"I need more than that." The smack of Cece's palm landing on the table punctuated her statement. "You're not going out there on a hunch."
Morning light shone in through the windows of the Keep's meeting room. A long table stretched; a two-headed griffon engraved into the center. The group of Wardens spread through the space, consulting on their plans for the day ahead. Hungover, Anders and Oghren sat at one side of the table, wearing sunglasses and remaining far more silent than in his usual state. Nate leaned against a wall, while Cece and Vel faced each other in their seats.
Vel's scowl replied to the Queen's decision. The elven woman groaned and dropped her fist on the flat surface with ire. She stood up and pointed down. "I joined this order so I could get Seranni back! Your right hand said-"
"Nate." Cece's glare flashed from Vel to Nate whose palms lifted in retreat, trying to remove himself from the two women's argument. He shook his head, refusing to say more as Cece continued talking to Vel. "Is the right hand. The vice president. His decisions are not final. Mine, on the other hand, are. I say we wait, and you sit down."
The elf's eyes narrowed, holding the glare with Cece for a breath. Scoffing, Vel plopped back in her seat.
"If you want us to help you get your sister back, you will help us first. You wanted to be a Warden, this is part of the deal." Cece stood at the head of the table, her gaze traveling to all of the group members as she spoke.
They nodded in reply and the meeting continued. Discussion covered which Darkspawn hangouts they would patrol that day, with the goal of eradicating their enemies. The room remained silent as Cece gave missions to certain members: Siggy to find information on the Darkspawn's motive, Anders to help Vel patrol the farmlands while looking for details on Seranni, and Oghren to offer them support in the process. The three left the council room after Cece's dismissal. Nate stayed behind, as directed.
Watching the other members leave, he reluctantly glanced to the Queen. "Cece, I-" He started to explain away the supposition he gave Vel, but she cut him short by raising her hand and rubbing her brow.
"It's done. I don't care, Nate," she sighed, looking toward the window and moved to a new subject. "There shouldn't be so many Darkspawn. And I didn't believe it was possible but it seems they're getting…smarter." She paused at the last word, cringing as she said it. "We're missing something."
Nate's lips met and pulled tight as he listened. He admired her wherewithal, strength in spite of dire circumstances. It reminded him of their reunion when his fleeting anger got the better of him; when he believed his father's innocence and resigned from the military. Blood boiling at the injustice, he sought Cece out for vengeance only to be swiftly shot down by an amplitude of evidence proving his father's guilt. He appreciated her patience with him as he adjusted to the realization. For rejoining him with his sister and giving him means to mend the massive loss of credibility to the Howe name by joining the Wardens.
He gained respect for her, building on the distant friendship they had as children. Though he had little knowledge of Darkspawn prior to joining her group, the situation she described disturbed him as much as it did her. Reports of the monster's history described non-human, brainless thugs following simple missions of ambush and destruction, spreading their sickness and hoarding supplies.
"We need to find out who their leader is," his train of thought took him to an immediate answer; logical steps in searching for intel, applying recon experience.
"I've been searching, Nate." She faced him, words strained with her disappointment, flexing her hand before massaging the knuckle of her left ring finger with the digits of her right. "My connection in the capital gave me nothing."
The unnamed connection in the capital had always intrigued Nate. He was aware of Cece's political affiliations; born into politics, she knew many names in parliament and local government and spoke of them freely. But this nameless individual remained a mystery. Nate knew better than to pry.
"I think I know someone who can help us," he responded after a pause, unsure if he wanted to attempt any further engagement with the young woman from the bar the night prior. The woman undoubtedly had information on the Wardens and their enemies, however.
"Who?" Cece snapped her response, letting go of her ring finger.
Shit. He realized he had no name for the woman, but he knew how to find out. "Someone I met at the Crown and Lion. Let me follow my lead?"
Cece took a large inhale, filling her lungs with a slow release. She nodded, "I trust you, Nate."
Rabid percussion and emphasized off-beats, the vocalist sang of political injustice and world change. Hale's fingers tapped at her keyboard, keeping up with the punk rock blaring through her apartment. Research on the Wardens kept her occupied, intrigued by loose ends, unexplained pieces of the members' histories. Just gotta find the info .
Her run in with Nate at the Crown and Lion the night prior sparked interest, making the club precede her search about the mysterious Architect. The son of the crook had come onto her. Hale's repulsed assumptions of Nate's character, having been raised by a pig like Rendon Howe, conflicted with her curiosity about the club. But his father wanted him dead, sympathy resonated. … And he looks all right. Attracted feelings surfaced, she shook her head to clear them, returning to her computer. Her internet searches from an off-grid network gave details about the VP of the biker group; 30, retired lieutenant from the Marchers. But her research extended to Rendon Howe's other victims: specifically, the Cousland family.
The governor of the northern province, Bryce, his wife, Eleanor, son and daughter, Fergus and Caoilainn; the Couslands. A picture fucking perfect family of four. Complete with a fucking dog. The deceased governor, retired military in the Fereldan Rebellion, and supposed friends with Rendon Howe. Reports of the fire that killed the Highever politician had flooded the news immediately after the event. Bryce and his wife were reported deceased. Cause of death: smoke inhalation, their bodies mostly disintegrated in the flames. The eldest sibling, Fergus, a soldier in Ferelden's military reserve, had been deployed for the country's emergency response to Darkspawn crimes. The missing daughter became the only suspect of arson.
But now Hale's eyes followed unreleased information, police reports changed before they reached the media, payments from Rendon to the police force, ending the investigation of the event early, and minimizing unique circumstances. Evidence of a specialized accelerant, unavailable to the public, found at the start of the fire pattern. It made the Cousland girl an unlikely suspect.
Caoilainn Cousland, a young aristocrat sent to the finest private schools. She had even finished college before she disappeared at the age of 20. Flickering through pictures, Hale watched the wealthy girl grow into an adult. Well, aren't you pretty? Images loaded of the tall, blonde woman in tennis gear, a designer pants suit, a ball gown. Hale scoffed; gag me, rich tits. But a final picture caught Hale by surprise. The Cousland girl in a leather jacket, standing with her father next to a motorcycle. What's this? Hale squinted, studying the picture. Her jaw dropped, eyes widened. She recognized the face in this altered context.
The Queen.
A knock at the door disrupted her. Catching her breath, clearing her dumbfounded reaction and minimizing her browser, she rose to check on the visitor by peering through the peephole of her front door. A man she knew stood waiting in the doorway. The fisheye lens distorted his shape as she watched him shifting on his feet, glancing down the hall. The tattoo sleeve visible from this angle, a forest she couldn't deny recalling from the bar a few nights prior. Shite. Shite. Just don't answer. Nate knocked again. She realized the blaring music betrayed her; anyone in the hall would know she was home.
Mother fucker. She took a deep breath, taking her cell phone out of her back pocket and turning down the music from the device. She balled her other fist, taking another breath, then answered the door. "How'd you find where I lived?"
"Really?" Nate scanned her appearance. Disgruntled, barefoot, wearing dirty jeans, and a black shirt with block text reading 'treat your woman right.' His lips tightened, holding back a grin as the small woman glared in defiance. "You took one of our prospects home, Hale." He extended his arm, pushing open her door, and walked past a gaping Hale into her apartment. "She gave me your info when I asked for it."
Fucking-A. Hale watched him step into her living space and look around. Insistent on staying near the door, cell in hand in case she needed to call for help, her voice rose, "you got no right-"
"No," he agreed, interrupting and turning to face her after eying the screen of her computer monitor, deducting it as her base of operations; the source of all her data gathering. "I don't. But neither do you, digging for private information about me and my club."
The woman leaned her weight to one foot, avoiding eye contact. "Ain't your club, arsehole," she grumbled, crossing her arms and looking away.
Amused with her irritation, he saw through her abrasiveness. She could've insisted he leave, called a friend, or the police, but instead, she stood glaring, waiting for him to talk. "What do you know about whoever's watching us?"
Her eyes narrowed, frown deepening; Hale delayed her answer, considering how much to divulge if anything. "What's in it for me?" Chin raised, her gaze traveled down Nate's body, sizing him up with her question. When she returned to his face, she found a cocked brow and a half-smirk staring back.
"That depends on what information you've got and how useful it is," his leathery tone negotiated. Aware he was uninvited, observing her apartment's minimal furnishing, he respected her space and remained standing.
Dammit. She considered her options, debating her next move. Jaw clenched, Hale glared as seconds dragged; energetic music narrated the silence until Hale huffed. "Fine. Gimme some time to get the info together."
He nodded and took a step to her. Nate watched her muscles seize, defensive, prepared to strike. Slowing his motions, he pried her cell phone from where it protruded from her crossed arms.
He lit the lock screen. Brows raised, at the image of a young Hale and who he assumed to be her parents behind a number lock. He turned the phone to her to enter her password. A furrowed forehead, she glanced at her phone to Nate, who dipped his head toward her phone. Her lips parted, jaw firm as it opened. Another huff, she shook her head, then entered her password.
Nate took the phone back and entered his number in her contacts. "Let me know when you're ready."
The group rested in the common room after a day of scoping for Darkspawn hideouts. A few successful hits took down some of the henchmen, shots fired in the farmlands, no civilians harmed. Anders and Oghren played a competitive video game in one corner of the room, Siggy read a magazine about bike parts on one end of the couch, and Vel painted her nails at the other end. Nate flipped through news articles on his cell phone in an oversized chair. Continued reports of Darkspawn attacks, the local economy impacted, and projections on the influence to the rest of the country all came back to the Wardens; questioning their involvement, or lack thereof, and criticizing a few instances where civilians perished before the Wardens arrived.
"Mira, we're trying." Nate's brow raised, caught off guard by the tense voice of the Queen on her phone. The rest of the members looked up from their activities to listen in to the conversation. "Yes, I've heard we are making the Wardens look bad… no, that is not my intent….Yes, I have a plan to do something about it."
The Queen rolled her eyes, her head tilting back in exasperation. She stared at her phone as the voice kept talking, waiting for her to pause. "Thank you, Woolsey. I'll make sure to show Amaranthine how useful Wardens are." The conversation ended, and the group sat in silence until Cece explained.
"The original chapter assigned us an attorney a few weeks ago. We're getting more complaints," Cece rang her left ring finger with her right hand. The woman's tough exterior cracked, showing her nervousness to the group. Mira, Mirabelle Woolsey's goal, proving the necessity of the club as a whole, protected the club's political amnesty in each country.
"Oh!" Anders gave a mocking gasp, lightening the bleak mood. "Business idea! Darkspawn Pest Control. If we can't kill them, no one can!"
Chuckling, Oghren elbowed Anders in the ribs. "Maybe we'll actually get paid!"
Cece smiled; a rare sight to the members of the club. "If you guys start that as a side business, I won't tell Mira. Let me know how it goes." Many in the region blamed the Darkspawn, and by proxy the Wardens, for all of its economic, trade, and agricultural hardships. The Queen addressed Nate, "did you hear back from your contact?"
"She said she needed to put together the details first." Nate had kept his phone nearby all day in case he received a notification from the young woman. He checked again in the unlikely event she had messaged him since Cece started talking.
"If she doesn't get back by tomorrow, find another lead. We can't keep waiting." Cece's smile faded, she gave the order to Nate before leaving the room.
"What's this about a contact?" Sigrun inquired. None in the group had been informed of Nate's meeting with the young woman the previous day.
"Yeah, tell us all about her." Unamused and bitter, Vel resumed painting her nails, pointing out the interesting detail of Nate's contact.
After glancing up in annoyance from Vel's snarky remark, he answered Sigrun first. His arms stretched around the back of the chair. "She might have information to help us with the Darkspawn." Looking back to Vel, his flat tone countered her jab. "And relax, I'm nearly positive I am not her type."
"You know," Anders chipped in, "I've come to find types are mostly nominal and much less exciting than people think. Unnecessarily restricting, in my opinion."
"Yeah," Oghren's gruff tone echoed agreement. "Like pants that don't always fit right."
"Exactly," Anders confirmed the analogy and looked to Nate with a smirk, not missing a beat with his quip. "So take your pants off, Nate."
The group snickered. Shaking his head, Nate cleared his throat, unsure how to respond. But a notification from his phone caught his attention. He didn't recognize the number, but quickly made an assumption when he read the message: 'I'm ready.'