisfied exhale, she passed it back to him.
He took a sip and scrunched his face as he swallowed. "So, something's been on my mind."
Hale groaned. "Here we go."
"Hear me out." He chuckled, extending a hand to delay her dismissal. "I worked with Alanna for a little while and I'm not following how one of her kin ended up as a Grey Warden… and with that accent, for that matter?"
"That ain't none of yer sodding business, that's how." An intimidating display, her tongue covered her front teeth; she lifted her chin and held out her hand for the bottle.
"Feisty... a little frightening." He passed the wine her way. "I like it."
Unable to withhold laughter, she rolled her eyes. "Fuck off." Hale took a significant swig and gave him back the wine. "Thanks, mate." She smirked and stood up.
"No more? You're going to leave me to drink all this wine by myself?" He held up the bottle, hearing the bottom contents slosh as he did. "Oh." The bottle only held another mouthful of liquid.
She winked. "Now I'm warm enough to go for a hunt." Long legs stepped over his, Hale took her drum to Nate's tent and grabbed her bow in its place.