A/N: Yo. It's been a while since I've written anything. I've been trying to focus my creative energies because they are going all over the place right now. Since Inquisition has been a recent obsession, this seemed as good a place as any. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1: Stoic
The past always had a way of catching up with a man. He had run for so long, that he often forgot what it was he was running from. Yet every so often, something reminded him. A smell, a sound, a sight…
But it changed.
She was everything he aspired to. Dedicated to the cause. She persevered where others faltered. Her focus was not on the forest, but the trees; no concern was too small to address. She was good. For the sake of being good. It was…inspiring.
From the moment they arrived at Skyhold, not a day passed where she didn't linger near the horses longer than she needed to. Even as she spoke to the merchants nearby, he often caught her glancing impatiently towards the stables. He thought perhaps she had a fascination with the animals.
At least, until Dennet told him in passing she admitted to him once she was terrified of horses.
It had been months since Blackwall joined the Inquisition. It took him time to reconcile the emotions that steadily built up within. So much time, he considered, she had begun to spread her attentions elsewhere among the ever-growing group of misfits and do-gooders that assembled at the great fortress.
Still, she never wavered in her consideration of him. Her daily visits to the stables always included a brief conversation or a shared laugh. It wasn't until she didn't turn up one day that he realized how much he'd begun to treasure those visits.
As the long shadows of the walls of Skyhold stretched across the entirety of the lower courtyards, he could wait no longer and headed towards the tavern. Someone there would certainly have seen her or at least know of her whereabouts.
He'd almost arrived at his destination when a familiar face crossed his path. He nodded at Cullen as he headed towards the main hall.
"Commander."
"Warden," Cullen replied politely. "Have you perhaps seen the Inquisitor today?"
"Was about to ask you the same thing," he admitted.
"Saraja was to head to Crestwood," the Commander explained. "Varric introduced her to an old…shared acquaintance. I'd have thought she would have told you about it."
"Why's that?"
"They're on the hunt for a Warden. Might be good for you to go along."
Blackwall tensed up. Another Warden? It'd been too long since he'd encountered one. Travelling through Ferelden – even so long after the blight – meant few Grey Wardens. Only recently had they begun to fill the ranks in the country. Still, it was easy to avoid people if one wanted. And he wanted to.
Though, perhaps it was time to come upon the Order once again.
His thoughts were interrupted as a loud horn sounded in the distance.
"That's me," Cullen stated. "Looks like the Inquisitor is still at Skyhold after all."
"Mind if I join you?" Blackwall inquired.
"Not to the strategy talks, but—"
"Of course not," he interrupted. "But I need to speak to Saraja before she leaves. You have a point about potentially joining the expedition for the Warden."
Cullen nodded and the two men proceeded up the stone staircase. The imposing building loomed ahead of them; the cold walls of the tower and battlements were impressive in scale. Attempts were made to encourage a more welcoming atmosphere. It was a challenge; tapestries and draperies can only do so much.
The throne room was filled with its normal array of interesting people. Refugees, visiting nobility, mages, priests, craftspeople and other sorts of folk taking advantage of the hospitality and protection afforded by the Inquisition. Has everyone forgotten the events of Haven so easily?, Blackwall wondered to himself. His thoughts immediately made him shudder. They'd waited days for any sign of Saraja after the avalanche. He regretted deeply not remaining with her at Haven to make a stand against the twisted magister, Corypheus. He frequently considered the terrible trek he made with the refugees of Haven through the Frostback Mountains and couldn't imagine her making it alone. She was strong, if not stubborn. But she was not immortal. The fragility of the young woman, highlighted as she recovered for days at the temporary camp in the mountains, shocked him into the realization he would miss her presence had she not survived. In Haven, he'd not spent so much time with her that anything more than acquaintanceship had developed. Still, he knew she was a strangely enigmatic leader for the burgeoning Inquisition and she successfully closed the rift in the sky. If nothing else, the world needed her, even if he had not yet known that he did as well.
"Blackwall."
"Hmm?"
Cullen's eyes crinkled as he smirked at the Warden.
"I've no idea where you were, but now you're at the war room, and you'll have to wait outside until talks have concluded," Cullen reminded him.
Blackwall nodded without a word as Cullen opened the great door. As it opened, he peered in, eyeing the enormous carved table. Leliana was inside, speaking in whispers with Josephine as they awaited the arrival of the final member of their advisors. His eyes travelled further across the room. Finally, tips of ears peeking through a flash of copper hair caught his eye – just as Cullen's face appeared in front of him once more, closing the door with a dull thud.
He stood for a moment, a frown appearing on his face for no one to see. As he leaned against the wall of the long corridor, the stone cool where he placed his hands upon it, the time dragged. Voices were muffled through the thick wooden door. The decisions being made by the four inside could turn the tide of a great war, or destroy the future of a single soldier. The weight of those decisions must not have come easy for any of them. He'd not have wished to be a part of it for all the coin in Orlais. Yet, Saraja faced those challenges and met them with the grace and tact of any good leader. He could think of no one more fitting for the role of Inquisitor.
Still, he shook his head quickly. There was no room for these thoughts in the Inquisition. There was no time for affection. Or love.
There was only protection. Fellowship. A common cause.
As the time passed slowly, he drove the thoughts inward. It helped to close the door. If only he could lock it.
Eventually, the door to the war room opened again. The three advisors exited the room, one by one, nodding at Blackwall politely as they passed him. Eventually, she appeared at the door. The vision of her tiny frame closing the daunting wooden door behind her made him chuckle privately.
When she looked up, a bright smile spread across her face when she saw him.
"Blackwall."
"Lady Lavellan."
"So formal, you are," she joked. "I almost expect to see you bowing and kissing my hand shortly."
"I can, if you like," he replied.
Her face immediately flushed.
"I…well, I should thank you," she stuttered, attempting to recover.
"Thank me?" he replied, confused. "Whatever for?"
"You've saved me a trip to the stables to visit you," she replied, flashing her cheerful smile once more.
"Oh? And to what would I owe the pleasure?"
"Well, there is the matter of a certain trip I'm setting out on," she explained. "It would seem our dear Varric has a contact searching for a fellow Grey Warden. Since it's sort of your speciality, I thought you might like to come along."
She paused for a moment, considering her next words carefully.
"Not to mention," she continued, "I'd like your company."
Her coy smile spoke volumes to him. How could he turn her down?
"Saraja, I'd be honoured to join you. The road can be a dangerous place; as much trust as I place in Cassandra or the Iron Bull to protect you, I'd much rather be the one ensuring your safety," he reasoned.
Her brown eyes brightened at his words.
"Then let's make preparations for departure. We'll set off at dawn tomorrow. It is a long journey to Crestwood."
He nodded at her as they made their way back towards the throne room. There were so many things he wanted to say to her in that moment, but held them all deep inside. As they walked the long corridor, his fingers nearly brushed hers at several points. Their hands were close enough for him to feel the latent magic that she exuded. There were almost always sparks of energy crackling around her; this felt different. Between them was a different kind of energy; a different kind of magic.
He dared not admit it to her.
After all, the past always had a way of catching up with a man. And he wasn't ready to be the one to bring her world crashing down.