The silence in Hawke's small room within the Ansburg Keep was palpable. Fiona sat in a chair at a table, staring at the wooden surface, searching for a way to explain her disappearance to the other group members and Alistair in particular. The Ansburg Wardens would have too many questions, and any who made it from Weisshaupt might know her. Every outcome of them discovering her identity led to a revelation of the truth about Alistair, and she couldn't have that happen. She had committed this to Maric.
When it seemed she had studied every grain on the tabletop, she resorted to standing and paced, wringing her hands as her thoughts continued. She had walked the room already, many times studying the minute details from corner to corner in helpless efforts to distract herself. It was a simple room, a bed on one wall, a table with a chair near the other, and an old fireplace occupied the opposite wall. A charred log rested in its ashes within the hearth.
Absent minded and frustrated with incessant waiting, she closed her eyes and pulled from the Fade, conjuring mana to send a quick spell to the firewood. Reluctant to burn, embers spread across the surface of the log, crackling as dust burned at contact. But the fire took, gracefully igniting when the power of the spell reached within the wood.
A gentle warmth joined the smell of burning wood and dust. She sighed and returned to the seat, strumming her fingers on the tabletop. At the same time, and to her relief, the door crept open. Hawke entered the room.
The man gave a dramatic huff and rolled his eyes. He removed his bracers. Fiona held her breath as she watched.
He shook his head and looked up to her as he tossed armor to the foot of his bed. "Tough crowd out there."
"What is the status of the Wardens?" She blurted her question, unwilling to humor him.
"Aside from their near extinction and its threat to the future of Thedas?"
Fiona didn't answer; she frowned at Hawke until he gave a suitable explanation.
"Alright, alright," Hawke muttered in mock annoyance. He held up his hands. "The Orlesian Wardens are gone, and most of Weisshaupt didn't make it. Philippa is crafting another cure."
"How would that solve anything?" Perplexed, Fiona rose from the chair and stepped toward Hawke. "I don't understand."
"Supposedly, the Wardens might be able to rejoin once they are cured. The bond would have a fresh start, should the Wardens choose that path. And if they are so unlucky to be unable to rejoin— because yes, your name came up—" his brow lifted as she neared him, "then at least they haven't all turned to ghouls. At least that's the best sense I can make of it."
"Is that all they said about me?" She looked up at him; eyes narrowed and nervous.
"That is it." He turned his head. "Well, of course, they mentioned your vanishing act. Is there anything else they should be talking about?"
"No," she mumbled. The news had lifted a worried weight from her chest. Relieved, she sighed.
Hawke interrupted her reflection. "I get the bed, just so you know. You are welcome to join me, but fair warning, I am a cuddler."
Fiona guffawed, glancing at the bed with skepticism. It was small, and she was not willing to get cozy with the Champion. She would make do with a makeshift bed from extra blankets on the floor.
With all that raced through her mind, she wouldn't sleep well anyway. She would rise before dawn, find Cohen and explain.
I need to rejoin the Wardens.
29 Haring 9:42
Nestled in the nook of a tree branch with her bow drawn, Hale tuned her senses into the forest. Vivid greens glimmered in the sunlight. Her sight was keen to catch the subtle movement of potential prey and her ears tuned into any shifts in sound. She steadied her breath, slow and even— silent. The quiet prevailed, absent of signs of game.
A branch cracked behind her, too close. Her body froze, anticipating confirmation of a threat or safety. Her gaze reached over her shoulder.
Before she could turn her head, she felt his breath before the vibrations of his voice.
"Huntress," Nate murmured in her ear.
Breath caught, Hale turned around, balancing on the narrow ledge of the tree limb with the support of the broad and mossy trunk. But he was gone. No sight and no evidence of Nate's presence remained where he had crouched.
Heart racing, Hale sighed and leaned against the tree, allowing it to support her. She growled— the din morphing into a pained yell. Leaves shook as birds flew away, screeching in reply to Hale's cry. Animals on the forest floor scurried from the sound.
She recognized the forest. Dense trees spread for miles, leaking in rays of sunlight at the leaves' discretion. The Emerald Graves. She had punched Nate near a tree like this, and later admitted her desire to the Warden Commander in the same forest.
The thought frustrated her, and as heat spread across her face, she realized she was awake.
Sheets tangled as Hale rolled in the shoddy Ansburg bed. Dense, the fabric didn't breath, trapping heat, and it seemed every fiber scratched against her skin. But when she kicked the sheets off, she found herself cold and shivering in the small room.
If she closed her eyes long enough, sleep took her— brief, but deep and immersive. Each time, lucid and unsettling images of Nathaniel brought her back to reality. With every drift out of consciousness, he found her. In every dream, in every circumstance.
Hale stared at the ceiling, irritated. Fuck him. She refused to analyze the dreams as anything other than a jealous response from the meeting the evening prior. Her stomach tightened as she recalled Nathaniel's prattling politely to the Orlesian woman, Bridgette.
The two had continued a private but professional conversation in the dining hall, sitting across from one another. From what Hale could hear, they spoke of the decline of the Wardens' health, and their respective experiences at the battle at the Arbor Wilds. Both tenured and high ranking Grey Wardens, their discussion went on for hours. Although they did not pass lurid glances and their speech was not suggestive, Hale was unwilling to bear witness to their chemistry. When she finally went to bed, their dialogue endured.
The memory drove Hale from her bed near dawn. She made a clumsy attempt to dress in the dark and found the nearest washroom. On her return, she grabbed her bow and quiver and donned them.
Rushing in her impatience to find suitable nature to hunt, she swung her door open and stepped blindly into the hall. Hale's body ran directly into another, and both yelped, startled and in pain from the collision.
"Bollocks!" Hale barked, using the door frame to prevent herself from falling.
The other person had fallen, catching herself with her hands pressed to the floor. "Pardon me," the timid voice answered. She kept her head down.
"Fiona?" Hale's eyes squinted, recognizing the sound and shape of the missing party member immediately. "The fuck are you doin' sneaking around the bloody halls this early?" She reached her hand out to help the other woman stand.
Fiona pressed her finger to her lips and made a shushing noise. She whispered her reply, "I could ask you the same question. I need to speak with Cohen."
"The High Constable bloke?" Hale's face scrunched. "But why? And where have you been?"
"It's personal and complicated. But I promise I will do my best to explain later. Can you help me?" Fiona pleaded, pitiful and desperate.
Taken aback, Hale stumbled to find words to agree or decline. She had nothing against the woman and felt little compulsion to judge the reasons for her lies or evasion. As long as Fiona held her weight in whatever challenges their group had yet to face, Hale was unconcerned with her present behavior.
Though she doubted the honesty of Fiona's promise of an explanation, Hale replied with a silent nod.
"Good," the mage mumbled, hurried and hopeful. The shy and nervous woman Hale had come to know was not present. Fiona continued, "Cohen should wake soon. Unless you know which room is his, I believe the dining hall would be the best place to find him. I cannot be seen."
"Right," Hale said through apprehension. She pointed to Fiona's hood. "Cover your head then, and I'll take you." The situation remained confusing, but Hale knew better than to question. She directed Fiona to the stairwell and down to the deserted dining hall.
Larger than the hall at Vigil's Keep, the emptiness of the Ansburg dining area was striking. Hale recalled the bustling activity in the dining room back home. Even at this time in the morning, the early risers would be claiming their favorite seats, preparing for their daily responsibilities. Home. She missed it, despite her short time as a welcomed member. The stark contrast of the vacant tables and chairs in Ansburg Keep only made her longing stronger.
Hale watched as Fiona found ingredients in the kitchen to make herself tea. She used magic to boil water, avoiding the need to dig through the clean pots and pans to find a kettle. Day old bread rested in a breadbox on the countertop and Fiona tore off a piece.
Surprised with Fiona's confidence, Hale's brows lifted. She asked with impatience, "That it then?" The brushing of the fletchings of her arrows against each other at her back returned Hale to the initial goal of rising early.
"Yes, Hale." Fiona gave a weak smile as she settled to a seat at the corner of an oak table in the corner of the dining hall. "Thank you. I will manage from here."
Hale nodded, ready to leave the woman behind. She turned on her feet but stopped before taking a step. Looking over her shoulder, Hale muttered, "Shouldn't lie to 'em all, you know. If you're hidin' something else, might as well just fuckin' say it before they find out some other way."
Fiona returned Hale's advice with a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Hale. If only it were that simple." Hale shrugged and took another step toward the exit, but Fiona's voice continued behind her. "You might even consider the same for whatever conflict you've been having with the with the Warden Commander." The sound of Fiona sipping her tea filled the silence that followed.
Rolling her eyes, Hale growled and stomped out of the hallway.
She found her way out of the Ansburg Keep. A door aside the kitchen led to the land opposite the river entrance. The moors continued beyond the stronghold; damp and frosted shrubbery and flowers spread across the uninhabited land beneath the grey pre-dawn sky. Her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
With her eye on a nearby hill along an offshoot of the Minanter River, Hale took large steps through the overgrown foliage. The frosted leaves crunched under her feet, and a few times, she found the earth slippery. But she made it to a viable place to hunt and crouched in the grass. She grabbed an arrow, positioned herself, and waited for the sun to rise.
Stifling her yawns, Hale kept her eyes open for signs of life in her field of vision. The waiting paid off. Beyond the small stream, a few yards ahead, speckled brown and gold feathers glimmered in the hints of sunlight as it emerged from over the horizon. Four pheasants wandered, aimlessly pecking at the earth for seeds between clucking chatter.
Hale's eyes locked on, willing the oblivious birds to continue comfortably grazing. She aimed her arrow, careful to avoid rustling the bush. On the end of her exhale, she loosed an arrow and it whispered through the air, across the stream to the pheasant. Before the shot landed, she had nocked her bow and released another to the neighboring bird. It screeched, and the other creature flew off with a running start, landing again somewhere within the field of bushes.
Proud of herself, Hale took careful steps through the brush to the stream. Too wide to jump across, but too narrow to carry a powerful current, she deemed it safe to tread. But rather than get her boots wet in the chilly water, she opted for leaping to rocks. In just a few easy jumps, she would reach the other side.
A few paces north from her game, she found stones wide enough to land. Hopping one foot after another, she almost made it across until she slipped. Her boots couldn't catch tread on an algae-covered stone, and her foot slid into the stream. She cursed herself for not spotting the risk as the water splashed around her.
Groaning at the feeling of cold water filling her boots, she felt them sink into the wet dirt at the bottom of the stream. She stood knee deep in the creek, rolled her eyes, and tread the few remaining steps to the bank. Shivering, she picked up the pheasants and noticed the sound of stirring water had continued even with her absence from the stream. Confused, Hale turned around, eyes landing on the source of the noise.
The undead. Four of them. Drenched and waterlogged ghouls emerged from the shallow stream and trod toward her.
"Fuck," Hale exhaled, gulping. Without a chance to field dress them, she tied the pheasants to her belt and grabbed her bow. Backward strides took her closer to the Keep as she loosed arrow after arrow to the slow-moving once-Wardens. They groaned when each shot landed but continued their path.
As if the firing of her arrows irritated him, the leader of the ghouls hurried its pace to a run. It emitted incomprehensible noises, an unknown language of gabbles and groans. Hale turned to flee.
Despite the knowledge that the Warden sickness was not contagious, the potential of catching whatever plague this creature carried wasn't worth the risk. But she tripped, losing her footing on loose gravel.
Her rear broke her fall, and dirt and pebbles slid from under her as she rushed to stand. The ghoulish Warden neared her, babbling on in its undead tongue.
"Shite!" Hale scooted back, pushing her feet into the earth to propel her away. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
But it moved too fast. Hale exhaled, pulling her dagger from her hip and moving against her backward motion. With a swift lean forward, she drove her knife into the ghoul's stomach. Using the lodged blade as leverage, she pulled herself up. The blade dragged down, blood and unidentified insides of the ghoul falling on her. His chatter grew to wails as he stumbled, still standing.
"Damn it all," she sighed, glancing over the shoulder of the undead to spot the three others ghouls nearing. She pulled out the dagger in the first and lodged it into his chest this time. He hit the ground, gargling.
Hale yanked her blade back, scowling and bent to grab her bow. The decaying stench of the ghoul permeated the air, finally reaching her now that she could breathe. Large steps toward the Keep created distance between herself and the other ghouls. She debated finishing them off.
But they didn't follow, and she didn't wish to get any more of their remains on her. She hurried back to the Keep, jogging to keep herself warm. Scanning the water of the stream, assuring no ghouls rested beneath the surface, she rinsed off in closer proximity to the Warden base before returning inside.
Hale passed the dining hall. Twenty or more Wardens now occupied the area, migrating in and out of the kitchen at their leisure. She noticed neither Fiona nor High Constable Cohen were not present, but she didn't stop to look for them. She continued her rapid pace. Taking two steps at a time, she found her way upstairs to the Revas wing. Driven to change out of her wet clothes and find somewhere suitable to hang the birds still tied to her waist, she charged down the hallway. She didn't notice a door across the corridor had opened and closed.
"Hale?" Nate's voice came from the other side of the corridor.
Hale froze and took a breath. She heard the water dripping from her clothes as it formed a small puddle beneath her. Tucking her damp and matted hair behind her ear, she faced Nate.
"Yeah?" She pressed her lips together, clenching her teeth from the chill sinking into her bones and resisting the urge to pout.
Visibly confused by the circumstances, Nathaniel wrinkled his brow. He gestured to the pheasants. "Nice catch." But his concern returned. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"Ghouls sodding happened, Nate!" She blurted, unable to withhold her emotion. The thought to call him Commander didn't cross her mind until it was too late. He didn't seem to mind. Her shoulders eased; she stepped toward him, pouring out her explanation. "At least four of 'em were in the fuckin' stream and I fell in. I killed one and got away before the rest came after me."
"I have no doubt you could have taken them." A small smile spread across his lips and quickly vanished. At that moment, her heart fluttered for him.
She remembered the smell of his clean hair in Starkhaven— the ends damp and wavy and a perfect grip for her hands; his hands— familiar, passionate and hungry wandering her body; the way her body curled around his when they slept.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shook her head in reply. Nate continued, "You're freezing." His tender hands rubbed her arms to create friction. He squeezed. "Wash up, find dry clothes, and come downstairs. Food will warm you up, and the others need to know what you found. Soon."
As he gave her the order, the door to his room opened from the inside. Simultaneously, Nathaniel's hands returned to his sides. Sweet-scented air emanated from within the room as another Warden joined them in the hallway.
Bridgette. The woman hummed a happy greeting to both Nate and Hale.
Hale's heart stopped. Her neck elongated as she stood taller, rigid, and her teeth tightened. The woman was composed, well-kempt, and showed no signs of any debauchery she engaged with Nathaniel. But the warmth of the room and the smell of sandalwood affirmed Hale's fears. There was no doubt.
Nathaniel cleared his throat. "When you're ready, we will see you downstairs, Warden." He addressed Hale with the title in the place of her name. "I'll take care of the pheasants for you so you can bathe and change."
With a numb nod, Hale exhaled and untied the birds. Muttering distracted thanks, she handed them off to him. She felt her pulse slow; her hands were cold and clammy, and a heavy chill overtook her.
If Nate said anything else, Hale didn't hear him. Instead, she turned around. The muted sound of the Orlesian Constable's sing-song pleasantries echoed from behind. But Hale continued, stepping into her room and gently closing the door.
As soon as she heard the door latch shut, she screamed. Her face contorted, angry and tight as hot tears slid down her icy cheeks. She took a gasping breath and howled again, pulling her bow off her back and throwing it across the room. It snapped as it hit the opposite wall. Hale's quiver followed, arrows splintering as they fell to the ground. The case cracked. Like a wounded animal, she sank to the ground against the door. Pain and rage boiled up to violent, rasping sobs from her throat.