The loud song of birds announced the late morning. Bright sunlight peeked through breaks in the tree canopy on the outskirts of the Emerald Graves. The Grey Warden encampment was completely broken down and horses packed, save for two tents.
The events of the morning proved complicated. Nate well knew of the need to report to Caoilainn the details of the attack he suffered at the hands of an Orlesian Grey Warden. She would not be pleased with the immersion in politics at Weisshaupt this would require. Granted, the Orlesian Warden was corrupted, a traitor. He believed in the false Calling that Weisshaupt had refused to acknowledge, even with Clarel's request. Perhaps they already know about these corrupted Wardens? Caoilainn's explanation a year ago had been minimal, and he knew not to ask for more information. He questioned how she would process news of Hale's shot.
Nathaniel returned to camp alone. The blood on his head had dried and his lip swollen, but he was conscious. A headache from the forced Calling throbbed behind his eyes, but it decreased as he walked, breathing the clean air. His frown, creased brow, and stomp of his boots against the fern covered forest floor all illustrated his general bad mood.
An anger fumed within him. Rage at the young Elf woman No, girl. Only 19, she was immature, reckless, disobedient, and for some reason he let all her behaviors slide. And in spite of it all she made him hungry. He pinpointed the feeling a few nights prior. The seething and salacious tug from his chest increased when he thought of her. It was distracting. Frustrating. And his eyes kept finding their way to the hunter. True, he had a reason. She was deviant. He needed to watch her for pickpocketing other Wardens, even though she had not stolen again since the night near the Emprise. But that did not stop the tug, like an excited weight in his chest that became stronger as he watched or when she was near. And somehow, he kept finding her close by.
And hearing her with Damia. Multiple times. It's like she's doing this on purpose. Despite this thought, he did not stop them. He could have interrupted, threatened with reprimands and ordered them back to their tents, or spoken with them before they rested for the night. Fraternizing on a mission happened, often. He was guilty himself, and not just with Caoilainn. While not strictly forbidden, had it been any other Warden, he would have stopped them.
From what he heard from their liaisons, Hale was generous and eager. It seemed she gave far more often than she received. And that too infuriated him.
A woman had never made him so insatiably irate since he met Caoilainn all those years ago. He realized this, and it contributed to his futile attempts to keep distance from Hale. Though his relationship with Caoilainn was not exclusive, a matter of convenience, they harbored a connection he shared with no one else. The Inquisitor's cousin, a Junior Warden, and only 19, Hale was off limits. Just like Caoilainn.
But Caoilainn never punched him. Hard. It was a decent hit, particularly for such a small woman and this riled his conflict as he walked through the camp.
Lisbeth paused as she strapped the last of her belongings to her horse. He passed and she noticed the Lieutenant's arrival, disheveled, covered in blood and with a busted lip.
"Damn, boss. You look like shit," she said roughly.
Nathaniel gave nothing more than a glare as he walked with determination into his tent.
"Well, fuck you too," she muttered to herself after the flap closed, assuming him out of earshot.
"Lisbeth!" Nathaniel yelled, unseen. "You'll care for the horses when we get to the forward camp!"
She mouthed 'damn it!' Then looked questioningly to Damia for an explanation of his bad mood. Damia, packing the last of her belongings, shrugged her shoulders, shook her head and mouthed back 'I don't know'.
In unison, both of their eyes shot to Hale who had just arrived at the camp a few minutes prior. Hale, removing the stakes from her tent, avoided eye contact with anyone. Interested, Damia's brow wrinkled in question but she did not dare to ask Hale for information. At least not as long the Lieutenant was in such a foul mood. Instead, Damia finished loading her horse and joined Hale in packing quickly and quietly. On the other side of the camp, Isenam and Philippa joined Nathaniel in packing his tent without inquiry.
Still frustrated, but having cleared his head, Nathaniel called the group to circle before they mounted. He explained the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the corrupted Warden, how the attack occurred and the resulting brawl. Nathaniel gave Hale credit for stopping the Orlesian Warden. She noticed he left out their private argument, allowing the busted lip to be explained by the fight with the Orlesian Warden. Finally, Nathaniel explained what he thought they should do to protect themselves from this false Calling. "Like we learned to do a year ago, band together with your minds. There's no need for any of us to become corrupted. We will be on guard when we near the Temple to reduce the chance of meeting any more of these Wardens. Stay in tune with your senses and each other."
None of the Grey Wardens had any questions, nor more to add. They mounted their horses and set forth to the Inquisition camp in the Emerald Graves.
The Wardens rode harder to make up for their late departure. Trees whirred by each of them as they spread out through the forest covering more distance this way than staying in file. Instinctively, their horses jumped fallen logs and dips in the ground. The warmer temperatures caused them to sweat as they galloped but they arrived at the Inquisition camp well before nightfall. Inquisition soldiers were welcoming and aided the Grey Wardens to set up their tents.
Once her quarters were set, Lisbeth silently brushed the horses. Without request, Hale cleaned their hooves and Damia gathered food and water to nourish the creatures. All three women's eyes shot to Nathaniel for any potential reaction. Since the task was Lisbeth's punishment for her language earlier, the women feared he might disapprove of Damia and Hale aiding.
Though he knew their eyes scanned him for a reaction, Nathaniel gave none. Instead, he measured the Inquisition camp. Tables, covered in supplies, maps, and well equipped with necessary tools to fix equipment surrounded the center. A well-tended campfire was burning steadily. Scouts milled in and out, keeping constant surveillance on the surrounding area. Finally, I need a night off.
Activity quieted, the camp settled down as twilight approached. The birds no longer sang with such fervor. Occasional songs sounded from the trees with less and less frequency as the camp grew darker and the temperature cooler. Members took turns bathing at a nearby stream and then joined around the encampment. The campfire crackled steadily, the flames reaching up and dancing in front of the Wardens and a few Inquisition scouts who surrounded the campfire. Of those surrounding, Hale was not present. Nathaniel had noticed her silence, her downward glances that evening as they set up camp. It was as though she were embarrassed or ashamed or both.
This conflicted him more. Part of him agreed with what he assumed she felt. It's inappropriate to punch a commanding officer. And another part wanted to let her off the hook. But she saved me.
Sitting with the divided desires and not acting on them, he decided instead to take advantage of his lack of duties that evening, thanks to the Inquisition scouts. The Inquisition had stored bottles of wine in a crate under one table and with permission from the requisition officer, he grabbed one and sat on the ground to drink. Wearing only his tunic tucked loosely into his breeches, Nathaniel stretched out his long, sinewy frame. His back leaned against a log, forcing him to acknowledge the tension throughout his body. The days of riding were finally catching up to him and the incident with the Orlesian Warden had swelled as a knot on his head. And every time his tongue found the wound on his lip, the result of being hit by the Hale, he thought of her.
It made his lustful rage grow. So he drank to calm it. The alcohol soothed his nerves, relaxing his muscles, and blurred the thoughts in his mind. He observed the activity of his small band of Wardens as they settled around the fire with him.
Isenam and Val, free from their usual charge of scanning the area around the encampment, played drinking games as they chatted. The mages, Philippa and Aidan, were speaking quietly with one another near a table. Finished with her chores with the horses, Lisbeth joined Gunnar, a Honnleath-born man, in a game of dice. They drank along with Saeris and his sister Ashiwyn, Dalish twins from the Brecilian Forest. Lisbeth had taught the group how play and Ashiwyn waited to challenge the winner of this round. The camp seemed quieter without Hale. Her drumming and livelihood often brought the group together. But he noticed Damia was not present either. Figures.
The noises of the campfire drowned out their talking as Hale and Damia shared Damia's bedroll. Having noticed Hale's demeanor as they cared for the horses, Damia offered her company, a caring ear, and a needed distraction. Though she knew the camp would realize their absence, Damia knew Hale needed a friend. They settled into Damia's tent. Both women removed their outer layers of armor, resting in their tunics and leather breeches. Hale laid her head on Damia's belly and Damia tucked her chin to meet Hale's sad gaze. Delicate fingers allowed Damia to trace the lines of Hale's vallaslin.
"What is going on with you and the Lieutenant?" Damia asked softly, curious but detached from the answer.
Hale blinked and looked away, blushing. The usually aggressive young woman was clearly uncertain and nervous, Damia noticed. Hale studied her hands as she toyed with them. "Nothing. There's nothing with me and the Lieutenant." Her answer came with faint tones of regret as if she wished her statement were not true.
Gently, Damia snorted and lifted Hale's chin with her hand to reconnect their gaze. "Right, yeah. I know you like him and now you saved him! But there's something you two aren't talking about."
Stomach twisting with excitement and worry, Hale struggled between giggling and crying in response to the question. If only the answer was scandalous as Damia suggested by her tone. "It ain't like that," Hale replied shortly. Besides her embarrassment to losing her temper with Nathaniel, Hale feared backlash from her brethren if they discovered the lack of consequences she received.
Damia insightfully observed Hale, having spent enough time with the young huntress to feel confident in reading her expression. "Wait…" Damia pondered out loud. "You did something bad, didn't you?"
Hale looked away and sighed.
"Tell me!" Damia prompted, now ardent to gain this information.
"Damia…" Hale sighed.
"Hale," Damia sternly taunted.
"Fine," Hale said in a curt tone as she rose to kneel at Damia's side. "You know what? I fucking slugged him. Right in the mouth. I slugged the sodding Lieutenant."
Damia's forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows rose in surprise. Her eyes widened. "You're playing me," she challenged Hale's explanation.
"No. I'm not," Hale replied stubbornly as her arms folded across her chest. The obstinate pout of Hale's lips brought a smile to Damia's face.
"Aw, hun," Damia lifted off her bedroll to gently touch the young hunter's cheek in a caring motion. "You do know what that means, don't you?"
Hale's eyebrow cocked in confusion but she didn't voice her question. She had her own ideas as to why the Lieutenant had not reprimanded her and this time for a much more serious offense.
Damia gave a wide grin. "He definitely fancies you. Otherwise, you'd have gotten consequences. Bad ones."
Hale rolled her eyes and huffed. "No way. Shut it, Damia," she said through a restrained grin. Her ability to hold back her smile ultimately futile.
"Make me," Damia teased in an instigating whisper, knowing that her needling words were getting right under her younger friend's skin. "Lieutenant Howe loves Ha-"
Damia could not finish her sentence before Hale pounced on top of her with aggressive vigor. Straddling Damia, Hale met her mouth with a forceful kiss. The playful energy brought giggles from Damia. Both muscular women, built for scouting and adept in combat, Hale and Damia's teasing often became physical and their sexual endeavors were often aggressive.
Hale's skilled hands reached to Damia's sides and tickled viciously, causing Damia to erupt in wild laughter. She wriggled violently in response to Hale's tickles, trying to squirm away and catch her breath. Succeeding in her efforts, Damia grabbed Hale's hair with one hand and yanked, causing Hale to yelp. She pushed Hale's shoulder with the other.
In one fluid movement, Damia wrestled Hale over on the bed. Short of breath at their rolling around, Hale realized she had lost their match. Grinning in victory, Damia rested her weight on top of Hale and pinned her wrists down on either side of her head.
With a focused, relentless glare at Damia, Hale's leg found its way between Damia's thighs from where she was trapped. Hale grinned and lifted her brow to Damia on top of her, accepting the challenge Damia presented. Then with the clever bend of her knee, Hale pressed her thigh against Damia's core through their leather breeches.
It caused Damia to groan. A surprised and tempted noise, the result of Hale's cunning use of her position from underneath. Hale maintained pressure. Escalating her advantage and pushing harder, pulsing Damia's body against her leg. Damia gave up with a sigh as she melted on top of Hale and released the hold of Hale's wrists in the process.
The force of Hale's leg continued and Damia whined helplessly, her body at Hale's whim. Arms now free, Hale moved Damia's head to gain access to her neck. A flash of Hale's canines preceded her mischievous growl. Then her teeth drug against Damia's skin. Hale bit down. The bite was far softer and more tender than Damia expected. It forced her to moan blissfully.
But before Damia could catch her breath, Hale's leg lowered and arm upturned. Her hand slid tactfully down Damia's breeches. Curious digits met slick warmth, using the weight of her palm pressed against Damia's body for leverage. Hale explored, gliding around Damia's center, light movements teasing at her nub. It forced Damia to laugh and moan simultaneously. Then Hale isolated her movements.
Rubbing against Damia's bundle of nerves with slow, irregular motions Hale whispered in Damia's ear. "Don't want the attention of camp, hun. Don't make a sound." Then she bit Damia's ear lightly, and continued the motion of her finger. Weakly attempting to quiet her moans, Damia breathed deeply. Occasional whimpers and whines escaped her lips. To quiet her, Hale held Damia's head into her neck with her free hand to muffle the sounds.
Their bodies moved, legs entwined as Damia writhed. Her hips bucking with pleasure, Damia's leg now free from Hale's grasp moved against Hale's leather clad heat inadvertently. Hale closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as one hand worked Damia; the other kept Damia's head in place. Hale gave a taunting blow into Damia's ear. The sensation overwhelmed Damia, who let out another groan.
"Quiet or I'll stop!" Hale scolded, though she was proud to have prompted the reaction. And she liked Damia too much to stop when she was this close. They were silent for a few moments; Hale grinned. She felt Damia's body tightening on top of her. Then she started panting and calling out Hale's name in quick quiet whispers. Damia came. Her hips thrusting against Hale's hand with as much force as she could manage, shaking. Then silence. After a few slowed moments, a loud, whimpering exhale joined the release of Damia's body.
"Hale," They heard a familiar voice from outside. "Report to my tent."
As he sat by the campfire drinking his wine, he glanced overhead. Clusters of stars shone through the pockets of sky through the treetops. He relaxed in the serenity, grateful for a night off work. His nerves finally calming, the absence of Hale allowing his mind to ease- until his ears tuned in to notes of laughter from elsewhere in the encampment. Damia giggling.
It made his blood boil. The rest of the Wardens around the campfire seemed occupied enough. If they had noticed the sound, they did not seem to mind. He attempted to go back to his comfortable gaze at the sky. But then the lack of noise of the women was distracting. Nathaniel's mind wandered to what they were likely doing with the silence. It stirred his appetite and disrupted his peace . Damn it, Hale. Not tonight.
He rose from the ground and proceeded among the tents with soft, silent steps. His head buzzed warmly from the alcohol, but his dexterity was not hampered. The other Wardens, unconcerned with his departure, continued their games and discussion. Val and Isenam, both notably tipsy, had skewered the nugs that Hale caught that morning and roasted them over the campfire.
Inaudibly, he reached Damia's quarters, from which he heard her suppressed whines. Nate shook his head. The women's audacious behavior illustrated their lack of respect for him as commanding officer. Considering the events of the morning, he saw this as blatant impertinence from Hale. It fired him up, especially since given the choice, their behavior was not unlike his under any other circumstances.
"Quiet or I'll stop!" He heard the smile in Hale's voice as she threatened Damia, following Damia's groan. A grin found its way to his lips, conflicting with his frustration. The fiery young huntress prevails. Despite the incident from the morning and Hale's timid attitude since, she apparently recovered fully. Then he realized what he was hearing. A buzzed mixture of anger and shame around his inappropriate eavesdropping kept him frozen. It kept him listening. Then he heard Damia panting Hale's name. It made his stomach tighten and the warmth of his chest more noticeable. He leaned to turn around but Damia's whimper and exhale stalled him.
The sound tickled his spine from the base of his neck up to his head. He battled between giving up this selfish crusade and calling Hale from the tent. Then his mouth spoke on its own accord. "Hale. Report to my tent."
For fuck's sake, Nate. What are you doing? He cursed himself as he walked from Damia's quarters into his neatly kept tent and waited.
A few minutes later, Hale walked in. The dim lighting of his tent, illuminated only by the campfire outside, made her shadow stretch across the floor as she entered. Though her face was unclear, her scent filled his quarters. It was natural and feminine, despite her rough edges, like the forest after a light rain mixed with peonies. The tent flap closed behind her and Hale's shape became discernable. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and eyes twinkling, she was dressed in just her untucked tunic and breeches; her boots were loose and unlaced. The pangs of hunger drove through him as he studied her. With an awkward salute, her fist rose to her chest, and she bowed to Nathaniel.
"You called, Lieutenant?" She addressed with more assertiveness than he expected, considering the circumstances of this meeting and the events from the morning.
For a moment, he faltered. Why did I want her here? His thoughts were foggy. The logic of his summoning her failed him. He remembered that he was angry with her. Her audacity. But then he did not interrupt her and Damia when he had the chance. And he realized that he would fail to punish her once again.
"I called you here to thank you," Nathaniel said seriously through a bold-faced lie. The wine in his system did not prevent him from maintaining his composure.
Hale's eyebrow cocked instantly with surprise. "What?"
"Thank you for being there this morning, and for your quick reflexes," he confessed indifferently; his face frowning. "It was without my order, but I owe you my life."
The skepticism in Hale's glance was unfiltered. She was guarded, her shoulders tight, arms crossed, and her weight on one leg. "Right," she replied. "'Course. Just did what I would've wanted done for me, sir."
Studiously, he chose his next words with care. "You have been a challenge, Hale." Her expression in response looked mildly offended and her mouth opened to retort. Before she could speak, he continued. His tone low, authoritative and as kind as its gruffness permitted. "I've never had a Warden in my charge kill another Warden. Nor have I had a Warden in my charge, or any Warden for that matter, hit me square in the jaw." This was true. Even in practice, he had never been hit like that by another Warden. He saw a glimpse of pride in Hale's gaze when he said this but her cheeks also blushed with embarrassment. She looked away. "But I've also never had a Warden bring so much morale to her team so quickly and with such ease."
Hale shifted on her feet awkwardly. This attention, the recounting of her deeds on this quest was clearly making her uncomfortable. She looked back to him with a furrowed brow, questioning, challenging him with her discomfort. "Okay… What d'you want me to say? Sorry? You're welcome?"
The questions caught him off guard. Her belligerent attitude testing his patience. "Nothing," he offered. Unsure if it was the alcohol in his system or his recurring frustration with the young woman, he explained with mild annoyance. "I'm sorry for insulting your commitment to the Wardens this morning."
"Don't," she said bluntly, raising one hand to stop the direction of this conversation. "I am a fucking thief, Lieutenant. A pickpocketing street rat. You're right to question me." Her response was harsh, disinterested in being considered anything more honorable. Either Hale didn't agree with him or she didn't want to believe his kind words.
"What are you talking about?" He asked with irritation.
"Like you said," her words were angry, spiteful; her tone was drenched with sarcasm. She took a step toward him, gesturing her body as she spoke. "I'm just a thief. It's really the only reason I'm here."
"To steal," Nate confirmed her words with a bitter laugh. He matched her step with his own. She stood within arms reach, radiating rebellion and he wanted it. His decorum faltered and Nate questioned, "And to fuck your fellow Wardens?"
Hale quickly barked back, "Like you've room to talk!"
The hunger could no longer be tamed. Impure thoughts flooded his mind. How does she like it? How will she feel from the inside? What will she taste like? Nate gave a suggestive smirk. And as though that flipped a switch for Hale, the fire in her eyes intensified. She closed the distance between them in a flash. Her arms using his shoulders as leverage. She leapt up, her legs wrapping around his waist.
He released a growl as his arms instinctively moved around to hold her body. Nate steadied himself with her weight; his stance widened. She was light, he noticed. Nimble. Her arms rested on his shoulders, her hands weaved through his long hair. His length had been growing vexed since he heard Hale and Damia in Damia's tent. Now that she was on him, he swelled in his breeches. Cock hard, pressed against her small frame.
Their lips collided. Crashing against one another. Opening, tongues twirling; a heated, ravenous, messy dance. It was a greedy, gluttonous kiss that continued, fueled by their pent-up tension finally culminated in ardor. Their heads moved around, changing angles, catching air.
Starving for more, the kiss did not meet his insatiable need. His appetite was far too large to be satisfied that simply. And from what he assessed by her voraciousness, the tug of her teeth on his swollen lower lip, her hand gripping his hair, Hale's appetite was similar.
Without any knowledge of what would come next, just knowing he wanted more of this woman, he took slow steps toward his bedroll. She moved from his lips to his neck, nibbling and sucking like a wild animal. Predatory. Nate blinked slowly, appreciating the feel of her mouth on his skin. He grinned in response to the rabid young woman who craved him. Unspoken, she released her legs and dropped down. Her boots landing on his bedroll with a thud. She had no concern for the state of his belongings.
Her arms still on his shoulders, and his at her narrow waist, they glared at each other in silence for a fraction of a second. Then she let go and leaned away. Her long fingers drug the hair on the unshaved side of her head behind her ear. Her ears, pointed, exotic. Elegant and precise, like her hands. Like her long, slender body that he scanned as she stood there. Her breasts were small from what he could tell. The small clothes she wore, visible from under her tunic, made it hard to determine based on the fabric wrapped tightly around her chest.
His attention was interrupted when she dropped to her knees at his feet. Well, she is hungry. He thought to himself, surprised at her ambitioness. Tactful, hurried movements of Hale's searching fingers unlaced his breeches as he casually removed his shirt. Pale skin revealed over lean, muscled tissue and accented by dark, coarse hair leading a narrow trail under his small clothes. Abundant scars of varying intensity marked his chiseled upper body.
Impatient but careful, she lowered his breeches with his help, the leathers dragged against his skin. His small clothes came next, freeing his length to her access. Hale licked her lips as she observed his shaft; measuring it up, gauging her own ability to handle him. Angry, determined, and absolutely famished, she looked up to him from where she knelt. The warmth radiating from his member just a breath away from her face. Glaring from below, Hale's hand moved to his base, holding his shaft, guiding it as she wanted. The anticipation built.
Until she licked him. Starting from the base and gliding up to the head. Nathaniel shuddered blissfully. Their gaze unbroken until he blinked; pleasured with the sample of carnal satisfaction he awaited. Then she took him into her mouth. Her wet, soft lips wrapping around his head. Smooth, velvety warmth encompassed; her mouth watered around him. Lust radiated from his head to his toes, now curling in result. Sucking, she slid down to take in more, guiding him to the back of her throat. Her neck elongated to permit more entrance and her tongue ran along his length as she came back up.Fuck. His muscles contracted the more she continued. Bobbing her head up and down on him. Hale was generous, eager to please, and hungry. He relished in each of her fervid actions. Her technique was superb.
Nathaniel could not remember the last time a woman did this to him. Most of his recent sexual exploits had been hurried with little time for foreplay. And while his games with Caoilainn involved plenty of fondling, she never offered him this.
His hand found Hale's hair; his fingers gently lacing through her locks while her head passionately undulated on his shaft. As though she savored the taste, Hale moaned and her lips hummed against him. It took every last ounce of his will to refrain from clutching her long, red tresses and guiding his hips toward her appetent mouth.
His eyes closed, his head tilted back, and he groaned. Though he could hear the campfire and undisturbed activity around it, the audible sound of his voice caught his attention. Perhaps it was the alcohol fading from his system, but responsible thoughts distracted him . She's the Inquisitor's cousin and Caoilainn will kill you. Barely a Junior Warden; you're the Lieutenant. She's only 19. Though the illicitness of this relationship was indeed alluring, his morals won out. Great timing, Nate.
"Stop," Nate said in a low, hesitant, and breathy exhale. She ignored him at first, continuing her technique, aware that he was very much enjoying her skills. "Stop, Hale," he lightly tugged her hair to remove her head from his length. She wiped her mouth and looked up to him angrily.
"What?" She asked with a curt tone, annoyed with the disruption of her process. Nathaniel reached out a hand to help her to her feet.
"I can't," he mumbled without making eye contact, pulling his small clothes up over his erection. His leather breeches securing it in place against his body. Yes, you can. He argued with himself.
"Uh," Hale replied with a bitter laugh. "I think you can, Lieutenant." Her gaze traveled to the bulge in his pants that was pushing against his loose breeches.
Nathaniel cringed at her reply. Lieutenant. A sigh followed his reaction and his hand pointed to the entrance of his tent. "Out," he ordered with a hint of reluctance in his tone. "Get out."
Hale glanced the direction his hand pointed before looking back at him. "Really? You're fucking shitting me," she cursed in disbelief. Her chest heaved with emotion. Anger and embarrassment, he gathered from the glare she gave him and the redness of her cheeks. It swirled together and underneath it all, in her voice he thought he heard sadness. She inhaled deeply, her expression communicating her conflicting emotions. Her lips pursed and her fists balled as she failed to find words. Then she turned and stormed from his tent.