"No, that's not enough. I'll need Wardens, fighters, on both sides of this tunnel. The scouts will survey and offer support," Caoilainn strategized a mission with her band of lieutenants at the table in her office, layered with maps and letters from Ansberg requesting aid eliminating an increase in darkspawn.
"Of course," Nathaniel replied. "And I'll give you the full, undoubtedly long account of this mission on your desk when I return." The most senior in rank of the lieutenants, he acted as mouthpiece for the rest. His words dragged as though annoyed with the obligation.
Seneschal Garevel's eyes squinted between the two of them, noticing the Lieutenant's unusual choice of words. He stood, taking notes while Caoilainn gave orders to the lieutenants leading smaller troops into the Deep Roads, north in the Free Marches.
Caoilainn's reply: the tempered raise of her brow and a smug frown. "I expect extensive detail, Lieutenant Howe. Nothing less," she extended the requirements of his offer. No one but Nathaniel noticed the sultry glint in her eye. Hooked by the appeal of clever use of composure, he valued her unrelenting discipline.
"Yes, ma'am," Nathaniel's gruff reply joined a cocky smirk before he sauntered from her office.
The method of their amour tangled with their duties, masked behind their roles as Commander and Lieutenant. It worked too well; both beguiled by the illusion of convenience and escape from responsibility.
As the weather cleared, Nathaniel convened with other Warden Lieutenants to devise a plan to split near Vigil's Keep. The Warden's mages and a select few others, including the scouting band, would continue to Denerim to see away Caoilainn's remains.
The complicated turmoil Nate endured grew as they continued through Ferelden. Diving into work in an effort to shut down the mess within, he lost himself. Numb to sadness and upset, unable to rationalize those emotions considering the task at hand, he marched onward. Though each time his eyes fell on the cart carrying Caoilainn, the pit in his stomach sank deeper.
After the amusing interaction with Hale's cousin, Nathaniel returned to his previous state. Reticent and withdrawn, humor locked behind austerity. He gave rigid directions to various Wardens, Hale included, and accepted no deviations.
The young woman's presence tapered, and he didn't blame her. Intimacy dwindled as distance grew larger. It seemed the further into Ferelden the Grey Wardens traveled, the more Nathaniel forgot about his penchant for Hale, preoccupied with duties as acting commander. Aware of his inability to offer decent company, the distraction of sex no longer justified inviting her to his tent. The spirit of the huntress imposed upon his dissociation. She required connection, taxing his energy when he lacked it.
Allured by the ease at which he could throw himself into work and ignore the huntress, Nathaniel did not pursue her, unconcerned with her return to Damia. Though he admitted he missed Hale's quiet support when she walked nearby, and her warmth in his bed, he insisted his failure at reciprocating companionship proved his inadequacy. He committed to the belief he must bear this burden on his own and instead took in other bedmates who stirred less emotion. Female Wardens, longtime friends he could call upon to keep him company and help him forget about Caoilainn; Hale too for that matter.
But resilient and resourceful, Hale found company with the friends she made on the scouting mission. A new experience for her, having 'friends' who seemed to enjoy her presence regardless of the dreary atmosphere.
Campfires littered the larger encampment of the Ferelden soldiers and Grey Wardens each night. And each evening, Hale joined the scouts fireside. Relaxed card games, storytelling, and subdued festivities aided by alcohol, the group made the most of their depleted states. Many retired early, still mourning the death of the Warden Commander. Tent hopping games between Hale and Damia also resumed.
In one late night conversation, Damia inquired about Nathaniel then informed of a rumor she heard of the Lieutenant's new bedfellows. Hale's puzzled feelings about Nathaniel's reserved behavior racked her mind, but she had thus far abstained from confirming an unprofessional relationship with the Lieutenant. Hope that Nathaniel would talk when he was ready and assuming he needed space led to her distance. This news knocked the wind out of her.
Face hot, heart racing, she slunk through the camp on light feet. Quiet steps bought her to Nathaniel's tent, half expecting to find someone else in it.
The lone flicker of his candle revealed Nathaniel's wakefulness to any passerby. He stared at a paper, folded and sealed, the Grey Warden crest pressed into the wax. The Inquisition's Spymaster had brought it to him the morning they left Skyhold, and it since stayed unopened, neatly tucked in the breast of his armor.
"Lieutenant?" A familiar voice called a loaded question in a rigid tone from outside his tent flap.
He blinked. The sound of her voice pleased him in spite of his internal tumult. He hid the paper under his pillow before he spoke. "Come in, huntress."
Hale entered what she now recognized as a familiar location. A well-ordered room made of his belongings and bedroll. He sat on the bed and glanced up to her as she entered.
"What do you want, Hale?" Nathaniel asked, tired but patient. The small crease in his brow distinguished sunken eyes.
Heated responses to Nate's question raced through Hale's mind. Arms crossed and hip cocked, she glanced to the roof of his tent, searching for the right words. Nate looked to her, forehead wrinkled, unsure of the delay in the answer to his simple question. With willed restraint of ire she gave a hopeless shrug and blurted out a response, "I need you to fucking talk to me."
Nate snorted, his eyes looking side to side, assessing that he was in the same tent as Hale. "That's what we're doing now, isn't it?"
"No, I want you to tell me what your sodding problem is." Stubborn and determined, Hale's chin jutted with virulence. "Where've you been since Skyhold?"
Demanding him to open up, her pleading and angry interrogation caused his eyes to roll. "I've been busy, Hale." He evaded the question with a vague response.
"Yeah?" She asked with a defiant step closer. "You mean fucking other Wardens?"
He scoffed, a smirking sneer joined another passive eye roll as he shook his head. "Go back to your tent, Hale. I'm not having this discussion with you."
"No!" She yelled, frustration winning over discretion. "I've waited... Bollocks! Fucking weeks for you to talk to me!"
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed as her voice raised, sneer tightening until she finished talking. I knew this would happen. "Andraste's tits, Hale. This is why I didn't want to sleep with you." He stopped to breathe, then made a stopping motion with his hand from where he sat. "No. I'm not having this conversation. Go back to your tent."
"Fuck that!" She exclaimed, "I don't give two shites if you plough other women. But don't fucking ignore me like I'm just some cheap fucking whore."
"Damn it. This has nothing to do with you!" Reserve abandoned, he bellowed at her. Pale cheeks tinged red, and harsh eyes locked.
A vitriolic glare peered down at Nathaniel. Teeth bared, her weight shifted to one leg. Nostrils flaring, her chest swelled with rage, fists clenching and releasing as her emotion boiled. But her keen eyes caught on the paper beneath his pillow.
A swift motion and she bent her knees, swiping the letter from where it lay. Nate's gruff voice, low and stern called as he reached after her. "Stop. Leave it alone."
"It's unopened." She observed aloud, pulling the paper out of his reach; her attention focused on the contents in her hand. Nathaniel quickly rose to his knees and stood. Touching the crest on the seal, she concluded, "This is from Weisshaupt, or whatever it's called, innit?"
He nodded, brows creased, lips pulled to a frown. "Give that to me," he grumbled. Each time he reached for the letter, Hale's swift movement dodged him. Standing over her, he could have overpowered Hale, but his agitation with the huntress stopped him. He didn't want to touch her, knowing where physical contact took their heated debates.
"This what's been bothering you?" Critical eyes judged him, attempting to decipher his resistance to the letter, and its connection to his bad mood.
"Among other things," he muttered. "Like you, right now, for instance. Warden, if you don't give me that letter…." Grouchy and sullen, Nathaniel's shadowed beady stare waited for Hale to falter.
"Fucking arsehole," she rolled her eyes and scoffed in disgust. "You don't have to do this shite alone, Nate. But you bloody-well have to do it."
Unsure what angered him more, the accuracy of Hale's statement or her calling upon him to read the letter he had been delaying. He ground his teeth in thought. The letter could only contain a few possible messages, none of which he wished to read. But Hale's caring nature confronted his desire to be alone and avoid the confirmation of Caoilainn's death.
She piped up, breaking the silence. "I'd read it to you, but… ya know, I can't."
Releasing an annoyed, defeated sigh the pressure of her presence brought him to decision. "We'll change that when we get back to Vigil's Keep. In the meantime…." Nathaniel's grumpy snarl preceded the opening of an extended palm, a silent order for Hale to give back the letter; she obliged.
Silence penetrated the tent as Nate broke the seal and opened the letter. His eyes traveled left to right, reading the script to himself. Lines drawn on his face increased in severity, growing darker, deeper. Wrinkles pronounced by his displeasure showed his age. The dim light of the candle flickered on his face as he read.
"They've made me Warden Commander," he mumbled, re-reading the contents of the paper again. His severe expression unaltered.
"Fuck," Hale murmured. The impact of the news left her short of words until unfiltered she thought aloud. "You don't look surprised… or happy. That's a big fucking deal."
"Surprised? No," he answered, distracted, briefly glancing up from the paper as he re-read a third time. "I knew it would say it was me or someone else. The Warden-Constable declined, so it's fallen to me. He likes his position at Vigil's Keep. Less field work."
"But happy. Right, mate? You got promoted." She attempted a weak smile, knowing the unpleasant circumstances of his elevation.
"Happy?" He scoffed, scowling. "I've served Caoilainn since she became Warden Commander. I respected her. I've no right to this." He waved the paper before tossing it to his bed.
Hale retorted, her hands on her hips. "Says who? That makes you the best wanker for the fucking job, don't it?"
"Yeah. You and the First Warden seem to think so," he snapped, curt and insulting with his expression and tone. Biting, cold and aloof, he checked her reaction with testing curiosity as he explained, "I was sleeping with Caoilainn off and on from the beginning. It's wrong for me to succeed her."
"I don't follow," Hale shrugged her answer. "So you ploughed her? Does it mean you can't do the job? Wouldn't she want you to do it more than this lazy Constable whoreson?"
Replies conveyed understanding of his statements but gave no validation. Troubles lay deeper than what he said in words, and what he admitted to himself. Hale's questions pushed the barriers surrounding the emotions he ignored. Guilt, he realized, for the relationship with Caoilainn. "I was an ass," he grumbled out loud, absent-minded, forgetting his audience. "She was so young when it started. I shouldn't have put her in that position."
"Oy," Hale barked, intruding his reflection, "fuck off! I'm younger than she was then and you're older now. You saying I'm some helpless little girl? You just some sick fuck?"
Shit. Nate compared his relationship with Caoilainn to his relationship with Hale and found more similarities than he preferred. The Elf's age had been a significant component his hesitation to engage with her in the first place.
"No," he growled, lip curled in disgust of her immaturity. His answer short, absent of a better response to her complaint. Furious, compounded regret built as Hale's tantrum escalated.
"Then is it because she's human?" She resumed; an insolent glare his only reply to her questions. "Commander? Or noble? Oh! That's it. It was because she was the fucking Queen, isn't it?"
Grinding teeth of his clenched jaw caused the muscles on his face to pulse. The barrage of questions that spit from Hale's mouth hit him in rapid succession like weapons. Steamy tears welled, stinging in hot pools. Rage, face hot with fury at his own mistakes joined the pain surrounding the loss of his closest friend.
"Get out, Hale," he growled, stepping closer. His arm rose, rigid, index finger extended. He pointed to the exit of his tent.
He missed Caoilainn, he realized.
I can't mourn for her. I've no right to grieve. Surmounted shame, guilt for the affair, the circumstances of their friendship, and an exponential list of illicit interactions forbade him from revealing his sadness to anyone. Questions of his part in Caoilainn's reluctance to remain in Denerim crossed his mind. Adding his elevation to her position as Commander of the Grey, forced to work with the King of Ferelden in matters regarding the safety of his Kingdom would be remarkably ungracious, unrefined. Father would be so proud. Worse, the turmoil and misery led him to push away the care and concern of this lovely, albeit caustic creature.
Red cheeks and a pained glare stared at Nate. Fists squeezed tight, her chest heaved, and tears fell. An angry pout found her lips, and her creased brows lifted for a moment. Begging, urging him to talk with nothing but her gaze.
Silence followed, his hand stayed pointing toward the tent-flap. Hale turned on her heels and stormed out, wiping her tears as she fled.
**Please! I'd love to know what you think of these two in the reviews.**