Maker, he could be compelling when he wanted to be.
Evelyn ripped her attention away from the commander's eyes and nearly wept for joy when Maxwell appeared in front of her with a lopsided grin plastered on his face.
"Excuse me, Commander, but I'm claiming family priority." He took Evelyn's hand from Cullen's and whisked her away to his table.
Evelyn hesitated. Henry, Varric and Blackwall seemed to be having a heated debate about something.
"Don't worry," Maxwell whispered as he guided her over. "Henry's on his best behaviour."
"Winning while barely clinging to your horse may count," Blackwall was saying with a shake of his head as brother and sister approached, "but it's not exactly the stuff of legend, is it?"
Varric grinned. "That depends on who's writing the legend, Hero."
Henry waved a hand at Varric. "I'm with Blackwall here. You can't really think Reeve Asa is a better knight than Honorine Chastain. Her record's flawless."
Blackwall nodded. "Four hundred jousts!" He slapped his thigh. "Never unseated. No one's ever come close to it."
"Oh, she's easily the most skilled. That's a fact," Varric said.
Henry nodded over the rim of his tankard and Blackwall grunted.
"Look," Varric set his mug down and leaned forward. "It's just 'scrappy' is better than 'flawless'. I like heroes who try their damnedest, even if they fail a lot. It's easy to be valiant when you always win and everything goes your way. There's nothing great in that."
Blackwall frowned and drained his tankard.
"Look at who I found," Maxwell declared.
"Herald!" Varric grinned up at her. "We were just discussing that trip to Markham you promised."
Evelyn laughed. "Oh? Well, you certainly are re-writing history, because I remember promising the exact opposite."
Varric winked and waved at a page to come refill his tankard.
"Evelyn," Henry said. He stood at her approach and smiled briefly before pressing his lips together.
She nodded at him. "Henry."
"You look well," he said.
"Well? You gotta work on your vocabulary." Varric laughed. "Look at her! That dress. Josephine dressed you, didn't she?"
Evelyn made a face. "Unfortunately."
Henry chuckled. "Please, sit."
Evelyn nodded at her brother and sat down. It was difficult to step over the bench in a formfitting dress and she had to take Henry's offered hand for support to settle herself in. The page from the dais, Theodore, appeared at her side with a goblet of wine. She smiled in thanks.
She looked across the table to find Blackwall staring at her. She took in a deep breath and smiled. Oh, the man did things to her that she did not understand. The looks he gave her sent ripples of delight through her. She stared back.
"You look awfully like that gilded statue of Andraste Mother has in the chapel," Maxwell said with a grin.
Evelyn gave herself a shake and rolled her eyes at him. "Ugh. Please, don't get me started. You should have seen the cloak they wanted to put me in. With a chain of office."
Maxwell snorted. "I'm sure you would have been the picture of regal bearing and authority."
"If she was Antivan," Henry muttered into his cup.
Varric choked. "Careful. You don't want our esteemed ambassador hearing that."
Blackwall stared. He couldn't help it. She was a vision from heaven, even if it was obvious she was uncomfortable. She kept on fiddling with that little fur she had around her neck. He was not sure what its function was, for it left most of her shoulders bare. She had a long, slender neck that he wanted to bury his face in. Her skin radiated the colour of campfire in the candlelight.
Maker, he wanted her. He wanted to hear that throaty moan of hers again and feel her fingers clasp at his neck. He wanted to be able to wake next to her, her soft skin smooth against his. He wanted to watch her laugh in camp, her face alight with the pleasure of being alive and under the stars.
She was one of the best people he could ever march through Thedas with. She did her share of the work, and she made great company. Evelyn loved to laugh and tell stories. She always came back to camp after foraging with dirt smudged across her brow. She'd hold the basket aloft in a show of victory. Their stew pot was always flavourful with garlic, onions, mushrooms. . . If they were out there, she'd find them.
He wanted to be by her side forever, and drink her in. She radiated life. He wanted to be a part of that. He wanted. . . a dream.
"Well," he said. His tankard thudded against the table when he set it down and stood up. "Time for me to turn in."
"Already? The night is still young." Varric's brows rose.
Blackwall shrugged and said the first thing that came to mind. "Still tired from that march from Adamant. Perfect time to catch up on sleep. The whole keep is going to be sleeping in tomorrow. Figured I'd get a head start." It sounded lame in his ears, but he went with it anyway. It was never good to backtrack on a lie.
Before anyone else could object, he nodded to everyone and walked away. It took longer than he liked to get through the crowds of dancers and out the main doors. He enjoyed the cool air on his face after the stuffiness of the hall. Blackwall hurried down the steps when giggles and whispered platitudes started up behind him. He swung right at the bottom while the couple kept straight, toward the smithy. They were no doubt looking for a spot out of sight. The girl pulled her partner into the alcove behind the tavern. He chuckled to himself. That alcove served as latrine for anyone who drank at the Herald's Rest or used the training yard. The couple had to be visiting nobles. No one who lived in Skyhold would pull a lover in there. He grinned to himself as he descended the main stairway to the lower bailey. Served the bastards' right.
Nobles. Of course he had to be in love with one.
He stopped mid-stride.
Well, that was a thought. He bit a corner of his mustache and looked into nothing. No. He shook his head and continued toward the barn. He shook it again. No.
The barn was quiet save for the odd snort or stamping of a hoof from the attached stables. He picked up a small griffon he was working on and pulled out his knife from his belt.
Maker. It was true. He loved her. He loved a Fade-damned noble. The Herald of fucking Andraste.
He hooked a foot around the stool leg and pulled it closer to the dying fire.
Someone, somewhere was laughing hard at that.
Blackwall set the griffon and knife on the stool and picked up the long, thick stick he used to stoke the fire with. How could he expect her to love him? What could he give her? She had feelings for him, he knew that. Maker, she'd always been open about it. No matter how much he made light of it.
You tease.
He swallowed hard and pulled his flask out from his pocket. He was a cheat and a liar. She didn't love him. She loved a sham. A charlatan. A fake. The man she loved wasn't real. He took a swig.
"I know this is a radical suggestion, but have you considered just. . . talking to her?"
Blackwall looked up and scowled at the meddlesome dwarf. Varric must have followed him out.
"No. Never occurred to me. End of story."
Varric shook his head. "You're not doing this right. The hero gets the girl, remember?"
"No." Blackwall put the flask back in his pocket and picked up his whittling before sitting down on the stool. "No, you are not getting me into this conversation."
"You might be content to pine in silence, but I have an inkling that she isn't."
Blackwall looked up at him and frowned. The dwarf simply nodded at him and left. Blackwall spat. Damn him. The fucker was right, though. Blast him to the Fade and back.
Blackwall looked at the wooden griffon in his hand and began to work on the wings with his knife.
That dress. It left little to the imagination, and every man with blood in his veins had his eyes on her the entire night. When Cullen extended his hand for a dance every man wished they were the commander in that moment. What the commander thought that stunt would get him, Blackwall didn't know. He was well into his cups before he even entered the hall, so that probably had something to do with it. He'd watched the commander stumble when he came out from war room. He'd been quick to cover it up, but then again, he was a recovering addict. Those sort knew how to handle themselves. Whatever the commander had tried hadn't worked, because Evelyn nearly ran when her brother arrived to rescue her. She had good brothers, even if Henry could be a bit of a puffed up jackass. They cared for her.
Blackwall sighed. The way the dress caught the light as Evelyn sashayed and stepped across the hall told everyone what she looked like underneath. Every muscle, every curve had been on display.
Maker's Balls, he was besotted.
The dwarf was right. He should talk to her.
Blackwall looked out of the barn doors and at the hall. He took in a deep breath and let it come out in a rush.
He put the griffon back on the bench and slid his knife back into his belt. He headed back outside and retraced his steps.
Evelyn nodded at Blackwall in return, but doubted the man saw it, because he had already turned his back on them. She pressed her lips together.
"Don't worry about him. He's still sore that I don't salivate after Chastain." Varric laughed. "Excuse me. Nature calls." He got up from the bench.
When the rogue was gone, Henry spoke.
"Eve. . . I'm sorry. I behaved badly toward you."
Evelyn sighed. "Thank you."
"When with Knight-Commander Barris I. . . I learned of what happened here in Orlais and Ferelden and how you've stopped it. You've united everyone." His nostrils flared as he exhaled. "I may not agree with all of your stances, or decisions, but you're doing what needs to be done. I should never have said what I did."
Evelyn bit her lip and nodded. She'd waited her entire life to have Henry apologize to her, but now that it happened she derived no pleasure from it. She simply wanted it to be done and over with.
"Right. Well. Apology accepted."
Henry frowned and opened his mouth, but Maxwell cut in.
"Now that the warm and fuzzy shit is done, you can come and meet that girl I was telling you about."
Henry arched his brows at his brother. "Now? Maxwell, this is not a good-"
"Oh, stuff it. Of course it's a good idea. You're a good Templar from noble stock, and she's a distant cousin of some king somewhere. The best part is she'll be gone tomorrow. C'mon."
Evelyn struggled her way off of the bench and scanned the crowd for someone to talk to. Bann Vigard's wife took the opportunity to approach her.
"Your Worship," she said with a curtsy.
"Lady," Evelyn said. She'd forgotten the woman's name and hoped she wouldn't catch the slip.
"I wanted to apologize for my husband. He hasn't been the same since the Blight."
Evelyn smiled. "Really, no need to apologize."
"You are too kind, Your Grace."
"Lady Trevelyan, may I have this dance?"
Evelyn looked up from the grateful woman and at an Orlesian noble of middling years. An earl? Or was he merely a knight? She could never keep all of them straight. She smiled. The man took her smile for consent. He grasped her hand and brought her to the dance floor.
One after another they approached as a song ended. And with each new dance partner she wished they were Blackwall. Why had he left the hall? Maker, he had to be the most stubborn man in Thedas. When the fifth man approached she thought she spied the warden slinking along the wall. She frowned.
"Please, I need to refresh myself. Excuse me," she forced a smile on her face for the sake of the slighted nobleman and hurried toward Blackwall.
Cullen was at her side in a flash.
"You never answered my invitation," he whispered into her ear.
Evelyn swallowed. "Cullen, I-"
"Commander! Just who I was looking for." A deflated Josephine came striding toward them with Bann Vigard following close on her heels. "The Bann here was asking some questions about our watch schedule. I've advised him that you know more about that than I."
"I'll leave you to it, then," Evelyn said with a smile. "Bann Vigard, Josephine." She nodded to them both and spun on her heel, leaving the three of them and continued to where she had last glimpsed Blackwall. When she got there, he was nowhere to be seen. She'd lost him, she realized with a sigh.
"No one would blame you if you escaped," said Dorian.
Evelyn started. Dorian chuckled from his seat.
"All that dancing can tire a person out. Oh, and you look ravishing, by the way. Josephine did wonders."
"And what are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything. You've got horrible taste in clothing. This is much better." Dorian lounged back in his chair and took a sip of wine.
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "You think I could leave without anyone noticing?"
"The Herald of Andraste? Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan? Highly unlikely. But a perk of being in charge is that you can do whatever you please and the rest of us be damned."
"That," Evelyn said with a grin, "is a good point."
Dorian flashed his teeth and held his goblet up in salute. "You go get your beauty sleep. I'm going to stay here and personally taste test every bottle of Orlesian wine they open tonight."
Evelyn laughed. "Have fun."
"Of course."
Evelyn made her way to the door to her quarters and shook her head at the herald when he stepped forward. She did not need a fanfare for her departure.
As soon as the door closed behind her, she had the skirt of the dress hitched up to her knees and was taking the stairs up two at a time. At the top of the stairs she kicked off her slippers and reached behind her to get the lacing undone. Movement on the balcony caused her to look up.
Blackwall stood in the shadows.
She smiled at the sight of him. So this is where he had disappeared off to. "I knew you couldn't stay away." She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
Blackwall sighed and shook his head. "No. I couldn't. If only you knew how confounding you are, how impossibly infuriating."
Evelyn arched a brow. It was not the sort of romantic preamble she was expecting.
He sighed again and stepped forward. "I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin. I wanted to-" He continued to walk toward her. "I just had to see you."
Butterflies began to flutter in her stomach. She met his dark eyes with her own as his hands slid around her waist; their lips met. His lips were dry and rough, but the way they scraped across hers sent shivers down her spine. Evelyn brought her arms up around Blackwall's neck and pulled him closer against her. He smelled like a mixture of smoke, ale, fresh cut wood, and sweat. She inhaled deeply through her nose; she loved the smell of him.
And then he pulled away. "No. This is wrong." He shook his head and stepped back. "I shouldn't even be here."
It was the ramparts and the Storm Coast all over again. He did this over and over to her. Evelyn's heart sank. "It doesn't feel wrong," she whispered.
He was torn. She could see it in his eyes. Something held him back, and she hated it.
He frowned at her. "I want to give in. Maker knows I wish I could. I'm not what you want. I could never be what you deserve."
She hated whatever tortured him. She reached out and brushed his cheek with her thumb. "You're wrong. You're a good man."
"Am I?" His voice was both rough and soft. The pleading in that question cut into her.
Her thumb moved over his lips. "I see it."
"There's nothing I can offer you. You'd have no life with me." He swallowed. "But I. . . I need you to end this, because I can't."
She cupped his cheek and stepped closer to him. Her chest pressed against his leather jerkin.
"I'm not letting you go," she said. She entwined her fingers in his hair.
"We'll regret this, my lady," he breathed.
She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Do you regret that?"
He pulled her roughly against him and pressed his mouth against hers. Blackwall pushed her back with his body, and she felt behind her for the balustrade to steady herself.
"Woman," he growled into her mouth. "You have no idea what you do to me." His hands ran down her back to where the ends of the laces were tucked. He slipped a finger down the crease and hooked them out.
Evelyn bit at his lower lip. "Probably the same you do to me."
He smiled down at her and growled again. She could feel it reverberate in his chest, and her body went warm. She let out a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a moan, which caused his smile to grow wider. He had undone the loose knot and began loosening the bodice. She felt the shoulders begin to slide down her arms. The silk dress took little encouragement to glide off of her and pool itself about her feet. She stood naked before him as small-clothes were not an option with a thin, clinging gown.
He trailed a finger along her neck and down her shoulder.
"You're beautiful, my lady."
Evelyn tilted her head to the side as his hand traced its way back up her neck.
She looked up at him through her lashes and quirked the corner of her mouth. "I think I preferred 'woman'."
Blackwall chuckled low in his throat. His thumb was on her lips now, while his fingers pressed where her neck and jaw met. "I knew you were excited at the Fisher's Rest."
She parted her lips and bit down lightly on his thumb. He pulled it away and moistened her lips with her own saliva.
"The way you nestled into me," he continued, "it excited you to feel me pressed against you."
Maker, the way his voice sounded like gravel could do her in. Her pulse quickened as his attention roved over her.
"Yes," she croaked. She swallowed. "I wanted you so badly."
She reached for him, and together they fell to the bed.
