The first time he saw her he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. His heart stopped. She walked with authority that told him his time as a free man was up. He'd been discovered.
But she called him Warden. Silvery white hair falling in curls to frame her face.
She didn't know. She honestly didn't know.
He'd told the truth about not knowing where the wardens were. He was surprised by the momentary flash of…disappointment? Yes, that was it, in her eyes.
"But then…" She'd hesitated, grass green eyes boring into him, "Where does that leave us?"
And that was about the moment he was lost.
He'd cursed inwardly before heading after her.
The next time they were on the storm coast and she was absolutely soaked through. They were there for some reason or other, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was.
She turned her face to the sky, the rain quickly clearing her armor and face of any blood that remained from the battles they'd fought recently.
His heart stopped, but for a reason he couldn't quite place.
A shiver ran through her shoulders and that was enough to spur him to action. Fishing in the pack on her horse, he extracted a cloak that had remained relatively dry and tentatively draped it over her shoulders.
Green eyes wide, she'd turned to look at him, the question unspoken. In spite of what he thought, he smiled. "Can't have Andraste's Herald catching cold, now can we?"
The expression that lit up her face was more than enough to undo him. "No, you're quite right. Thank you Blackwall."
Looking back, he would often recall this as one of the first times he'd seen her smile.
The first time he touched her she was unconscious, barely breathing after the fall of Haven. When orders were being barked about evacuation he hadn't given it a second thought, he'd simply wrapped her in the cloak he had around his shoulders and cradled her close to his chest, unwilling to let her go.
He never realized how small she was. Bundled in armor she looked invincible. But now…here…
When they were done running, he'd lowered her to a cot, smoothing the sweaty, silver hair away from her face. Was she dreaming? If so, what about?
Mother Giselle had approached to tend to her, but he waved her off. She smiled, about what, he would never know.
Don't die. Come back to us. We need you. I…
It was that moment he would start to come undone.
He was on her balcony and he knew he shouldn't be. She isn't looking at him, too busy with other things. Her books, her plans.
She's Inquisitor now. He knew he shouldn't be here. But when she finally turns to see him, there's something in her gaze…the way she says his name.
It rolls off her tongue as though it's something to be treasured and cherished. Something warm and wonderful in the way she says it reminds him of the best glass of wine he's ever had.
Say no, send me away, reject me, it will make it easier when this all comes undone.
But she hadn't. She'd pulled him closer and that was that. He'd hungrily pressed his lips to hers, ignoring the little giggle that escaped her when his beard tickled a particularly sensitive part of her neck. Her hands were swift and nimble and light, oh so feather light across his skin.
Maker, he needed her. He wanted her so bad, but now it was beyond that. This was a need that went as deep as breathing or eating or sleeping. He needed to feel her skin, all cream and roses, hear her moan his name against his neck, a sound that gave him more satisfaction than he should be allowed.
When he leaves her the next morning, he knows this is for the best.
He stands before her, hands in chains, no longer Warden Blackwall, but as Thom Reiner. She's brought him here to be punished, he knows this.
Even though she stands so close, he can't bring himself to look at her. He can feel her gaze on him, heavy and demanding him to look, to see what he has wrought.
He forces himself to do so and what he finds once more throws him.
There is anger, yes, the same hurt and betrayal he found when she came to him in the cells after he first revealed himself, but there is something more he cannot place.
When she sentences him to redemption under her eye, he is finally able to place it.
Forgiveness.
It is that feeling that compels him to her chambers that evening. He feels numb, as though waking from sleep.
She is sitting on the balcony, hair undone for the first time since he could recall. It is still silvery white, streaked with gold from the sunset. He cannot approach her, not like this, not after…
"I used to be a redhead, you know."
The admission is startling. He stares, unsure how to reply. On some levels he can see it, but on the other…
She turns, mischief glinting in those green eyes he loves so well, but her face is still solemn. "It's true. Until…well, after I walked out of the veil my hair has been like this."
"I-" He never finished the sentence, since she waved it away, although not in a dismissive or cruel way.
The breeze played with her hair as she spoke. "I was a bit distraught when it happened, as vain as that is. I even thought about asking Leliana if she knew a way to dye it back. But do you know what stopped me?"
All he managed was a shake of his head as she continued on. "I realized that it didn't matter what color my hair was. What mattered was that I do what was right."
At last, she moved, slowly, deliberately away from the balcony and towards him. "What I'm saying is that while it hurts, I think I get it. You're a good man, Blackwall."
"I don't deserve that." His voice was raspy, quiet, and yet it felt like it was too loud for the room, for what hung between them. "I don't deserve you."
She shrugged, reaching out and taking his hand gently. "Maybe. But I'm willing to wait until you feel you do."
His lips were on hers before she finished the sentence.
And it had all started with one glance.