Slender fingers combed through Hale's hair, pulling her in, inviting a kiss in the darkness. Both women hummed on contact, resounding appreciation for the softness of the other's welcome mouth. The sound of the stream trickling nearby muted whatever noises they made.
Catching a breath, Hale grinned and her pointed teeth nibbled Cait's lower lip. Teasing, playful, she tugged to bring her closer. Cait obliged, hurriedly ushering off the layers of sand resistant garb in the process. Their clothing fell in a pile by their boots on the pebbled bank.
Beholding the curvy figure of the naked Cait, her ample hips and a full chest, Hale stepped back into the stream. She laughed, yelping as the cool water touched her toes, but reached her hands toward the other woman, beckoning. Cait followed, hissing through giggles as the creek splashed against her feet. Cait waded to join Hale in the center of the shallow stream. The deepest point came to Cait's knees and Hale's calves.
As she neared Hale, Cait reached behind her, bundling her brown hair behind her to tie it with a string.
"I like it down," Hale mumbled, craning her head to nuzzle into Cait's neck. She inhaled the honeyed scent of Cait's hair.
Letting her hands fall to her sides, along with her hair loose down her back, Cait moaned. The sound made Hale shudder.
With a wide stretched hand, Hale cupped Cait's breast, kneading the supple skin as her other hand followed the smooth turn of Cait's hip. Grabbing Cait's rear, Hale's finger dug in, and she made a small growl.
It felt real, and Hale wanted more, to connect, to ravish this woman. She ignored her gut as it tried to remind that Cait was too elven, too kind and traditional, not at all Hale's type, and instead indulged in the craving appetite that kept her seeking more. It charged her with energy each time her tongue slid against Cait's, and her core throbbed each time Cait moaned.
It was clear Cait wanted her back. With a lapse in Hale's action, lost in a lustful span of kissing, their foreheads touched. Hale bowed her head to compensate for Cait's height, and the heat of their breaths made small clouds in the air.
Cait dragged her finger from Hale's lips down the center of her chest. Tight skin revealed traces of Hale's ribcage beneath the muscles between her breasts. She paced her inhale, nerves alight as Cait guided her hand down.
She parted the soft skin between Hale's legs, using a middle digit to guide through the slickness and arriving at her swollen clit.
It made Hale gasp, weaving her hand through Cait's tresses and gripping tighter. She pulled Cait closer, just as Cait took permission to twitch her finger, sliding along the bundle of nerves. Cait's body melded to Hale's, adapting as Hale's hips rolled, adjusting the angles of Cait's attention. And she took advantage of Hale's stature, lowering her head to take Hale's nipple into her mouth. She sucked as she continued, rubbing lighter and faster.
Overcoming her body's spasms, Hale mirrored the other woman. She guided her had down the space between Cait's legs to find the soaking wet heat that waited. Cait adjusted her stance, bending her knee to give Hale more room. The action made Hale hot, frustrated with immodesty. Her face sweat even in the cold stream. Shamelessly, Hale patted Cait's swollen nub with a finger, taunting it and enjoying the muffled whimper from Cait before she guided herself to the entrance. Hale's curved digit entered, assertive, but gentle. She rubbed from the inside until Cait's tongue lolled and her hand stopped its mission on Hale.
It only called for Hale to move faster, delicate but aggressive. Cait's mouth gaped and her back curved, losing balance as her body quaked from the climax. Hale pulled her close, keeping Cait upright as they gently lowered into the creek.
Hale brought Cait to sit on her lap, finger still inside continuing to coax spasms from Cait until they settled. The cold water nearly steamed on their bodies. Smooth rocks rested under them and around them, rising above the waterline and up to the shore.
They took a moment to breathe. Resting in stillness under the stars as the stream cooled them until they started to kiss again.
It grew colder the further south the group traveled, and frost covered the needles of the sparse pine trees along their path as they neared Hasmal. A human liaison met them before they reached the gates. The man directed them to a smaller street into the city.
Compared to the sprawling meccas in Tevinter and the sandy restoration of elven architecture in Solas, the quaint town of Hasmal seemed surreal. Homes and buildings spread from the small Circle Tower which had been closed off for reconstruction. Some templars surveyed the tower project with the aid of Inquisition forces. The insignia of both organizations marked the workers' armor.
Hale kept her eyes locked on the liaison, stealing occasional glimpses of the town's activity until they reached their destination. Her stomach tightened. Knowing of the presence of Inquisition forces meant Leliana's elaborate network of spies could easily relay their quest to Alanna who would not approve of the rescue mission if it put the Inquisition at risk.
Cait walked near her, their hands brushing on more than one occasion. But the soothing sensation brought pain; both women knew the closer they came to their destination, the sooner they would part ways.
The city seemed much like the others. Buildings occupied by tenants skirted the outer edges of the town, the quality of which marked the income of the residents. Toward the center, shops and merchants hugged the Circle tower, shrouding the building and the protection it once provided. Unlike her previous visits to the Free Marches, before Alanna joined the Inquisition, tension now clung to the air. The forced silence of their mission conveyed imminent risk even though they had escaped the threats of the Tevinter Imperium. Fortunately, their practiced guide halted the group, directing them to lower their heads and hide in alleys at the appropriate moments.
Aside from delays in time, the delivery of the refugees was seamless. A side door in an obscured home near the back of the village opened. A large man walked out.
Imposing only by his size, a generous beard covered his face, and his belly hung over his belt. He wore a kind smile, and Hale found the wrinkles around his eyes comforting. The agent who had escorted them walked to stand beside him.
"Thank you for your kind assistance." The large man bowed his head to the group. "We have housing for the refugees inside. Please, come in." He gestured his arm to the door.
Hale put her hand on the pommel of the dagger at her waist. "Hold it."
Though he gave no impressions of a threat, Hale squinted. It would be foolish to trust the suspicious conditions of the operation, and prolonging the transfer helped her delay losing Cait.
"I am sure you wish to get off your feet, and we should get inside before we attract attention. We can speak further. I will answer any questions you have, milady." Robert attempted to allay Hale's worries with a congenial nod.
"Not yer lady." She crossed her arms, noticing the similarities in speech between Robert and Nathaniel. "I wanna see what's in there before we hand 'em over to you."
Robert sighed and waved his hand toward the entrance, this time in defeat. "Have at it."
As Hale walked past him into the house, Robert spoke to the group. "Rarely do we have assistant escorts who are so. . . concerned about their cargo."
Ignoring him, Hale stepped from the daylight into the house. Behind her, she heard Fiona's soft tone mumbling to the man.
It took a moment for Hale's eyes to adjust; sensing the motion of others in the room, she blinked a few times to focus. When she could see, she witnessed elves stationed in different areas of the large room. An elven man cleaned the countertops while another woman cut vegetables; another stood by a pot, stirring ingredients for what Hale determined was their dinner. As she observed, another walked in with a sack of linens and transferred the items to a table where another folded. None spoke to her, keeping their eyes on their work.
The bastards are slavers. Hale deducted her observations, feeling the heat in her face. A growl erupted from her belly and out her mouth, startling the elves around her. "Those mother fuckers!" she yelled, balling her fists to resist from tearing the room apart. The elves went back to their responsibilities without giving her a second glance.
Scuffling from outside made its way into the room. It was Nathaniel, leaving the rest standing by the doorway as he surveyed. Eyes critical and bow drawn, he searched for a threat until his gaze landed on Hale standing safely near the table.
"What is it?" He looked around the room, processing what Hale had already witnessed. "Shit."
"I ain't leaving 'em here!" She pointed toward the door before gesturing to the inside of the room. "Them either! Nate, it's fucking wrong."
The sting of angry tears misting over Hale's eyes made her blink.
"I know." Calm and balanced, his even tone validated her anger and settled her nerves. That infuriated her too. Even with her vision blurred and her eyes squeezed shut, she felt him stand closer. Like a magnet pulling him to her, his hand reached toward her shoulder until he stopped.
With a sigh, he lowered his arm and chewed the inside of his lip in thought. "Have you spoken to anyone in here yet?"
She shook her head and slouched in disappointment Hadn't thought of that. Her lips pursed in an angry pout as she observed Nate.
He spoke up, addressing the woman folding linens at the table nearby. "Ma'am, how long have you worked here? Are you paid?"
The woman lifted her head and wrinkled her brow. She set down a clean tunic. "Excuse me?"
With a huff, Hale put her hands on her hips. "He wants to know if these arseholes are slavers or if they pay you decent to cook and clean for them?"
The woman made eye contact with the other elves, who had stopped their chores to listen in. She shook her head. "Calm down. Neither is true. We're volunteers. Robert and his company saved us from Tevinter."
"So you're gonna kiss his feet and do his bitch work for the rest of yer lives?" Hale scoffed, tossing a loose rag from the pile on the table.
"It's a token of gratitude." The elven woman sneered. "We travel from Tantervale once a week to support him. It's our choice, and it helps him continue to save more elves."
Robert's voice rang as he walked into the kitchen. "Is everything all right in here? Oh, I see you've met Anna." He smiled at the woman but spoke to Nathaniel and Hale. "She is so kind to bring support to our operation."
"It is my pleasure if it helps you continue to aid refugees."
Realizing her mouth gaped open, Hale closed it. Confused, embarrassed, and still angry for reasons even she didn't understand, she walked out as the others entered the refugee house.
Cait stopped her, reaching for Hale's hand with her own. "What's wrong?"
"We're here." Hale flung her hand toward the building dramatically. "It's safe, and that fat bellend seems alright. So that's it."
Cait's lips brushed Hale's cheek. "Thank you."
"Yeah," Hale groaned, rolling her eyes to meet Cait's, "You're welcome, I guess."
"I don't know where I'll be going from here, but I trust you're a skilled enough tracker. You could come and find me if you're in the Marches."
Cheeks flushed, Hale felt an excited and impulsive burning in her chest. She gripped Cait's hand. "We'll just leave. You ditch this shitehole, I'll lose these tossers, and we'll go somewhere...else."
A gentle laugh escaped Cait and Hale looked up, frustrated.
With a tiny shake of her head, Cait softened her voice. "You know you don't mean that. I haven't known you long, but I know you care about the mission you're on." She squeezed Hale's hand back and kissed the back of Hale's palm. "Go on, Hale. This has been fun."
Grumbling wordlessly, Hale looked up to the sky. Afternoon light made long shadows on the town.
Cait continued. "I can see that even through his anger, the Warden Commander cares about you and values your contribution to this quest."
Throwing up her hands, Hale aggressively dismissed the topic of conversation. "No. Fuck. Let's not talk about him, please."
"Another sign you should stay with your group. You know you have a purpose with them."
A loose pebble rolled against the building when Hale kicked it. Her shoulders caved, and she avoided Cait's eye contact. "No, I really don't."
"Te'elan eolasa." [You cannot know that.] The whisper tickled Hale's ear.
Well, shite. She sighed and gave a studious gaze toward the open door. Hale knew Cait was right.
21 Haring 9:42
Tantervale retained its festive nature since the last time Nathaniel had visited. The people cherished poise and wandered the market streets with their heads held high. Groups of varying degrees of nobility mingled and shopped, as if on display for only each other. Gregarious laughter echoed through the commotion.
In one direction of the square, the wide, cobbled road split into lanes leading to large estates, and in the other, the main street reached colorful tents surrounding the vacant tourney grounds, visible from the square.
Nathaniel enjoyed it. Even without the decorative banners and excesses of wine flowing through the streets during the Grand Tourney, the town's vigor reminded him of his love for the Free Marches. He held fond memories of this city.
Things were simpler when he lived in Starkhaven; when his most daunting concern was avoiding the disapproval of his mother's cousin, Ser Rodolphe. A rigorous schedule of training and lessons took him closer to knighthood. In his downtime, he wandered the Marches, improving his techniques as an archer, and often lying to Rodolphe about his whereabouts each night.
He did as he pleased with few responsibilities, finding women who enjoyed his company in each town he visited, and by the final years of his time there, Rodolphe respected him as a squire. The Free Marches grew to feel like home, and he felt more at ease than he ever had in Ferelden.
The group surrounded Nathaniel on either side as he lost himself in nostalgic thoughts. He kept the memories to himself, soaking up the vibrancy of Tantervale and planning to separate himself from the group to find ale and cakes before he roomed for the night. None knew his history before the events of the Blight. Eager to commit himself to the concept of a nomadic life of knighthood, the irresponsible and impulsive young bachelor was nothing like the man Nathaniel was now.
The aggravating sound of Hawke's snide commentary disrupted Nathaniel's reverie. "You've been quiet since Hasmal, Hale. Missing your little elven friend, I take it?"
Hale ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed ahead. The group spread along the cobbled road, taking a slow pace as they looked for an inn.
Hawke continued with his critique. "Look, kid, it's in and out. There's a reason you don't stay there long. If you can't stick with it, don't stick it in… it. That's what I always say."
She sneered at him, her pace at an arm's distance. "Bugger off. You're just jealous I can't keep 'em off me."
Nathaniel cleared his throat, but a voice from a nearby vendor's cart called his attention. He thought he heard his name. "Nathaniel!"
He looked through the crowd walking around and between them to find the source — a woman, calling for him again and again. Amused with the circumstances, considering his memories of Tantervale, he couldn't help but smirk even though he didn't see the speaker.
"Is it really you?" The Tantervale accent came from behind him. He turned around to see her. A pretty elven woman, close to his age, with dirty blonde hair tucked behind her ears. "Nathaniel fucking Howe." The intonation was much like what Nathaniel remembered from Starkhaven, but her speech was soft and spritely.
He paused, unable to put a name to the face. Only faintly recognizing her, and unable to recall from where, he nodded. "It's me."
"Still shooting, I see." She winked at him and glanced to the bow on his back. "Your aim was always impeccable."
Hawke's chuckle faded into the background as the memory clicked. Nathaniel drunkenly stumbled into an archery match after the events of the Grand Tourney and competed against an attractive elven woman. His shots landed well enough to earn her company for the rest of the day. They repeatedly met from that point forward, practicing their aim and other things. She had a younger sister.
". . .Erina!" He exclaimed and extended his arms to hug her.
"Well, this is interesting," Hawke remarked, tapping his chin with a finger. He stood at the closest curb beside Hale, highly intrigued by the interaction.
The thought of shutting Hawke up with a threat or menacing glare crossed Nathaniel's mind, but he disregarded the impulse, instead giving his attention to Erina. Shit. Or is it Avina? He sensed the confused looks from the rest of the party eying him. They walked closer.
"Almost! I'm Avina." She grinned, squinting her eyes, subtly demanding him to remember what he had long forgotten. "My sister is practicing with her bow in the training yard. She'll be happy to see you."
"Sister, is it?" Hawke inquired, eying Avina from head to toe before and circling the conversation like a predatory bird. His gaze looked past her to Nathaniel, brow raised, snooping. "For shame, Nathaniel. Her sister's name is Erina."
Avina blushed and pulled at Nathaniel's hand, apologizing for his mistake. "Think nothing of it, milord. It's been years. People still get us mixed up all the time."
She pulled his hand, and he took a step to follow. But Hawke leaned to whisper into Hale's ear within Nathaniel's range. He listened intently.
"The Commander seems to have a type," Hawke said.
Leave her alone. The threat failed to pass Nate's lips. He considered the ways Hale could make Hawke regret his prodding if he continued.
Instead, Hale's shoulders dropped, and she met Nathaniel's gaze for a moment. The smallest speck of frustration glimmered. But it vanished, and she leaned her head away from Hawke in disgust.
Alistair, completely uninterested in the interaction between Nathaniel and the strange woman, groaned in annoyance. "Anyway, maybe you could continue this reunion after we find an inn and secure our things, Commander."
"He's right, Nathaniel dear." Philippa nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.
Hawke reached for Avina's hand. "Would you care to join us for dinner? Perhaps to tell the most wretched and embarrassing stories you can recall about Nathaniel?"
"Leave 'em alone, Hawke." Hale scowled, batting down his outstretched arm. "Let's go."
Damn it. Torn, Nathaniel knew the group and his mission took precedence, but this old friend, a bedmate offering guaranteed relief from recent stressors proved all too alluring. And absolutely justified. The recent torture of enduring Hale's forays qualified an excuse.
Avoiding Hale, he apologized to the others. "I'm sorry. I'll have to catch up."
He exhaled, relieved to have made the decision. Avina squeezed his hand and voiced appreciation, ready to guide him through the Tantervale streets to Erina. For a moment, he trusted he could abandon his responsibilities for just a night; the group would be intact when he returned. But the sound of Hawke's snickering resounded through the crowds. Nathaniel let Avina's voice dwindle into a persistent hum, focusing his attention entirely on Hawke.
The insufferable Champion took a step to follow the rest. His voice projected enough for all to hear him and a few onlookers turned their heads. "You Wardens just can't keep it in your pants, can you? Is this really what we're killing ourselves to protect?"
Hale glanced over her shoulder. "Warden appetite is real, mate. What's yer excuse for trying to nob everything that walks?"
Alistair, who had led the mission to continue away from Nathaniel and Avina, stopped in his path and turned around. "We're protecting the Wardens to protect Thedas. Another Blight is inevitable, and the Wardens are the only way to stop them. Please, tell me I'm not the first one to inform you. You do know why you're here, right?"
The answer from Alistair surprised Nathaniel, and he slowed his pace with Avina, intent to hear how the other's spoke of the Grey Wardens and Hawke's argument.
Another laugh escaped Hawke, and he stopped walking as Alistair neared him. "Is that why you were so eager to leave, your majesty? Doomed to an early demise until you managed to escape?"
"Shut up, Hawke," Nathaniel cursed under his breath, annoyed with Hawke answering questions with questions. The growing discord would go nowhere. He glanced to Avina and apologized again, pulling his hand from her and heading to the source of the growing conflict. She stood bewildered, brow furrowed as he turned from her.
Worn from weeks of travel, the visibly dirty clothes and circles under their eyes made the group stand out from the posh citizens. Nearly shouting, they drew the disgruntled gazes of passersby. Shocked whispers inquiring about the presence of Grey Wardens and the Champion echoed through the crowd.
Alistair reflected pride, standing with his feet and shoulders wide. "I chose the Wardens, thank you. It was an honor to serve and much better than my alternative."
Hawke took a casual step in a path to Alistair. "Ah yes, right. Because even the heir to the throne wasn't safe from parental neglect."
"Garrett!" Philippa yelled, offended on Alistair's behalf.
Nathaniel noticed she had grown pale, taking ragged breaths while leaning on her staff to keep her balance. Philippa he moved to rest against the wall of a merchant's shop. Preoccupied with the escalating dispute, none seemed to notice the trouble of her state. I have to step in.
"What?" Hawke shrugged his arms in exaggeration. "Don't you know about the bastard King's sad story?"
"That's not relevant to our mission," Nathaniel spoke up as he neared them, unimpressed with Hawke's behavior and annoyed it forced him to abandon his plans with Avina. You will pay for this, Hawke. The likelihood she would be waiting for him when the debacle ended grew slimmer by the second."Knock it off."
Alistair glowered at Hawke before adjusting the bag that hung from his back. "And it's none of your business."
"Is it irrelevant if it's true?." Hawke pointed his finger and wagged it at Alistair. "My brother, Carver told me some interesting things when he returned from Ostagar. He said Cailain wasn't the best leader either. The apples didn't fall far from the tree, I suppose."
"No one sodding cares!" Hale huffed and turned on her heels, taking a large step toward the Champion.
Philippa leaned forward, her hands supported over her knees. "Keep that balderdash to yourself."
Even Fiona chimed in to against Hawke. "Maric loved Ferelden and Alistair's history has nothing to do with his success as king."
The group resonated Fiona's words in silence, and Alistair's brow creased, he nodded in gratitude to Fiona.
"Do you consider kings who run from their thrones successful?" Hawke's smirk only grew wider, and certain he knew the subject Hawke would rile, Nathaniel's chest tightened. "Say more about forgetting the past, Fiona. What's your experience on the matter?"
The members of the group tightened their circle toward Hawke. Fiona's lips thinned as she frowned.
"For the love of Andraste," Philippa spat, breathless and exasperated. "So she's been cured. What of it? We'll have no more of this nonsense."
In unison, Hale and Alistair spoke a puzzled, "What?" Alistair studied Fiona with concern, waiting for someone to explain Philippa's statement.
Nathaniel cleared his throat. "It is not important. Let's find an inn."
"Aw," Hawke feigned a pout, "The Commander can't leave us alone for one minute."
An embittered laugh escaped Nathaniel. He stirred this conflict deliberately.
"I need a moment," Philippa muttered, capping a bottle and putting it in her bag.
Eyes landing on Hale, as they always did, Nathaniel noticed her worried look. She bit her lip.
"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, putting a hand to Philippa's shoulder.
Philippa gave him a kind and tired smile. "I will be fine, my dear."
Rolling his eyes, Hawke crossed his arms. "This is why I don't usually invite the elderly on my quests."
Philippa glowered at him but lacked the breath to make a comeback.
Tilting his head, Alistair kept an intense stare on Fiona who avoided his eye contact. "Honestly, I've found more experienced mages to be quite an asset."
"She's sick," Hale mumbled, gritting her teeth. Philippa's eyes widened, and she shook her head.
Nathaniel's brow arched, trying to comprehend the communication between the women. But the conversation continued.
So engrossed in the discussion, Hawke responded to Alistair's comment, clearly not having heard Hale., "Experience does not sustain its value when it slows cross-country travels."
"She's sick," Hale spoke louder, stepping closer to the rest.
Philippa mouthed the word "don't" to Hale.
To dispel Hale's concerns, Nathaniel raised his voice, drawing the attention of the group. "Illness is an expectation on a mission this long. I'm surprised we've made it this far without it happening already."
Hawke made a dismissive lean. "Is that common under your command, Nate?"
None saw it coming. Hale's growl rose to a yell as she lunged to her side, weight leaning on one leg as she followed through with a fist to Hawke's face. The thud of impact resonated. Caught off guard, Hawke followed the blow as his head went backward. He stumbled, arms reaching for leverage in vain, seeking something to hold onto before he fell to the ground.
A nearby group of Tantervale citizens burst into laughter.
Well done, Huntress. The sight pleased him, but Nathaniel refrained from displaying approval or dismay at Hale's behavior, and no one else commented. Alistair and Fiona covered their mouths, likely to hide surprise or amusement. Philippa, catching her breath with her weight on her staff, only gave a pleading look to Hale.
Hale shook out her hand and pointed to Philippa with the other. "Phil's got the fucking Warden illness!"
Hale's words hit Nathaniel like a ton of bricks. His eyes scanned Philippa, who looked toward the sky, avoiding discussion and confirming Hale's declaration. Damn it, Phil. The urge to scold her fell short when he witnessed her struggling to breathe, unable to stand. The sorceress wasn't proud, and the news would require a change of plans.
Flexing her fingers, Hale stepped over Hawke and away from the group. He groaned, his hand covering his swollen and bleeding nose. His other hand gave the commander a thumbs up. "Excellent commanding, milord," the ironic mutter came with a garbled snort. He suffered from his humor and hissed in pain before dropping his head back again to slow the bleeding.
Hale walked in one direction, and when he turned around, Nathaniel spotted Avina leaving him in the other.
He exhaled, frowning at Hawke as the man struggled to stand. "Come on, let's find rooms."
Fiona helped Philippa as they joined Nathaniel, Alistair strode on his other side, and Hawke scrambled to catch up. They all followed Hale into the doorway of a well-lit inn.