Tingling, her lips still felt him. The sensation reminded her of the fiery interaction she shared with the Lieutenant a few moments ago. Furious with his dismissal of her, she was determined to get away from the encampment.
Damia sat upon the layers of blankets of her bedroll and looked up from the blade she was sharpening. A sly grin found its way to her face when Hale rushed in. Damia teased. "Really? The Lieutenant was that fast?"
Hale ignored Damia and glared, grabbing her tabard from the floor and pulling it on over her tunic.
Playful taunts continued from Damia as she observed Hale buckle her belt and loop the slack around, tucking it into the strap. "Now that surprises me. Sorry excuse for a Grey Ward-"
"Wouldn't know," Hale interrupted, not looking up as she knelt to lace up her boots.
"Right," Damia continued, her grin stretched wider, head tilting to the side as she stood. "And I'm an Orlesian Comtesse. Spill it, Hale. What did you and the Lieutenant do at such a late hour?"
Armor donned, Hale reached for her bow and packed quiver- both of which rested in Damia's tent. She glanced at Damia before looking away. "Nothing." With nothing other than her curt reply, Hale took a step toward the entrance of the tent. Damia reached for her.
Brow wrinkled with worry, Damia crooned as she touched Hale's arm. "Hale, are you-"
Hale's arm lifted as she turned around to Damia. In a quick motion she shoved Damia who gasped as she staggered back, brow wrinkled, arms reaching out for balance. The crease in Hale's brow quickly changed, her eyebrows lifted apologetically. Her mouth opened, "I-" she stammered. What've I done? "I didn't…" Seeking words that wouldn't come, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Fuckin' shite."
Grabbing her items, she pushed her way out of Damia's tent. She didn't look back.
Her mind raced, explanations of Nathaniel's rejection swirled and contradicted themselves. He fucking liked it! Her long legs lifted, alternating in quick succession. The balls of her feet landed lightly on the soft dirt, carrying her through the dark forest. Then it's me. Her eyes peeled to adjust to the blackness. She flew, a whirlwind of speed and stamina. Arrows rattled in her quiver. I'm a fucking prat.
It may have been minutes, or maybe hours. She ran until she couldn't continue and stopped in a clearing.
Breathless, panting, she bent at her waist and rested her hands on her knees. It only took a moment for her to catch her breath. Hyper-vigilant, heart still pounding, her eyes darted around where she stood. Fireflies speckled the surrounding darkness, their light blinking in silence. Her forehead was damp from running. Shite! She cursed herself. Rash choices brought her to this place, unsure where she was, how far she was from camp. The campfire was out of sight.
Forced to improvise, she scanned the trees around her and spotted one suitable for climbing. Lithely, she lifted herself up branches and limbs. The coarse texture of the tree against her palms was soothing and familiar as she continued higher. When she found a good place to stop, she peered around from her elevation and spotted the camp, a fair distance to the east. Light pulled her attention to look west before descending. There she saw another camp, larger and about half the distance than her own.
She also noticed a faint tickle, like a tug, buzzing in her head joined by an urge from her heart that pulled her toward the foreign encampment. She noticed blue and white regalia as she neared. So is this the bond the Bitch Queen Commander's always going on about ? Strange, something about the sensation seemed wrong. Regardless of the oddness, her curiosity won out. Staying above in the trees, she lurked toward the encampment. Senses heightened, she could roughly determine people occupying the encampment standing around a fire. Sneaking even closer, her ears tuned in with subtle awareness of her own noises and greater attention to those below her. Eerily silent, large number of Grey Wardens stood. Small shifts in color passed between their hands.
"Do you feel that?" A male voice from below questioned. Hale caught her breath, concerned that the Grey Warden might feel her presence by the bond.
"No," another man replied, his voice gravelly. "Just get back to work." Both of their accents were Orlesian.
Hale released a quiet exhale. What are they working on? Eyes focused, she surveyed the encampment. It was larger than the scouting groups by four or five times. Squinting as she studied these Wardens, she saw they were dressed in light armor, barely offering any protection, and mending their staves with magic. They're all mages. Continuing her survey of the camp, she covered her mouth so as not to gasp.
Beyond the camp, a variety of demons milled either unaware or uninterested in the troop of Grey Wardens right next to them. Instincts told her to run back to her camp, to immediately warn her fellow Wardens of what she saw. But curiosity kept her there, staring at the sight before her.
Another Warden ran up to the group below. Panting, he announced. "The Inquisition army has entered Orlais. Their numbers are larger than the Elder One predicted."
The man who must have been an appointed leader, replied. His grating voice made Hale cringe. "And the Grey Wardens among them?"
"There is a significant number of them," the messenger reported. "And some of our brothers who didn't complete the ritual are among the Ferelden Wardens."
"Wonderful," the leader croaked. "We will protect the Vessel, as ordered. Maim, harm, or debilitate the Grey Wardens. But we can't kill them. We will continue the ritual without the magister."
Ritual? Hale's eyes widened as she listened. Cautiously, she waited, hoping that the leader would say more while desperately wanting to flee from her hideout. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her hands shaking.
"There will be plenty of warriors to sacrifice and mages to induct," the leader gloated. "Our army against the Old Gods will be stronger than before Stroud and Clarel's betrayal."
Sacrifice? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I have to tell the Lieutenant. Stark still, she waited. Head spinning with fear, her mouth parched, she swallowed and closed her eyes. Her head rested against the tree trunk as she forced herself to wait patiently for the activity to carry on in the enemy encampment. Eventually she determined it safe to move. Light and agile, she drifted from limb to limb toward her camp with speed.
Then her hand slipped. Palms wet with sweat from her running and nerves. Her hand landed on a moss-covered branch and slid, causing her to lose her footing. She fell backwards with a whoosh. The air left her lungs when she landed hard on a bulky tree-limb and bounced off a more before she caught herself. Stabilizing on the tree, she found her breath, though painfully.
The first thing she checked was her bow. It was broken. Bollocks! Fortunately, her quiver was packed tight enough that she didn't lose any arrows but the container was cracked. Unmoving, frozen with fear, she listened for activity from the direction of the enemy camp.
The camp was unchanged, emitting the same noise as before. Safe. With a deep breath, she exhaled and inhaled again. Intense pain resonated in her side and it hurt to breathe. She picked up her leg to run, building momentum with a few steps. But the stabbing pain in her side stopped her. Pox on me! She cursed herself and stopped to try to breathe. Her hand reached around and clutched her chest. Tears of pain involuntarily welled in her eyes. Left to walk, she took her time hobbling back to camp. Fireflies lit her way and the hints of smoky roast nug teased at her nose, guiding her back to the camp.
Pride wounded, just like her ribs, she stumbled into the forward. The smell of cooked nug still lingered despite the cold fire pit. It seemed everyone was sleeping. Exhausted, and sore, Hale tiptoed through the encampment toward her tent. Curling up into a ball, symbolically licking her wounds and sleeping off the pain was tempting. But she knew she needed to tell someone what she saw, and that person was the Lieutenant. She paced in front of her tent in thought.
Mist weighted with moisture hung near the ground. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered quicker than her racing heart and contradicted the stillness of the camp.
Eventually, Hale closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked toward Nathaniel's tent, shaking her free hand as she made her way. She entered and closed her eyes again. She could feel the bond clearly now; it hummed steadily in her heart and it wasn't strange like it had been earlier. Now it was pure, clean and warm. The sensation was better than being drunk, better than sex. Better than hunting. Her eyes closed to revel. With her senses subtly heightened, Nathaniel's earthy scent quieted her nerves.
"What are you doing, Hale?" Nathaniel asked.
Hale yelped. Eyes wide, she froze and stammered, "I, uh, sir. Lieutenant…"
"Spit it out." She heard his body moving on his bedroll, sitting up. No, don't do that.
Eyes closed, with a deep inhale, she turned to face the entrance of his tent. "I fled the camp after you, we, um…."
"I know," he interrupted. "What then?" She heard more movement as if he was rising from his bedroll. Don't fucking stand up.
"I ran… far, maybe half a day's walk, and I found the rest of them crazy Warden fucks." She heard the movement of his bedroll. "Said something..." Holding tighter to her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her other hand found its way to pull on her ear to avoid from shaking. "Something about a, uh, Vessel or something… a ritual… and," she paused, biting her lip. She could hear him standing, stepping closer, breathing from behind her. "Sacrifice… of warriors."
"What?" He sounded shocked, almost angry.
"Don't know anymore," she answered, her head tilting to look over her shoulder and catching a glimpse of him in his smallclothes despite the poor lighting. His legs were just as muscular as his upper body. Hale's head snapped back to face away. "Some… something about sacrificing warriors to induct mages." The word induct was emphasized as it was one she was not sure she completely understood. It had never found its way from her mouth before.
"Turn around," Nathaniel ordered softly, his voice patient.
Hale shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. On any other day, this interaction would have been exciting, fun. She would have welcomed the challenge. But after being rejected by this particular man, stumbling across an enemy encampment, and then falling from a tree, she was not her usual brash self. Her heart still raced.
Nathaniel's hands reached to her shoulders and applied faint pressure, nudging her to move. Hale released a whimper. Feet planted, the slight twist of her body stung.
His hands retracted instantly in response and he gave another order. "Hale, look at me."
She sighed. His voice was kind, and she wanted to hear more of it. Her feet moved to turn around. Face tilted down, she looked up to him, barely making out the lines on his face. Hale bit her lower lip, trying to ignore that he stood brazenly in his smallclothes.
He was frowning, but it was not in disappointment. The questioning wrinkle of his brow showed concern. He's so tired he don't realize he's in his underwear? "Okay…" she broke the silence.
"Are you hurt?" He asked as his eyes scanned to her hand holding her chest before looking back at her face.
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "But it don't matter. We need to get out of here or we'll get sacrificed or some shite."
"Did they hear you get away?" His questions continued, eyes narrowed.
"No!" Hale huffed, shoulders slouching until she remembered her injury and whimpered again. "Damn, you got a lot of questions… sir."
Lip curled in a smile, Nathaniel's chin lifted. "We're not going anywhere. You've found exactly what we came to scout, young Warden. You did well."
Hale's mouth opened and her brow furrowed. "But…"
"No," he replied as he moved to find his breeches, pulling them on as he talked. "I'll meet with the mages to determine our next steps before we depart in the morning. Stay here. I'll get Philippa and Aidan."
Barefoot and shirtless, he departed, leaving Hale standing in Nathaniel's tent, mouth gaping and wide-eyed. Am I dreaming? She pinched herself. Ow! The lack of anger, the absence of verbal scolding or threats of reprimand from the Lieutenant stunned her.
A few minutes later, Nathaniel returned with the mages, Philippa and Aidan. Upon entering the tent, Nathaniel lit a candle and Philippa walked to Hale. The sorceress's black hair was divided into two braids and her full lips were pulled in a tight frown in displeasure. Her forehead seemed as though it was always creased with focus and her hands rested on her hips. Aidan stood in the corner, holding a book in both hands over his legs. The man was in his early 30s, handsome. He looked noble to Hale. They all did.
"Child, what have you done to yourself?" Philippa said as she lifted Hale's arm by the wrist to examine her side. Teeth gritted, Hale hissed at the movement. "Oh, hush now. Let me see it. Remove your armor and shirt."
Hale's eyebrows wrinkled for a second, and her eyes darted to Nathaniel and Aidan who were sitting on Nate's bedroll, conversing in the corner near the candle. They seemed to reference the book that Aidan held. Hale looked back to the witch and nodded. Slowly, she unbuckled her belt and dropped it to the ground. Holding her breath, eyes closed tightly and lips puckered, she bent at her waist to pull the tabard over her head. Stop being such a baby, Hale! She didn't want to cry in front of the Lieutenant.
Hale lifted the shirt up on one side to expose the pained area, already marked by blue and purple bruises. Philippa frowned, hands returning back to her hips. "All of it, child. And what's that blasted thing you're wearing under your tunic?" She pointed to the fabric wrapped tightly around Hale's chest over her small clothes.
Sighing, Hale pulled her shirt up and over her head with one arm, revealing the numerous other scrapes and bruises she gathered from her fall. Her eyes darted to Nathaniel, who was sitting shirtless nearby. He was already looking at her and held the gaze before lazily looking back at Aidan. She swore she saw a grin at the corner of his mouth. But the candlelight flickered in the tent now crowded with four people. Shadows played tricks inside the canvas walls.
"Dear, this is certainly making it hurt more." Philippa pulled at the wrap. "Why on earth would you hide such fine breasts under all this fabric?" Her scolding was followed by Nathaniel's coughing, which even Hale could tell was an attempt to hide his laughter. Aidan grinned at Nathaniel's reaction. The antics between the men had no effect on Philippa who didn't blink as she continued. "Take it off, child."
Face red, her eyes widened, and she looked at Nathaniel and Aidan. They stared hard at each other, forcing their conversation to continue as if they hadn't heard what Philippa just ordered. The grins on their faces revealed their amusement.
"Come now. Time is running out, dear. Turn around if you don't wish for these lechers to gawk at you." Philippa suggested as her head turned to face the men. "What were you gentleman saying about blood magic?"
Apparently, in her studying of Hale, Philippa had overheard the conversation between the men. Hale looked to Nathaniel, who looked back like a hawk. Empowered in spite of her blushing, the call to mischief urging her, she raised an eyebrow and untucked a corner of the wrapped fabric. Yeah. You're not sending me away now, are you? Gaze maintained with Nathaniel, she removed a layer as Aidan replied to Philippa.
"It must be blood magic," Aidan said. "There's no other reason to require a sacrifice for a ritual."
Hale unwrapped a few more layers, keeping eyes locked with the Lieutenant. He was looking back, eyes squinted. The shadows on his face made it hard to tell if he kept their gaze or if it wandered to her chest. With each layer removed, as there were many, she could feel the weight of her breasts shifting, relaxing. Her inhales were deeper and although the pain of her ribs wasn't as sharp, it became dull and constant.
"A sacrifice, you say?" Philippa questioned Aidan. "Of what sort?"
The Philippa woman was beautiful, Hale decided, her skin smooth and pale like porcelain; her voice and the way she spoke belied the age her appearance suggested.
"That's what I'm trying to decipher," Aidan replied.
Nearing the final layers of her wrap, a smirk pulled at Hale's lips. She had Nathaniel's attention. For a moment, his chest didn't rise and fall. He held his breath, stare firm and intense with a brow risen in intrigue.
Aroused by his enrapture, Hale's lips parted and just as the fabric became loose and fe away from her breasts. She turned around to face the canvas wall. Hah, take that.
"Hale said that they were planning on inducting our mages. They're protecting a Vessel. That could require blood magic." Nathaniel offered as if Hale's display hadn't been the slightest bit distracting from the conversation. She shook her head as she removed her bra, displeased with Nathaniel's apparent diligence. Damn it!
Philippa scoffed. "Do you literally read nothing, Nathaniel?" The pronunciation of her words was crisp and her voice sharp. Hale coughed to stifle her laugh this time. "The Vessel is in the destination. The Temple of Mythal. As for the blood, Grey Wardens already share it. That sacrifice would be useless. Blood is payment. They are buying a weapon or weapons and mixing our blood with something greater."
"I saw demons," Hale voiced without turning around. "On the other side of their camp. A whole fucking lot of them, right there, just standing."
"That's a good girl," Philippa said turning back to Hale, who cringed at the sentiment. "That's the answer. Sounds as though they are binding themselves to demons from the Fade and depending on the derivation of the spell, that is likely the source of their pledge to Corypheus."
"The leader- ow!" Hale yelped as Philippa prodded her side.
"Hush, child. I have to examine it and then I'll use magic to heal it. I didn't just have you take your shirt off so you could tease Nathaniel." Philippa continued with the what she was doing, the faintest evidence of a grin evident in the edges of her taut frown. Hale clutched a tent pole, eyes wide and face burning red. "Continue."
Surprised that Philippa referred to the Lieutenant by his first name, Hale explained. "Least I think it was the leader said- Ow… Said they could continue the ritual without the magister."
"Hold on, dear. Last bit." Magic radiated through Hale's chest, she felt it cooling, soothing her pain. Elated, fascinated by the sensation, it complemented the strength of the bond they shared. "All right now, dress up. You can put those pert, young breasts away, dear." Hale blushed again, glad no one could see her face as she put on her bra and tunic. She left the wrap and armor off.
"So what should we do about all this?" Aidan asked Philippa for guidance.
Not waiting for her turn, or for Philippa's answer, Hale spoke up as she sat down next to Nathaniel, across from Philippa and Aidan. "Couldn't we use the magic against 'em? Without the ritual, can we make them Orlesian whoresons fight for us since we share the same blood and all?"
Philippa's tight frown curled up just a little. "Clever child," she hummed. "It is possible, but we'd have to kill the demons first." Philippa looked to Aidan. "Hand me the tome."
Hale observed curiously as Philippa took the book from Aidan and flipped to a certain page. The audience waited patiently for Philippa's next piece of information. "It would require our own blood magic," she explained. "Warden mages are entitled to such illicit dealings since it is by our very nature." Handing the book to Hale, Philippa pointed to a section within a specific page. "Read this."
With a blank stare, Hale looked at the book, then up to Philippa, then back to the book. A knot tightened in her stomach. "I can't."
"What for?" Philippa chided, her brow wrinkled as she looked down her nose at Hale. "Just read what it says."
"I can't read," Hale confessed, embarrassed, her eyes still fixed on the book.
The humans in the tent were all of noble upbringing, illiteracy a misfortune of which their privilege kept them ignorant.
The book flew from her lap as Nathaniel lifted it.
Nathaniel read for her, only after giving her a wink. She relaxed, glad all eyes were no longer on her as Nate spoke. "Tainted blood magic. The Grey Warden blood bonds all Wardens to one another. Just as Mages of the Grey use blood magic to manipulate darkspawn, so too can the magic be used to control Warden brothers in times of duress." Nathaniel stopped and looked to Philippa, one eyebrow cocked with confusion. "I would say this counts as duress… but are you sure about this, Philippa?"
"Tut, tut, Nate," Philippa remarked, her lips remained tight and her face stern. "You think so little of me. Cherish this rare moment when I humor your lawfulness. The concern is valid as blood magic incurs risks. But unless you wish to slaughter our brethren, I see no other choice."
"I see," Nathaniel frowned.
Before Nate could ask any other questions, Hale chimed in again. Her nose wrinkled as she spoke. "So, we need to kill them demons, yeah?" She repeated Philippa. "How do we do that if those arseholes are all coming at us with magic?"
"My, you are a clever child," Philippa's proud grin was unmistakable now. Hale's chest puffed up in response. "And you're right to question. Aiden and I can hold them with magic while you all destroy the demons. How many did you say there are?"
"'Bout four or five times us, I think," Hale estimated, as she looked up, scanning her memory for the images of the encampment.
"That's forty to fifty Wardens to hold, Philippa and just as many demons for the scouts to kill," Aiden worried aloud.
"And we only have light weapons among our scouts, save for Val and I don't think he's taking 50 demons head on while we offer support," Nathaniel added.
Hale sat upright, engaged in the interaction. Interested, curious even at the strategizing of the next steps of the Grey Wardens, she remained silent as they continued, only mildly aware of the Lieutenant's eyes drifting to her on occasion.
"Hm, I suppose you're right," conceding to the men's concerns, Philippa paused.
"And I would also prefer we get this approved by the Commander before we act," Nathaniel said as Hale rolled her eyes and shot a sideways glare at him.
Really? So the leash reaches this far?
"Then it's settled. We'll scout on the morrow, gather more information about these Wardens and any others defending the Temple and take the information back to Caoilainn," Philippa announced as if she had the final say of the group's choices.
"Good," Aidan stretched his arms and yawned, rising from the bedroll and bowing to the group. "If you all wish to stay up, have at it, but I am going back to bed." He left the tent without waiting for a reply.
Hale rose from the ground, the exhaustion of the evening overtaking her. She swayed on her feet as she stood.
"Nathaniel, dear. See to it she makes it back to her tent safely. And child, get your bric-a-brac off the Lieutenant's floor." Philippa gave them both orders as she stood, turned and departed back toward her tent, leaving Nathaniel and Hale alone again.
Stooping to pick up her items, she avoided his eyes. Nathaniel took step forward and offered his arm to Hale. "Since I was ordered, I'll walk you to your tent," he smirked as he gave a mocking bow. "And I'll carry that for you, milady." He gestured to the pile of clothes in her hands. Hale stared at him, her face illustrating her skepticism.
"What'd you call me?" She sneered and jutted her chin.
His grin spread wider as he took the clothing and weapons from her hands. Too tired to insist on carrying her own things, Hale did not fight back. Instead, she looked at Nathaniel with amused disgust, an eyebrow cocked, and her lip slightly raised.
"Milady," he repeated with more emphasis, teasing her with the word. "It's a term of respect."
"Well don't," Hale scoffed, though she was failing to hide the smile from curving her lips. "I'm not a lady and I'm definitely not yer lady, Lieutenant."
His grin didn't fade as he carried her items back toward her tent through the Inquisition encampment. It was nearing dawn. The mist was thicker, and the stars faded in the night sky. When they arrived, Nathaniel followed Hale into her quarters.
Heart strumming, quicker than it was before he entered, Hale bit her lip- the excitement of having the Lieutenant so close by was battling with her complete lack of energy. She motioned for Nathaniel to drop her items on the ground which he did. Unconcerned with the mess of her tent, she plopped down on her bedroll and took off her boots.
"Thanks," she offered through a yawn, sitting cross-legged. Her eyelids were heavy, fluttering as Nathaniel looked down at her. She was too tired to appreciate the spectacle of the Lieutenant's bare, muscled, and scarred upper body on display over her.
"My pleasure," he replied, looking to the items on the ground near him. "What's this binding your breasts business for, anyway?" The cloth wrap she was no longer wearing sat on top of the pile of clothing.
"Really?" Her question jeered as if the answer was obvious. In her opinion, the answer was visible under her tunic. "You ever tried to draw a bowstring with yer tits in yer fucking way?" She stuck her chest out and her hands circled her ample breasts.
"Well, no. I can't say I have," he said through a laugh.
"Then don't ask dumb questions." Why is he still here? She wondered. Her heart still fluttered, and she was certain her cheeks were pink, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to flirt.
Nathaniel squatted down on the ground to get closer to her eye level. She felt his warmth, curiosity, and caring. It differed from the tension they shared before. She wasn't sure which she liked more. "Philippa was right, you know. You are quite clever, Hale. And rebellious. Between sneaking, stealing, and spying, you're like-"
Stretching her arms over her head, she cut him off, looking at him with one eye open. The sing-song sound of her voice carried through her yawn. "A fox. That's my name. You know Elvhen now?"
Nathaniel's brow wrinkled and his mouth curved down. "Hale is fox?"
"Aye," she responded as she laid down, unable to keep herself upright any longer. She glanced to him from where she rested. "In the clan they called me Hale'Harel. The Dread Fox. Always been a bit of a troublemaker."
The dramatic inflection she used on the title instigated a chuckle from Nathaniel. "Somehow I don't find that hard to believe."
Eyes heavy, she couldn't resist closing them. She yawned once more and pulled the layers of blankets over her clothed body. "Thanks again, Lieutenant."
"Call me Nate tonight," he said through a smile. He must have thought she was asleep already because he rose and turned to leave her tent.
"I felt the bond today," she murmured in her sleepy stupor, "Lieutenant."
Hale could feel him standing, looking down at her for a few long moments. "Sleep well, milady," his gruff voice hummed before she heard his footsteps leave her tent. Grinning, she drifted off to sleep.