Sand found its way into Nathaniel's clothes, even after changing. In his socks, between his toes, the tiny specks itched at his skin. No matter how much he tried to wash it out, it clung to his hair, making it stiff and difficult to braid.
The storm had subsided. Layers of sand covered rocks and reshaped the scenery. Hale and Garrett had returned with a few hares, a surprising catch in the desolate, once blighted land. They cooked while the mages healed Alistair and Nathaniel.
Nathaniel remained silent, following Philippa's directions as she mended him. But his eyes followed Hawke and Hale. The two teased each other with nauseating camaraderie as they skinned their catch and started a fire, unaware or uncaring if anyone witnessed their friendly banter.
Both Alistair and Nathaniel changed out of their torn and dirty attire into cleaner clothes before they ate. Philippa and Fiona kept a private conversation, whispering to each other while making eye contact around the room. Worse, Alistair hummed a nerve-wracking song to himself as he ate. Nathaniel swore he caught the other man grinning on more than one occasion. The irritating tune was only interrupted by Hale's bursts of laughter as she listened to Hawke telling stories about his drunken debauchery in Kirkwall. It all made Nathaniel's blood boil.
As soon as he finished eating, he gritted his teeth and stood. "There's enough daylight to continue. Let's go." He ordered to the group, and they followed his direction, finishing up their meals.
Nathaniel realized he had a limp as he set forth. Stabs of pain bolted up his leg, and he hissed, climbing the rocky parts of the plains. Potions and spells had healed his minor injuries. Still broken, his nose had stopped bleeding, and though his major bruises had vanished, he remained sore. The mages decided to reserve their mana, and none wished to waste potions on the men's petty injuries.
Alistair looked similar. Most of his wounds had healed, aside from some bruises. The way he maneuvered in his armor suggested his body ached. But somehow, the pain managed to lift his mood. The King laughed with the mages and between jovial conversation, he walked in contemplative silence without straying from the group. His bitterness from before the fight had faded.
Nathaniel grumbled wordlessly to himself. Every time Alistair laughed it pulled Nate from his thoughts, already angry, worsened by the interruption. Over and over as the day continued, Nathaniel observed the King's gaiety, his perfectly white teeth reflecting sunlight from where he walked a few feet ahead. Nate scowled at the sight, certain Alistair's self-satisfied humor had spurred from successfully instigating Nathaniel.
Because Alistair always succeeds.
The son of the great King Maric, Alistair Theirin, the hero; he who rose from nothing, rescued the kingdom from certain peril, and assumed his rightful seat on the throne, just as his father before him.
Nothing like Nathaniel. Born into nobility, then marked a pariah, Nathaniel suffered for the sins of his father- the traitor who abused his wife and children, and all aspects of his authority. His father's treachery haunted Nathaniel, but it provoked humility. He craved no power over other men; his only act of treason against the throne occurred when he slept with Caoilainn. It did not compare to his father's misdeeds and provided Nate with no personal gains.
Alistair takes too much for granted. His bloated ego spawned entitlement, a demand for respect when he had done little to earn it aside from incessant whining. It only supported evidence that the victory over the archdemon had occurred at Caoilainn's hands, and Alistair only took advantage of her gallantry.
Yet, he won the love of his country and convinced Caoilainn to marry him. Her attraction to a man who would gain so much pleasure from petty arguments and brutish behavior eluded him.
No matter the disdain Nathaniel held toward the King, it bothered Nate most that he gave in to the provocation. He had spewed words he did not intend, confident they would infuriate Alistair. The satisfaction quickly faded as the brawl ensued, and regret overcame Nate as soon as it ended.
He had unwittingly given Alistair the upper hand for the rest of the journey. Though Nathaniel held no jealousy for the King and Queen's pregnancy, nor longing for Caoilainn's company in Nate's bed, he remained bitter about her abandonment of the order and the unique friendship they had cultivated. And now that Alistair knew, he had leverage.
Nathaniel cringed at the bad taste in his mouth, and he glanced beside him to Hale. Looking the other direction, Hale was distracted by Hawke. She had ignored Nathaniel since they returned with their catch, instead entertaining herself with Hawke's antics and endless prattling. The pair seemed to enjoy insulting each other between competitive boasting.
Another streak of jealousy ran through Nathaniel, strengthening as Hale and Hawke's friendship grew. Knowing the caustic young woman's personality too well, expressing concern would only incite an argument. He bit his tongue and diverted his attention.
Blue skies and quiet air made navigation simple; the wind had subsided since the last sandstorm, suggesting temporary safety from another tempest.
Pulling their horses as they walked North, Fiona and Alistair listened to one of Philippa's lectures. Her free hand circled in the air, dramatizing her speech, and whenever it wasn't swirling, she planted it on her hip. The other two watched her, passing side glances to one another, muting their humor with Philippa's passionate speech.
Nathaniel followed the motion of her hand, half annoyed and half interested, only hearing fragments of Philippa's sentences. Until at one point, she drew magic and a flame erupted in her palm and then vanished.
Nathaniel frowned and cleared his throat.
"Philippa," he spoke over the sorceress, and she looked at him with a wrinkled brow, "aren't you supposed to be saving your mana?"
"What are you talking about, Nathaniel dear?" She put her hand back on her hip. "That hardly used any of my stores and if need be, we have lyrium."
A wave of anger washed down the back of his neck. Nathaniel creased his brow. "If we have enough lyrium then why do I have to continue walking with a limp?" He gestured his hand to his nose. "Why is my nose still broken?" He recognized the misdirected resentment seeping out of his rigid tone. The smirk of the King standing beside her widened in response to Nate's questions, stirring more anger from the Warden Commander.
"Nathaniel," Philippa leaned her head to the side and pursed her lips, "that's not how spells work, dear. Healing wounds like that would take much more magic than summoning a flame."
Nate clenched his jaw. "Commander. You will call me Commander. Be mindful of your use of magic in case we need it."
"Yes, Commander." Philippa laughed; her eyes scanned Nathaniel up and down. "Of course, I'll be more careful about how I exert my power… since our party is currently reliant upon its mages."
Through Nathaniel's periphery, he noticed Alistair's smile lessen and his brow furrowed. Nate stretched out his inhale and tightened his lips before replying, "Thank you, Philippa."
The woman gave an exaggerated smile. "My pleasure, Nathaniel dear."
"Damn it!" Nate threw down the reins of his horse and stopped; the creature's gait slowed but it kept walking. Hale huffed beside him and stopped too, stepping back to observe.
Pointing at Philippa, Nate continued, "That's it. We'll set up camp here. You'll have first watch tonight. No, the rest of the mission. If you cannot address me appropriately, I will add to those consequences."
He sighed, looking to see how far his horse had wandered, but another voice interrupted. "Oi!" Hale handed her horse's reins to Hawke and stormed toward Nate. When she stopped right in front of him, she puffed up her chest, unintimidated despite their height difference. She pushed her finger into Nate's chest and nodded her head toward Philippa. The sorceress had crossed her arms but remained silent.
Hale's voice raised. "She's always called you Nathaniel, mate. If you didn't like it, why'd you bring her on this sodding trip then?" She pressed her finger even harder into his chest. "Stop being an arse and tell us where we're s'pose to go. Then we can all get the hell out of this shitehole before another fuckin' storm starts."
The vehement confrontation from the young woman surprised Nathaniel when compared to her recent detachment. He watched, unmoving until she finished. She's right. The admission stung, but he refused to react, not willing to reveal his agreement. He straightened his posture and his frown sank deeper.
A sound distracted him and he glanced past Hale to see Hawke. The man covered his mouth with his hand trying to hide his grin, apparently entertained by Hale's small tirade. The rest of the group had stopped a few paces further.
Nathaniel clenched and released his hand, glancing back to Hale. "I need to speak with you alone."
"Oh, thank the Maker!" Alistair yelled from where he stood near his horse.
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Hale gave an annoyed and defeated shrug.
Nodding his head toward a boulder well out of earshot of the group, he waited for Hale to walk first. Nate followed, leaving the other group members to set up their tents. The early stages of the setting sun cast orange hues from the horizon behind them. They walked in silence toward the darkness, approaching dusk made the air cooler.
"Hale…" Nate grumbled as they rounded the large rock.
"What, Nate?" Coming to a stop, Hale turned around and threw her arms up before crossing them. "What's there to talk about?"
Hale stood between him and the boulder, the evening shadows stretching over them both. Without wind to mute their conversation, her voice carried through the flat terrain. Nathaniel frowned.
Calm, composed, Nathaniel ordered, "Stand down."
Navigating the balance between a relationship with the other Warden and giving her orders as Commander remained a work in progress. But the strides they had made in the month since she returned to the Keep regressed with her outburst.
"Me, stand down?" She made a wry laugh. "You hearing yourself? You just fought the whoreson king over his own bloody wife, and you want me to stand down?"
She's jealous. He concluded the meaning of her jab and sighed. "This is beyond Caoilainn at this point. You should know that."
Hale's voice shook and she pointed at him. "You egged him on, Nate! Couldn't hear it, but I saw the look on your face. I knew it was about her. People don't fight like that for nothing."
"Alistair would not stop. What else was I supposed to do?" He felt his cheeks reddening as his tone escalated. Nathaniel's muscles tightened, shoulders widening in defense against Hale's accusations. "Put up with him following me around like a bratty child? I'd had it with him-"
Hale cut him off, her voice rising over his. "You could've told him to bugger off! That's the Nate I know. Not this pissy little prat wingeing about his title, letting some dumb fuck get to you." She took a breath, and Nate waited for her to finish. "Just fess up to it. You miss being on her fucking leash." Her breath hitched and she swallowed.
Blinking, Nate released a held breath, a knot settled in his stomach. Relief for her misunderstanding contradicted regret for conveying an inaccurate message. "Damn it, Hale."
She lifted her chin. "Yeah. Tell me I'm wrong."
"Is this what you've been thinking this whole time?" Careful steps took him closer to her; he shook his head.
He recognized the self-doubt in her aggression and related. Inadequacy rooted in jealousy, the new sensation he experienced in droves since Caoilainn left the Wardens, peaking when he watched Hale flirting with Hawke. Nathaniel suspected Hale, like him, lacked insight on the emotion, and her confidence in broaching the subject matched his own. Neither had spoken their concerns to the other.
Stubborn and sheepish, her eyes looked down and her frown morphed into an angry pout. She shrugged.
"You are wrong, my lady." Close enough to touch her shoulders, he took caution as he grasped her. When she eased into his touch, he murmured, "I don't love Caoilainn. I respect her; I valued my friendship with her. I'm angry with her for putting me in this position." His gaze wandered as his frustration rose, and when he returned his eyes to Hale, he noticed she still stared downcast. Nate lifted her chin until her reluctant gaze faced him. "I have only ever loved you."
She inhaled, brow creasing to a glare as her weight leaned on one leg. With his thumb, Nathaniel brushed specks of sand from her cheek, and with a sigh, Hale's entire body relaxed. Her head rested in his palm and he bowed his head, meeting her lips with his.
Relief washed over him, grateful for her presence and the willing reciprocation of affection after the stressful events of the day. The tension between them vanished. Mouths opened, and her tongue met his, gently sliding, inviting him into her mouth. He considered it acceptance of his apology and declaration of love. Summoning more, her dry lips clung to the ebb of their kiss.
A whine escaped her when he pulled away; he could not prevent his smirk. He wanted her, and her eagerness only encouraged desire. Stepping closer, forgetting about the pain in his leg, he forced her to walk backward until she reached the rock. He leaned in for another kiss, and she welcomed him, allowing him to trap her against the boulder. Nathaniel indulged and Hale matched his pace; slow and steady kissing became frantic in the shadows of the boulder.
The lovely creature's hands roamed, crawling under his shirt to feel his stomach. Nate hummed, appreciating her warm and familiar touch. Her hurried digits loosened the laces of his pants, eager to free him from his leather confines. Obliging the Huntress, he stroked her hair as he studied the determined look on her face. The Huntress seemed to have no concern for the dry and sandy quality of her hair. Plans for pinning her back to the rocky wall played at the forefront of his mind. He smiled.
Dusk loomed closer, red-orange fading into the distance as the sun retired. Insects chirped nearer
Urgent and enthralled, she wrapped her hand around his half-hard member. Losing focus, he groaned. But as he acclimated, his fingers tightened, tugging her hair, tilting her head and exposing her neck. Gasping, Hale complied, balancing herself with her free hand on his arm as Nate leaned in. His teeth grazed the soft, tan skin of her throat, and then he bit down. She growled under her breath, pleasured; her hands gave an involuntary squeeze. Her head pulled against the tension of her hair, muscles stiffening as he tightened his teeth before releasing.
She prepared her attack, and after enough time with the Huntress, he could predict her next motions. A gentle bend to her knees, the shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
The dull pain in his leg returned, reminding him that he could not successfully carry another person.
"Wait," Nate whispered before she jumped on him. "I can't. Not now."
Body retracting, Hale released him and held her arms up. "Fuck me. What?"
"I want to, but I'm not fully healed." He leaned in and kissed her ear, but Hale pulled her head away. "We'll continue this once we get our tent set. I promise."
The sandy terrain abolished all fantasies of laying down outside. He stepped back, giving Hale more room as he adjusted himself and tightened the laces of his pants.
He glanced up to catch Hale rolling her eyes and staring off into the distance. She did not reply to him.
Assumptions of her shifted attention overpowered his rational thinking. "Hale… what's between you and Garrett?" He regretted the question immediately, chastising himself. Really, Nate?
Hale's eyes darted to him, brows knitting in concern, but she shifted on her feet. "You still being daft? Nothing is."
Yet. Her answer did not mean much to either of them, and she stood in silence as he considered his reply. Something burned in his chest, growing from jealousy, urging him to ask further. "Do you want to sleep with him?"
She laughed, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Fuck all, Nate. That ain't yer sodding business."
"So you do want to sleep with him. I shouldn't be surprised." He snorted, shaking his head. The young woman's age explained her immaturity and indiscrimination. He raised his palm to his forehead.
"Fuck you!" She balled her fist and turned to walk away, shaking the anger from her hands. With a few steps from him, she swung around. "I haven't ploughed him... since it matters to you so much!"
Nate nodded slowly; his jaw sore from clenching his teeth. He stood still and spoke louder than his usual murmur so she would hear. "But would you?"
Bending at the waist, she screamed, "Shite's sake! Get yer head out of yer sodding arse!" Her arms extended to him and she tightened her fists. "You fucking dumped me at Skyhold like it was nothing. I've only been back a month and now you're arse up about commitment and getting married. Slow the fuck down." She stomped her foot in the sand.
"You know this has nothing to do with getting married." Aware she changed the subject, Nate leaned back and looked toward the sky.
"You don't own me, Nate!"
Cheeks hot, he took a deep breath, unable to quell the heat spreading from his chest to the rest of his body. "Damn it, Hale! I just don't want you to sleep with him!"
His eyes watered. Shallow inhales released in quick and heavy sighs. He had understood her desire for Damia; a woman offered Hale a connection he could not provide. But the idea of Hale with another man, on top of him, her lips touching him, moaning for him all made Nathaniel's skin crawl.
"Right. That's it." Sneering, Hale's voice rumbled as she stepped near him again. She pointed at him then toward their camp. "'Cause you don't want the same thing to happen to you as you did to King Arse Face, innit? So this is about her. Just like everything." She clenched her jaw making her cheek pulse; tears pooled in her eyes. "Fuck this. I'm done."
Hale turned on her feet and walked away.
A heavy weight settled on Nate's chest as he watched her fade into last red remnants of the sunset. "This isn't right," he mumbled to himself, staring into the darkness as it surrounded him.
Eventually, he walked back to camp, set his tent, and went to bed. Hale did not join him.