Evelyn skirted around the table where two sailors arm wrestled, and jostled her way through the cheering on-lookers. Blackwall waited at an empty table in the corner. Evelyn broke through the ring of bettors and emerged in front of the bar. The inn keeper was a large man of middling age with a nose that zigzagged down his face.
"Got a room?" she shouted over the ruckus.
"Just one. Second floor. Twelve silver," he shouted back with a toothless grin. He glanced over at Blackwall.
She made a face. He was swindling her, but this was the last inn in the town. Evelyn sighed. "We'll take it. And we'll have two ales and two. . ." she peered over his shoulder to look at the scrawled menu on the wall. "Two potato pies and cheese." She did not trust the meat here. The place smelled of brine, sweat, and sour beer. A barrel collected dripping water by the fireplace. She fished into her pouch and pulled out some coins.
The inn keeper pocketed the coins and shouted into the kitchen. Evelyn traced her steps and joined Blackwall.
"They've got a room," she said as she slid onto the bench.
Blackwall grunted. "I've slept in worse."
The sailors got louder. Some pounded their tables while others swore. One of the arm wrestlers jumped up in victory while his shipmates thumped his back. Money began to change hands as bets were called in.
A buxom young woman arrived with their drinks. Her chest jiggled above a lightweight corset with each step. Evelyn glanced around at the other serving girls and noticed that they were all dressed similarly. One sat on a sailor's knee while one of his hands fiddled with the lacings of her blouse. The serving girl set the tankards on their table and hurried to the crowd of men who were now ready to buy another round.
Evelyn pulled her drink over by the handle and peered into the mug.
"Best not to look. Just drink it, don't ask questions." Blackwall took a swig and shrugged. "Potato beer. Not bad. We'll fart up a storm later."
Evelyn smiled and held up her tankard. "Well, at least we can share the blame." She gulped a mouthful down. The mug was not as greasy as she expected it to be, but was not as clean as she hoped.
A game of dice had begun now that the arm wrestling was finished. The game was peppered by the odd crash of thunder as the storm raged outside. There were only two inns in the town. The nicer one was full up with not even a spot to lay down on the common room floor left. That left them with the Fisher's Rest, a dilapidated establishment perched on the edge of the wharf. Waves crashed into the side of the rotting inn and Evelyn wondered how the building still stood. Something brushed her foot. She peered under the table and caught sight of a rat scurrying away with a crust of bread. She must have made a face, because Blackwall chuckled.
"You can slough through an undead infested swamp, but can't handle a dockside tavern?"
Evelyn fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. "We're eating food here," she whispered across the table.
Blackwall laughed again and took a pull from his mug. "I ate two year old hard tack once. You can't scrape off the blue anymore. You just try-"
"Not to look." Evelyn looked at her mug. There was a large chip in the rim. "Right."
The walls quaked as a large wave bombarded the tavern.
Blackwall eyed the wall and shrugged. "Reminds me of when I was out in the Silent Plains."
Evelyn arched a brow. "That's a desert."
Thunder shook the rafters. Dislodged dirt pattered across their table from the floorboards above them.
Blackwall nodded. "It's pure dust out there. Fine as ash. A breeze can choke you for days. But I was with stout men. Like Wilifred. Wet behind the ears, but Maker, he was eager to prove himself." Blackwall smiled and took a drink. He wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. "We made camp, said we'd have stories once we got back home. Then the storm blew in." Her pursed his lips and shook his head. "We dug in, expecting sand, but what we got was rain. Never seen anything like it. We climbed some rocks, but it was days until the waters went down. Lost our supplies in the flood. For a while, I thought we'd end up starving. Or bashing Wilifred's head for stew."
The girl arrived at the table with the pies and cheese. "No need for that," she said with a smile at Blackwall. "A man won't starve at the Fisher's Rest."
"Hey, Sweet Tits, get us another round, eh?" shouted a man from the table next to their booth.
"I'm coming, Ern. Don't get your smalls in a bunch." She called over her shoulder.
"Wouldn't mind gettin' your smalls in a bunch," he replied.
The serving girl rolled her eyes. "You still owe from last time. You know I don't give rides for free."
Evelyn coughed into her tankard. Blackwall laughed.
"Anything else, dear?" The woman winked at Blackwall.
Blackwall glanced at Evelyn and shook his head. "Another round of beer in a few, perhaps."
"Will do, honey." She left with a trail of sickly sweet perfume.
Evelyn looked up at Blackwall. "We're in a whorehouse, aren't we?" Flissa was one thing, but this was something else entirely. It was. . . She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Thrilling. At least until she thought of the state of the beds. She shivered.
Blackwall's face darkened. He licked his lips. "I forget about your rank sometimes."
Evelyn frowned. "My rank?"
Blackwall frowned back. "You're a noble. Dockside doxies aren't something you would regularly come in contact with. Perhaps staying here isn't the wisest choice. Considering who you are."
Evelyn shook her head. She could pull rank and kick the mayor out of his house, but that would mean someone along the line would be out in the storm, and she did not want to be the cause of it. "No. No. This is fine." She picked up a pie, closed her eyes, and took a bite. She opened her eyes in surprise. It was quite good, really. The pie was loaded with leeks, potatoes and cream. "You still haven't explained how you didn't starve in the desert," she said, before Blackwall could say anything. He had the look of a man about to argue with her.
He eyed her for a moment and then sighed. He shook his head and poked at the cheese. "Wilifred found berries growing on top of the rocks we were stranded on. It was that or nothing. An hour later, he started screaming. We both started screaming." He took a small piece of cheese and put it in his mouth.
"Poison? And what are you doing with that cheese?" Evelyn rose her brows as Blackwall rolled the cheese over his tongue.
"Oh, right. I had a bad experience with tavern cheese in Redcliffe. I'm always careful now. This stuff isn't that bad." He cut a chunk off with his belt knife. "And, err. . ." he chuckled. "I wouldn't call it poison. I was convinced a ring of nugs was singing sea shanties to us for two nights running."
Evelyn guffawed and set her pie down on the tray. She held her hand to her chest as she tried to swallow the food she had in her mouth.
Blackwall grinned and waited until Evelyn had gathered herself back together. He took a drink. "We woke up three days later. No armor. Surrounded by hungry ghasts."
"How did you escape?"
"You'd be surprised what a man armed with a rock and a headache can do." Blackwall took a bite of cheese.
"Anyone else?"
He nodded and reached for his mug. "Most of us did. But Wilifred. Damn fool survived a flood, a bout of madness, ghasts, even a wyvern that stalked us halfway out of that wasteland. . ." He took a drink and shook his head. "A day out from civilization, he did the stupidest thing you can do in a desert."
Evelyn picked her pie back up. "What's that?"
"Tried to steal someone's water while he was sleeping."
"Oh." Evelyn nibbled at the pie crust. "I can see that."
"Maker help us, we left the idiot bastard's bones where they lay." He shook his head. "Took a week with the bounciest doxy in Hunter Fell to put the desert from my mind."
Evelyn laughed. "Emmerson and I ate wild mushrooms once."
"I smell a story," Blackwall said. She had a small crumb on the corner of her lip. He watched her tongue flick out to catch it. She grinned. Maker, her whole face lit up when she smiled. Blackwall looked away. No. Do not get caught up in that, man.
"We were about fifteen or so," she said. "We'd gone out, just the two of us, for an overnight camping trip. Mother was visiting friends in Starkhaven at the time, and father was doing rounds of the outlying farms. Henry was already gone to the Templars, which meant Maxwell was in charge. The only reason Emmerson and I were allowed to go." Evelyn grinned. "I'd smuggled out a bottle of peach brandy with us." She made a face. "Anyway, Emmerson saw these mushrooms during our hike, and he swore up and down that they were the same kind Kiall put in stew during hunts. Between the brandy and those mushrooms we had a night."
"What happened?" asked Blackwall between mouthfuls of cheese.
Evelyn snorted. "Oh, only the Maker knows. I woke up naked in a stream. Face up, thankfully. Surprised I didn't drown. Emmerson had dug himself a little hole in some tree roots. Made a little nest." She laughed. "Maker, he was filthy."
Blackwall chuckled and shook his head. "Ah! Just what we needed," he said when the second round of drinks arrived.
Blackwall closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the moans and grunts coming from either side of him. Their room consisted of a curtained off area of the attic wide enough for only a single cot. Evelyn had been good-natured about the whole thing and shared the cot with him without complaining. They both lay on their sides, with her ass nestled against his groin. It was the only way the both of them fit.
"Yeah, that's right, honey, fuck my wet cunny," hissed a whore in the sectioned off area behind him. He could feel the curtain ripple on his back.
Blackwall bit the inside of his cheek. This was an awful idea. All of it. Not just being in a whorehouse with the Herald of Andraste, and Maker, that was bad enough, but being here, in the Storm Coast. What had he been thinking when he asked her to come with him? She was the Inquisitor. She was nobility. He was. . . He was nobody. A murderer. A liar. He had no right. . . This was a mistake.
"Let me see those tits, girl. Rub those on my-" The sailor cut himself off with a groan.
Evelyn shifted her weight and Blackwall squeezed his eyes as she rubbed against him. Maker, she needed to stay still or things were about to get more awkward than they already were.
Wet suction sounds started from the couple on the other side of Evelyn. Blackwall felt Evelyn's breathing get heavier as her ribs expanded with each inhale. His hand was falling forward, off of his leg. He snatched it back before it fell to her hip. He ground his molars together. He was not going to get any sleep tonight.
Evelyn tried to slow her heartbeat by taking in deep, slow breaths. She would be laughing if she was not painfully aware of Blackwall's growing excitement. If she had been in this situation with anyone else she would be doubled over in stitches, but with Blackwall all she thought of was that afternoon outside of Haven. She knew exactly how he felt as he slid in and out of her. She squirmed. Blackwall cursed under his breath. Evelyn closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow down.
Cullen. Her stomach dropped as his face came to mind. Her eyes flew open in the dim lighting of the attic. She could see the silhouette of a whore riding a sailor through the curtain in front of her. Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut with a small hiss. She made a mistake. She was going to hurt him. She made a mistake. Maker. . . She swallowed.
She had to talk to Cullen when she got back. This. . . Oh, it was going to be horrible.
A whore cried out from across the room. Blackwall's cock grew firmer against her. Her own loins tingled and her inner walls convulsed. What she would give to reach behind her. . . She cut that thought off quickly and clenched her jaw.
Maker, this was going to be a long night.
They left the tavern as soon as the storm subsided into the usual Storm Coast drizzle. The sun had not risen, and most everyone was still asleep when they tiptoed out of the place. Neither one of them spoke until the end of their midday break.
"How much farther?" Evelyn asked as she tightened the buckle on her pack.
"Few hours," he said.
Despite the chill, Blackwall was sweating. When the roar of water pounding on the roof stopped he had been filled with a mixture of both relief and dread. Every moment brought them closer to the ridge where his lie began. His stomach roiled.
"Oh!" Evelyn wrinkled her face. "You weren't lying about potato beer. Ugh. I just grossed myself out."
Blackwall looked up and blinked. "What? Oh, right, yeah. They're stinkers."
"Maker, that's rancid." Evelyn hoisted her pack onto her back. "Lead the way, and quickly."
Blackwall nodded and set out. Evelyn took their farting as an ice breaker and began to chatter. Her lopsided grins and vibrant laughter picked away at his armor, and by the time they approached the ridge his resolve was bolstered.
"It's so quiet now," he said. "I remember when it wasn't. I came here with another Warden. We were ambushed. I tried to save him, but he died." He furrowed his brows and kept on walking.
Evelyn shook her head and grabbed at his arm. He looked down and found her staring at him. "Look, I understand that a Warden's life is full of death and danger, but so's mine."
Blackwall stopped himself from touching her. He pulled his arm from her grasp and turned away. "It's not that. It's not about just dying or danger. His death was different. It changed me." He heard her walk toward him. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "Let's go over there," he said.
He saw the badge the moment they crested the ridge. He bent down and pulled it out of the weeds and frowned at it. He took in a deep breath.
"The Warden-Constable's badge," he said as Evelyn approached him. He swallowed.
"You mean your badge," she said from his shoulder.
Blackwall's stomach flipped and he clenched his jaw. His nerve washed away with the storm. He could not do this. She was beyond him. He had no right. . .
"I suppose it must be," he said. He fell back into the lie as if he were putting on a favourite coat. "After all, I did earn it. I shouldn't have let it go so easily." He closed his eyes. With a deep breath, he took a few steps away from her.
"This was my life before I met you," he said, turning around to face her. He waved his arms at the ridge. Skeletons littered the grass. "Crumbling ruins. Endless battles. Death."
Evelyn frowned. This whole trip was confusing. He brought her here. It was a place she recognized. They had been here before when looking for signs of warden activity. Why?
She sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know," she bit her bottom lip and took in a deep breath. "I've seen my fair share of ruins and death too." She tried to catch his eye, but his attention was focused on the badge. His mouth twitched. "Maybe that means we're perfect for each other."
Blackwall's breath caught and his heart raced. He looked up at her. "You tease." He held his breath and shook his head. "But, there's nothing more for me here. We can talk back at Skyhold and I. . ." He frowned at her and started to turn away. "I have to think."
"Blackwall."
Blackwall licked his lips and paused. He lifted his gaze and met hers with a start. She stood close to him. He could smell that light citrus scent she had started wearing.
"Maker," he whispered as she stepped forward. "I. . ." His hands slid around her waist just as both of her arms wrapped around his neck. "Evelyn." He breathed. His head moved downward to meet hers. This was too good to be true. What did she see in him? She did not know. He was a liar. He just. . . "We shouldn't. . . What about the Commander?"
Evelyn stopped. Her arms dropped to her sides and she stepped back from Blackwall's hands. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. . ." She turned away.
Blackwall forced himself away from her and started back down the path. "There's an Inquisition camp not too far," he said. "We can make it before dark."
Evelyn ran a hand through her hair and followed. She prayed there was a scouting team they could travel back to Skyhold with.