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It was late, quiet and so utterly peaceful. Evelyn lay on her bedroll in her tent, and Blackwall snored away, quietly beside her. Their bedrolls were as close as they could be, and Blackwall always made sure he lay on the crease between the two. Taking that small discomfort, because he thought he deserved nothing more, or simply to save Evelyn from it - Gods she knew it was both. Because the idiot man loved her.
Evelyn blinked at the sudden wetness in her eyes and gritted her teeth, suddenly ridiculously angry about it. She barely resisted the urge to turn and bite the arm beneath her head. Her favorite pillow, if she was honest, which she never was. Usually, she found the most respite on these nights. Far from Skyhold, tucked into Blackwall’s side, basking in the heat his body put off even in the coldest weather.
She sat up abruptly, and angrily wrapped her arms around her middle as the blanket pooled at her waist. Beside her Blackwall made a quiet sound, the arm that had cradled her head reached out, calloused fingers skimming up her spine. “What’s wrong, love,” his voice was rough with sleep.
“Gods, I fucking hate you,” she spat the words out and heard him grunt quietly, his hand curving around her hip.
“It’s the middle of the night, love, can this wait till the sun is up?”
He accepted it. Expected it, and that only made her more angry. “Move,” she commanded. “Get on your own bedroll.”
Blackwall’s hand immediately recoiled. “Ev,” he said quietly, cautiously as he obeyed. “What did-”
She moved over him in the next moment, straddled his hips, and caught his beard between her fingers while she speared the other hand into his hair and tugged lightly. “Stop suffering for me,” she hissed out between still gritted teeth and she saw the confusion on his face. “You don’t own any more penance for -” the words stuck in her throat. Callier. The children.
“Ev,” Blackwall reached up and brushed his knuckles under her eyes catching the tears that escaped. “What’s this all about?”
“You don’t always have to lay on the seam of our bedrolls.” He looked even more perplexed now, and she thought he might have been amused if she weeping.
Blackwall sat up, one arm banding around her waist, the other cupping her jaw as he gave his head a little shake. “Why are you so upset?” When she didn’t immediately answer, struggling to find the words he shook his head again. “I barely notice it, love.”
“Then why do you always make sure you’re on it?” Evelyn demanded, tugging at his beard again.
Now his lips curved slightly, warmth in his eyes. “Because I know you would. It would bother you and you wouldn’t get a good night's rest.” Evelyn’s jaw trembled, and the tears fell in earnest now. And she was embarrassed and even more angry. He made a quiet sound, tugged her head into the crook of his neck, and dragged the blanket up around her shoulders. “Tell me what’s really wrong?” he asked, voice low as she wrapped her arms around his chest and sobbed.
She shook her head, because it was ridiculous, and she felt foolish, because he loved her, and she loved him, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, could barely even think the words without wanting to scream and rage - because if she lost him- her nails dug into his back and he grunted, tightening his hold on her. “I’ve got you love, I’m here, I’ve got you.”
“Do you want to tell me?” Blackwall asked when Evelyn finally fell silent and the tears stopped flowing. She shook her head and felt him press a kiss to her temple. “Alright,” he said, utterly accepting. “You need sleep, I’ll let you sleep on the crack if it’ll make you feel better.”
Evelyn let out a snort of laughter and nipped at his collarbone before he shifted them both on their joined bedrolls, once again making sure that seam was beneath him. They settled back down, her head on his bicep, curled against him, while his free hand rubbed up and down her back. “It’s Isaak’s birthday,” she whispered against his chest and felt his entire body go utterly motionless.
She never talked about them, it hurt too much and she had so much guilt revolving around her lost son and husband. “I never wanted children,” the words hurt to admit, but it was the truth. “Alex did. He wanted a big family, I had only wanted him.” Blackwall leaned back slightly, just enough to hold her gaze, but he still held her tight. “Being pregnant with Isaak was… the worst thing I’d ever experienced. I was bedridden for months, held prisoner by my own body, and… I didn’t want him .”
Evelyn had never actually said the words out loud. “I grew to love him, eventually, but- shouldn’t I have loved him from the start? The midwife said the moment I held him, I’d love him and want more-” she shook her head slightly. “But I didn’t.”
Blackwall was quiet for a few moments and she waited. “When did you first know you loved him?”
Her lips parted, then snapped shut and she smiled. “He was two,” the smile faltered. “I had been away as much as possible, took on duties that would keep me gone for months at a time.” Evelyn pressed her hand to Blackwall’s chest, over his heart, felt the coarse hair, warm skin, and the steady beat beneath her palm. “We had a wetnurse, those first few years, I can only assume she told Isaak stories, told him who I even was-” her voice cracked.
“I was walking up the road to the house, and this little boy with a mess of curly brown hair came flying out of the house as fast as his chubby little legs to carry him, with his arms outstretched, shouting ‘mama’ over and over.” Tears filled her eyes again. “It just seemed to click after that. I’d have done anything for him.”
Evelyn woke alone and frowned. It wasn’t unusual that Blackwall was up before her, but after the night prior, all Evelyn wanted was to lay in his arms for a bit longer. Rolling her eyes at herself she got up, dressed and stomped out of her tent. It was early enough that only a handful of soldiers and scouts were up, and her fellow companions were nowhere to be seen, save for Blackwall. He sat on the ground by the fire, a mug beside him. Carving, she thought, by the motion of his arms.
Walking the short distance she bent down to move the cup so she wouldn’t spill it as she took it’s place. Taking a sip she nearly spat the now ice cold tea out. “How long have you been up?” she asked.
“Not so long,” he said looking over at her, he seemed to study her face, searching for something. A sign that she was about to break down again? As if she’d allow anyone else to see her like that? “But I had an idea and it couldn’t be helped.” Blackwall held up the lump of wood and Evelyn blinked. “It’s for Isaak, for you.”
Tears blurred her vision and she blinked rapidly as she gently took the object into her hands. It wasn’t done, the details were missing, but she could see what it was. A pair of foxes, one smaller than the other, pouncing on the bigger. “You’d mentioned he liked foxes,” Blackwall said and Evelyn truly didn’t remember telling him that. But Isaak had loved foxes, and there had been a family of them on their property that he’d stand at the window for long lengths of time, unmoving if they were out there.
Evelyn’s throat felt tight, and she was going to burst into tears if she spoke, so instead, she handed him back the carving and jerked her head in a nod before resting her head against his shoulder. “Bastard,” she choked out, angling her head down so she could watch the way the knife glided over the wood. Small pieces chipped out to give way to more defined shapes of a muzzle and eyes. To fur and ears.
Blackwall chuckled softly, pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.”