6. The Storm Coast

Rain.

It's raining… all the damn time.

The Storm Coast, a well-deserved name indeed.

They got there just a few hours ago, and Gwen already can't wait to go back to Haven. But they have several issues to deal with in here, so, unfortunately, this is not going to happen very soon.

Fenhedis, she really does hate rain.

As a mage proficient in lightning spells, storms are a bloody nightmare for her. The Dalish trained hard since her magic showed up to dominate it, and she was damn good at it. Now, thanks to the blasted mark on her left hand, that throws her off balance, she has to struggle a great deal to control her powers because they threaten to burst out wild, risking to damage her surroundings, or, worse, her companions.

For these reasons, she walks behind the rest of the group, keeping some distance for their safety. From time to time, she takes a long, deep breath and she clenches her fists, releasing a small amount of energy towards the ground. Creators, when they'll be back at their base, she definitely could use some new exercises to regain her focus.

Still, there's more to her hatred towards the rain: it brings back sorrowful memories, and she can't afford to be sad – not now, not ever. She has an important task to accomplish, in the role she so reluctantly assumed.

Apparently, though, Lavellan is the only one who's struggling with the reality that she's the Herald of Andraste. The more the Inquisition strengthens, the more people bow at her very feet as soon as they see her. Even Seeker Cassandra seems to finally trust her completely, given that she sent her on this mission without her supervision for the first time. Thus here she is, in this Gods-forsaken place, looking for a band of mercenaries for the Inquisition to hire – do they have enough money to pay them?

"So it was just you, alone in the vast wilderness?" Gwen's attention turns on her companions strolling in front of her, noticing that Varric has just approached Warden Blackwall.

"What are you about?" the bearded warrior questions the dwarf.

"The lone wanderer, searching the world. What's he trying to find? Love? Absolution?"

The Warden sighs. "Try 'someone with a strong arm and stronger will to fight darkspawn'."

"Yes, but what does that represent?"

"Wanting to kill more darkspawn."

"You're just like Sebastian." Varric scoffs.

Lavellan recognizes the frustration in the writer's voice, because it's the same feeling she has every time she talks to Blackwall.

Ever since she was a child, the elf sought knowledge about the Grey Wardens, the fighters devoted to the task of defeating the filthy darkspawn she hated so much. She took advantage of all the chances she had to gather information about the order, be it from senior members of her clan or wandering vagrants she met during their trips. What she learned left her really intrigued and somehow admired: tales of dangerous criminals and ruthless men, that would give up their old lives to fight the evil that used to plague the whole Thedas from centuries ago. Despite their threatening behaviors and the bad things they could have done in the past, given a second chance, they would choose to use it to save and protect the others, redeeming themselves until death would claim them.

Then, a couple of years after the end of the Fifth Blight, clan Lavellan met clan Zathrian in the Free Marches. As the First of Keeper Deshanna, Gwen had several chances to speak with their own Keeper, Lanaya, and ask her about the woman better known as the Hero of Ferelden, Alice Cousland, and her companion Alistair. Those warriors, the last two Grey Wardens of Ferelden still alive at the time, bravely fought to free Lanaya's people from the Keeper Zathrian's curse, along with a wise human healer and a witty and seductive (according to her words) antivan assassin. Oddly, the image she pictured of those Wardens was completely different from what Lavellan gathered until that moment: they were both charming and righteous, and while they were dealing with the werewolves problem, they also proffer respect towards their Gods listening to their legends, and they took care of sick hallas, mourning widowers and young heartbroken boys. They were like real-life prince and princess from shemlen childhood tales, being Alice a beautiful young noble lady with long blond curls and warm golden eyes, and Alistair a handsome ex-templar and royal bastard with short coppery hair and kind hazel gaze. And, exactly like it happens in such tales, they saved the world and got married, becoming King and Queen of Ferelden.

For a long time, Gwen obsessed over the one question: who are the Grey Wardens? Fierce delinquents or virtuous champions of justice?

When she finally ran into one of them, she was determined to find the so-longed answer. Yet, her meeting with Warden Blackwall was nothing like she predicted it.

He had joined their forces weeks ago, and regardless of the fact that the young mage takes advantage of any free moment to go and chat with him, she still couldn't figure out what kind of person he really is. Instead of finding clarification, all Lavellan gets is more confusion, because he smartly handles her curiosity, giving her baffling replies.

"Ah, do you want to talk about the Wardens? I'm afraid we're less exciting than we seem."

She is aware that the order is very secretive, but she knows there is more to it.

"Do you want to hear more about me? Compared to yours, my life will seem dull indeed."

Blackwall clearly has a shady past, one he is not willing to share with the others. This knowledge, though, instead of unsettling the Dalish, eggs her further on.


"Yes, many Wardens were once criminals. And when you join, your past is forgotten, so let's have it that way."

Gwen is sitting on a box outside the blacksmith, while the bearded man has his back leaned on the wooden wall of the small cabin nearby. His posture is rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, but despite his reluctance in answering to her question, there is no hint of annoyance on his face.

"However, you weren't always a Warden. What did you do before you became one?"

He takes a deep breath. "I was… a soldier, a nobody trained to wield a sword and follow orders. I grew weary of fighting other men's wars."

"So, you became a Warden."

"More or less." He nods. "Becoming a Grey Warden… it was the first time I felt like I mattered. The life I led before seems hollow in comparison. Perhaps one day it will fade away."

A peaceful silence falls on them, only the clanging of the hammers hitting the anvil at their back reminds them they're not alone in the world. Lavellan can't stop staring at the fascinating shem in front of her, the tortured look in his eyes suggesting that there are so many things hidden behind his ambiguous words. A part of her is afraid that soon he will push her away, still, on the other hand, she can't help but feel intrigued by him, wanting nothing more than to know him – his real self.

"Why did you join the order?"

Blackwall gives her a nervous smirk, aware that she won't give up on him easily. "Because the Wardens remember honor and sacrifice, words that have little meaning to the rest of us. Because they lay down their lives for those they have sworn to protect. We all need to believe there are such men in the world. I needed to believe I could be one of them."

There is sadness in his voice when he makes such declaration, and yet it sounds so true, so right.

He already proved to be a great fighter, a powerful and capable warrior, his attention always focused on defending his companions from the enemy's blows. He looked after all those farmers for weeks after the incident at the Conclave, saving their lives countless times. Also, regardless of his claims of being a loner, he is as agreeable during their trips as he is here in Haven.

Does his past really matter? No, not at all.

Like he himself told her days ago, "it's what you do, and how you do it, that's important".


For better or for worse, Gwen is not the only one who likes spending time with the Warden: Cassandra and Cullen often ask him to spar, while Sera, Varric and even Solas spend their evenings with him at the tavern, playing cards and drinking ale.

In particular, Blackwall bonded quickly with the spitfire blonde archer, probably too much for Lavellan's liking, given how the two elves don't get along well together. She tried, the Creators know she did try to find a way to communicate with Sera, but it didn't work at all. All she got were headaches, raspberries and mocking words from her – "Yuck, you're so elfy!"

And now, the dwarven author seems to be interested in his past as well – is he really writing that book about the Inquisition he mentioned her earlier?

"Excuse me? Sebastian?" Blackwall asks, amazed.

"Yeah. You remind me of someone. Pious bastard, wore blinding white armor," Varric says. "Told me my shots veered left."

"I can see how that describes me perfectly."

"It's just… all that niceness. He was just so… nice."

"Nice. Right. I take it you didn't like this person."

"Well… Sebastian would've taken that as a compliment. Maybe you're not that boring, after all."

Gwen gives a shy giggle, and it doesn't go unnoticed by the two men, that immediately turn towards her.

"I can't believe it!" Varric exclaims, raising his arms over his head in a shocked gesture. "The Herald just chuckled! Alert the Chantry!"

"Why would the Chantry be interested in something like that?" she replies, confused.

The dwarf shakes his head and puffs defeated. "I give up on both of you, at least for today. Talking to you, the inscrutable hero and the stern elf, is exhausting. Solas, wait!" And with that, he rushes forward to reach the other mage.

"Creators, I'm not sure if I'll ever understand him, or… rather if I want to." Lavellan mutters.

Blackwall bursts into laughter, and her heart jumps inside her chest. She doesn't know why, but his warm, rich tone affects her deeply, coiling heat inside her. His voice itself is like a caress to her ears, as much as his Marcher accent. She lived almost all her life in the Free Marches, yet she doesn't remember hearing anyone with such sexy inflect–

Wait.

Has she really just thought about a shem as "sexy"?

Yes, she has, because of his accent. However, it is not just that, to be quite honest.

Warden Blackwall is indeed definitely different from the kind of man the Dalish is accustomed to, being so tall and bulky, and with that impressive beard – she knew about shemlens and facial hair, but she had no idea they could grow such impressive amount of it. Still, she finds him extremely handsome, and from the looks he unconsciously earns from the other females in Haven, she's not the only one.

"My lady? Is everything all right?" his alarmed question, stirs Gwen from her meditations, and she realizes she stopped in the middle of the road, staring intently at him.

Feeling her cheeks blushing wildly, she tries to regain her composure as she resumes her walk. "Of course I am. Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing."

While they were traveling to reach the Storm Coast, she noticed that the warrior's expression got tense the closer they got to their destination, and the troubled scowl hardly disappeared from his face since then. She suspects he dislikes this place as much as she does, but it's odd, given that he is here by his own choice.

"I've heard rumors of abandoned Warden camps all over these parts. If we have time, I'd like to take a look. See if there's anything we can salvage."

She has been more than happy to comply his request, even though she'd probably pick him for the mission anyway. Was it a mistake?

"What, me? I'm fine, my lady. Just– thoughts, I guess. Nothing to worry about."

They proceed silently side by side for some time, the rain violently hitting their armor. Slowly, all the stress Lavellan accumulated over her powers vanishes: Blackwall's presence helps her relax.

All of sudden, he speaks again. "Thank you."

Gwen suppresses a surprised gasp. "Why are you…?"

When their eyes meet, a delighted shiver goes down her spine: his frown has disappeared, replaced by a sweet smile. "You are always so kind to me," he answers. "I have to say, you're unlike any woman I've ever met."

She swallows hard, trying to dominate her heart beating madly.

"My lady, I'm flattered you'd spend any time with me. I… enjoy your company."

Creators… What in Mythal's name is happening to me?