At some point the dust disappeared. Stone protruded from the flat lands, void of trees and all shrouded by mountains in the distance. Despite the craggy land's inhospitable appearance, patches of grass revealed its fertility. Small creeks reached toward the road, dividing the rocky landscape, and the sound of distant water suggested the streams met at a larger river. Abundant resources were available for those who knew where to look.
The Imperial Highway had appeared again, dividing to take them to the east and west, respectively. But in their travels through the Silent Plains, the need for a well-stocked city proved more essential than hurrying to Weisshaupt. Hopes to gather more information about the Wardens before reaching the stronghold had urged them. They chose collectively to avoid both choices of the highway and instead followed the pending river north to the Nocen Sea. The extra two days offered a chance to restock supplies and find decent beds before continuing to the Anderfels.
"You know they might assume you're a slave in Tevinter?" Ignoring any potential faults with timing and context for such a conversation, Hawke presented the concern to Hale.
Her eyes rolled along with her hips on top of him. Sweaty but not without stamina, she ignored his comment and continued her quest for distraction, squeezing her eyes shut.
She was using him, his tent, his cock, and although Hawke was aware, he didn't mind. She made decent company when she overcame her anger, and the formidable parallels of the young woman to Isabela softened her harsh edges. Just as he attributed Isabela's magnetism to her unique elocution, simultaneously sordid and refined, Hale's spirited energy delivered a fearless assessment of her surroundings. Witty retorts hidden within a selective use of curse words betrayed her lack of formal education.
Without a tent of her own, she had made use of the decadent bedroll she had originally mocked while enjoying the advantages of leisure he had lectured her about only a few nights ago.
He continued, "I mean, unless they think you're Liberati. I'm not sure which would be worse for you." His hands held her hips as she moved, valuing her controlled gyration but only in patient waiting for the chance to roll her over.
Her squeezed eyes opened, giving him a disgruntled stare without breaking her pace. "Bollocks Hawke, will you shut up?" Her hand covered his mouth as her rocking exaggerated, her body shaking as she reached her peak.
Hawke allowed it, bemused with her forwardness and prepared to take his turn. Choosing to end the one-sided conversation, he put her on her back. Pushing her thighs against her chest, he thrust into her.
In the few nights they had shared his bed, they found a method to their forays, satisfying both of their sexual needs and all-too-similar personalities. Without emotional clauses, neither worried about the other's expectations for the arrangement. Whatever other needs she filled with their nights together, a rebound or an effort to forget the Commander, he assumed they succeeded since she continued to return.
After her first dalliance with Hawke, Hale had woken with a headache to noise outside his tent. Hawke snored next to her. She cursed herself, the pangs of regret amplifying the hangover pounding the insides of her skull. The memory of a night of vengeful drinking, drumming, stripping, laughter, and so much of Hawke's talking had flooded back to her.
Yet she found herself back in his bed that night and the next. The contact she initiated repeatedly ignored his annoying characteristics, their lack of chemistry, and inconveniently similar sexual preferences. But why? He wasn't even that good in bed. Some simple aspects came to mind, the comfort of his oversized bedroll and the fact that he didn't impose. When they finished each night, he didn't feign romantic interest. They did not cuddle. He fell asleep as her mind turned, attempting to understand why she had slept with him again.
Nate. When she returned to the same answer, she denied the conclusion. Frustrated and tumultuous feelings about the Commander found her when she let her mind wander. She shook her head and rose to ready for the last leg of riding to Vyrantium.
She watched him sleeping for a moment. Hawke's messy dark hair tangled over his face. His full beard, usually combed against his jaw, lay disheveled; the hairs facing different directions. She withheld from chuckling at his sleeping appearance. Even in his sleep Hawke made her laugh. She did not deny their friendship.
A few horses drank from the creek while others ate from a patch of grass nearby. Hale walked upstream from them to wash up. She considered Hawke's concerns from the night prior. A Tevinter slaver had taken the life of her father, saving her from the fate Hawke had described, one that elves faced under various guises throughout Thedas. She knew little else about the country, its customs or politics, what the word Liberati meant, nor did she care. Settling with addressing the issues as they arose, she dismissed the concern and finished washing her hair.
Her eyes landed on Nathaniel a short walk away. He did not reciprocate the gaze. Since departing the Silent Plains, given the chance to wash his clothes in the river, he had multiplied his professionalism. He spoke little to anyone, especially not to her.
The Warden Commander's tent was already packed, Hale noticed. His horse groomed and readied ate languidly from the grass. Nate studied a map while eating. His clean hair held back by neat braids complemented his attire; it seemed he even managed to find a way to press his traveling clothes. Only the minor limp he still carried and the grown out salt-and-pepper stubble on his face revealed the stress of traveling conditions.
The detail made her breath shorten. She blocked memories of her appreciation of those coarse hairs tickling her inner thighs, or how much she desired to grab that stubbled jaw and direct an aggressive and passionate reminder of her affection.
As clean as she could be under the conditions, she returned to gather her things from Hawke's tent. She didn't bother to wake him, refusing to assume any responsibility for his behavior regardless of what they did each night.
When she emerged, Nathaniel had disappeared, and she admonished herself for the innate desire to know where he went,
"Warden," Nate's gruff voice sounded. Startled, she turned to face him. "I advise you wear your cowl through the city to cover your ears. Do not display your Warden sigil."
He pointed toward Fiona and Hale followed the direction of his hand. The other elf had already covered her head. Opening her mouth to reply, Hale looked back to Nate to find he had already turned to walk away.
Warden. The way he addressed her, cold and indifferent, made her blood boil. As if he could pretend that he had not referred to her almost exclusively as the huntress since they met. A nickname he had spoken, shouted, whispered and moaned in varying contexts had since vanished from his vocabulary. In the few instances he had addressed her since the night she ended it, he had only called her Warden, reducing her to yet another soldier in his army.
She sneered at his turned back, then covered any Grey Warden heraldry from her attire and donned her cowl as he ordered, gratified the shadows of the hood prevented any others from seeing the livid glistening of her eyes.
The camp finished packing. Members of the travel party had washed, dressed, and eaten enough to continue their trek. A half days ride at a modest pace, the city was visible in the distance. The sea beyond it shimmered in the horizon.
The Warden Commander rode at the front of the group and the King of Ferelden at the back. Neither found need to address the other since their quarrel in the desert. Their dark bruises had faded to lighter shades of blue and purple. Recognizing the reminders of the men's contention, the group refrained from addressing the incident as they continued through Tevinter.
Hale's horse trotted behind Nathaniel's. "I'd fuckin' follow you anywhere." She had informed him confidently when she returned to him at the Keep, when she made the choice to stay a Warden despite having defected from the Order, and despite her fears around the consequence for him as Commander.
And she continued to follow him, even now. Unwilling to lie to herself again, she would remain a Warden if the Order would keep her.
Steady gallops broke for slowed trots when the horses needed. Periodic breaks for the animals to drink water broke apart their ride, giving the group a chance to stretch their legs. As they neared, the silhouettes of the large buildings of the city acquired details, unique angles outlining the metropolitan area.
Hale sat in silence, watching the group as she chewed on dried meat. Most of the party kept to themselves. Hawke, Philippa and Nathaniel choosing silence over awkward discussion while Alistair and Fiona spoke quietly. The evidence of the travel showed on the King, a full and unkempt beard hid much of his face. The two had continued friendly conversation recurring since the beginning of their journey when Fiona and Philippa were not deep in discussion about magic. The women's dialogue had slowed since the Silent Plains.
As Garrett refilled his waterskin, he broke the silence, pondering aloud to Philippa, "Do you think they named the fabric Vyrantium after the city, or the city after the fabric?"
Philippa's head tilted side to side, considering the question. "It's hard to say, really. With a country older than the Chantry, the history of those details is blurred."
Hawke smirked, and Hale braced herself for his comeback. His light chuckle prepared the blow. "I thought you of all people would know, Philippa. You've been around that long, haven't you?"
"You little," Philippa's palm opened, pulling energy from the Fade as her staff illuminated, light swirling around the end.
"Philippa!" Nathaniel turned around from where he stood watching the nearing city and scolded the sorceress. "Ignore him. He's not worth your mana, and unfortunately, we must keep all of our mages intact."
Her palm closed as she released whatever spell she was charging. The woman shook her head and shimmied her shoulders. "Thank you, Nath-" Philippa caught herself, just as Nathaniel's forehead raised, waiting for her to misstep and use his first name again. "Commander. I'm ashamed I needed to be reminded that immature imbeciles such as this one aren't worth the air they breathe."
Hawke made eye contact with Hale and rolled his eyes. He made a face and motioned his lips imitating Philippa's posture. Snorting to herself, Hale kept her mouth shut. Half amused with the situation, she also noticed Nate's animosity stirred her heart. Is it because of me?
The question did not have time to linger. Nathaniel spoke up, "We have an hour's ride to Vyrantium. If we leave now, we might make it before the rain starts." He gestured to the threatening clouds ushering from the south.
The party collected themselves and returned to their horses to complete their trip. When they arrived in Vyrantium, initial droplets of rain started to fall, sliding down the sides of buildings and meeting the granite walkways. They secured their horses on the outskirts of the city before venturing in.
The city stretched upward. Gold contrasted marble, sizable buildings summoned any spectator's full attention, lining gridded streets with no efforts to match. Unique pillars erupted on the corners, topped with varying stone dragons, while tended foliage lined the outsides. Inner courtyards of certain mansions hinted at elaborate water gardens.
Odd stares met them as they walked. Their clothes purchased in Nevarra held no similarity to the fashion of Tevinter. Dark colors seemed popular. Asymmetrical designs both extravagant, sleek, and made with contrasting fabric covered those who walked around them. The division of classes was visible at first glance, and those most well-dressed held staves. Mages. Hale denoted, curious about this difference from the rest of Thedas.
She noticed very few elves. Those she observed followed humans, dressed in simplified versions of whoever they served. It seemed evident they were intended to match, a living and prideful display for some, a symbol of property for others. Hale kept her head down.
Nathaniel breathed through his discomfort. Genuine anger, something he experienced too frequently on this quest, made his hands shake when he didn't clench his fists. He held it in. Stoicism portrayed an indifferent leader of their group, but the urge to castigate Alistair, Hawke and Hale required him to keep his tongue pressed against his teeth. He reminded himself to let go of the minor concern for Hale in the crowded streets of Vyrantium gnawing at the back of his mind.
The child made her decision. You can focus on your work. With the order to cover her ears, he did his duty as her Commander, nothing else was required. He had been weak to admit his desire for exclusivity and he chastised himself for the vulnerable moment when he admitted his jealousy of Hawke.
In the end, Hale's decision to end whatever they had between them simplified matters, answering his questions of her commitment, and allowing him to act as her leader without navigating the turbulence of a relationship. Whatever guilt he had assumed when he had broken up with her at Skyhold did not reappear. Hale's decision to find company with Hawke not only confirmed his suspicions, it solidified his resolve.
Regardless of whatever self-learning the young woman needed, he had responsibilities to the Grey Wardens, to Weisshaupt, and to Caoilainn, even if they never spoke again. Outward contrition subsided for fighting with Alistair, only the pain in his leg a subtle reminder of what happened. Anytime self-doubt or criticism arose around the events of the last week in the trek he pushed them down and buckled down on his work.
A break in the street merchants allowed a covered space to collect the group. They all gazed around, wide eyed at the tall buildings and ornate details. He called their attention to him. "We should stay in larger groups and search the city for information." He pointed across the street. "We can meet at the inn tonight."
Alistair's critical squint traveled across the street, measuring up the meeting place Nathaniel decided. He might have been frowning, but his beard covered most of his mouth. "If we find a better inn in our search, I lobby we reconsider our resting place."
"Fine." Nathaniel shrugged, too tired to argue. "We can stock up on supplies in our search. I recommend checking message boards and taverns for information. Wardens in one group, the rest in another?"
Hale's brow twitched, looking up to him for the briefest moment. Whatever value she placed on the decision didn't matter. He chose the groups for convenience and to keep Alistair and Hawke away from him. The King scowled in Hawke's direction but no one verbally opposed Nathaniel's decision.
They divided groups, ignoring the feeble drizzle; stares and searching eyes of the Vyrantians followed both parties as they split up.
Nathaniel led the women under covered walkways to avoid as much rain as possible. The next few hours passed quickly. They stocked their supplies, gathered more portable food and a few more clothing items to help to Weisshaupt. Nathaniel purchased arrows for himself and Hale. He didn't look at her when he handed them over. Without being given direction, Hale elected to stay close to him and Philippa. She did not approach patrons or merchants on her own. Though he assumed her timidity related to fear, he did not offer comfort or reassurance of her safety. She can take care of herself.
He still hadn't said her name. The sound of her name threatening to leave his lips sped his heart rate, inviting a potential tirade of insults and anger to spew in Hale's direction. Even the thought of calling her huntress caused a tightness in his chest he chose to avoid. Despite the other choice words he could use to address her, he settled with calling her Warden. It's easier this way.
The three of them checked varying message boards, finding no useful information. As evening neared, the bars filled with a wider variety of patrons. The middle class relieved of their work duties joined those who drank all day.
Philippa, Nathaniel, and Hale settled into a booth at a tavern. If it could even be called a tavern. The extravagant decorations continued inside, stone sculptures built into columns supported beams. He had chosen a lower-end establishment, assuming Alistair would pick an upscale equivalent, and the group potentially needing information from both sources.
Nathaniel ordered drinks for them from the barkeep. When he returned to their table, Philippa pushed her hand down, a sign to keep quiet. She pointed to her ear for him to listen. Hale made an unconscious motion to remove her hood to hear better, but Nathaniel's eyes darted to her. He mouthed 'be careful' and passed her drink. If she's found without an owner there's nothing I can do.
As an elf not granted freedom by a Magisterium judge, nor the property of a Tevinter human, she risked arrest or capture. An attractive elf in Tevinter with talents such as Hale's could be valuable, but Hale's sharp tongue could get her killed. Nathaniel was unwilling to claim to be her owner.
The Warden released her hood, leaving it over her head, took the drink and slouched back against the backrest. Nathaniel didn't react, instead tuning into what he heard in the booth next to them.
A man's Tevene accent spoke to his companions. "A ghoul in the Anderfels. It was a week ago."
The statement was followed with a cascade of questions neither Philippa or Nathaniel could make out. Philippa tilted her head to the side, ear up, so she could hear more clearly.
"Grey Wardens… a choice. Without the archdemon... Weisshaupt has destroyed itself. It is no more."
The words were choppy and difficult to make out, but the last statement made Nathaniel's stomach drop. He clenched his jaw. Unable to decipher anything else over the laughing, Nathaniel assessed the man's comrades did not believe him. Some comments about the Inquisitions part in avoiding the next Blight were followed with invitations to discuss business plans.
"Don't talk now." Leaning in the table, Nathaniel spoke in a low tone to Philippa and Hale. "We can discuss this at the inn. Finish your drinks, we need to move."
The three of them finished their beverages. Smooth and fruity, the unique wine was exclusive to the region near the Silent Plains. If they had more time, he could have enjoyed another glass, but the three of them left the bar to hurry back to the scheduled meeting place.
Alistair, Fiona, and Hawke had already arrived. The rain had subsided, but dark clouds still covered the evening sky.
Wishing to hurry and discuss their findings, Nathaniel's brow raised as he looked to Alistair, "Did you find a better inn?"
"I did not." Alistair gave an annoyed shrug and Nathaniel suspected he was disappointed with his results.
Holding back a smirk, Nathaniel followed them into the establishment. As a group they ate at the inn while they spoke. Alistair's party found similar results from their search of message boards and found the tavern patrons' conversations only echoed what they had already read. Nathaniel explained the conversation at the lower-end tavern.
"But how would disagreements among the Order cause Weisshaupt to fall?" Alistair asked no one in particular, avoiding Nathaniel's eyes. His voice lowered when he spoke key details so as not to be overheard.
"The bond is weak," Fiona muttered from her corner of the table. "It's like the Veil that divides us and the Fade. When it is not strong much is at stake."
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed on Fiona, but he did not speak up.
"The name is not a coincidence." Garrett Hawke's summary given back at Vigil's Keep came to mind.
He had kept one of the details of the letter Hawke had delivered from Weisshaupt to himself, and despite his antics, Hawke had kept the information private too.
None asked to read what Hawke found and Nathaniel believed it better that way.
Find Fiona. The letter had explained nothing else about the name, and he had wondered at first if it was only a coincidence. As they came closer to Weisshaupt the answer seemed clear. Why was Weisshaupt searching for you, Fiona?
Philippa patted her mouth with a napkin and sat back in her chair. "We knew all this already. We need to find the source of the bond before we can strengthen it. That is why we are on this mission."
"But what could the source be?" Hawke crossed his arms and looked toward the ceiling.
Nathaniel frowned, his lip nearly curling at Hawke. "We can worry about that on our way. I'm more concerned with what he meant by a choice."
A choice. His attention pulled from the conversation, realizing that Hale hadn't spoken up the entire meal. She sat further down the table, following along, interested and engaged, enjoying her food and drink in the process. But the typically lively young lady hadn't offered her unique interpretation so far this evening. As much as he loathed to admit it, her insight had been invaluable in the past.
Her gaze wrinkled and looked up from the conversation to find his. Brow creased, she stared back. Nathaniel cleared his throat and rose from his seat.
They divided into their rooms, each assuming their own at the inn. Alistair and Nathaniel still chose their quarters on opposite ends of the hallway. The rest filled in the space between.
Fiona exhaled when she shut the door behind her. The city made her nervous. Tevinter Imperium was a place no elf traveled to purposefully and certainly not alone. Though the Wardens, the Champion, and Alistair were her partners in this quest, she did not cease to feel like an outsider among them. Accidentally revealing her history as a Warden to Philippa had only caused tension with the other woman.
A knock at her door stalled her peaceful reflection.
"Fiona," Nathaniel Howe's voice rang from the hallway. "I'd like to speak with you."
Fiona sighed and turned to face the door. Another interrogation. She assumed his reason for approaching her.
She opened the door slowly, extending her arm to let Nathaniel enter. As she closed the entry and followed him into the room, she said, "Let me guess, you want to know what I did before I was Grand Enchanter."
The question had followed her everywhere on this trip, it was only time before Nathaniel asked. The Warden Commander stood with his arms crossed. His fist covered his mouth as he cleared his throat and shook his head.
"I know you were in the Circle." Nathaniel tilted his head to the side. "And I suspect before that you were a Grey Warden."
She didn't flinch. Eyes locked with Nathaniel's, Fiona paced a deep breath in. She had no words; no wish to confirm and not willing to lie, it left her with silence.
Nathaniel Howe continued, his eyes squinting as he spoke. "Weisshaupt seemed to think you would know about the cure."
Fiona swallowed, a hapless attempt to diminish her rising discomfort. Fears around admitting her past with the Wardens had nothing to do with her service for the Order. Her brief stint in the Order of the Grey ended with an accidental cure and pregnant with the king of Ferelden's child. The details of her departure from the Grey promised to compromise her most significant secret.
She counted her heartbeats and her hands wrung between them. It's true. I was a Grey Warden. I was cured, and I know nothing of what ails the order."