Canonically that scene in Skyhold, in the Inquisitor's room, was the first time she and Blackwall were intimate, but I like to think they were having some fun in her cabin during Haven.
Not to diminish the importance of the Skyhold night, though. Because in that scene Blackwally does make it clear that he wants YOU to end the relationship because otherwise he's gonna keep coming back, and when it finally falls apart it's just going to hurt all the more.
So, my personal take on it, during Haven, Rota was pretty clear. She likes him as a person, but the two of them? It was just physical. And Blackwall was fine with that. It was preferable, really. Have a bit of unattached fun between missions. Give the Herald a chance to decompress. Then he can die a quiet, noble death. Maybe he would live on, in some way, as a warm tingle on her nights alone. It was agreeable.
It wasn't until they were on the hilltop at the Storm Coast, that he wondered why he was compelled to do this. Why he showed her all this. Why she came all this way... for what?
And he looked down and saw the adoration in her eyes, and realized they had both made a mistake. They had taken this too far.
Knee-jerk reaction is to push her away, be alone, but he sits on it for a while. Gets some clarity. It has to be now, break if off. He had tried once before on the battlements but that was before the moment of clarity. There's still time for this to be clean with minimal hurt feelings.
But of course she's waiting for him, of course she was never mad. Of course she smiles in that mischievous way, but her eyes betray her again. She looks at him with those big eyes, so dark a brown they're almost black, like moonlight flickering off the ocean. She snickers and makes a joke like this is just another tumble, but it's clear in her eyes she's caught feelings. A slight twinge in the corner of her mouth. She knows it too.
The rest goes about the same. He tells her to send her away, otherwise he will keep coming back. He's too weak willed to shut himself off, it has to be her. But she's just as cold and lonely as he is, up on this frosted mountain fortress. And she's just as in love.
Blades of grass, cold and dark, unearthed from Blackwall's constant back and forth, until he found himself pacing in a small circle of bare earth. His boots were soaked and bits of ice laced throughout his beard.
The storm had subsided; what was a furious flurry hours ago, had become a peaceful powdering over the makeshift camp. People of Haven--what was Haven--huddled by a fire, a few injured in cots under hastily hoisted tents. Cassandra and the advisors argued over what to do next. Scouts took shifts to search; by the grace of the Maker, nearly everyone who had fallen behind was found. Except for her.
There had been deaths. The dragon set all of Haven ablaze. For as quickly as they moved, not everyone made it. Mostly soldiers, fighting off demons, buying time for everyone else. But not all of them.
Even as the snow piled onto his shoulders and slipped down the slick of his hair, Blackwall could still feel the heat of the dragon's breath on his back, like a branding iron hovering behind him, waiting for him to lose his footing. He could still hear screams wringing softly in the distance, swept up by the wind, like phantoms wailing in the night. He was used to death, should be used to death. It was harder with normal folk. They just wanted to help the Herald, in their own ways.
“Stomping about won’t do anyone any good, Warden,” said Vivienne. Blackwall turned and found her on a bench, her Royal Sea Silk dress a glittery, tattered, water-stained mess, a shawl thrown over her shoulders.
"I was with her," he said, a puff of white air fuming from his lips. "When the Herald fired and the dragon landed, the whole mountain came down. I was guarding her, and I lost her."
"I was there, too, as you may recall," Vivienne clasped the ends of her shawl. "We both failed."
Blackwall shook his head. "You were picking off Venatori and healing injured soldiers. I was to remain at her side, the fault is mine."
"We can at least agree this... Corypheus is the one most at fault. Cassandra and the others have been going in circles how to even being to approach handling such a ... creature."
"No sense worrying about that until after we find Lady Cadash. When the scout party comes back, if she's not with them, I'm going to look again for myself."
"We have to do this the right way. Every moment we stay here, we're draining what resources we have left."
Blackwall's bushy brow furrowed, his steely blue eyes stark against a face full of oak brown hair. "I hope you're not suggesting we leave without her."
"Of course not. But put a bit of trust in the Inquisition. Besides,” a faint smile crept up in the corners of her mouth. “It won't do any good when we find her, and she's lost her favorite bodyguard."
"We are not..."
"Please. As if you were even hiding your bumbling."
"I'll have you know she approached me first."
"As if you didn’t make it painstakingly obvious that you’ve been in the woods and haven’t laid eyes on another person in Maker knows how long.”
“Lady Vivienne, I have barely touched her. We’ve only …”
“Spare me the details, if you please.”
Blackwall sat next to her, and groaned. “I take it you don’t approve.”
“I don’t. But the Herald is a grown woman, I’m not about to tell her how to enjoy herself, in what little personal time that can be afforded to her. Whatever this Corypheus is, surely that time will be even less.”
Vivienne looked up, watched the bloated grey clouds that once carried the storm thin out and shrivel away, revealing a star-scattered night and full, silver-white moon. The snow slowed to a sleepy, spiraling swirl.
She sighed. "We're certainly out in the wilderness far more than I anticipated. I imagine that suits you just fine."
"It is, although there will be need to deal with nobles, naysayers, conspirators. You will be much more help to her, there."
"I suppose ... we will just have to look out for her, in our own way."
"I'll do my part if you will."
"I will agree to that much."
"Lady Cadash is a special woman."
"I can agree to that, too."
"Over there!" one of the soldiers proclaimed. Blackwall's body snapped upright, as more soldiers stormed past him.
From the shadow of the mountain, a tiny green light flickered, like a single, lost firefly. Blackwall's body reacted before his eyes could fully process, he saw the green and started running.
He was a big fellow, stout-legged and barrel-chested; quickness and agility were not his strengths. But his eyes kept to the light, pulling him forward, compelling his blood to pump faster, his legs to press onward.
A mix of, “Over there!” and “Thank the Maker!” all rushed together as he passed Cassandra, Cullen, and all the soldiers. He might have heard a surprised grunt from the Seeker, but that was not important, in the moment.
The snow had subsided, but layered of it climbed up Blackwall’s legs, soaking his boots, reaching for the ends of his gambeson. The wind howled and lashed at his face. He guarded his squinting eyes with his forearms as he trudged on.
The single green light became a silhouette, a hand attached to the light, an arm attached to the hand, then a body emerging from the curtains of wind and dark and snow. A dwarf woman, face obscured by scarves, a crystal-laden black braid spilling out from her hood. Soft sniffled and grunts as she slowly stepped down the mountain.
“Rota!” Blackwall rejoiced, too relieved and too happy to recall any formalities and guarded tactics. He ran faster than he ever did to close that distance.
“Bhh?” was all that the dwarf woman managed as her legs began to wobble.
He scooped her into his arms as she toppled over.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he said, clutching her form and heading back the way he came, slowly but with purpose.
“Make room!” Cassandra barked as they re-entered the camp. The crowd parted. Blackwall glanced Vivienne in the corner, hands clasped over her heart in relief.
Weak mumbles fell from Cadash’s mouth, frosted fingers reached for him, pawing at his chest like a weak kitten.
“I’ve got you, my lady,” he said softly, entering the first tent in his path.
A faint smile crossed Cadash’s face as she fell asleep.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A story about grief, healing, love, and getting lost in the Fade. Chapter 10 is up!
Also on Google Docs if you would prefer not to use AO3
“And you’re sure you can resist this… this fake Calling? You’re completely, totally sure?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Cadash chewed on her lip. “Then swear to me. Swear you won’t be swayed by this magic.”
Blackwall paused. Cadash could feel his eyes on her, studying the taught tension in her face. She had let him get too close; he knew she was seldom this serious.
“Lady Cadash,” he said, taking her hands and pressing them against his heart. The pained arm wriggled ever so slightly. “You have my solemn promise I will not fall to Corypheus’s corruption. I would sooner die than turn my blade against you.”
Cadash turned her head, her velvet black hair swishing over her profile, so he could not see her blush. “The idea is for you to not die at all, idiot. But I’ll take it.”
“Rota,” his voice was soft, a thumb placed delicately under her chin, turning her head back to him.
“Don’t,” her voice cracked. “Don’t die, I forbid it.”
“If my lady commands it,” he said, smiling, leaning in slowly for a kiss.
He came slowly for her, waiting for a motion of approval, a sign to keep going. She kept her lips buttoned for a moment, knowing every time she let this pass, every inch closer, it would just get harder when he eventually left. He was already occupying too much of her thoughts. He was already breathing her air. Her nose twitched at the all too familiar scent of chopped lumber ready for the fire, of rolled hay, of bubbling cider. Her fingers found his forearms, bristling against his thick, dark brown hair. Everything about him was so warm, so inviting.
Three Vampires and a Were-Bear (4/4): Were-Bear Blackwall/Cadash
Tired of Solas always talking at the camp, Sera tells a story of her own. Surely she did not get inspiration from her friends’ not-so-secret relationship!
Also on AO3!
***
A purple evening sky spread gently over the Emerald Graves. Solas calmly exhaled, the sharp night air bringing a welcome chill after a long and laborious day. He sat with Inquisitor Cadash and several other members of her Inner Circle, all around a crackling fire. He watched the smoke spindle upward, dissipating into the swirling twilight.
“Nice night,” Cadash sighed happily.
“Long day,” groaned Blackwall, back hunched, leaning into the fire.
“Aww, you big lug,” she said with a wary smile, wrapping her arms around his arm. “You worked hard today, and I appreciate it.”
The deep creases on Blackwall’s tired face seemed to melt away at the Inquisitor’s touch. “The pleasure was all mine, my Lady.”
“It is an especially lovely night, yes,” said Solas, looking upwards. “I’ve traveled these parts in the past. On seen nights such as these, it is easy to find all the spirits that wander here. You can practically feel them.”
"Ugh!" Sera grunted. “Here we go again with this.”
Solas ignored her and continued. "You can find all variations of spirits in these woods. I once found that of an ancient hunter. She follows the same paths, watching for incoming clans who..."
"Ugggggh," Sera stretched out a groan, tossing her head back.
"...Who are in need of food and pelt to..."
"Ugggggggh."
"Sera."
"What's that?"
"Do you not wish to hear the story?"
"It's always you though, isn't it? We all sit here at camp, and you start talking about spirits like you're paid to do it. Maybe I have a story to say, sometimes!"
"Might be fun to mix things up," said Cadash, a leveled voice, trying to be diplomatic. "Maybe you can take a break, Solas."
"Very well," Solas said with a sharp inhale. "Sera, you have a tale to share with us, then?"
"Uh, yeah I do!" Her eyes bounced around, from the camp, out to the forest, and the tips of trees reaching for the moon. "It's about... it's about..." Her feet twitched and she looked back to the camp. Inquisitor Cadash gave a soft, supporting look. Blackwall sat beside her, with a nod. “All right, all right. Let me tell you the tale of… the Were-Bear!”
“Aren’t they always werewolves?” said Varric. “Hawke is from Ferelden; they always had a story about wolves. Dane and the Werewolf is the big one.”
“I’m from Ferelden, too!” Sera snapped. “Don’t see why there can’t be bears, too!”
“It’s rare, but not unheard of,” inserted Solas. “Wolves are attractive to Rage and Hunger Demons because they are intelligent and travel in groups. Wolves sometimes become at ends with human and Dalish alike, as they will chase the same prey, or catch the human livestock. In this very forest, no less, there was a great bear, and after a particularly brutal winter, they—”
“Ugh, no, don’t go agreeing with me!” said Sera.
“We already settled that Sera would tell the story,” said Cadash. “Besides, it’s just a story. Who cares if it doesn’t tie into something else? It’s all weird magic shit to me.”
Varric chuckled. “That it is. My apologies, Buttercup. Please go on.”
Once there was a man who lived alone, in a giant mansion, deep in the woods. His family were all knights and nobles, schemers and killers. They amassed a great wealth and a glamorous estate, but built it deep into the woods for safety. They even had the manor enchanted so they would never have to return to the cities. The magic would clean their clothes, makes their beds, and serve their meals.
Their paranoia and all their precautions did them no good. Resentful rival families sent assassins, great beasts cursed their hunts, and the rest fell to war. In time, only one member was left, with nothing but his riches and magic manor to keep him company.
***
"What war?" said Varric.
"Huh?" Sera cocked her head.
"What war did this person lose his family in? Is this story supposed to take place at a certain point in history?"
"Varric, for shit's sake," groaned Cadash. "She just started."
"Sorry, sorry. You're not going to just refer to him as 'the man' though, are you?"
"I was getting to a name!" said Sera, her eyes looking all around the campfire again. "His name is...is... Bearwall."
Blackwall buried his face in his hands, burying blush and laughter.
"Bearwall?" said Varric.
"Yes! Lord... Lord Byron Bearwall. The third. He is wholly made up, by me. Completely original. Never seen before. Do not steal."
"I wouldn't dare, Buttercup. Please continue."
***
With no family or friends left, Lord Bearwall became lonelier and lonelier. He hunted and travelled through the woods, but never saw a soul. He slowly forgot the teaching of his parents, the manners of proper human society. But after every hunt, he would always come back to the manor and remember, and cry. No longer fit for noble society, but too much a noble for anything else. He would never belong anywhere.
One day he went in deep into the woods, deeper than he or any person had ever travelled before. Past any trails, every attempt at a path erased. The trees shot from the earth and their leaves shadowed the sky. He kept going until he found a single bright spot, a glade of lush light grass. There he found a pure white hart, and shot at the creature without a second thought.
With a shattering scream and burst of light, the Spirit of the very Wood itself emerged. It was so shocked by his appearance, and so devastated by the killing of the poor creature, that the Spirit cursed the man who would dare disturbed this peace.
His unruly hair twisted into fur, spread all over his body, only ending on the edges of his arms and face. His nails jutted to claws, and his head contorted as sharpened teeth were drilled inside. His stretched, bones cracked as his body grew, his girth expanded. When it was done, he looked like a bear had tried to swallow a man whole but died before it could finish, or a man wearing the gutted-out pelt of a bear, claws and all.
***
"That's not..." Solas lifted a finger and lifted his voice, but saw all the eyes on him and swallowed his objection. "Ah, well... it's not typically how a were-creature appears but... within the context of this story, I can understand. Now Lord Bearwall can never truly belong, too beastly for humans, still too much a human to live with the animals.”
"That's what I've been saying," said Sera. "It don't have to be just like the real world! It's like I'm the only who actually knows how stories work here!"
"Maybe you can tone down the emphasis on the character's loneliness?" said Blackwall. “Just a little?”
"Oh, I think she could stand to really hammer that in," chuckled Varric.
"Shut up, Varric," scoffed Cadash. "Sera, please go ahead. Let's try to keep the comments until after she's done, huh?"
***
Lord Bearwall returned to his home in his new beastly form, but as time went on, he became brazen, wilder, and more daring. He attacked hunters and travelers, he roamed to villages that neighbored the forest. He tried to cry to them for help, but they all screamed and fled. They did not understand.
Eventually, people called for help. Local guards, templars, chevaliers. All were dispatched to vanquish this strange new Beast of the Wood, but all ran back screaming and crying.
Word of the Beast soon reach the Empress herself, but there were no warriors left willing to face him. In desperation, she reached out to the dwarven Carta.
***
"Hey," said Cadash. "I resent the idea that the Carta would be a last resort. Most clans are actually very efficient in hunting and tracking, with reasonable fees."
"Weren't you the one saying to hold comments for the end?" said Varric.
Cadash bit her lip. "Sorry... please go on, Sera."
***
A small but elite clan of dwarves traveled into the Wood, their figures obscured by the dark of night, their footsteps lost in the heavy pouring of rain. They scaled the walls of the magic manor and lurked in the shadows, watching Bearwall sulk through the hall. They heard what they thought was crying, but that could not be. It was simply a Beast and nothing more, and there was work to be done. They needed to do this for their home.
As the Beast slept, the dwarves leapt from the bannisters, knives, bows, and axes at the ready. The Beast roared, tearing off blades from every side, clawing off every dwarf that tried to grapple with him like leeches fixed to his skin. He tossed them with such great force, they broke bookshelves and chandeliers, smashed mirrors and stairways.
In the end, the Beast's endurance was greater than the persistence of the Carta. But he still had a man's mind. Even the others that came before, he never struck with intent to kill, only to be left alone.
He threw them in the dungeon. All but one, he realized, as the tight stretch of a bowstring made his round fuzzy bear-ears twitch. He turned, and saw a dwarven woman, the point of her arrow aimed his eyes. Her eyes were steely and sharp, hair like velvet pouring from her hood. Her plush lips flared with anger. She was the most beautiful woman Bearwall had ever seen, human, dwarf, or otherwise.
***
"Oh, sweet Maker," mumbled Blackwall, his face never leaving his hands.
"What's wrong?" said Sera. "What, a Beast can't love? Or do you not think I can’t do lovey stuff?"
"No, it's just... nothing, Sera. I did not mean to interrupt."
"A woman's love to soothe the beast's heart, eh?" said Varric. "A tale as old as time."
"It's not like it's inaccurate," said Cadash smugly. "No one can resist dwarven women. We've got charm and hips for days."
"Quite," said Blackwall, face red.
"Does this character have a name? I don't know why you don't name them, Buttercup."
"It's just not important! There aren't gonna be any other women in this story! It's not about WHO they are, but WHAT they do."
"It's just a little easier to follow with names, is all."
"UGH fine! She's uh... Beauty."
"Really?"
"Yes, really! Now let me finish!"
***
Bearwall towered over the woman. "Surrender and I won't hurt you," he said. The words dripped down his jaw like gruel. He had not spoken to another person in months.
"Release my clanmates, and I won't hurt YOU," the woman snapped, arrow still trained.
"I have heard you shooting, and I have felt the sting of your arrows. You have two remaining, and that's not enough to kill me."
"Enough to blind you," the Carta woman spat out.
Bearwall grunted, impressed with the woman's spirit, but continued. "I can do a lot of damage blinded, even so."
"Fine, then. Let my clanmates go. Take me instead. I will be your prisoner, but let them go free."
"Why would I do that?"
"I can't kill you now, but you won't catch me. You let escape and I WILL come back. So, keep me here, I swear on my honor I won't try to leave, as long as my clanmates are safe."
Beauty’s clanmates all clamored and cried, begging for her not to make this deal. But the Beast nodded.
"Very well. You are to remain with me here. In return, the others are free."
Beauty was as good as her word, and remained in the manor, watching her clanmates run out the courtyard and down the hill. She remained in a bedchamber high atop a tower, until the magic bell rang for dinner.
Beauty looked at Bearwall across the long table, as plates full of food and goblets full of wine all came floating down before them. He twitched and blushed, looking at her and back down at the utensils. The old Lord Bearwall knew which fork did what, but the Beast had stopped caring. Now he wished he hadn't.
Beauty raised an eyebrow. "Uh, if you're trying to impress me with fancy tables manners, I don't care. Just... eat how you usually eat."
Bearwall took his plate with both hands. He looked at Beauty for approval, and saw she did the same. She slurped everything down, letting it all slide down the plate and into her mouth. She wiped the food that drippled down her chin with her forearm and belched. He smiled, and did as she did.
"Can your magic house make us seconds?" she said.
"As much as you'd like!"
Beauty became more and more comfortable with Bearwall, and accustomed to living in the manor with him. Bearwall, in turn, felt less inclined to leave the estate and wander the forest like an animal. All he wanted to do was spend time with her.
One day they walked through the garden, exchanging stories. Snow had fallen, layers of white powder on the gates, his enchanted fountain pouring glistening crystals. Beauty, not having seen snow in years, immediately leapt into the thick of it, laughing like a child.
"It's so beautiful!" she proclaimed.
"Yes," Bearwall sighed, his eyes fixed on her as she frolicked. "It is."
His swoons and sighs were immediately shattered as Beauty hurled a snowball on his furry face, as precise as an arrow from a bow, and almost as painful. "Oho,” he chuckled. “so it's a game you want, is it?" Bearwall's gut shook with his joyful, hearty laugh. He scooped up a heaping pile and chucked it like a cannonball, but Beauty was too fast. She had pelted him several times before he could form a second, but still he persisted.
Their game went on until beauty suddenly stopped. She froze, looking into the clear sky where the blue outline of mountains was etched into the horizon.
Bearwall sighed. "You miss your home."
Beauty stared at him. He nodded. "I... never wished to keep you as prisoner, I was just... so happy for your company. But I'll not have you sacrifice your happiness for mine. Go home. I only ask... you not forget me."
"Oh, Byron," she sighed with her hand on his face. "Never."
He leaned into her palm and lingered in the warmth of her touch before she slowly slipped away, and ran towards the mountains.
Beauty had barely left the manor's courtyard when a Chevalier approached.
"Ugh, a dwarf," he spat out, barely looking at Beauty. "Be gone with you, my quarrel is with the Beast that killed my brothers while I was in the war."
"His name is Byron," she said. "And he never killed anyone! You all came to kill him, you never even tried to understand his pain!"
"Oh, and you have? Judging by those leathers, you're Carta. Clearly, you're retreating because you can't kill him, thus you'll get no reward. Don’t worry, a real warrior has come to solve this problem."
"You don't know anything about me or him," she said, raising her bow, her fingers grazing the fletching of an arrow in her quiver. "He has not approached your human towns in months. Leave, tell your Empress he'll harm no one."
"I don't suffer threats, dwarf," said the Chevalier with sword raised. "I'll kill you, then the Beast."
He slashed at Beauty, but she dodged. He lunged for her again, knocking the bow from out of her hands. She unstrapped a knife and threw it, but he blocked it with a shield. The knife was a feint; with shield up, she threw an axe, which shred through the side of his doublet.
As he screamed, she ran to fetch he bow, but he ran for it, a trail of blooded spotting the snow, and crushed it under his armored boot. He raised his sword again, but the thunderous steps of Bearwall came crashing from down the path. In one swing he knocked the Chevalier down.
“Leave this place,” he bellowed, a grumble so deep and gnarled it was like the roar of a full bear. “And never return.”
The Chevalier scrambled to get up, his eyes shaking in their sockets, the blood from his gash staining the snow.
"Start running now," said Beauty, "and maybe you'll find help before you bleed out!"
The Chevalier leapt to his feet and ran, a trail of blood behind him.
"Oh, Byron," she said, her voice softening as she looked to her Beast. "I miss my clanmates, but I don't want to leave you. Not ever. I love you."
"Sister!" a voice echoed on the wind. The two looked and found a troupe of dwarves, the same members as before and then some, running up the hill, sacks of equipment and weapons jingling. "We've come back to... rescue you?"
"Stand back, Sister!" said another. "He can't defeat all of us! We won't retreat this time!"
"No, no, it's all right!" said Beauty, standing in front of Bearwall with her arms extended, shielding him as far as her little lithe body would allow. "He's a good person, the Empress and all the humans have lied to us! In fact... I have an idea."
After some talking, it was all agreed and settled. Beauty and her whole clan would move into Bearwall's spacious estate, with room to spare.
A few months later, an elven family appeared in the courtyard.
"Who goes there?" Beauty called out.
"Excuse us," said one elf, "my family fled the city, we could not stand city any longer! But now we're lost. Can we spend the night?"
"Hey, if you're looking for a new place, there's plenty of room right here!"
The elven family was confused at first, but they were welcomed warmly by Bearwall and all his new dwarf friends. They intended to stay a short while, but were so comfortable, they decided to stay.
A few months after that, a group of Qunari came into the courtyard.
"Who goes there?" said Beauty.
"Yeah!" yelled the youngest daughter of the elven family. "State your business!"
"We're mercenaries," said the Qunari leader. "We were sent to kill a Great Bear."
"Hmm," sad Beauty. "How much is your boss paying you?"
"Ah... a few gold?"
"How about a counter-offer?"
"Let's sweeten the deal!" said the elf girl
The Qunari group were allowed in, and found the Beast much more agreeable than their former employers, and this manor much more comfortable than any lodging they had prior, so they stayed.
And so, they all lived together, Lord Bearwall, his love, her family, the elven family, and the Qunari. They say they took on even more lost souls over the years.
Together, they would chase away any incoming chevaliers or anyone that would try to disrupt the home they had created. Lord Bearwall, after so many years of loneliness, finally had love, friendship and family. Though a were-bear he remained; he never knew another day of loneliness.
***
“Wait,” sad Varric. “He never changes back?”
Sera cocked her head. “He got everything he wanted, why would he turn back?”
“Usually a ‘curse’ in a story is a metaphor for something else. Guilt, repression… loneliness, in this case. So, he’s not lonely anymore, he found love, he should turn back into a human.”
“The love wasn’t supposed to force a change. Beauty didn’t love him thinking there was a regular human person at the end of that tunnel or nothing.”
“All right, but,”
“I think it’s rather poetic,” said Solas. “Love is not a catalyst to force a transformation. Their bond clearly had an impact on the Beast, yes, but he was loved not for the promise of some reward. He was loved as Beauty found him, and the beauty she found within.”
“Ugh, that’s what I said!” snapped Sera. “And I bet it’s way more than with a Beast-man than a regular man. Woof.”
“Sera, please,” said Solas.
“Hey I’ve been with hairier people,” snickered Cadash.
“Maybe you should do less writing and do more reading, eh, Varric?”
Varric shrugged in defeat. “I suppose I do.”
“Blackwall, are you all right?” said Cadash, her hand on his knee. “You look a bit flushed. You’re not… crying, are you?”
“It was a touching story,” Blackwall said between coughs, his hand over his mouth, trying to block the mess his face had become. “I can’t imagine where you got the inspiration.”
“Oh, I just know where to look,” she said with sly, sneering smile. “Places.”
He remembered how cold she was. A small and fragile thing, lost in the wide white expanse in the uncaring wilds.
Blackwall was by no means a quick or agile man, but when the single flick of sour green light pierced the sheets of storm and night, he ran faster than he thought he ever could.
His bulky body huffed, rushing past Cassandra and the scouts who confirmed her presence. Puffs of frigid air left his lungs, he squinted tight against the whips of icy wind. His eyes ached to shut but he refused to blink, lest he lose the light, lest her lose sight of her for one moment. Her light, her Mark, was blinking slowly, each one dimmer than the one before. A fading flame, a dying heart.
If he had not been so careless when dragon descended, if he had stayed closer to her…But no. For this one moment in his life, he would not dwell on mistakes.
The Maker showed the briefest of mercies, slowing the storm and lifting curtains of snow, to reveal Inquisitor Cadash’s form, fallen, unmoving.
"My lady!" he cried out, summoning all the stamina he could for one last push.
When he finally reached her, the Mark was all but a snuffed candle, the tiniest bud of green magic on a stiff palm. Her leathers were torn, face coated in frost, crystals in her hair. He took her marked hand and brought her wrist to his ear. Still warm, still beating, blood was moving, deep inside the layers of cold. He opened his gambeson and scooped her inside. He could still feel her faint beating, soft whimpers, as he carefully trudged back to the camp.
---
He remembered that time, and the feeling of her cold body as he cradled her to safety. It would flash in mind mind like lightning when she begged him to stay with her, to spend the night in her private chamber. He did not like to draw attention to himself, much less their relationship. But being with her was worth all the judgmental glares he would find in the morning. After all, they were still in the mountains. Even with the thickest furs, the finest heat runes, and the hottest fires, it could still get cold at night, And Blackwall was well equipped to keep a little dwarf warm.
“I remember, you know,” said Cadash, her head against him, her black braid meshing with the thick curls of his chest. “It was you who saved me. I think Cassandra likes to take credit since she saw me and called out, but I know it was you who came for me.”
“I did nothing that no one else here would have done,” he said, his back propped up by pillows, gently combing through strands of Cadash’s hair. “I merely acted first.”
“Yeah, well, it was still you who did it,” She lined his neck with a few kisses before snuggling against his chest. “I was walking in the snow for what felt like an eternity. I was getting colder, tired. I heard wolves. I heard your ‘my lady!’ before I couldn’t walk or talk anymore. But I was just awake enough to hear your heartbeat, and I knew I was safe again. And then I woke up with your coat thing on me.”
Blackwall chuckled, “It’s a gambeson.”
“The point is, you found me. You took care of me. Even though I was kind of dying, that part was nice.”
“It was the least I could do. When that dragon landed, I lost sight of you. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. And when we do face Corypheus and that creature, I’ll…”
“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” she said, rubbing against him like a lost kitten. “Let’s not worry about that now. Just hold me, I’m getting cold again.”
“Can’t have that,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.
I think maybe Blackwall would have a passing thought to tease Cadash about their height, but then again they have such powerful thighs, it’s hardly a shortcoming at all.
“I could pick you up so easily” / “Well I can make you moan like a girl” kinda energy.
