"Fuckin' coward." Hale muttered to herself as long strides carried her down the hallway. Her eyes followed Nathaniel as he walked the other direction beside the Warden Constable, keeping his eyes averted. It seemed his height made him prominent wherever he went in the Ansburg Keep, making it impossible for Hale to miss him whenever they found themselves in close vicinity.
The Warden Commander had averted his eyes every time their paths crossed consistently for the last two weeks.
"Whoa there." The woman beside Hale responded, side-eying her as they walked.
Hale's habit of sitting alone in the dining hall caught the attention of Helena, a senior warden; the invitation to join the veteran intrigued her enough to accept. She reminded Hale of Damia—both human and fighters of different schools, but both unwilling to sugar coat their observations. Joining Helena's friends reminded Hale of the camaraderie among the scouts back in Vigil's Keep. Hale soon befriended the new group, joining them for daily meals, drills, and drinks on a regular basis.
Helena continued, "You don't seem to care for your Warden Commander."
"That's a way to say it." Hale scowled with her eyes locked straight ahead. "He's a spineless wanker who'll stick his dick in anythin' with tits."
"Really?" Helena's face contorted as she looked over her shoulder and out of curiosity Hale joined her, spotting the back of a lanky man with shoulder-length hair, black with streaks of grey that seemed to be increasing the longer Hale knew him.
"Warden Commander Howe? You're sure about that?" The lift of Helena's brow carried her disbelief.
Managing to speak through the curl in her lip, Hale muttered, "One and only." She knew Helena and everyone else at Ansburg only saw an awkward and unapproachable man, face lined with stress and stubble. Hale knew a different Nathaniel—a man of steady breath and stern focus, applied with deliberation when he loosed an arrow, and did other things. His snide humor often so subtle she only understood it because she understood him.
The weight of Helena's eyes studying her again made Hale shift. Her cheeks flushed, and she attempted to shake off the woman's stare. "Quit it! Don't believe me, I don't care. I got my own reasons be pissed at the bastard."
"Apparently." Helena's lips puckered and her head shook, denying any assumptions of Hale. She lowered her voice. "You should come out tonight. Llewellyn might be a tyrant, but we have our ways of having fun here in Ansburg."
"Lemme think on it," Hale said as her frown grew longer. She departed ways from Helena as their days continued. The answer had been a lie. Hale had no other plans, and fun, particularly the kind that included rule-breaking was by far her favorite.
Hale stared at the fire pit in the unused training yard, bright under the night sky. Wardens she didn't know stood behind, loud, carefree, satisfied with their distance from their Warden Commander's quarters.
Hale's body buzzed. Heavy blinks brought her attention back to cool air against her face, the heat from the fire nearby, and the sound of commotion behind her, but nothing seemed as captivating as the hypnotic dance of flames. A nearly empty bottle of wine dangled from her hand at one side. She gently swayed from left to right as she watched, her drum resting at her feet.
The social gathering or party, whatever the Ansburg Wardens wanted to call it had already started when she arrived with Helena and her circle of friends. Something about these festivities were different from the usual rounds of drinking the Wardens shared in the dining hall or someone's room in the evenings. Hale couldn't complain, nor did she inquire about the reason for celebration, or their confidence in their covertness. Free liquor was offered, and Hale didn't need to know why or where it came from.
So she drank, slowly drifting away from the larger group, then the smaller circle with which she arrived. She left behind her drum for them to play as she stared into the bonfire. The flames clamored for air as they angrily reached into the night sky. She envied their freedom to rage without consequence.
Taking another sip of her drink, Hale thought of a number of things she could roar about, not aware of the person walking up behind her.
"Care for company?" A man's voice rose above the fire. Hale glanced over to see the newcomer. She had seen him in passing before; younger than Nate, but not by much. He had blond hair and a clean shave. In his right hand, he carried a tankard of beer.
Hale glanced to her side, not willing to turn away from the fire to address the stranger. "No. But don't have a choice now, do I?"
From what Hale could gather without facing him directly, he was smiling at her. The fire reflecting off the whites of his teeth.
"Oh, a feisty one." The man leaned back, scaling Hale—or checking her out. She didn't know the difference. "Are all Fereldan women so mean?"
"If you piss us off, yeah." Suspecting he stared at her rear. She interrupted his view by facing him with an extended middle finger. "Fuck off, arsehole." His smile only widened.
Hale took a large step away from the fire and the idiot who couldn't take a hint, but before she could complete her stride, she felt his hand landing on the cheek of her ass, so hard the smacking noise stood out above the cracking fire. If not for her leather breeches, the red imprint of his palm would be visible in the firelight.
Her body temperature rose, face hot and pupils dilated, and whatever rage she had admired in the bonfire erupted within her. She spun around, completing the turn with a well-aimed fist to the man's face. Something cracked as it landed, and the man staggered back. The beer flew out of his tankard when he dropped it, lifting his hand to cover his nose.
"Fuck!" He looked at his palm to check for blood. Small streams flowed from both nostrils. "I was just playing, you stupid bitch. That was completely uncalled for."
Hale shook out the pain in her bones and the burning on her knuckles. Before he finished his sentence, she had bundled her fingers into a fist again. She lunged at him. "This called for, arsehole?"
Another swing landed in the same spot. The man yowled, trying to put up his arms to keep her away. Despite Hale's small frame, she continued her charge, overtaking him with a shove to the ground.
Upon his landing, she swung her boot back and kicked him in the groin, prompting another groan. "How 'bout this?" she yelled. He doubled over in pain.
On her next breath, she kicked his shoulder, forcing him to his back. Her knees met the ground on either side of his chest and her fists impaled his face, blow upon blow with both hands. Between punches, she grunted her responses between each punch, "I'm…just…fuckin'…playing!"
Once Hale felt satisfied with the damage done to his face, she took a deep breath and stood. She hadn't heard the crowd forming around her as she buffeted the stranger, but the Wardens had all suspended their mingling and drunken festivities to observe Hale demolish the asshole. They cheered.
Helena sauntered up to Hale and helped her step over the body of the man rolling to his side. Barely conscious, his groans were incoherent.
"Sorry, I, he—" Hale tried to explain, concerned the incident would earn her a poor reputation among her new peers.
"No need to apologize." Taking Hale's hands, Helena studied them. "Chad is a sleaze. That was his fault for finally making a move on someone who could kick his ass. Are you okay?"
Hale nodded, and before she could answer, more Wardens, primarily women, came up to applaud Hale's victory. They pulled her back to the crowd.
"Did that let you work out your anger from earlier?" Helena passed Hale another drink. "Nevermind, I don't care. Tell us what happened!"
Nodding, Hale followed, prepared to provide a detailed retelling of the incident. With a satisfied peek over her shoulder, she witnessed Chad rise with the help of a few other men. They shook their heads at him, giving him space to spit the blood that ran down his face.
The Next Morning
Nathaniel kept his eyes to his plate and hurried to eat his food, just as much because he was hungry as he lacked anything to say.
Bridgette broke the silence with a hum after she swallowed her last bite. "I was so hungry! I'm sorry to leave you so early, Commander but I must speak with Shea before the meeting. I will see you at the Table in an hour?" She stood by him, sipping her last bit of coffee, awaiting his response.
Nathaniel nodded; mouth too full of biscuit to form the word yes. They had arrived for breakfast late, forcing them to wolf their food to make the morning meeting of Warden officials.
With a hard swallow, Nathaniel smiled. "Maker pray Shea has useful news for you. I'll see you at the meeting, Constable."
She grinned, stifling a light laugh before kissing his head. Her hand brushed his neck before rushed steps took her from the dining hall, leaving Nathaniel alone at the table.
A routine had arisen for Nathaniel at Ansburg and a week turned into two. The pressures he had assumed as Warden-Commander had lessened, normalized as he shared them with the other leaders of the other Warden Keeps. They congregated at the Table for daily board meetings, all of them frustrated and eager for any shred of hope for their weakening order.
Every day, Bridgette sat beside Nathaniel.
It was effortless for Nathaniel to settle into the relationship with the Orlesian Constable, and he had stopped lying to himself that it wasn't one. Their mutual responsibilities as Warden Officials allowed an unspoken understanding of priorities. They met for breakfast and walked side by side to the Table, discussing the topics they wished to highlight or question in the meeting that day. At night they alternated between their rooms, and when Nathaniel needed a night alone to rest and recharge, Bridgette obliged without question. She agreed to her similar need for solitude. Neither ever put their work aside, and it defeated any need for conflict.
Yet the longer it lasted, the more uncomfortable the tightness in Nathaniel's stomach grew. He dreaded waking up beside her and the predictability of their daily interactions produced a passive desire to gouge out his eyes. Yet, the time with Bridgette filled his days and his bed. She was attractive and their sexual interactions provided a trace of release, which he justified needing in the face of other stressors.
On the rare occasion he was honest with himself, he admitted a deep longing to abandon these new routines in favor of fresh air, a midnight hunt, and a roaring campfire.
He felt the current bout of discomfort ease as he watched Bridgette walk away.
Sighing away his tension, he thought of his tasks for the day as he sipped his tea and finished his breakfast. Aside from the board meeting, he intended to speak with Hale about her status at Ansburg and the incident the first morning at the Keep. She had seen Bridgette leave his room, and he had heard her scream through her bedroom door a few minutes later. He had intended to speak with Hale about the same topics every day for the last two weeks.
Avoidance rationalized by the Warden's illness occupying too much of his energy, therefore the conversation always had to wait.
A laugh erupted from across the room, and a simple scan of the uncrowded dining hall allowed Nathaniel's eyes to land on her. Surrounded by her new comrades, Hale sat above them on the surface of the table. Her head tilted back in proud and raucous laughter. Just as she had done when first placed in his charge, Hale joined other Wardens and made herself at home. She remained fiery and abrasive, and her flame attracted those around her. Just as it had attracted him.
Nathaniel determined whatever pain he had witnessed in her eyes and heard in her cry the first morning in Ansburg had passed. By the end of the day, she had found local company and it renewed her spirit. Forgetting about him with plenty of drink and merriment, from what he observed.
It stung to see her move on with such ease, but he deserved it. He knew what he was doing when he brought Bridgette back to his room—when he allowed her affections to continue. When he lied about his feelings through action as much as word for her with the expectation he might learn to enjoy the complacency.
The rough edges of Hale's laughs stirred something akin to longing. With a shake of his head, he banished the fleeting desire to explore the feeling and reminisce about the emotions her laugh reminded him. Instead, he finished his tea and took his and Bridgett's plates to the kitchen to be washed. Then he made his way to the Table.
Business occurred as usual and the attendees discussed their efforts on a cure for the Warden illness. Nathaniel shared first, primarily echoing what Fiona and Philippa reported to him the day prior—something about a magic-infused elixir as of their most current findings. He had little energy invested, at least until the mages sounded more confident about their discovery.
Bridgette beside him followed, reporting of the earlier discussion with Shea. Research on the ghouls the small group had slain identified the fallen Wardens. As expected, the soldiers' profiles revealed no distinct pattern. The Wardens had been missing different lengths of time, sent on different missions when they went missing, and their bodies showed varying levels of decay, and yet even in their ghoulish state, they found each other. The Table agreed to allow Bridgette more time to analyze the information.
Llewellyn and Tierney contributed their meager updates, referencing loose pages containing barely any notes. They offered nothing substantial to the development of a plan as expected.
Every day without progress lessened Nathaniel's hope for a solution. The optimism carrying him from Ferelden to Weisshaupt to Ansburg had dwindled. Without any substantial updates from Philippa about the collective cure for the Wardens since their arrival, the sober reality of their imminent end, eventually reaching a similar fate of the ghouls in the marsh, grew more likely each day. It didn't help Philippa's proposal would also eliminate the bond with the assumption enough Grey Wardens would rejoin to maintain the Order. He muted his fatalistic thoughts for the sake of the others, but suspected they shared similar beliefs.
The sneer in Warden Commander Llewellyn's voice was audible as he brought new business to the Table. "I have concerning matters regarding one of your Wardens, Commander Howe." He stacked his pages together, tapping the loose sheets of parchment on the wooden surface.
Great. Nathaniel's arms folded over his chest and an annoyed and unprofessional groan lingered in Nathaniel's throat. He swallowed it, considering the company. "Philippa or Hale?"
"The younger one." Llewellyn stared down his nose and Nathaniel noticed the man's nostrils gave the slightest twitch at the end of every sentence. "Your Junior Warden instigated a confrontation with a distinguished Senior Warden of Ansburg. As a result, he spent the entire night in the infirmary. Then she coerced the other Wardens into intoxication. An entire hall missed their morning drills because of your Warden's reckless behavior."
Nathaniel couldn't deny Hale's recklessness, a characteristic of the woman he was often undeniably fond, but the man's accusations were absurd. Nathaniel's shoulders tightened in defense. "Explain to me how Hale, a Warden barely in her twenties, could coerce an entire wing of Senior Wardens to do anything? They're all adults."
"I can only assume how you operate your Keep, Commander, but the Wardens in mine would never behave with such insolence." The dry, grainy quality to Llewellyn's voice resembled a croak. "Your Warden confiscated liquor from our wares and lured the Blacktalon wing from their bunks."
Nathaniel felt his blood heating. "She does not belong to me, Commander. Need I remind you that Hale is one person, incapable of moving that much alcohol, assuming she knew where it was stored and had the willingness to steal from you, Llewellyn, our gracious host." A thin-lipped smile strained across Nathaniel's face. He knew the last part was a stretch—Hale would not hesitate to steal from anyone if she thought she had a better use for whatever she took.
"And assaulting a Senior Warden?" Rather than red or sweaty with anger, Llewellyn's pale face seemed to become whiter as the argument continued. "The level of disrespect required for a Junior Warden to lay a hand on—"
"I'm sure he deserved it," Nathaniel interrupted, frowning. His lip tingled, recalling the coppery taste of blood in his mouth when Hale had punched him what now seemed like forever ago. He pressed his tongue against his inner lip in a private retrospection.
Commander Llewellyn squinted at Nathaniel in criticism. His croak drawled on, "Yes, well, you must speak with your Warden if she is to stay here. Under my command, she would already be in solitary confinement until she showed evidence of learning her lesson."
Hale would teach you a lesson. Nathaniel kept the words to himself and refrained from rolling his eyes. "I'll speak with her. Is that all?" He lifted his eyebrows to glance around the table. While the other officials nodded, Nathaniel rose from his seat. "Then unless something miraculous happens before our next meeting, I now have other business to attend."
The committee adjourned and Nathaniel hurried from the room, unaware that Bridgette ran after him. "Are you alright?" Her question suggested she detected Nathaniel's mood. "You seem bothered by Llewellyn's words."
Sounds of their rushed steps echoed through the hall, Nathaniel did not break his gaze ahead when he answered. The lilt in her voice he had once appreciated now caused an itching sensation beneath his skin across. "I'm fine, Bridgette. I need to find Hale and get this over with, per Llewellyn's orders."
In truth, Llewellyn's condescension irritated Nathaniel, but that was not the source of the annoyed urgency motivating his pace. He knew he needed to talk to Hale now. Before I change my mind.
"You can ignore most of what he says." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to face her. "No one is questioning your command, Nathaniel. Please remember, Llewellyn is an extremely pompous ass."
He had confessed some of his insecurities as Warden Commander to Bridgette in their late-night talks. The pressures cast by Caoilainn's shadow still loomed over his work, and he shared his preference for acting as lieutenant than commander. Frustrated with Bridgette's assumptions of the confession's correlation to the meeting's events, he rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away with more force than he intended. Even Nathaniel couldn't deny the aggressive edge cutting through his tone. "I don't have time for this right now." Hurried steps continued his path to the common area of the Keep. "I need to find Hale."
The knot in his stomach loosened with each step.