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The ruins at the edge of The Exalted Plains were not unlike some of the ones her clan had frequented over the years. Not quite the same - Vi'era was not under the impression that every elf community was the same - but it still brought her comfort. Seeing her gods names written in a script that was not frequent among the Inquisition, reminded her of home.
At her insistence, the group broke for lunch. The ancient baths were a fine shelter now that there were no Freemen or demons living in it. Solas and Varric were playing a game of Diamondback when she turned to face the river. As she settled on the grass at the edge of the stones, she heard Varric swear creatively at Solas.
Vi'era chuckled, the sound mingling with Solas's laugh. She pulled out her notebook along with her lunch. There was a half finished drawing calling to her.
The drawing was of the ruins. It had started as a way to remember the runes of veilfire that were scattered across Dirthavaren but it now was an exercise of composition and creativity. Her soul felt close to June, her god of craft, after too long.
It had been months since she'd had the ability to sit down with some charcoal and paper. The stress, the learning, the constant biting of her tongue - it all stayed her creative spirit. Even now as the Inquisitor and an abundance of resources at her disposal, Vi'era didn't have the time or energy to pick up any of her hobbies. The Inquisition was growing. And so too did her responsibilities.
She began to draw, focusing on the lines but also allowing her mind to wander. Thankfully, the quiet of this place brought a clarity and calm that she did not have the good luck to come across since before the Conclave. Only one other time in recent memory did she find this feeling - it was on the battlements of Skyhold with Blackwall. Even as he pushed her away, the moments leading up were ones made of cold mountain air. The kind that could purify your soul.
It was hard to describe because it was so at odds with the other feelings in her at the time - passion and fire.
And yet, he made her feel free for the briefest of moments.
"Don't forget to eat, Inquisitor," a low voice said, interrupting the lines on her page.
Vi'era looked up to see Blackwall settling against a pillar a few meters away, facing her.
"It goes both ways." She popped a piece of ripped bread in her mouth. Between chewing, she said playfully, "Perimeter secure?"
Blackwall smirked. "I know you think it's too much but it puts me at ease. Precious cargo, and all."
"I'll tell Varric you said as much about him," she teased.
"That man does not need more of an inflated ego." Blackwall chuckled. He picked up a piece of cheese but it didn't make it to his mouth as the rustle of a bush caught his eye.
"Oh please, you love his grand, sweeping, exaggerated stories." Vi'era motioned with her hands for Blackwall to put the cheese in his mouth. He shook his head but followed the gesture's orders.
As he chewed, his expression softened to contemplation.
And Vi'era softened in turn. He was often hard lines, tensed shoulders, and gruff words. She treasured the moments when he allowed the world to affect him.
Blackwall took a swig from his waterskin, finally looking up at her again. Her hands had been hard at work on the page but his gaze called her and Vi'era answered. His brown eyes crinkled at the edges and she offered a soft smile in return.
"I actually would rather hear your stories."
Vi'era patted the patch of grass next to her, laying her charcoal on top of the open page of her notebook. Blackwall collected his lunch and sat next to her. His legs were sprawled in front of him, while he leaned on one hand, his shoulder close to hers. Vi'era resisted the urge to rest her head on his chest, just above his heart.
She tucked a strand of her long, white hair behind her ear, running her finger down the strand and playing with the end. "What kind of stories?"
But her question fell on distracted ears. Blackwall was leaning over her, looking at her half-finished charcoal drawing. He turned his head to look over at her - his face was so much closer than she anticipated - and his brow was raised. "You draw?"
Vi'era was not much of a blusher. She was often confident to a fault, saying things a little too bluntly. But Blackwall finding this small, personal part of her soul, had her cheeks turn pink. Quite obviously too, as her tattoos were blue and all of her hair, including eyelashes, were white.
"I don't get to as often anymore. It's hard to find the atmosphere that I like when drawing." Vi'era fiddled with her hair as Blackwall sat back up, leaning back on his hand.
He looked out across the river. "I can find a good atmosphere for you, my lady. It is the least you deserve." Vi'era's eyes traced Blackwall's face as his eyes roamed the distance hills and mountains. He continued. "Perhaps the barn with its doors closed and the crackle of the fireplace. I can arrange some food as well."
Blackwall looked back at her and she met his gaze, not at all embarrassed he caught her looking. "That sounds perfect, Blackwall. Maybe you can continue carving while I draw."
He nodded, his mouth turned up. "I believe we have strayed from my original intention. I would like to hear a story from you."
"I'm not as charismatic as Varric, as knowledgeable as Solas, or as engaging as Bull. My stories would surely pale in comparison," Vi'era said matter-of-factly. She pulled out a small knife and picked up the apple that Harding had packed for her.
Blackwall ran a hand - de-gloved! - through his beard. He looked rather put-out by her words. "You could never. You will always shine brighter in my eyes, my lady."
He disarmed in many senses of the word but Vi'era liked it. Blackwall did not mince words, he believed so deeply in the causes and people close to him.
"How could you possibly continue to deny me, Ser Grey Warden?" She spun to fully face him, putting her apple and knife down and resting a hand on his forearm. "Your words are...a declaration."
His face was pinched as he gently moved her hand from his forearm. "They are only a declaration. It can be nothing more." He paused, swallowing. "I will only shackle you when you must soar."
Vi'era ran her fingers over the hand that was on Blackwall. Her eyes tried to see the places where his skin met hers.
"A paragon of duty." Her voice was soft and small, a inkling of disappointment seeded in it.
She would not force Blackwall into anything but his actions, his words even, did nothing to assuage her growing attraction to him. It was an afterthought when he pushed her away. It was never his first reaction, only his last.
When she looked back up at him, she caught him watching her. He looked forlorn. Vi'era wanted to reach out again but one rejection was enough for the day.
He did not seem keen to linger in this sorrow and instead put a finger on her drawing. "Tell me about your gods. Tell me a story about them."
Her gods? The elven gods? Very rarely did a human care - even some elves didn't care about their gods.
"Why?"
His eyes flashed to hers. They dropped to her cheeks and began to trace the pattern of her tattoos around her face. She saw his hand twitch and Vi'era wished he would give in. To feel that hand on the markings that meant so much to her...
Blackwall folded his hands together. "Because they obviously mean a great deal to you."
Her thumb rubbed against her cheek, pretending that the touch was his. But even without that heat, her heart swelled dangerously at his care for her.
Not the Inquisitor, but Vi'era Lavellan, charcoal artist and worshipper of the elven gods.
She swallowed the emotion in her throat. "Do you know who June is?"
Blackwall shook his head, picking up her discarded knife and apple. He inclined his head, and Vi'era continued.
"He is our god of crafts." She reached for her notebook and flipped to a clean page. She drew a series of lines that all ended up connecting together in a interlocked state. "In the few stories we have of him, he provided the Dalish with a way for us to interact with our world."
Vi'era drew a bow and a knife and a bowl on the page. She looked up to see if he was still paying attention and he was. His eyes were on her drawing but his hands moved, cutting up the apple.
She hid her smile and continued. "He helped us make tools and once those were mastered, he helped us make them beautiful."
Blackwall cleared his throat, getting Vi'era's attention. "So he's a god of more than just craft, but art." He pressed a slice of apple into her palm and started to cut another piece.
She nodded. "At least, that's how I see him. Creation is beautiful. It's why I like tinkering with armour, drawing landscapes, and watching you carve."
Vi'era looked back towards the ruins, noting the sharp juts of broken stone and the way the ivy curled around those corners. Varric was also lying on the ground staring at the sky, his hand of cards scattered beside him. Solas looked quite pleased with himself. That was a different kind of beauty.
"What do you mean, 'thats how I see him'?" Blackwall asked.
She twirled the slice of apple in her hands before taking a bite of it. It was sweet, perfectly ripe.
"My people lost our connection to the gods. Tevinter destroyed almost everything and everyone that could pass down our religion and culture." Vi'era sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She popped the last piece of apple in her mouth, chewing slowly before she continued. "June, to me, is every good part of life. It's what we should be striving for. Art, beauty, nature. He let us connect with the world in a deep way."
She opened her eyes, picking up her charcoal again. "I don't know if I will ever know the actual stories of June. What I believe may not be true to who he was. But right now, the fragments my people hold on to are enough for me to put my faith in him and to try and live my life with him as one of my guiding lights."
Blackwall looked at her with openness. He licked his lips, wetting them before speaking. "He sounds...too good to be true."
Vi'era tilted her head, trying to put her thoughts into words. "I don't think he was perfect. He can't have been but what he's left behind has helped me. Besides, I still am my own person. If it turns out he was a monster, it won't ruin me. I am quite capable of separating the past with the present."
Blackwall looked as if he was about to say something. His brow was furrowed and he was looking at her with a great intensity.
"What?" Vi'era asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just awed by you."
How could she possibly not fall in love with him when he said such simple, pure words?
Before she could answer, Solas voice boomed across the ruins. "Freemen incoming."
"Pack up quickly, lovebirds," Varric added, loading up Bianca.
Vi'era smiled, stuffing her notebook and charcoal back in her pack. "Hear that? We're lovebirds."
Blackwall pursed his lips as he got up, unsheathing his sword. "You're becoming hard to resist."
"Good."
Vi'era swung her staff, letting out a barrage of ice magic against the Freemen. Blackwall charged for the middle of the fray but not before whispering, "Stay safe, my lady."