#cold reality

By the time she’d made it down the stairs to the ground level of the barn, Dennet had blessedly found something to do outside by the well.  She was more than half convinced by the way he studiously stayed at the well that he HAD heard what had happened last night, and was trying to give her an escape route.

Might well be he was trying to give HIMSELF a way out of an uncomfortable encounter, too.

A piece of paper caught her attention, balanced against the griffon riding toy Blackwall had been carving.  She picked it up, her stomach knotting with dread.

 My lady:

 There is little I can say that will ease this pain.  Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed.  

I am deeply sorry. -- Blackwall

She stood, staring at the note, her mind racing.  He'd.... left?  He'd left, and had tried to make it seem... good that he'd left?

She gripped the parchment hard, unconscious of crumpling it in her suddenly damp fist. It couldn't be, he loved her and she loved him, he wouldn't  --

Unless...

Her cheeks burned with shame.  She hadn't told him, not until they were already.... that this -- that he was her first love.

He'd stopped, frozen for a moment, and she'd seen something in his eyes -- indecision? Worry?  For a moment she'd thought he'd stop, and had begged him to go on.  He'd seemed to come to some decision, and instead of stopping, he'd been very gentle and compassionate, attentive to her beyond all imaginings.  He'd coaxed her to pleasure repeatedly, until she'd dozed off, limp and exhausted, nestled against his side.

Maybe.... maybe he hadn't liked her.  Maybe her inexperience....  Or worse, maybe he'd never liked her.  Maybe he had only wanted to bed the Inquisitor.  People were attracted to power, and she was no fool -- she was attractive enough, physically....

Maybe that was all he'd ever wanted of her.

Her stomach twisted with nausea as she turned toward the barn door and saw a scout standing there.

“Sister Leliana has confirmed it.  Blackwall has gone.”

Nyssa nodded slightly, the parchment damp and crumpled in her fist, then noticed the look of sympathy in the runner’s eyes.  She looked away quickly, her face suffusing with shame.  “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely able to get around the lump in her throat.  “That will be all.”

She didn’t run.  A lifetime of Circle training took over, and she walked purposefully but without unseemly, eye-catching haste – her hand wrapped so tightly around the Constable’s badge that the edges cut painfully into her hand. 

He should never have allowed her to accompany him back to the stables.

Blackwall tightened the cinches on his -- well, the Inquisition's horse, really, but the little gelding he rode most often when they went into the field.  Brown as dirt, steady, with a deceptive gait that ate up distance even with a hairy lummox like him aboard.

The gelding turned to look at him, nudging the warrior with a soft nicker. Blackwall usually had a carrot or an apple for him, but now, tonight -- he hadn't taken the time to get one from the kitchens.

He glanced at the ceiling above him praying that even this slight noise wouldn't give him away, heard nothing, and turned back to his task.   With every buckle fastened, disgust, guilt and sorrow made him more desperate to be away.

He'd known he was worthless.   He'd known and he'd begged Nyssa to believe him when he said he was nobody, and that there no life they could have together.  And now she was another regret, another stain on his soul -- another life he'd fouled and ruined, just because he was too weak to do the right thing and leave her alone.  A woman twenty years his junior... bad enough he was old enough to be her father, but the life she'd had forced on her had left her far more innocent than he'd realized.

He'd wanted to believe her.  That was his only excuse, and still, the blame was his entirely, not hers.  He'd wanted to believe her when she told him she knew he was a good man, he'd wanted to believe her when she looked at the death and destruction in his wake and said, "You don't have to face this alone."  And blessed Andraste, the way she looked at him, and the gentleness of her touch... the way she believed in him, trusted him....

He should never have let her accompany him back from the tavern.  They'd drunk some, but he wouldn't excuse himself with that.  He hadn't been drunk.  Neither had she.  The difference was he'd known, he'd known from the moment he asked her to accompany him to the tavern that he would be leaving.  He'd known what he was doing, and couldn't -- and didn't want to stop.  She had probably imagined this was the start of their life together when he knew, he'd always known, it was goodbye.

Another lie.  Another betrayal.

He leaned forward, his head against the saddle, a hand over his eyes, his breath unsteady. The one person in the world who thought him worth something, and to do this to her....

He swallowed, straightened, and continued his task, now fastening his saddlebags to the saddle.

He'd taken her innocence on a stack of hay bales in a stable.

The shame of that hit him like a hammer blow; it took his breath away.  He hadn't realized until her sharp gasp, and when he'd realized, tried to disengage, she'd clutched him tighter and pleaded with him not to worry, to go on, that she loved him....

A worthless bastard like him.

He'd loved her like a man possessed, whispering his adoration of her with every stroke -and then he'd loved her again, kissing her, stroking her, licking her.  He'd managed to build her pleasure, tease her until she came, stifling her cries in his shoulder.

He could still taste her.  Maker, he had thought to take the memory of her to his pyre, but once he realized that he was the first man she'd lain with, he'd used every technique he knew to bring her to fruition, three times to his once.  To leave her with at least one good memory of him.

"She's happy."

He gasped, whirling.  Cole, of course.  "Maker's balls," he swore, taking the horse's reins.

"Guilt, shame, another life ruined, another lie, another betrayal -- go before I can't. It's better this way." Those pale eyes looked at him from beneath a fringe of limp blonde hair and that ridiculous hat.  "You don't want to go.... and she needs you."

"The last thing she needs is me," Blackwall said.  "Maker forgive me for hurting her like this -- I know I can't."  He looked at the strange spirit boy.   "Let her sleep," he begged.  "Let her have some happiness before she realizes.... before I'm gone."  He led the horse outside.

"She loves you."  Cole sounded a little confused, a little worried.  "She'd help, I know she'd help!  She'd want to -- "

"No, Cole!"  The whisper came sharp, and fierce.  "She mustn't know, she mustn't.... it's kinder to let her remember me as she sees me -- not as I am."

Blackwall mounted the gelding.  "Let her dream," he repeated softly.  "Let her have some peace.  Maker knows she gets little enough of it."

He'd left the note on the unfinished griffon riding toy -- and the Warden-Constable badge beside her.

Let her love the dream.  The reality would be a bitter disappointment.

He'd ridden through the silent, empty courtyard and out of Skyhold, alone.

When Dorian knocked at Nyssa's door a few hours later, it was opened after a good few minutes of fumbling.

Nyssa was swaying slightly as she held the door open, a bottle of Gwaren whisky clutched by its neck in her left hand.  The bottle glowed a peculiar green as the mark pulsed against the cold glass. “Dorian!” she said, a bit too loudly.  “C’mon in, have a drink with me, cousin!”

Dorian stepped in, shutting the door and guiding her back up the steps with his hand gently resting on the small of her back.  “I see it’s been that sort of day for you this time, Nyssa.”

“He’s gone,” she said, plopping gracelessly onto the couch by the top of the stairs and taking another swig from the bottle.  She coughed, then looked away at the pattern in the carpet.  “Gone,” she repeated.   “Without a word.”

She didn't need to clarify:   runners had been racing through the library up to and down from Leliana's roost all day.  It hadn't been long before he knew that Blackwall had gone, whither no one knew.

“Somehow it doesn’t feel very gratifying to have been right about his boorishness.” Dorian reached over and gently tugged the bottle from her fingers, then took a swig himself.  His nose wrinkled at the taste.  “Nyssa, I thought you had better taste than this.”

“It’s strong,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair.  “I need strong.”

He considered the missing Warden, and kicked himself for having encouraging her in her pursuit.  Yes, she had been attracted to Blackwall, probably his physical strength.  He WAS quite a burly man, and muscular.  What must he have seemed to her when mages tended to be lithe?  He was larger than Cullen, and any of the templars in the courtyard sparring.   He must have felt safe, like protection.  But there was also that quiet resolve to do one's duty as one must.  Duty, sacrifice, and honor.  Nyssa had fallen for that, too.

Dorian huffed, trying to distract her as he considered how best to help her.   "I suspect the last thing you'll need in the morning is the hangover this swill will trigger."  He sat beside her on the couch.  "But, if needs must, we'll be miserable together.  Mother Giselle can shoot me some more dirty looks and make a few veiled comments about my undue influence on you, but ha! the joke will be on her -- it will be your influence over me!"

Nyssa stopped, looking stricken.  "I don't want that 'bad Tevinter' nonsense coming back up."

"Well, I AM a bad Tevinter.  Ask my countrymen."  He smiled at her, leaning and crossing his leg negligently.  His rings flashed as he saluted her with the bottle.

Nyssa flopped back against the couch, groaning.

Dorian took one more swallow of the whiskey, then set it out of her reach, shaking his head at the taste.  "People come and go from Skyhold for all sorts of reasons.  Why is this particularly upsetting to you?  I know you were fond of...."

She closed her eyes, took a breath.  "Because I spent the night with him," she said in a small voice.  "And when I woke, he was gone."

Dorian went still, his grey eyes darkening.  Oh, he knew how that went, well enough.  The difference being that he had known each time what the outcome would be come the morning.  Clearly, Nyssa had not.

She sat forward, elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair nervously.  "I feel so stupid," she said, her voice tight and shaky.  "I'm not... I hadn't...."  She stilled, unable to meet his eyes.  "Maybe.... I just wasn't g--"

Maker.  She was ashamed.

Dorian shook his head. "Stop.  I refuse to listen to you running down my best friend."  There was anger smouldering in his eyes, but Nyssa could also see -- not pity, but understanding.  He put a hand on her shoulder.  "No matter what you may think or feel, it has nothing  to do with you, and everything in the world to do with his being a swine."

Nyssa shook her head bitterly.  "Everyone leaves me," she muttered.

"Nyssa...."

She looked over at him.  "Everyone, Dorian.  My parents... they couldn't get the templars out to take me away fast enough.  When I was in the Circle, I didn't.... I wasn't able to inherit but I had it pounded into my head that there had better not be any Trevelyan mage bastards.  So I wouldn't.... and my friend decided to move on to someone who would."  She drew a short, shuddering breath.  "And when the Circle dissolved -- my Aunt Lucille took me, just long enough to send me to the Conclave with my templar and clerical cousins.  They're all dead now."  She sat stiffly.  "So this, this being alone thing, it's not new to me.  But it still hurts.  It hurts that no one stays, ever."

He sighed, and there was something unreadable in his eyes as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close.  "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my dear.  Poor as that company may be."   He felt her start to relax against his shoulder fractionally, and patted her back gently, soothingly.  "And one of the first things we are going to work on, beside your perception that you are somehow unworthy of people's regard, is your pedestrian taste in alcohol.   Surely as Inquisitor you should have better ways to drown your sorrows!"