9. New Territory (Part II)
Harding, Vartan, and Chauncey all remained in a sullen, awkward silence as they made their way down the remainder of the path.
Harding noticed that once they stepped into the valley, the trees did not grow beyond the trail.
Man-made, she realized, assessing the field before them.
At some point, someone had cleared out the area of trees, plowed the soil and planted crops there. They wandered across the field of kingstaff, which had overtaken the neglected land and grown wild and unruly. They forged through the golden reeds towards the clearing she had seen. In her mind she estimated the distances between various points so she could have the surveyor later measure them properly for the cartographer.
A possible veridium mine, structural work on the trail down the mountain, although it is in remarkably good condition given it had probably been abandoned for over a decade…she mentally noted.
Bathes and Norsir had left their bedrolls and tent packs behind in the clearing. She saw they had pointedly left them on a large and wide slate slab, which made her sigh.
"Great. I should have known the chances this clearing was freely available were slim."
"Why is that?" Chauncey wondered, examining the slab.
"There was once a house built over that slab," she explained. "The house might be gone…But do you see those markings on it?" She indicated a cross with several numbers and initials around it. "The legal owners of this land have not relinquished their rights."
"Then why haven't they built something out here?" Chauncey asked.
"I'm going to fetch water," Vartan announced, seizing the medium sized cast-iron pot. "I saw a brook about a mile west."
They continued setting up their modest camp while Vartan wandered off, disappearing into the rows of kingstaff.
"It is rather remote," she continued. "Maybe it had something to do with the war…or even the Blight years ago. Whatever reason, it still legally belongs to someone and until we can verify whether or not the owners are alive or still in valid possession of this land, we cannot set an outpost here without permission."
"So we get permission!" Chauncey suggested.
Harding smirked.
"Permission includes having to pay a hefty 'harboring of safe passage tax'," she revealed. "Something we try to avoid whenever possible."
Chauncey nodded, suddenly enlightened.
"Scout Harding, you are so clever. Clever…and so nice," he grinned goofily.
"Thank you, Private."
She shook her head quietly. Chauncey… He lacked a filter when it came to expressing his thoughts.
"We can camp here for the night…but we'll have to figure something out by morning. We could be in trouble if we lead a squad to this location."
"Who'd know?" he asked.
"Someone passing through…maybe a shepherd…It's unlikely, but it's been known to happen."
She sat back heavily after starting the campfire. A burst of orange light illuminated their faces in the dusk. The sky was clear that night, she noticed, peering into the heavens, and the first stars had begun to shine. It would be a crisp night, since it was still early spring, but she preferred to sleep outside, huddled in her bedroll, gazing at the constellations above. They had set up everything they could and now all they could do was wait for the others to return. She took advantage of the firelight to jot down some notes and map drawings.
In the nearby distance the reeds rustled heavily. Chauncey did a little frantic dance, scrambling for his sword and Harding rose calmly, deftly reaching for her trusty slingshot and pointing it towards the noise.
"Who comes?" she called out warningly, ready to launch a small rock at where the reeds swayed agitatedly.
Vartan's voice called out to them impatiently.
"It is I. The brook was farther than I thought," he complained. "Give me a hand, one of you," he asked, emerging from the curtain of kingstaff, the pot, filled with sloshing water swinging heavily on the handle between his weighed down hands.
She put her slingshot away and reached Vartan before Chauncey could, worrying that the lad was likely to spill the entire thing. Vartan unslung the canteens he'd taken to fill from over his shoulder and handed them to her. She gave one to Chauncey, and laid the others before their respective packs.
"I saw Barthes and Norsir at the brook. They are trying to catch some fish," he informed them, extending his palms towards the crackling fire.
"So it's jerky for dinner again," she huffed.
Vartan shrugged.
"They hadn't caught anything yet when I left."
"Do they ever? They're not heading back anytime soon."
She reached into her pack and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cheesecloth. She tore off the last of a brittle hunk of dark brown jerked meat, the scent of the sweet spices reaching her nose, and took a few uninspired bites.
"Ugh. I'm so tired all I want to do is go to sleep," she said.
She dragged her bedroll close to the fire and sat over it, suddenly feeling like she had the best job in the world despite all the aches over her body from the long march that day.
"You shouldn't go to bed on an empty stomach, Scout Harding!" Chauncey reprimanded her.
"You sound like my mother," Harding shook her head at him.
Vartan sat down not too far away and was digging through his satchel, distracted.
"Do you have anyone to care for you at Skyhold?" Chauncey asked blatantly.
Harding cast him a quizzical look.
"I take care of me."
"No, noooo," Chauncey disagreed in that slow drawl of his. "That's not what I meant. Do you have someone who cares, like a sweetheart—"
"Private, you are out of line," Vartan interrupted, his tone suddenly harsh. Harding turned her head to contemplate the stern expression.
"I- I meant no harm," Chauncey turned to look at both of them, panicked. "I'm real sorry Scout Harding," he offered contritely. "We were just having so much fun earlier and I think of you as my friend because you are so nice to me—"
"She is not your friend and your familiarity towards her is inappropriate. She is a higher rank than you and you answer to her," Vartan continued in a warning tone.
"Thank you, Scout Vartan," she said between her clenched teeth, "I appreciate your concern and the reminder to our young Private here, but I assure you I can handle the situation without any need of your interceding on my behalf."
What had gotten into everybody?
"Chauncey, go get some rest." She indicated the tent.
"Yes ma'am," he responded immediately. He hauled his pack and as he was ducking to slip into the tent, turned back to her with a conflicted expression. "I need to pee."
Harding saw Vartan drop his pack angrily.
"Go out about 100 feet from the camp and do your business," she stated. "Bears and other animals are attracted to the smell, so you don't want to lure anything close to us," she suggested, pointing towards the field. Chauncey looked out uneasily at the darkness ahead.
"Can I take a torch with me?" he asked tentatively.
"NO!" both she and Vartan yelled, visions of a kingstaff inferno crossing both their minds.
"Can I just dig a deep hole behind the tent and go there?" he asked timidly. "It's so dark…"
Vartan finally stood up and at the sight of him, so menacing, Chauncey leapt into the field without looking back.
She glared at Vartan back as he stood staring out into the night.
"You know, I've been doing this long enough and I don't need you to rescue me from a Private, of all things!" she told him accusingly.
He turned towards her, a bewildered look in his transparent eyes.
"I wasn't being gallant, Harding. I was reminding him of the protocol he was breaching."
Harding snorted.
"Yes, because we stand on rank and ceremony constantly!" she stated sarcastically.
"We may not, but we certainly know how," Vartan said. "And that's a lesson you should be imparting to your protégée. Instead, you were encouraging his inappropriate behavior—"
My protégée? she startled.
"Since when is he 'my' protégée?" she interrupted. "Shouldn't it be 'our' protégée? He is here with all of us, I thought. Or is he under my wing exclusively because I am the woman in the group and such instincts are assumed to be native to ALL women?" she challenged him.
"No!" he waved his hands, flustered. "I said as much simply because among us, you are the only one who isn't ready to wring the lad's neck! It has nothing to do with your being a woman!"
"And before you go off lecturing me on how I should conduct myself, I'd like to add that while the game we were playing during our descent may have been inappropriate, you were most eager to add to the harassment of a colleague," she stated. "You are not beyond reproach, sir!"
He was poised to respond to her accusations but instead merely shrugged again and glanced away.
Moments later, a chilling scream echoed from the field. In a matter of seconds, both she and Vartan were rapidly coursing through the field, daggers drawn and slingshot in hand towards the direction of the commotion. There was just enough light for them to see Chauncey hugging himself and whimpering.
"Private!" Harding called out with concern.
"Some-something brushed by my leg. It was horrible!"
Vartan tossed his arms into the air and turned around tiredly. Harding grimaced at him and directed her attention to the frightened Chauncey.
"Did you see what it was?"
"No! But it was hairy."
"Probably a bush rat," she told him reassuringly. Whatever it was had been small, for the kingstaff hadn't been trampled beyond where they had walked through.
"It was terrible," he reiterated.
"I am sure," she agreed, beckoning him towards the camp. "It can be unsettling, but we are in the wilderness, sharing our territory with the many animals who live here."
He began to follow her out, shaking his head.
"I don't think I am cut out for this, Scout Harding," he confided.
She could sense a sadness weighing on the boy.
Another failure.
"Well, that narrows down your choices. Perhaps you are getting closer to the right one," she told him kindly.
He raised his head at her and gave her a forced smile.
"I don't seem to fit anywhere," he mumbled. "Nobody wants to work with me."
"Now, Private…You will find something," she told him. "I am sure of it. Everyone has a purpose."
"What if I can't find mine?" he asked morosely.
"Then you create it," she grinned, remembering the day she came across Scout Sleiter in the Hinterlands.
She could never have imagined, when she set out with her mabari Contessa and the Rollins' herd of sheep that morning, that by the end of the day she would have found her purpose. She bid the lad a good night and watched him disappear into the tent. Vartan poked at the fire with a stick, in a sulky silence, as usual. She paid him little regard, still annoyed at his behavior, and removed her boots, tugging at her woolly socks. As she glanced up, she noticed the elf staring at her.
"Something on your mind?" she said curtly, brushing off the dust powdering her boots.
"I'd like to apologize," he said quietly.
Well, now! That was unexpected.
"It was wrong of me to encourage indiscretion," he continued.
That's more like it, she thought with satisfaction.
"Thank you," she acknowledged. "I appreciate it."
"I'll try to be more patient with the boy."
"That would be helpful," she replied in a low voice. "I know he seems a bit daft, but—"
"It's not that," Vartan offered hesitatingly.
Harding furrowed her brow.
"I don't understand."
Vartan sighed.
"It's not important," he stated dismissively.
"No…Now I want to know," she demanded.
He looked as if she had cornered him into a hard place and peered down, collecting his thoughts.
"I think I was acting so impatiently with him because…" his voice trailed off and he struggled to find the right words.
He ran his fingers through his hair in a familiar nervous gesture again. A silver earcuff glinted in the firelight. "Fool that he is, he somehow managed, in only one day, to get you to laugh and disclose more about yourself than I ever could in all these months scouting through Ferelden and Orlais."
Harding laughed, amused.
"Oh, come on! How is the fact that I find Lord Pavus charming of ANY possible interest!"
"It is to me," he stated simply, a serene expression in his eyes as he contemplated her face.
My, my! Harding felt the blood rise to her cheeks. That was even more unexpected!
"Well," she managed to say, "If there is anything you'd like to know, all you have to do is ask."
He smiled at her, a warm smile she immediately decided she liked and wanted to see more of.
"That's all?" he asked, playfully. "I see. So…I have a question for you."
"Go ahead."
"Hypothetically speaking: Do you think a dwarf could ever fall for an elf?" he wondered.
She commanded herself not to show how flustered she was becoming.
"I…Well…It would depend…Um… on the dwarf, I suppose…" she stammered.
"The comeliest one in Skyhold," he added, edging closer to her.
My, my, my!
"I see!" was her most nervous and uncouth reply.
That close up he seemed quite different, she found, giddily. How had she missed how attractive he actually was?
"Do you know who I find the most lovely and alluring, Scout Harding?" he murmured gently, starting to lean in towards her, his languid gaze affixed on her lips.
A rustling from the tent's entrance gave them pause. Chauncey's sleepy face emerged and stared back at them curiously.
"Ooh! Are you playing the question game? Can I play?" he asked.
"Go back to bed!" they both shouted so loudly, it reverberated throughout the valley.
A/N: These chapters are for lenokkk, who early on requested that I write a story for Scout Harding. Among other talents and a refined taste in fan fic, lenokkk also translates stories into Russian. Long story short? 69 Love Stories has two chapters translated into Russian so far and can be read at fanbook dot net /readfic/3079253. I don't speak Russian, but it is pretty awesome to see my writing in another language. Even more fun is trying to decode readers' comments through Google Translator... Thanks- or pasibki! ;-)- lenokkk, for both the prompt and taking interest in translating this fic!
Oh, and Chauncey is a character from "A Matter of Consequence." I just love his bumbling bubbly self too much to leave him alone. No need to be familiar with the fic to enjoy this, but in case you wanted a bit more of this doofus, that's where he made his debut.