#shimmerbee

When the mightiest of the adventuring foes had crossed the threshold of his manse, crawling with a fighter’s eagerness to his tower, to interrupt his magic protections and take down the Monster Mayor for the utmost glory, it had been Valya who had saved him. She tore into the vile fame hunter, fighting like a goddess, vengeful, ruthless, beautiful. 

He had been so close to the death he’d fought off for centuries, and she held his broken bones in her arms, and gifted him with all her light.

He loved her before, and his love only grew in devotion and intensity.

A part of him wanted to seclude himself--to hide away in his manse and never come out, so ashamed he was for letting his people down. But no. He had a quest himself. 

He approached the tavern, slipping between the towns’ revelers with practiced ease. They were too preoccupied to notice him passing through doorway, and all of them pranced and preened outside, leaving the usually packed tavern with only one individual. 

Valya sat by the fire, warming her tired hands. She looked no less the goddess, but now… Soot from the fires that had raged through Death’s End’s walls stained her cheeks, and her tunic was torn, showing bold and bright bruises soon to form. She was too talented a fighter to have been cut, but the blood of others still stained her trousers and sleeves, pink now that she had attempted to wash it. Pink too, were her cheeks from the effort of it, contrasting with the deepness of her eyes, which stared ahead into the flames, thoughts dancing through them, begging to be asked what they were. 

And so he did, “I should have known to expect you here, rather than among the party outside… Please tell me, Valya… Are you… are you well?”

She glanced up at him slowly, surprised. “You were at death’s door but a moment ago, August. I should ask you.”

If he could, he would have smiled. But she always seemed to know that of him, and hers grew for the both of them, anticipating his joke. “I have been at death’s door longer than I was alive. It suits me.”

She chuckled, but shook her head. “Come sit with me. Unless… It is your party after all, I’m sure you have others to attend to?”

August sat immediately, and took her hands. It was quite the gesture, something a braver would do, and he was not brave. Evident in what he said instead of what he meant to, “You’re the only person I want to be with tonight.” 

The pink to her cheeks deepened as he still held her hands. Even without one, he felt his heart drop. “Unless… Forgive me, I’ve overstepped…”

Her grip tightened. “Please,” she said, so softly. “Stay.” 

All of that would be much easier to deal with if they weren’t currently absolutely and thoroughly fucked.

The damned rain in Crestwood mixed with the fog made it impossible to see outside the little hovel hidden in the hills he’d found for them. They thought that after clearing the damn place of the rift in the lake that the weather would have settled into something less supernatural, but rain was rain, and happened anyway, and was just as horrible as when it had been magically influenced. Worse yet, demons and dragons had been the least of their worries here before. Now there were bandits, and Red Templars everywhere, and in searching for Hawke’s damned contact, they’d been split from the others, and the Inquisitor injured by one of the templar bastards. Surrounded now by the templars searching for them, they were stuck, at least until help or a miracle found them. 

Blackwall turned to the Inquisitor, and sucked in a breath. She was breathing shallowly, holding back any indication of her pain, knowing that any wayward sound would have them discovered, but she looked horrible. Her gray face, normally alight with a pinkish undertone, was pale and covered in rain and sweat. She shook all over, and her eyes were glazed. The blood from their battle had washed off in the rain, but he knew her ribs, and maybe her leg were broken. And it was all his fault. He hadn’t protected her. 

He knelt before her, and without thinking much of it, put a hand to her cheek--she was burning, another turn of bad luck. She’d have a fever on top of all this, and that would be the thing to kill her first. He removed his hand, and swore under his breath. He barely noticed that she was looking at him intently now. 

“That was nice,” she said. It was such a bizarre thing to say, he wondered if the fever had already taken hold of her.

“What?” She was injured and unwell, no reason for his heart to speed up. But she offered a weak smile, and his fool stomach flipped.

“Your hand. It was nice,” she swallowed, hard, and looked away, wincing. “Oooff, can’t talk much.”

“Don’t talk at all. Rest, as much as you can,” he said, softly. Somewhere in the back of his head, the old Thom shuddered to think of the punishment he’d endure at the death of the Inquisitor, and his failure to protect her. Much more prominently though, try as he might to deny it, the fear he felt was not for his own life. 

The Inquisitor meant a lot to a lot of people. He meant what he had told her at their arrival to Skyhold. She was a symbol of hope for all the refugees and pilgrims who arrived there--himself included. As fond as he was of Sula Adaar, the sweet, awkward freckled woman, the Herald of Andraste was something to believe in--a righteous cause, protecting the innocents from a world of powerful people who did not care. But she did. 

The world would be lesser without her in it. 

He wouldn’t let her die. He couldn’t.

Blackwall took a moment to remove his gambison, soaked as it was, it was another layer to keep the chill off of her, and laid it across her. Her eyes fluttered to his for a moment, and though she was still focused on breathing through the pain, she watched him far too closely. Guilt quickly filled his heart, and he left her side to peer out the hovel, and analyze the situation. 

They hadn’t been able to run too far from the Red Templars that had overtaken their camp. The attack had surprise and overwhelming numbers as an advantage. In the midst of battle, he recalled hearing Varric wager that they were not just looking for the Inquisitor, but Hawke as well, scrounging through the hillsides of Crestwood, just as they had been, looking for the contact’s hideout. That the templars were still here had to mean that they knew the hideout was nearby, or they had seen Blackwall drag the Inquisitor somewhere around here, after the Behemoth had gotten a lucky swing at her. The others likely went back to Caer Bronach for reinforcements, and hopefully were on their way, but the Inquisitor needed help now, and more than he could offer her. But that Behemoth was still out there, with about 15 other soldiers setting up camp around the area. He could certainly try his hand at taking them all on. It would be the noble way. It would also be a dead man’s way, he could almost hear the real Blackwall laugh. 

Varric had said Hawke mentioned these hills had tunnels of some sort, bandit highways. He’d utilized similar tunnels himself to get out of binds in parts of Orlais. He glanced back towards the inside of the hovel, and considered. 

Stepping over the Inquisitor, he pressed his hands to the walls of the hovel, looking for any hollow sections, or pieces of stone or wood that could be hidden and moveable. With luck, the southern wall budged, just slightly enough. With a bit more back into it, the hidden door moved slowly back, and a pathway was revealed. He resisted the urge to cheer, focusing instead on the next task…

Moving the Inquisitor. 

Fuck. He knelt down beside her again, and she looked at him, shivering. His fingers flexed as he tried to come up with the proper way to ask, but the direness of the situation outweighed propriety. She’d understand. He hoped. “Inquisitor, there’s tunnels back there… I think I can get us out of here, but…”

“You have to carry me,” she answered, not nodding, just watching, thinking. “Do you know where it goes?”

He paused. “No. It could lead to more danger. But…”

“It’s the only way,” she looked away, taking the chance to steady herself. For a moment, she looked scared. “I won’t be much help… I might just slow you down. You could,” she steeled herself, trying to push through the pain, “You could leave me, and get help.”

That was completely unacceptable, for a thousand different reasons. Without thinking, he gruffly responded with the one question he thought he’d never ask, “Sula… Do you trust me?”

The answer should have been no, of course not. But of course, instead, her amber eyes looked up at him, and the full weight of her affection for him hit him completely. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, she smiled so fully, even through the pain, and raised a hand as high as she could to grab his arm, and squeeze. 

“Completely,” she whispered. It hurt just as much as he feared to hear it. But the moment of guilt passed quickly as she winced, holding her sides, and looking up to him once more to ask, “What do I need to do?”

He wrapped his arms around her. It was an awkward carry, with her being so tall, and there was no way around her injuries. She swallowed down a yelp, burying her face into the crook of his neck to try and keep silent. It was likely unwise to move her at all, but there was no way that the templars wouldn’t find this hovel soon. As quickly as he could, they were through the door, and swiftly surrounded by darkness. There was only one path ahead, and the walls were narrow enough that he had to walk them sideways. 

Coupled with the darkness, the silence was nearly overwhelming. So he whispered, gently, to soothe and distract her from her body tensing and spasming in his arms. He couldn’t quite think of what to say, so he just said the first thing that came to his mind. 

An old Thom Rainier story. Internally, he cringed, hoping that she wouldn’t be able to decipher anything from it, but how could she? She’d never heard of Thom Rainier before. 

“You know, this reminds me of a mission I was on once… Not quite the Deep Roads, but low hanging caves like this. Felt like the whole ceiling would fall on you.”

She didn’t say much in response, too much in pain, too focused, but he knew she was listening, as she nuzzled closer into him. It was almost intoxicating, to think of better times, and holding her this way, in a better situation. But luckily, there was too much to think about to be distracted by that. 

“Some bastard had asked us to go down there and check it out, and suddenly, we realize the lake all around us is oil, and whatever lives down there didn’t want us down there, and it’s ablaze.”

She stirred, and he tried to adjust her in his arms, fatigue starting to take him. Damn, he could have done this easily when he was younger. “Darkspawn?” she said, and for a moment, he thought he misheard, lost in the story as he was. 

“Er, yeah, probably. Didn’t realize how smart the bastards could be back then,” Blackwall almost thought to stop the story completely, but he laughed, remembering the punchline he’d always matched with it. 

She wouldn’t suspect. It was nothing. And Wardens… Some were paid for their deeds. “We went back to the arsehole who sent us down there and demanded hazard pay.” 

It was dark, but he could feel her smiling against his neck. “You think Cassandra would go for that?”

He barked out a laugh, and they both stilled for a moment, waiting in the dark to make sure no one else heard. But they were alone, and tittered quietly as he moved them further still. 

“Best go through Lady Josephine,” he winked, despite knowing there was no need. She couldn’t see him. “She seems the understanding sort.”

They went on like this for awhile, until he spotted light ahead, and heard voices. He paused, bending down to lay her on the ground and prepare to fight, until the voice made himself known.

“Oh thank the Maker, you both scared me half to death! And you made me go through this blasted cave!” Varric shouted, rushing to their side, joined by Solas, and a healer from Caer Bronach. Blackwall leaned back against the wall, exhausted, but relieved to see them. 

Solas and the healer made short work of Sula, magic attending to her broken bones in a way the small amount of field medicine Thom remembered would never be able to achieve. Her own exhaustion quickly put her to sleep, and when it was time to leave the tunnel, Blackwall carried her again, despite Varric and Solas’s protestations. He was really the only one who could carry her. And, perhaps, he didn’t really want to let her go. 

“You did great work rescuing her like that,” Varric said with a wink, as they settled at their new, safer camp. “Real knight in shining armor moment for you there, Hero.”

He didn’t feel it. It was his fault she’d been injured in the first place. How much more trust could she put in him that he would betray?