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It was Herah’s well guarded secret that she was afraid of heights. With her company, she had never had problems climbing trees or scouting ahead from the apex of steep, rocky slopes. Here in Skyhold things were different, and though she could appreciate that the view from her room was theoretically beautiful, it made her uneasy nonetheless.
Then, of course, there was her towering stature, head and shoulders above the rest. Who would believe that she, the straight faced, horned titan that had stumbled from a tear in the heavens had developed a fear of looking down?
And so it was, with the morning’s chill seeped into the stones and the jutting peaks of white-tipped mountains surrounding her, she sat beneath the open sky, willing herself to stand up and walk to the railing. She had managed in the hour she had sat there to stand up two times, but each time she found herself overwhelmed and promptly returned to the ground, the cold that bit into her thighs and rear reminding her that she hadn’t fallen off into the sky.
“It’s too early to find you out of bed.” Surprised at the sound of the sleep choked voice, she turned to find Warden Blackwall staring over her head, taking in the view with the wide eyed appreciation she lacked. The blanket from the bed was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his hair free from its usually leather thong and tangled. He looked every bit the gruff mountain man he had been when she had found him all those months ago.
He ambled to her side, settling on the cracked stone beside her and opening the blanket to let her in. His chest was bare and warm against her skin.
“What are you doing awake?” she spoke into his neck. He twisted away, laughing as her lips tickled his skin. “I didn’t mean to wake you. In fact, I didn’t even think it was possible. You sleep as if dead.”
“I wouldn’t think so! What kind of warrior would I be if I couldn’t be roused at a moment’s notice?”
Herah thought for a moment, her lips pursed in mock concentration. “A terrible one, I would say. It’s a good thing I rescued you from the wilds when I did, who knows how long you would have lasted alone?”
Though it only lasted the blink of an eye, something darkened his expression, his thick brows meeting above his nose and his mouth twitching into a harsh frown. But just like that he was back to normal, the slow, hearty laugh she had expected playing in her ears.
“Well,” he continued, seemingly unbothered and pulling her closer against his chest. “I suppose I can add that to the many things I should be thanking the Maker for.”
Despite his smiling countenance and relaxed grip, Herah could see the pulse in his temple jumping to the tune of a frantic heartbeat. His eyes, still taking in the view that she ignored, were dilated. His nostrils flared. She recognized the signs of agitation and fear the same way she recognized them in the unlucky souls who had left a bad enough taste in someone else’s mouth they had resorted to mercenaries.
She felt ashamed to read him so quickly, her instincts taking over before she had a chance to reason with them.
Perhaps she was starring a little too obviously because she was taken by surprise to find him gazing back down at her. “What is it?” He brushed a finger against the jut of a sharp cheekbone, his gaze lingering on her lips.
She wanted to kiss him, let him lead her back to bed and spend the last few hours they had before the rest of Skyhold woke up in his embrace. She ran her tongue across her lower lip, aware of the way his lips parted as he leaned in towards her.
“I’m afraid of heights!” she blurted.
“I, uh - what?”
“I’m out here because I’m afraid of heights.” Equal parts embarrassed about her confession and mortified about what she was about to do, she flushed a deep red.
Blackwall was clearly having a more difficult time adjusting to the sudden change in direction. He pulled on his beard, his characteristically thoughtful frown overtaking his features. Carefully, as if stating the obvious, he looked to Herah and then out past the balcony. “Why would you pick a room so high up?”
“Well, I didn’t,” she said, a little hotly. “I didn’t really choose anything, you know. This is the room I was given.”
Blackwall hummed, a note suggesting something between disbelief at the confession and confusion about the phobia.
Herah looked in his eyes again, wishing away any traces of the person she had seen just a few minutes ago, the one that had roused a sudden and dreadful fear in her stomach. All she could see was the Blackwall she had come to depend on, the scruffy and dour faced man who kissed her goodnight from the left side of the bed each night.
But if she had to admit it, she knew that he had always been a little unusual, distant, and even went out of his way to avoid harmless questions directed at his past. She had even been a little put off at first, their attraction for each other obvious despite his instances at keeping her an arms length away. Lucky for her, an arm’s length for him was a short distance to overcome.
“ - which I see now would be explained by your dislike of heights.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Realizing that her unworthy scrutiny had caused her to miss part of his conversation, she nodded along.
“Well that’s not to be ashamed of,” he assured her.
“Oh, really? I suppose no one would find a bit of humor in the Qunari afraid of heights? I can hear Dorian now….”
Blackwall cleared his throat as he fought to contain the smile that threatened to take over. “When you put it like that - “
“I think,” she hurried to interrupt him, uninterested in hearing his assurances that it wouldn’t be that funny, “that I’m worried about failing people.” Saying it out loud suddenly made her feel uncomfortable.
“So many people look up to me,” she continued in a low voice. “Look up to the inquisition. I’m afraid about what happens if I look down and see all the faces, see their hopes and sacrifice. I couldn’t stand to look down at them again if I failed.”
An uncomfortable silence followed and Herah felt her face burning enough to chase away the last wisps of chilled morning air. Blackwall tried to catch Herah’s eye, but she did a convincing job finding something interesting over his shoulder.
Finally, he grasped her face between his hands. “You aren’t going to fail anyone. We’ve - the Inquisition - no, you, have already done so much for the people impacted by this war. You can’t fail them.”
Herah regretted that it was so easy: “Could I ever fail you, Blackwall?"
Startled at the question, he blinked away the same look of agitation that had compromised his features before.
He didn’t answer right away but instead adjusted the blanket across their shoulders, pulling it tighter, drawing them closer together. In that moment he seemed to wilt, the height difference between them exaggerated by his slumped shoulders. “Never.”
The stern tone surprised her, and she found herself again searching his face for the glances of a man she didn’t know shrouded beneath the guise of a man she loved.
His hands found hers beneath the blanket and he pressed them against his chest, her fingers brushing over his heart. “It is I that should fear failing you. I am unworthy of you.”
Herah smiled despite feeling as if she was falling from a great height, her stomach churning as her feeling of stability was flung away. She slid her hands over his chest, digging her fingers into his shoulders to root herself.
She kissed him then, burying her own misgivings and doubt in the familiar taste of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair, the knots from a night's sleep catching around her knuckles as she pulled.
Maybe one day she would tell him that she was only afraid of heights because twice she had been ejected from the sky, and it was a little hard to forget the hard feeling of the ground against her knees.
Maybe then he would tell her about the man he was hiding, the one who stared back at her with the hungry eyes of a trapped wolf.