Blackwall ran a cloth absently along the metal rim of his shield, cleaning the grime of the day off of it as he talked. Amahri was sitting cross legged next to him, hands gripping his knees and his eyes staring up at the Warden with fascination as Blackwall related a tale of fighting darkspawn in a cave at the beginning of the 5th Blight, the one the Elven mage had defeated as the newest Grey Warden.
Amahri loved to hear stories, especially involving the Grey Wardens, even though they sometimes left him quiet and thoughtful. Blackwell knew Amahri saw himself in Surana, although he would never dare to make the comparison aloud. She had not been Dalish, but that mattered little to the tale of the young Grey Warden who had given her life to end the blight. She had been young and inexperienced, had led a small band of heroes-friends-to victory over a seemingly unbeatable evil. It was an inspiring tale for the young Herald, and also one with a somber ending.
"Did you ever meet her? The Grey Warden who killed the archdemon?" Amahri asked as Blackwall finished his own tale.
"No. The Grey Wardens were very scattered at the time. Many died at Ostagar. I never had the chance to meet her." Blackwall turned his shield to reach the other side more easily. Amahri shifted and pulled his knees up under his chin, letting his eyes drift to look at the camp fire.
"Is it true she only became a Warden just before Ostagar? That it was only a few months before she fought the Archdemon?" He asked.
"By all accounts, yes. She'd only just come from the circle. Hadn't had any experience in the real world." Blackwall answered.
"I wonder if she was scared." Amahri sounded like he was speaking more to himself, but Blackwall still answered.
"I'm damn sure she was. We all are at times, no matter how much practice or experience a person has had." Blackwall looked down at Amahri and smiled gently at him. Amahri was staring up at him again and returned the smile briefly, before it was hidden by his arms as he rested his head against them. Blackwall finished cleaning his shield and set it aside; shifting to enjoy resting by the warm fire. Blackwall could read Amahri's thoughts in those shining eyes. He wanted to be brave, to be able defend his friends, to be worthy of the respect of a Grey Warden like Surana-and Blackwall. It made Blackwall's stomach turn. He was not worthy of anyone's respect. Especially not the Herald's. Now the lad, he was. He had the warrior's respect and more. You are who you choose to follow. The familiar phrase came to Blackwall's mind again. The Herald made him better; or at least made him want to be better. Blackwall knew he had Amahri's trust and respect. He himself had come to care a great deal for the young mage who had suddenly had so much responsibility thrust upon him, and who tried so hard to live up to the expectations of those around him. Since joining the Inquisition a few months ago Blackwall had started to pray to the Maker more frequently than he had in years; that this one would not be required to make the same sacrifice to stop the Breach that Surana had made to stop the Blight. If it were at all in his power to shield Amahri from that, Blackwall would gladly give his life for the Herald's. That would finally be a worthy action.