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Blackwall stepped into the tavern behind Krem. The Charger second-in-command had been enlisted by Bull to bring him for a post-dragon-slaying drink. Normally, Blackwall would decline, deciding to train the recuits until he was tired himself so he could fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow of his scratchy bed.
But tonight, he needed that stiff drink. Battling the Fereldan Frostback was...a lot.
He had been in battles with Vi'era plenty of times before and he had not been so distracted. She had always been an excellent mage. Perhaps not the best warrior but she was learning fast and finding fascinating ways to accentuate everyone else's talents.
But the way she utilized elemental magic, particularly ice magic, was almost like a dance. In some ways, it complimented his own swords dance as though a duet. And with the right team members, particularly Iron Bull and Dorian, they felt almost unstoppable.
But seeing Vi'era staring down that dragon, running headfirst into that fight - Blackwall felt true fear. It was not his trust in her abilities, but the idea that the he could lose her to some freak turn of the tides. It brought back a host of emotions he was working on containing.
He almost lost her at Haven. There was nothing he could do as an avalanche tumbled down a mountain towards her. Even moments before, an archdemon and a blighted magister were too much for him to overcome to come to her aid.
He was pulled by Sera towards Haven's Chantry, her string of expletives keeping his focus on surviving, though he kept turning to see if Vi'era was following them. When they were among the citizens of Haven, he felt a surge of hatred and a crushing loneliness. He wouldn't get to be near her as she surged forward to protect the world. He couldn't bathe in her light, bask in her laughter, smile at her quick wit. It was his fault that he did not stand by her side.
Did he also wish he could've confided in his feelings for her? Perhaps but that was only surrounded by the knowledge that his past would not rear up to sting her if she was buried beneath the snow.
This all coursed through him as he watched the dragon roar in her face. So instead of resolve and a pinch of excitement coursing through his veins before a fight, it was fear and apprehension. Even Iron Bull's enthusiasm couldn't dissolve the pit in his stomach.
And now they were here...in the tavern, celebrating that fight. It was emotional equivalent of the tumble of a trip across the Waking Sea. Torturous waves followed by a clear, bright day.
Normally, he enjoyed tossing back pints with the crew. They were a rowdy bunch and often provided a welcome distraction. Dorian and Varric swapped stories as well as barbs. Often they ended up trying to out drink one another. Iron Bull challenged anyone in the tavern to arm wrestle and if that failed, he tore up the dance floor. When Cullen showed his face, he was a fine drinking companion. Small bits of conversation, interspersed with companionable silence, at least until they found they had a common interest in war histories.
Josephine was a breath of fresh air, and actually reminded him a little bit of his time in Orlais. Surprisingly, the good parts. She could match Dorian and Varric's stories better than anyone.
Sera was just a fucking little shit. Enjoyed a brew and spilling gossip, while also judging the tavern-goers with impunity. A fun alternative to all the rest.
And then there was Vi'era. When she wasn't putting out fires and having the great pleasure of entertaining mobility, she was the life of the party. He hadn't the opportunity to spend much time with the Dalish and so wrongly assumed that they were quiet and insular. He was proven wrong the first night he visisted the tavern at Haven. He had been on a couple of missions to The Hinterlands with Vi'era and was feeling a bit more comfortable in the town of the Inquisition.
When Vi'era walked in all heads turned to her. And while he knew now that she would want to flip everyone off, Vi'era instead announced that the Inquistion would pay for the next two rounds. She wasn't the Inquisitor then, she was barely the Herald of Andraste and Blackwall was smitten.
He watched her from his corner of the bar as she spoke with everyone she could. He noticed the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled too hard and that when she lied, she always blinked twice. More often than not her fingers would move on their own while she spoke with people, tracing things on the table or in the air.
As the night grew longer and the ale flowed faster, they would ask her about her life as elf, if she really was saved by Andraste, why she thought she was the leader they needed. These questions turned her eyes to stone and he could see the words building up in her throat. Her answers were clipped, less enthusiastic but she still tried to connect.
When the third person asked, "why would Andraste chose an elf as her herald?" Blackwall stood up. He was rounding the bar as Vi'era finally opened her mouth.
"Perhaps Andraste was actually an elf, hm?" The man's sputtering gave her time to continue. "The accounts are not complete, first-hand records are often rife with factual errors-"
"Inquisitor!" Blackwall interrupted. While he would love to hear Vi'era's insults to the Chantry, she was garnering a crowd. "I've been looking for you. Wanted to discuss the mission tomorrow. Urgent and confidential," he added, narrowing his eyes at the people listening.
They all turned back to their drinks and food while Vi'era followed Blackwall to his table tucked in the corner.
"Fenedhis," she muttered, as she sat down, her ale sloshing a bit as she slammed it into the table.
"Bastards, the lot of 'em," Blackwall replied, assuming the elven word was vulgar.
Vi'era gave him a faint smile, her fists unclenching as she slouched back in the wooden chair. "Their curiosity is infuriating but I also don't blame them." She ran a hand down her face, aggravated.
Blackwall shook his head. "They could keep the inside thoughts on the inside."
Vi'era laughed. "Do I have to save them?" she whispered, looking over the crowd.
He could see that the words were weights on her shoulders. She was sealing the Fade Rifts but all these people saw was her race. A ridiculous notion. How could they not see Vi'era for the force of the woman that she was?
"Probably," Blackwall conceded. She was much better than he and Blackwall was certain that her question was not real, it was pent up frustration.
She laid her head on the table, a muffled sigh escaping from her. "How about a list? Do you have a piece of parchment?"
"What?" He huffed, swallowing his amusement. "You want to rank the people of Haven?"
Her hands raised in frustration, head still pressed to the table. "No. The alcohol and the anger have made me petty."
"You were the life of the party." Blackwall took a drink of ale, watching her. Her hair was stark white, not even a strand a brown and black. It was like the element of frost had fully taken over her body. She was unlike anything he had ever seen.
She raised her head, eyes locking with his, chin still on the table. "I like that part. But there's always a fall. Someone says something stupid and I have to hold back my real feelings."
"No need to around me," Blackwall said instantly. "I won't judge."
"I highly doubt that."
"Right." He stroked his beard before his face softened a fraction. "I won't judge you. The rest of Thedas? Not so lucky."
"Well, you're going to get an earful now..."
Blackwall sat by Dorian, watching Bull and Vi'era try an awful qunari alcohol.
"Thought you'd be on that," Blackwall murmured to Dorian, grimacing just as Vi'era did.
"I may be an alcoholic but I do have standards, Blackwall."
"I will toast to that." The Fereldan ale that the Inquisition stocked the most of was passable at best but Blackwall would not sunder his taste buds this evening. He clinked mugs with Dorian, taking a long drink.
The night marched onwards, each of them drinking more and more, celebrating such a brave victory against dragons. Blackwall still couldn't shake the fear he had felt for Vi'era but the feeling eased as more and more ale went down his throat.
"Blackwall!" Bull boomed. It took a moment for Blackwall to respond, his mind elsewhere. The ale had taken him down a different path, one that replaced his fear with guilt.
He finished his ale, nodding at Bull. "Yes, The Iron Bull?"
"Even drunk, Warden Blackwall understands the importance of a preposition!" Bull clapped him on the back.
"Not drunk," he protested, though Vi'era reached over and rubbed her thumb across the hair on his chin, laughing as she removed the white foam.
Even in his state, the proximity to the guilt he had from Orlais worked as a glass of water dumped on his head. He would not grab her by the hands and kiss the tip of her thumb. He would not grab her by the waist and pull her into his lap. He would not kiss her mid-laugh, wanting her joy and her taste to infuse with him.
"Well good then!" Bull pulled Dorian up by the elbow. The Tevinter mage wobbled on his legs but was steadied by the qunari's strong arms. "I'm in charge of this lightweight and you're in charge of that one." He pointed to Vi'era. She wiggled her fingers at him.
Maker, preserve him.
"Bull, I declare whoever made that shit," Vi'era pointed to the qunari alcohol they had polished off hours ago, "an enemy of the Inquisition!"
Dorian flashed his teeth in a goofy smile. "Maraas-Lok, rot in hell!"
Iron Bull gave Dorian a funny look, his brow lifted and one corner of his lip turned upward. Blackwall's best guess was that Bull was happily surprised.
"We will just have to return to The Storm Coast and throw axes at any dreadnoughts that come near," Bull replied, slowly turning Dorian away from the Inquisitor to the door out of the bar.
Dorian extracted himself from the grasp of Iron Bull and grabbed Vi'era's face with his hands. Blackwall barely made out the words exchanged between the two of them but what he thought he heard made his stomach sink. "You better kiss that man before he wallows away into nothing. I cannot handle his pining from afar any longer. Your little banter on missions may induce vomiting soon."
Vi'era placed a kiss on Dorian's cheek. "I'm trying. He's so fucking stubborn."
Blackwall wasn't sure how he should feel toward that. A whole maelstrom of emotions were swirling within him. They were much more forceful than he would like. Alcohol was so good at wearing down walls that were built over years and years of compartmentalization.
Should he? Why couldn't he? He very well knew the reason. But it was becoming more and more irrelevant. Vi'era wanted him, believed in him. Was giving her what she wanted enough of a reason to bring to her future hurt?
Iron Bull sidled up to Blackwall, watching the two close friends exchange whispers of affection to another. "I've never seen a man hold himself back from happiness so effectively."
"What are you trying to say, Bull?"
"No 'the' anymore?" Iron Bull clapped Blackwall on the back, chuckling. He leaned down, allowing the two of them their own whispers. "Kiss her, you fool."
Dorian pulled Vi'era into a hug, kissing the top of her head. Iron Bull stepped away from Blackwall and to Dorian's side. "Can you walk?"
"I'd rather not," Dorian drawled. "But--Bull!"
Iron Bull picked him up with ease, tossing the mage over his shoulder and walking out of the bar. Dorian blew a strand of hair out of his face, his perfect hair mussed after their night of drinking. He grinned, pointing at Vi'era and Blackwall in turn and then tapping his fingers together. Some suggestion was evident in his gesture.
Blackwall elected to ignore that suggestion as best as possible.
"Walk me to my room, Ser Grey Warden?" Vi'era asked, wobbling on her legs as she stepped forward but gaining confidence as she walked.
"Of course, my lady."
She waved her finger at him. "This chivalrous thing needs to end. Tell me how you really feel."
They stepped out into the cool mountain air of the Frostbacks. It sobered him slightly and yet, he still felt the truth of how much he wanted her rising to the surface.
Blackwall watched her as she walked. The bright moonlight almost made her glow. Her white hair was like a guiding light in the dark. She raised her face to the sky and let out a long breath. A small cloud emitted from her mouth, disappearing into the darkness almost immediately.
"Is that it, then?" she slurred, stumbling slightly as they reached the stairs into the main keep. "You feel nothing?"
Blackwall steadied her, grasping her by the elbow. He slid his hand down her arm to her forearm and pulled her in to keep her from falling. "You know that isn't true, Inquisitor."
"Vi'era," she corrected, sounding out each syllable of her name.
"I know your name," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
She rose an eyebrow, looking over at him for a moment rather than at the cobblestone stairs. "Say it then."
He swallowed. He did his very best not to say her name. It allowed him a sense of separation even if he did spend many hours thinking about her. Even though he heard her name in his daydreams and stopped himself from carving it into a piece that he wanted to give to her.
Blackwall stopped in the doorway into the entrance hall. Vi'era turned on her heel, spinning to face him.
"No?" She filled the silence, stepping closer to him.
"I can't." Blackwall felt the scrape of the words against his throat, it hurting him to deny them both something they desperately wanted.
"Can't." Her disappointment wounded him even deeper. But he would take the wounds for her, to protect her.
Blackwall stepped back, inclining his head to her. "You must believe me. You should not want me, Vi'era."
And he retreated down the stairs, leaving Vi'era alone in the entrance hall, a cold wind replacing him.