Fog clung to the grass. The field's colors ranged from green to brown on either side of the Minanter River, all decorated with a light layer of frost. As the group's journey continued east from Tantervale, the stone path of the Imperial highway disappeared, replaced with a vacant countryside. The moor's gentle slopes had invited them to Starkhaven and continued toward Ansburg.
Unlike the previous stops of their journey, their stay in Starkhaven the night prior was uneventful. But much changed for Nathaniel. His eyes followed Hale. She avoided him, riding her horse near Philippa's and forcing conversation. The return of his gaze landing on the young woman belied his efforts to look away.
But he didn't push Hale to talk. Lost in his confusion about an event from the night prior, he mulled.
He had a level of comfort within Starkhaven, even more than Tantervale. Though time had changed storefronts and the metropolis had grown, he understood where to take the group once within the stronghold's walls. Hilly cobbled streets required the others to strain on their trek. But Nathaniel navigated the city and detours without effort until they found a suitable inn and stayed for the night.
At this point, the group had a routine devised at their arrival to their inns. They ate and divided for the night, this time without any major conflict, still tired from the extended day of travel from Tantervale.
Nathaniel attributed much of their peace to the silence of Garrett Hawke. A welcome change to which Nathaniel claimed only a small portion of credit after confronting Hawke's behavior and suggesting he leave. Hale's punching him had contributed more to the reduction in the mage's attitude than anything.
Hawke's minor changes did not take priority in Nate's mind. Nathaniel noticed Hale's proximity to him since Tantervale had shifted. She met his eyes more often and rode her horse near his. The coldness she had emanated since their argument in the Plains had altered. He felt her warmth, magnetic and curious drawing his attention.
She's moving on, Nathaniel thought, trying to explain away the change. The loss of her anger would allow their company to be simple, platonic. But he knew Hale, and the motivation seemed unlikely. Unsure how to address the subject, he waited for her to act on it.
And she did. A small, unexpected knock on Nathaniel's bedroom door in Starkhaven brought him to his feet from where he leaned on the edge of his bed, arms crossed as he deliberated over the journey. His thoughts had already returned to Hale before the sound at his door disrupted him.
Remembering the inn's reputation for its absence of bed bugs and the evening supply of warm milk, he expected to find a busboy at his door. Rather, a force of nature met him. Hale waited a brief second, flexing her hands at her sides before leaping onto him. Legs wrapping around his waist, her light frame gripped, and he instinctively supported her. His hands extended to grasp the lovely creature's muscled ass as her lips found his mouth. Her fingers laced through his messy black hair, tugging at him, both pulling him away and bringing him closer at the same time. She swung his door shut with her free arm.
Voracious growls and moans echoed as her mouth wandered across his face and neck and ears without stopping for air. He lost himself in her sounds, scent, and the sensations she coaxed, blood tingling from the needed physical contact. Mindlessly, he stepped back to the center of the room as his open palms relished her familiar curves. Hands wandered quickly across her body, hurrying to reconnect as if the moment might disappear should he fail to show adequate appreciation.
She gasped, finally forfeiting to her need for air. And as Nathaniel breathed through the pause, his mind cleared. Though his mouth watered for her, his cock hard for anything she offered, he managed to say, "No, Hale." Looking away, Nathaniel released her body; his hands lifted in surrender. He muttered, "Not like this."
Her legs tightened around him, still hooked as she leaned away to create ample space between their faces. Confused and offended, she groaned. "What the fuck, Nate?"
He frowned, meeting her green eyes glaring back with frustration. He related, annoyed with himself and his unwillingness to tread back the same path they had repeated, certain that if they acted on impulse, they would regret it in the morning. He couldn't find the words to tell her. I love you, Huntress and I know this will not end well.
She scoffed, using his body for balance as she dropped to the ground. All too aware of his diminishing erection grazing her leather-clad legs as she lowered, Nathaniel had to withhold a tortured groan.
He could fuck her. The option recurred as she provoked lurid images in his mind. Hands trembling, sweaty, compelled to pin her to the wall, he took a deep breath. Engaging with the Huntress— once again combining their mutual depravity for heat and temporary gratification— could not fix him. The distraction would not change the reality of his disappointment in himself.
Though it took every ounce of effort, he sighed and said, "Hale, I… just don't know if that's a good idea."
The words failed to explain the complicated, and conflicting desires stewing within him. But he had confessed his love before, and he had given in to carnal pleasure. He had even told her to leave, and no matter his choice, their reunions always ended the same.
Eyes narrowed on him, watery with rage, Hale inhaled and took a step toward the door. "Fine, then I'll leave if that's what you sodding want—"
"That's not what I said," he snapped, irritated with her assumption and with himself for his silence. Nathaniel clenched his hand in front of him and leaned back on his bed.
Hale stayed in place, one foot toward the door, only turning to address him. "I shouldn't've come." Squeezing her eyes shut, she mumbled under her breath. "A pox on me. Stupid." Another slow step took her to the exit.
"Wait," he called, voice low and tired. Depleted from the interaction, and from his self-deprecating thoughts, the word 'stay' failed to find a voice. He remained frozen, expressionless, and with a longing to go to Hale so strong it kept him seated.
'Can you do nothing right?' His father's words resounded, a painful reminder of the man's constant state of disapproval. It was justified, and Nathaniel's pattern for self doubt and ineptitude only manifested dishonorable outcomes. He knew it. His deficiencies as Warden Commander, Lieutenant, a friend to Caoilainn, and even as a partner to Hale had resulted from his brokenness. When he had asked her for commitment, she declined, and he didn't blame her. Because this is all she wants.
Eyes stinging, blurry, Nathaniel met Hale's accusatory gaze.
It softened. Hale's brow wrinkled, confused.
"Nate," she murmured, returning to him. She stood before Nathaniel, and he left his knees wide, giving her room to inch closer with tiny, tentative steps.
He sighed an exhausted laugh and pressed his thumb and middle finger against his eyes. Uncertain what to make of this surge of emotion, what it meant, and what Hale thought of him, he kept his head down. But she didn't urge him to talk. Instead, her back curved over him, and her head rested against his. Palms wide, tender and loving despite his misgivings, she soothed him by rubbing her hands along his slouched back. The crisp floral scent of her hair enveloped him.
And it opened something. Melting away layers of guilt and grief and resentment, Nathaniel felt warm tears sliding down his cheeks. The stressors that had only intensified the longer this quest lasted, along with the confusion of his relationship with this particular young woman built up and overflowed.
His body shook as silent sobs released for a few minutes that seemed to go on for an eternity. Until eventually, he reciprocated her embrace, wrapping his arms around Hale's waist. Another exhale freed the final weight of sadness, and he managed to look up to her.
Her untamed red hair managed to make her tan skin glow, and her eyes glistened. Nathaniel sniffed back the sorrow as his hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind her pointed ear. Another unspoken agreement, without any other words, they found his bed and fell asleep, Hale curved her small frame around his back.
Nathaniel woke when he heard her leave before dawn. He didn't stop her.
They hadn't spoken since. With the group's supplies replenished, they set off for the next two long days of travel by horseback to Ansburg. The morning came and went, and they continued as if leaving any other city.
The moors east of Starkhaven stretched onward, almost endless. The wide and worn path carved into the grass gave the convoy enough room to spread out. They trotted their horses at an even pace, not pushing the beasts to exhaustion without compromising their speed.
Hesitant to conclude anything from their interaction the night prior, Hale acted as if it hadn't happened. None in the group knew she had visited Nathaniel, that he had declined her advances, nor that he had sobbed in front of her. They didn't need to know.
She had only seen Nate's eyes well up once in an argument when she left him in the Silent Plains, but it resulted from anger. Even Caoilainn's near-death-experience hadn't brought tears to his eyes. These tears said something else— a deep sadness Hale didn't understand.
I dunno if I wanna get it. Hale realized another motivation for her distance from Nate. The consistently reserved man's vulnerability intimidated Hale, and she knew she was not equipped to help him. Her weak attempt at comforting him had seemed to allay his pain, or he had accepted the limits of her inexperience.
No one else in the group knew she had shared a bed with him, and none would have believed they didn't have sex. Almost. Her stomach fluttered remembering the heat that bound them when she had burst in his room. She cleared her throat.
Hale felt the weight of Nate's recurring gaze as she rode. It frustrated her, assuming he expected something. But what?
Distracting herself, Hale asked Philippa about her thoughts on the Warden cure. The conversation drifted, with little involvement on Hale's part to the experience of mage Wardens through the events of the mage and Templar conflict. Hale listened absentmindedly and nodded in agreement when necessary.
And frustrated curiosity kept bringing her mind to Nate. Certain he was looking at her, she did not turn around. Who was he before the Wardens? She had pondered since Tantervale— when Nathaniel had almost left them for a woman he had obviously slept with years prior.
A tinge of jealousy had crept into her mind, not resulting from the interest of another woman, but rather because the woman had known another version of Nate. She imagined Nathaniel free from his obligations the Wardens, the stressors of his role as Lieutenant to the Bitch Queen, and now as the Warden Commander. I wanna know that Nate.
Don't matter. Hale reminded herself, knowing where Nathaniel's priorities currently lay. Still embittered about the painful outcomes of her other attempts to move on, her return to Nathaniel last night wrought embarrassment.
When dusk reached them, the group stopped to make camp. Hale ignored the debate within her mind, arguing if Nate's bedroll was an option and slept in Philippa's tent instead.
The same continued the following day, and by the evening, the city of Ansburg came into sight. Still avoiding Nate, Hale slept in Philippa's tent again when they camped outside of the town.
Other municipalities nestled on the Minanter had derived much of their economies from the river, but as the group entered they discovered Ansburg found harmony between its architecture and the river's branches. The city's low altitude kept buildings close to the ground, but the town spread for miles in each direction. Two watery channels operated like streets, lined with buildings transporting goods and people from the north and south and east and west ends of the city. Sunlight reflecting off the water made the city even brighter.
The number of docks exceeded the number of stables, and the group was forced to linger the outskirts of the town before they found a stable with any vacancy. With the horses secured, their belongings on their backs, they wasted no time before heading to the Warden Base.
With Hawke's guidance, the group boarded wooden catamarans to carry them northward on the river branch. The operators looked nervous when they stated their destination and had insisted on payment before they set off.
Nathaniel occupied a boat with Philippa and Hale, studying the city's construction from a new perspective. Shops catered to the nautical activity, and despite the heavy traffic among catamarans and small barges within the stream, no collisions occurred. Succinct and comfortable, the town operated in a chaotic unison.
As their boat drifted north and the city disappeared. The lonely moor returned, grasses blowing as a chilly breeze passed over, and the looming shadow of the stronghold resting at the end of small river cast over them. A worn Warden banner twisted in the wind, tattered and indiscernible. A gate door opened at the inlet in the grimy stone rampart, allowing them to enter. Their boat attendants pushed long sticks into the depths of the water, propelling them into the keep and all sunlight vanished.
There are Wardens here. Someone had opened the gate, and Nathaniel felt the Grey Warden bond buzzing weakly nearby. The glowing lanterns within the darkness of the interior dock reaffirmed his evaluation. But the dock appeared empty.
The catamaran operators did not escort them off their vessels. Instead, they pushed the boats as close to the stone floors as possible and allowed the group to scramble themselves and their items to the ground. The drivers did not wait for their satisfaction with their trip before hurrying back toward the city.
"Well, this isn't creepy," Alistair muttered as he craned his neck to look around the estuary.
"It's just old," Nathaniel responded, minimizing Alistair's concern while lighting a torch on a lantern. In truth, Nathaniel agreed. But they had come too far to let fear deter them.
Alistair sneered. "Right. Then you will have no problem leading us down that old, moldy, cobwebbed, and odorous hallway to the rest of the keep, will you?" A small flight of stairs guided a cavernous passage, running parallel to a human-made leg of the stream. All of it disappeared into the dark depths of the keep.
Torch in hand, Nathaniel rolled his eyes and took a confident step up the stairway. At the same time, a loud banging echoed through the hall. Nathaniel yelled incoherently, dropping the torch at the hall's entrance and taking a step back in defense.
The startled group stood frozen waiting to identify the cause of the noise. Nathaniel picked up the torch and waited, peeling his eyes to see through the pitch.
"Go on then," Alistair goaded from below. "It's just old."
Speaking over his shoulder, Nathaniel said, "Shut up, Alistair. I think I hear something." He turned his ear to the hall, trying to identify the source of shuffling noise coming from within. As he waited, he pulled a dagger from his belt. He heard the squeaking pull of Hale's bowstring behind him.
The shuffling vibrations of noise cleared to footsteps, many feet, walking in unison, as it drew nearer, and the hum of the Warden bond radiated. The rattling of scaled armor emerged from within the footsteps, and the glow of a magical light appeared, growing closer.
A man's voice preceded the appearance of the speaker, coming out of the shadows. "Weapons down, Wardens."
Letting his weapon fall to his side, Nathaniel held the torch toward the darkness. A man appeared, donned in Warden armor with a golden griffon carved into the chest plate. He must have been in his late fifties; his grey hair trimmed tightly on the sides and parted neatly. The High Constable. Lower level Wardens, dressed in standard level armor followed behind.
Second in command to the First Warden, the High Constable operated as the liaison between the Grey Wardens and the rest of Thedas. Lessons on the Wardens had explained the High Constable's original position as the leader of the aerial forces when griffons were still an element of the Warden army.
Before Nathaniel could cross his arm over his chest in a Warden salute, the man walked past him and repeated, "I said weapons down."
"Tell us yer name first and I will!" Hale called from the lower platform, her nocked arrow following the man as he came to a stop at the top of the stairs.
"Hale, stand down." Nathaniel hissed, unwilling to speak over a higher ranking Warden.
"I am the High Constable of the Grey, Cohen Bryant, and you will lower your weapon or leave this keep for insubordination."
Narrowing her eyes, Hale scanned the High Constable from head to toe before she lowered her bow. Without breaking eye contact, she put her arm over her chest to salute him.
"High Constable," Nathaniel stepped to the man's side. "Permission to speak, sir."
Frowning, Cohen moved his glare from Hale to Nathaniel and nodded.
"Please forgive the Junior Warden." Nathaniel leaned his head toward Hale and explained their circumstances. "We have not found another living Warden since we left Ferelden. However, we have come across many dead and dying in the form of ghouls, sir. It is only with a vigilant effort that we made it here."
"Warden Commander Howe, is it?" Cohen replied, evaluating Nathaniel with a critical eye. Nathaniel only nodded. "Yes, we received the letter from the former Commander in Ferelden about her return to the throne. But in the wake of recent events, I was unable to reply on the First Wardens behalf."
"We found his… remains in Weisshaupt, among others. Based on his writings, he was not well." Uncomfortable recalling the gruesome discovery they had made at the stronghold, Nathaniel swallowed.
"That's a shame." Cohen's mouth pressed, serious in his disappointment. "He was determined to find a solution before he sent half the army and I here to Ansburg. I could only trust him, though I questioned his stability."
"Rightly so," Alistair called from below, stepping up the stairway to the rest of them. "King Alistair Theirin, former Warden. Ender of the fifth Blight. The previous Fereldan Warden Commander is my wife." He crossed his arm over his chest before extending his hand toward the High Constable's.
He took it, a confused look twisting his brow. "You are no longer a Warden, King Alistair."
Alistair's pointed finger tapped the air between them. "You are correct in that evaluation, and I can explain. Perhaps we could find somewhere to place our bags and bathe before so doing? The others in our group are sure to have helpful contributions to such a conversation." He extended his arm to the rest of the party, still standing together and waiting in silence.
Cohen's gaze followed, expressions confused. Clearing his throat, Nathaniel spoke up. "My apologies, High Constable. You have already met Junior Warden Hale." He omitted her relation to the Inquisitor for the time being. His hand extended to the others. "Senior Warden Philippa, the Champion Garrett Hawke, and another former Warden and former Grand Enchanter, Fiona." As Nathaniel reached the place she should have stood he realized the third mage was not present on the lower level.
"Fiona?" Echoing Nathaniel's introduction, Cohen turned his head and shifted his eyes. "Am I missing something?"
All of them looked around for the missing woman, but the dock was vacant aside from them. Philippa and Hale gave pointed stares in Hawke's direction.
"What?" He shrugged, sending his arms wide in each direction. "She didn't say anything to me. I'm just here to look pretty, and I'm doing my job."
"Warden Shea," Cohen called to one of the Wardens that followed him. "Direct our new guests to rooms in the Revas wing. We will convene for a meeting at noon, and hopefully, our missing person will appear. If not we will discuss our next steps in locating her during said meeting." He addressed the travel party individually as he spoke, his demeanor softening as he shed propriety. "Wardens, Hawke, King Alistair, I look forward to learning whatever intel you have gathered. These are dark times for the Order of the Grey and your arrival is long overdue."