Coarse cloth rubbed against Philippa's legs; the loosely-threaded fabric covering her cot lacked the quality of her durable Ferelden bedroll. Yet, she appreciated the luxury and extended her arms and legs. In waking her body, she realized how much she missed having a mattress to herself. Despite Philippa's fondness of the young Warden, Hale's fidgeting had lessened the quality of her sleep since they started sharing a bed and there were already other concerning impairments to her slumber.
Satisfied with stretching, rested and ready to start her day, Philippa rose before the other party members. Compared to the paltry excuse for bathing she obtained in their travels to Solas, the washroom in the town hall was more than adequate. And even better, it was empty. She brought her supplies to prepare her potion.
Carved stone marked with intricate details formed sinks and tubs, basins of clean water sat between them connected to some heating source. Philippa sensed magic. Before her own bath, she removed the vials of stashed ingredients and placed them on a bare counter. Dawn Lotus, lyrium, and a diluting agent combined methodically in an empty bottle that illuminated gold then green as she whispered the enchantment. The spell was done, and a fresh supply of the liquid was prepared.
She was surprised at how well it had worked. The concoction she had improvised had positive results, but as the trip progressed, slowing the exhaustion of the illness required additional quantities to have the same effect. She took extra hidden sips from her bottle and even reverted to adding drops to her waterskin to have a steady source of the energizing, healing properties. As privacy became scarce and stores ran low, it was a challenge to avert the gaze of prying eyes.
The offer from Solas officials to restore their supplies came as a relief. Attuned to her surroundings, she grabbed more Dawn Lotus, ensuring that no one noticed her affinity towards the herb.
Finding the Orlesian Wardens dead at Weisshaupt unnerved Hawke, but not as much as it seemed to bother the others. The discovery was not a surprise, after the evidence they had found so far on this expedition. He considered the news of the First Wardens disposal of an earlier batch of sick Wardens more unsettling.
Deceit and division ran deep within the Order of the Grey. Hawke had learned of the Order's internal struggles, long-standing trends of poor communication and secret keeping when he learned of his father's dealings with the Wardens. The events at Adamant only confirmed the depth of these patterns, and a Senior Warden reported other cases of duplicity on Hawke's first trip to Weisshaupt. The new evidence at the Warden base displayed another level of treachery, perpetuated by insanity, Grey Wardens driven apart as they were driven mad by the illness.
The division seemed similar to the expedition's party. Aware of private conversations between specific members, alliances and discord formed and contradicted each other. Hawke hadn't determined what unified or opposed them, but secrets were passed between the other members. Only Alistair seemed innocent of dishonesty. Whatever secrets, if any, the man had left, he kept them to himself.
Worse than the deception, his methods of amusing himself were unavailable. Since Hale's harsh dismissal, Hawke's willfully obnoxious sense of humor had failed to provide the same satisfaction it once did. He found himself at a loss for words to adequately tease his teammates, mainly when his suspicions of covert collaboration remained unresolved.
When he noticed Nathaniel's leniency with Hale, he saw an opportunity. The Warden Commander made an easy target and Hawke was still bitter.
"I have much, much better reason to justify knocking your teeth out than Alistair's. And you wouldn't have the advantage of a sandstorm slowing me down."
Nathaniel's threat still rang in Hawke's ears. In the time he had known the Warden, Hawke had never questioned his honesty. Though the entire interaction left a bad taste in Hawke's mouth, it had proven a soft spot in the Commander, complete with strong seeds of jealousy.
Hawke packed his belongings from the night in his cot. With a better rest than he had since their last stay in an inn, he had overslept. It made him last to meet the other travelers outside. The sun had risen, but the colorful signs of daybreak still clung to the horizon.
The group was divided. Joined by the guard who aided them the night before, Hale planned a route on a map at the stone entryway to the town. The guard pointed out specific locations, a path that had been most effective. The older mage, Fiona, spoke with the refugees, a half-a-dozen of them, guided by a lower ranking guard a few paces away.
Hawke caught Nathaniel glancing their direction as he secured his horse. Nearby, Alistair sat already mounted. His impatient tapping on his saddle was interrupted only by fidgets as he waited for the rest. Philippa kept herself occupied at a table of supplies in the small courtyard within the city. Hawke saw her when he walked to meet them and could see her from where he stood outside the gate.
"Oi!" Hale rolled up her map and called to Fiona. As she walked to her, Hale explained. "Path's as straight as we're gonna get it. Ready when you are."
"We'll have to walk our horses." Fiona answered, eying the men already near or on their mounts. "They do not have horses to spare for the refugees."
"The path's good for it." With a wave of her hand, Hale disregarded the concern. "It'll only be an extra day, maybe two. You all hear that?" She called to the rest of them.
"Hear what?" Hawke gave a tight-lipped smile knowing it belied his pleasant tone. "That you've commandeered the entire operation right from under our noses?"
The young woman licked her teeth as she crossed her arms. "What of it?"
"Not a thing." Hawke smirked, lifting his hands in surrender to avoid an argument.
Hale rolled her eyes and looked away. "Philippa!"
The sorceress stood removed from the group, helping herself to the massive supply of reserves the city had provided. Hawke knew Hale slept in the older woman's tent now and noted the change in the dynamic between them.
Crates of bottled lyrium and partitions of herbs offered with no limitation covered the surface of the table. A nearby surface was filled with rations of food, nuts, dried fruit and meats among other things. Hawke walked in that direction to restock his own supplies, assuming the rest had already done so.
"What?!" Stopping mid-reach for another ingredient, Philippa's head turned to Hale, face red. "What is it, child?"
In a brief pause, Hale's eyes narrowed. She yelled back, "Get that shite on yer sodding horse so we can leave!"
Maintaining her glare with Hale, she closed her bag with a vindictive flair and walked to secure her items on her horse.
Hawke grinned, grabbing a piece of dried fruit from the table. "Give me just a minute, Commander." He kept eye contact with Hale as he took a bite. "I still need my supplies."
Her eyes darted to Nathaniel but didn't linger. She gritted her teeth in restraint and took a few long strides toward him. She kept her voice low. "Look, if you wanna tell them yerself you've changed yer mind, do it. No one's making you help."
"Oh, please." Hawke murmured with a quick glance in her direction. He continued through the provisions, taking what he needed for his pouch. "Helping the poor and oppressed is kind of my thing. Champion of Kirkwall, remember?"
"Then what the fuck is yer problem?" Hale hissed, picking up more food rations and stuffing them in his pack. "This would go faster if you hurried the fuck up."
"I always try not to go too fast, but you knew that." He grinned and waggled his brow, ignoring Hale's scoff. "Do you think if you sleep with the entire group you'll have everyone under your thumb?"
"What?" Hale coughed out a bewildered question, frozen.
Hawke lifted a shoulder and shook his head. "You're more than halfway there."
"I'm not fucking Philippa." She whispered loudly, her face reddening. "Fuckin' dumb shite, Hawke. You're a bloody fuckin' idiot."
"Is everything all right?" Nathaniel called to them, taking a few steps closer. Despite the concern in his tone, his brow carried an annoyed furrow.
"It's fine!" Hale yelled back, holding up her hand to stop him. Her other hand clenched in a fist at her side.
"The lady says it's fine." Hawke shrugged in response to Nathaniel.
The Warden Commander stood still for a moment, monitoring the interaction, before sighing and walking away. Hawke heard the drawn voice of Alistair questioning what took them so long.
Shaking his head, Nathaniel muttered something indiscernible in reply.
Scowling from Hawke to the rest of the group in the clearing, she gestured her hand to the rest of them. "If you're that fuckin' jealous I've ploughed more people here than you, do something about it."
Hawke put a final item in his bag and turned to face the group. Nathaniel stood in front, arms crossed over his chest, watching Hawke and Hale with a critical eye. Hawke gave a bitter chuckle and mumbled to Hale. "We're all jealous about something, aren't we?"
Three days later.
A pleasant change of pace gave positive results; the women led the travel party. Delegating responsibilities to the rest, attending to the needs of the refugees, building their camp, and preparing meals all while assuring their safety required little effort. Unwilling to discuss their thoughts on the matter, the men coalesced to the duties they were charged. Each man kept quiet grumbling to himself.
With the help of the officials in Solas, the group prepared to evade the routes of Tevinter Imperium's militia. Hiding places were circled on the map Hale carried. She guided them to cover when Tevinter personnel surveyed the land, searching for elves attempting to escape the confines of the country. Tactful measures of a thorough plan allowed a seamless exit, and on the third day of traveling, they reached the Hundred Pillars.
What had appeared to be a mountain range in the distance discerned to massive columns, too perfect to be natural, towering to the north and south in uneven rows. A channel through the pillars dictated their path, wide enough for their caravan to pass, and as they walked hints of changing nature greeted them. Foliage sprouted within the sand, and with it came more wildlife, a broader variety of meals as they camped for the night.
The bowstring grazed Hale's cheek as she inhaled, and the feather fletching tickled her skin. She gazed past the notch on her bow, down her arrow, and beyond the pillar where she hid. Body still, her eyes followed a grazing deer nibbling on the grasses protruding from the earth. With a half-exhale Hale's chest lowered, and she confirmed her target before loosing the shot. The arrow rushed through the air, the quiet whistle of a forceful blow gratifying as she watched it find its mark.
She waited, steadying her breath as she witnessed confirmation of the creature's gentle demise. Hopping down from her hiding place, she whistled to the refugees who waited far behind where she hunted. When she had sensed the doe, she employed them to help her return the catch to the camp but directed them to stay behind to improve the successes of her hunt. The escapees obliged, whether to increase the chances of a fresh meal or to merely express gratitude to the woman who advocated for them, Hale did not know. But she accepted their assistance nonetheless.
Hale had expected the elves to be quiet and withdrawn. But as more distance grew between them and the major Tevinter cities, the elves vocalized their excitement. Hale engaged in light-hearted conversation, alternating questions with a few of the escapees close to her age. They asked of her origins, her thoughts of the Dalish, and life in Ferelden. She inquired of their lives in Tevinter, and the anger they shared toward slaveholders. In more than one instance, they consulted Hale for guidance before the rest.
Hale did her best not to allow the respect go to her head. But it did. She found herself motivated by the responsibility, a newfound experience accentuated in this task of rebellion.
After they carried the deer back to the camp, Hale and another woman took the mission of gutting the creature. They worked together, laying the animal prone, both kneeling down on either side. Hale's fingers clasped the small dagger on her belt, and she drew it in a fluid motion to dissect the deer's hide. But the whispers of the woman across from her made her pause. Hale glanced up.
She had only spoken with the woman briefly in the days of their trip so far and hadn't even heard her name.
The woman's large amber eyes stared back at Hale's and widened as the woman nodded to the doe. She closed her eyes and Hale watched, noticing the way the woman's loose braid failed to retain her brown hair cascading down the sides of her face. She can't be that much older than me, Hale thought to herself, studying the woman's features. She was attractive for an elf. Not as tall as Hale, and much curvier. Something in her eyes spoke knowledge.
The woman whispered, "Seranna to Mythal for this gift, life is given and received to sustain us on our journey. Thank you to the gods."
"Right," Hale added, shifting in discomfort. "Thanks gods." She waited for the woman to end her prayer before she continued her mission with her blade. Feels like I'm back with the Dalish.
The woman remained quiet as she worked, and Hale respected the silence. Not wasting time with idle conversation, the two completed their task effortlessly and walked to a nearby stream to clean up. Water trickled feebly between the rocky columns, down the small tendril of a more substantial waterway.
"I'm Cait," the woman said, reaching her hands into the water. She glanced over her arm to Hale beside her. "You're a talented hunter."
"Hale." Don't be daft. She already knows that. Hale felt her cheeks burning. "Thanks, my da taught me. He was Dalish. D'you know how to use a bow?"
"Sadly, I don't," she smirked and pulled her hands from the water, drying them on her clothes, "maybe you could show me."
Nice play, Cait. "Maybe, yeah," Hale chuckled, and her confused blushing resumed. Hale mirrored Cait and dried her hands on her pants, avoiding eye contact until the feeling faded. When she looked back at Cait, an intent gaze stared back at her. Standing, Hale kept Cait's eyes and extended her hand. "You pray like the Dalish, you know."
Accepting the offer, Cait took Hale's hand to help her rise. "Some city elves still pray to elven gods." The two walked back to the camp together. "It's hard to do in Tevinter, but some of us still find ways to worship."
"Well, fuck Tevinter," Hale grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nobody's gods would let those daft fuckin' cunts get away with their fuckery. That's why I never believed in 'em."
"Most elves in Tevinter would agree with you." In a calm and balanced tone, Cait replied to Hale's outburst. "Some of us believe the gods have their own troubles keeping them busy and we thank them for the past instead of asking them to change the present."
"Whatever lifts yer skirt, I guess." Shrugging, Hale declined the opportunity to argue. In her experience with the spirituality of the Dalish, quarreling was a lost cause. No elf could justify to the wasted power of elven gods declining to aid their own people as they suffered. It was easier for Hale to believe they did not exist.
It seemed their pace slowed the closer they came to the camp, but the smell of cooking food permeated the air and made Hale's stomach grumble.
The camp structured between columns on flat terrain, free of the dust and sand in Tevinter. With enough space between the pillars' pathway, they set their tents within eyesight of each other, and between the tents, the escaped elves laid out their bedrolls. The Warden mission party agreed on alternating watch while the elves slept.
Cait stopped out of earshot from the camp. "The men in your group don't communicate well."
A loud laugh blurted from Hale, followed by a lighter giggle. "Ain't wrong there. Every damn day there's another pissing contest between 'em. And look, I'm in charge and things go to plan." She put her hands on her hips and puffed her chest with pride, but her head rattled the arrows in the quiver on her back. Her shoulders dropped in embarrassment.
Cait's smile widened. "You are a fine leader." Her smile faded as she glanced to the camp. "But I have a suspicion you might be the center of some of their discord. Do any of those men, uh, lift your skirt?"
The burning in Hale's cheeks returned at full force and the moment of pride she displayed ended sharply. She tried to change the subject. "Might've if I wore a skirt."
Deep brown eyes staring back at Hale saw right through her evasion. Hale gave a reluctant roll of her eyes and sighed. "Fine. Yeah, tried it with a few of 'em and it ended up a shite show. But it's over now. Those wankers ain't my type."
The curve of Cait's hip as she leaned her weight joined the arch of her brow. Both caught Hale's attention.
Cait's hand rested on her hip. "Maybe I could be your type."
"Look, Nate," Hawke made a jovial call to Nathaniel as they ate their meals. Night had fallen, and the vibrant campfire burned between most of the travel party.
Hale had returned to the camp with an elven woman. The two ate while engaging in an active and distinctly flirtatious conversation.
Hawke continued, "If you think about it, that woman should thank us."
The piercing glare of Hale from across the fire was not missed by any of them, but she didn't leave her new companion's side to scold Hawke. Instead, the two women took the last of their meal and wandered back toward the stream they had come from earlier.
Suddenly feeling less hungry, Nathaniel paused. The desire to stop eating vanished as his Warden hunger persisted. "Your jealousy is palpable, Hawke," he muttered before taking another bite of food.
Fiona and Philippa had already gone to their tents for the night, responsible for the second half of the watch this evening. Due to her active role in their quest since Solas, the only one of the Warden mission without an overnight commitment was Hale. The Warden is apparently taking advantage of the free time. Nate noticed the giggles of both women fading as they walked further from the camp.
The remaining refugees stayed together, removed from the campfire. Nathaniel contributed their earlier sociability to Fiona and Hale's presence, and specifically Hale's demeanor. She has always excelled at bringing morale to a mission.
Sitting in a quiet corner of their encampment, but not outside of earshot, the reticent King Alistair spoke after what seemed like days of silence. "Honestly, Champion, do you genuinely believe everyone is lining up to bed you? Are you collecting notches in your bedpost?"
The shadows of the campfire emphasized the collection of scars Alistair had gathered from their debacle. Nathaniel hadn't seen a mirror in nearly a week, but he imagined he looked the same.
"Of course not." Hawke laughed, setting down his bowl so he could use his hands as he spoke. He gestured from his head to the rest of his body with a smug grin. "But if they did, I wouldn't blame them. Look at me. You can't tell me you haven't thought the same. The two of you are almost as good looking."
Nathaniel sneered in Hawke's direction. "Have you considered the concept of quality over quantity?"
"Wise words from one such as yourself, Commander." Alistair's quick response surprised Nathaniel, but he cleared his throat and kept eating, hoping the conversation would divert back to Hawke.
Fuck you, Alistair.
"That's a good point." Hawke snickered before drinking from his mug, on the exhale he conjectured. "Though, arguably, there is a unique quality to another man's wife and a woman half your age."
"Listen," Nathaniel stood up, taking his food with him, "I really don't need this conversation." He took a step toward his tent but stopped and faced Hawke. "I have told you to stop instigating, Hawke."
"Oh right," Hawke gave a sardonic nod, "that was when you told me that it was sandstorm that kept you from knocking Alistair's teeth out."
"You said what now?" Alistair questioned, setting his food down and lacing his hands together under his chin. "When was this and where was I?"
"That wasn't what I said, Alistair." Nathaniel's hand ushered away Alistair's concern.
"Please enlighten me, Warden Commander. I must have misheard. What did you say?" Hawke grinned, visibly entertained by the conflict he had incited.
Don't do it. The anger within Nathaniel burned his chest. Fire raged up to his face, and he clenched his fist so hard it hurt. He exhaled and released his hand.
"I won't be baited, Hawke." Nathaniel entered his tent and grabbed his bow and quiver. Strapping them to his back, he reemerged. "I'll be back when it's my turn to watch."
He went for a hunt.
Time and time again, he had seen Hale leave their camp or the Keep to clear her mind. And often, he would join her. Hiding amidst silence and nature, they held their bows steady, arrows nocked, ready to capture unsuspecting prey. He remembered the subtle floral fragrance of her hair as she knelt beside him, an added comfort in the pursuit of game before his responsibilities as Commander kept him away.
And now the act of killing something, anything, seemed markedly appealing. An almost adequate escape from the pending failure of this mission. The mage, Garrett Hawke, continued to needle under Nathaniel's skin, just as Hale undermined him- as Warden Commander, as a former flame. Philippa betrayed him, hoarding relevant secrets on behalf of Fiona, a former Warden, and without saying anything, the great King Alistair managed to distinguish all of Nathaniel's worst qualities. It was all too loud, a blaring prominence in the forefront of his mind, and he needed relief.
Deliberate to avoid the path of the two young women, not wishing to stumble upon Hale's rebounding endeavors, Nathaniel meandered from the camp into the forest of stone pillars. The light and smell of the campfire waned, and he found calmness waiting.