Chapter Text
His knees ached from standing in place so long and passing stares began to bite more than the creeping frost. Blackwall knew he looked pathetic. He had been standing out by the gates for at least an hour, anxiously awaiting the Inquisitor’s return like a mutt with its tail tucked between its legs.
Inquisitor Corrin Lavellan had made it clear when she pardoned him: he had so betrayed her trust that there was no longer a future for them. Such an ending was deserved—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t tormented him since. She had been so stricken at the sight of him after his revelations, that she made herself scarce. He hadn’t been sent on a mission with her in weeks—let alone found himself alone in her presence. And because she chose to take Sera with her on her latest expedition, his makeshift workshop-barn-home had been feeling lonelier than ever.
So, he stood in wait. He had to see her, even if he would not be acknowledged. He kept his eyes glued to the gate and felt his heart twist when it finally lifted to welcome the Inquisitor and her party. The sight of her ever-tamed silver hair sent a coursing relief through Blackwall’s chest. He scanned her fair skin, silently begging her slim elven features to turn his way. But Lavellan’s hazel-green eyes were not the ones that caught his own.
There was a girl behind her, ragged and rabid looking. Her thin brown wrists were shackled, and she was flanked by Solas and Sera, with the Iron Bull standing behind them and urging her forward. Most distressing was the shrieking infant tucked against her chest in a dirty swath of fabric and furs. After a gentle shove from Bull to keep her moving, she stumbled slightly and caught Blackwall’s gaze. He had nearly gotten lost in her expression: wide, terrified eyes, that held both the shade and turbulence of the Storm Coast; shapely, furrowed brows that betrayed a fearsome desperation; lips, chapped and dry, yet full and begging.
His eyes drifted back up to try and catch her attention once more, but he blinked, and she was gone. There was a commotion at the gates. Solas tumbled and fell, Lavellan was shoved forward, and the mystery girl—with her head a blur of wild chestnut waves—was barreling towards him. He barely had time to brace himself for the impact as she zipped across the square and thudded firmly against his chest.
“Cabhrú, le do thoil! Mo mhac!”
The girl pleaded with him desperately and incomprehensibly in a tongue he did not recognize. She was small in stature—overly thin—and her anguished face only came up to the center of his breastbone. He felt himself falter and stutter as she continued crying out indeterminately.
As the Inquisitor, Sera, the Iron Bull, and Solas began sprinting over after the terrified girl, she awkwardly shoved her shackled hands over her head and undid the knot that kept the crying baby swaddled against her chest. She shoved the fussy babe in his arms and left him no choice but to receive the bundle as she ducked around him and pressed herself tightly against his back. If he hadn’t been so deeply startled, the sudden close contact might have pulled blood to his cheeks.
“My Lady,” he addressed nervously as Lavellan finally caught up to them. It was the first time they’d laid eyes on each other so directly since his pardoning. The subtle wince that bloomed across her features ignited a violent churning in his stomach.
“My Lady?”
Lavellan straightened up as the rest of their party caught up to them. Though, despite the blank and distanced air she put on, it did not escape his notice that she was noticeably travel-weary and aching. He wondered if the strange girl burrowing into his back and crying child in his arms were, at least in part, the cause of her exhaustion. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to cast them aside so that he could comfort his laden love.
But she had made her choice, and he would have to respect it. Thom Rainier, he knew, could spend lifetimes repenting and never once come anything close to being worthy of Lavellan’s love. The fact that he had ever possessed it at all went beyond the stuff of miracles. And yet he could not escape the small flickering ember in his chest that burned when even the thought of her grew near.
She took a step closer to him then, and opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the rowdy growling of the girl at his back. Sighing, Lavellan put her hands up in surrender and took a step back. The growling behind him quieted, and he tried to rock the crying babe to settle in his arms so they could speak properly.
“She fell from a rift in the Emerald Graves,” Lavellan said after taking a harsh glance around to discourage eavesdroppers. Oh, how Blackwall had missed that steady voice.
“We tried to communicate with her, but she was petrified and couldn’t understand a word we said,” the Inquisitor continued. “She lashed out, landed a few good punches, nearly took a bite out of Bull. We had to chain her to keep her from running away. Solas thinks she’s human—well, maybe not human—but certainly not a demon or spirit. We were hoping Leliana could help us find some answers and assist Solas with his research; figure out where she came from, how she got here, how to send her back, and if she can be of any use to us in the meantime—”
“Look like bitey’s taken a liking to you, must have one of those faces,” Sera interrupted with a mischievous tease upon reaching Lavellan’s side. Regardless of her sometimes less-than-pure intentions, Sera’s comic relief was always greatly refreshing.
“You should take over babysitting duties, any more time around any of us and I can’t guarantee she won’t start taking heads off,” she laughed in that shrill tone of hers that had come to grow on him.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Lavellan commented, no doubt eager to pass off their troublesome new charge. “Would you mind, Blackwall?”
He hadn’t heard his name—if he could even call it his name—from her lips in so long. He found himself agreeing just for the chance to hear it again.
“Alright. Leave it to me.”
Lavellan nodded and quickly took her leave. The Iron Bull tossed him the shackle keys, which he had to wrench out a hand from under the baby to catch. “Good luck,” Bull smiled with that odd knowing glint his eyes always seemed to carry, before walking off with Sera—no doubt eager for rest. If he were still a betting man, he’d wager they were heading off to the tavern. With them gone, only the odd girl and baby, Solas, a few stray passersby, and himself remained.
“Do try to communicate with her if you can. See if you can teach her a few words, learn their names,” Solas sighed. “For whatever reason, she seems to think you’re safe. Use that. She’ll probably stick by your side but watch her. She’s a runner,” he instructed, and with that their resident Fade expert was off too.
Sighing at his odd new task, Blackwall turned to face the strange girl. Her face—which was coated in a fine layer of dirt and slick fluid from a handful of runny scratches and cuts—looked up at him pleadingly as he grabbed for her hands and unlocked the shackles. Some of the tension in her body evaporated as the harsh metal fell to the ground, and she haphazardly pried the baby back from his arms.
“Go raibh maith agat,” she whispered.
Though he couldn’t understand her words, he gave her a faint smile in an attempt to soothe but couldn’t be sure it quite reached his eyes. He watched as she tucked the squirming babe back into the fabric swaddle around her chest. Tucked back into her easy warmth, the baby seemed to calm some. When she finished and those stormy eyes returned to gaze at him, he said, “Follow me,” and motioned her forward.
She stumbled after Blackwall and tucked herself firmly into his side as she went along with him. She eyed the passing soldiers warily, averting her scrutiny when they turned to reciprocate it. When they slipped by anyone that happened to make her particularly nervous, for reasons he could not discern, she pressed herself closer against him—as if trying to burrow into his skin. Though he put up with it to keep the clearly fragile thing from breaking any further, he had grown unaccustomed to such intimate touch before and since his relationship with Lavellan, and the feeling of another body against his own was uniquely discomforting.
Thankfully once they reached the somewhat secluded barn, the girl seemed to relax some and slink away from him. Hesitantly, Blackwall grabbed hold of her forearm to guide her over to the bedrolls by the fireplace. But when she spotted the crackling flames, she pulled away from him violently. She cradled her arms protectively around the baby and cried out, shouting and babbling in that otherworldly tongue. The strange girl seemed to him then like a half-tamed beast; too knowing to flat-out run away, but wild enough to hiss and growl at the perceived danger.
Briskly, he stepped from the barn to the stables, grabbed a bucket of water and whisked back to the fireplace. He flung the contents of the bucket at the fire, smothering it. Light plumes of smoke and vapor drifted towards them, and he risked a glance back at his unexpected charges. The girl’s shoulders lowered some and she ceased her growling. She appeared grateful but unwilling to fully let her suspicions fade.
“It’s out now,” he huffed. “Won’t hurt you. Why don’t you come sit,” he beckoned her back over to the bedrolls.
Hesitantly, she stepped towards him, still clutching the baby protectively. She sat down on one of the bedrolls unsteadily and looked back up at Blackwall. He gave her a reassuring half-smiled, and they watched each other for a moment, both unsure.
Outside the old barn, the midday sun was beginning to sink, casting them in a hazy heat despite the creeping cold outside the fortress. The girl sitting before him appeared unaccustomed to the climate. The tip of her nose was sunburned and peeling and heavy drops of sweat pooled around her hairline from rough days of travel, no doubt. She took rasping deep breaths as if unused to the high altitude, and the sweat that slid down the side of her neck suggested she was unused to the direct heat of the sun as well. He wondered where she came from, then; somewhere cool and rainy perhaps, or maybe a shady lowland coast.
As they watched each other, he thought about what she must think of him; why did she decide he would be a good person to stick to? What was it about him that communicated a sense of safety or protection, and was he even worthy of such a trait? The memory of Lavellan wincing at the sight of him earlier suggested not. He glanced out the barn doors and up at the walls that separated them. Realizing he’d allowed himself to become distracted, Blackwall turned his attention back to the outlandish pair before him.
He could hear strong winds howling against the sides of Skyhold and thought that if they could somehow penetrate the fortress’ walls, the girl would be easily swept away. She was far too thin to be healthy. The rags she wore pooled around her small frame like waves on the ocean. The baby didn’t seem to be in the best state of health either. He wondered when they last ate, and realized he ought to bring them something. He thought about taking her to the tavern or the kitchens, but recalling how scared she was simply walking though Skyhold, he decided against it. Especially since Sera did not seem to be jostling him about the girl being a biter.
“I’m going to bring you something to eat,” he motioned to his mouth after a moment of thought. “Stay here,” he held his palms out flat to her, hoping she understood him. “I’ll be right back.”
Upon his turning to leave, the girl scrambled up to her feet. “Fan,” she called out, “Fan! Cá bhfuil tú ag dul?”
Continuing their awkward game of charades, he pointed to the bedroll and held his plans out again. “I’m just going to bring you something to eat, stay here. Here,” he pointed, “Stay.”
She seemed frightened as she sat back down, but nonetheless, she sat down. Blackwall nodded at her in a gesture of approval that he hoped would transcend the language barrier.
“Thank you, I’ll be right back,” he said assuredly before taking his leave.
He walked swiftly to the tavern, hoping that the girl’s fear would keep her from leaving while he was gone. He’d certainly lose even more favor with the Inquisitor should he let their little stowaway run off, but he didn’t exactly have much choice but to try and instruct her to stay. She was in no state to be paraded around the castle.
With the late lunch rush it took longer than he wanted to procure something for her, but he managed. He got them a bowl of stew, some bread, and a cup of goat’s milk. He had no idea what an age-appropriate meal for such a small babe would be, but the milk would have to suffice until he figured it out.
When he returned with the platter in hand, he found the girl sitting stiffly where he left her. She’d made a cushion out of the fabric and fur swaddle on top of the bedroll. The baby squirmed restlessly on the pile, twisting on its stomach, cooing and reaching towards her mindlessly.
He wondered suddenly if the baby was hers, if it was a sibling, or if it just happened to fall out of the sky alongside her. The babe had her coloring, though: pallid brown skin and blue-grey eyes. As he watched them, he realized that, despite their similarities, there was one curious and glaring difference between the pair: the baby had elven ears, whereas the girl had human ones. This oddity only raised more questions that he doubted he would have the answers to anytime soon.
When her head swiveled to where he stood at the entrance of the barn, he realized he’d been staring. Feeling oddly embarrassed, Blackwall cleared his throat and approached the peculiar little pair. He knelt a respectful distance in front of the girl and held out the platter. Her expression was intense as she scanned those tempestuous eyes across his face. He couldn’t help but redden at the direct attention. It was likely that she was trying to determine whether he would poison her—which he could not blame her for.
In the end, though, her hunger won out. After she found whatever it was that she had wanted in his expression, she tentatively took the platter from his hands and laid it down in front of her. She scrunched her nose up at the platter curiously. When she lifted the spoon to take a trembling sip of the stew, Blackwall stood back up to leave her to it.
He supposed she’d be staying with him for some time, at least until they could find a permanent space where she could be watched, or unless and until they managed to find a way to send her back home. So, as she ate, he stepped up to the hayloft and began cleaning it up as best he could. He straightened out his makeshift bed, swept back some of the stray hay on the floor, and collected what few personal items he maintained and brought them back downstairs.
It seemed the girl had finished eating and—Maker. She—still sat in the middle of the wide-open barn—had pulled her tattered dress down to stomach. She held the fussing infant to the wide russet nipple of one of her bare breasts, trying to get the babe to latch. Blackwall turned on his heels to face the wall in an attempt to preserve her dignity as his face flushed with heat.
“My Lady, that’s not something you should—Maker’s breath! That kind of thing should be done in—! Maker, you can’t understand a thing I’m saying, can you?”
Blackwall pressed his palms over his face and prayed that no one would pass them by and catch sight of her indecency. Rumors spread like wildfire across the castle, and even if she would not be able to understand them, he would anguish over the thought of her being treated negatively because of his gross oversight. Wherever she came from, her culture was clearly very different from their own, and as her hastily appointed whatever-he-was, he ought to try and protect her from the potential consequences of her ignorance.
He swore to himself sternly as he wrestled with what to do. A few tense moments later, however, the sound of the babe’s suckling had passed, and he turned around hesitantly. When he saw that the girl was once again fully dressed, he let out a sigh of relief and returned to her side nervously.
Unaware of her faux pas, she only regarded him passively as he sat down across from her. Orange light from the setting sun was beginning to seep into the barn. The babe had been returned to the bedroll and was fast asleep in the pile of sun-warmed furs she had made in his absence.
“Hello,” he said, awkwardly.
“Haigh?” She said, unsure, in that strange lilting accent that—while horrifically alien and incomprehensible—was undeniably pretty. Her voice too, was pretty. It was soft and airy, bordering on ethereal, but held a sharp edge still. She was not a born fighter, Blackwall could tell, but she would not hesitate to take up arms if the need arose. “Hehloh,” she enunciated, after a minute of watching him watch her.
“Yes! That’s, well, close enough,” he sighed. “I’m… Thom,” he paused and then pointed at himself, and said the name again for emphasis.
Her dark brows scrunched together as she wrapped her lips around the unfamiliar sound. “… Thom,” she repeated shyly.
“Yes,” he nodded at her before pointing again at himself, “My name is Thom.” He turned his index finger towards her as he asked, “What is your name?”
The girl put her own slender hand flat on her chest and said, “Niamh.”
“Nieve?” He asked.
She nodded at him enthusiastically with a bright smile. He realized then he hadn’t seen her smile until that very moment, which was more than understandable. But, regardless, he hoped she’d be given more reason to do so going forward. In contrast with her frail and slovenly appearance, that smile was sweet.
He pointed to the sleeping babe next, “What is their name?”
As quickly as it had formed, that smile slipped away from her face. She shook her head, sprinkling dirt into the air as it wafted from her matted hair.
“No? They don’t have a name?”
“Níl. No nhame,” she said. The words came out awkwardly, coated in that uncanny accent.
Not wanting to distress her any further, Blackwall smiled weakly. “No name. That’s okay.”
They were firmly bathed in the sunset by then, and he figured he should let her rest; partly because she must have been exhausted, and partly because he was at a loss as to how he could communicate with her any further.
He stood up, mindful of his weathered knees, and beckoned her to follow suit. She obeyed, and he pointed to the baby, “Bring them too.”
Even if Niamh didn’t seem to understand his words, she did understand his gesturing, and she carefully gathered the bundled infant in her arms. He turned and walked up the stairs, making sure that she was following. He led her to the hayloft bed and motioned to it. “Get some sleep,” he instructed.
Oddly, she frowned at him with those piercing eyes before gently setting the sleeping babe down. Confused by her unexpectedly turbulent expression, he paused by the bed. Niamh took a shaky step towards him, and shuddered through a deep inhale as she reached out him and feebly plucked at the laces of his trousers. Startled and embarrassed, Blackwall grasped her fingers tightly to halt her advances.
“No,” he said. “Nil, is that your word? Nil. I’m not asking for that.”
He removed her hands and took a deep shuddering breath to calm his rising humiliation. Maybe in another lifetime he would have accepted such a favor in exchange for his services, but he had been trying desperately to leave that life behind. And it saddened him immensely to think that this girl—visibly no older than Cole—was accustomed to offering such things. Blackwall eyed the nameless sleeping baby sadly and took a step back. He pointed to her before placing his palms flat together beside his titled head like they were a pillow.
“You sleep here, okay?”
Her stormy eyes widened in the half-light, and she blushed and nodded frantically. “Tá brón orm. Go raibh maith agat,” she apologized—or at least it seemed like she was apologizing.
“Get some rest,” was all Blackwall could get out as he left her side and rushed back downstairs.
He listened from below to make sure she had settled into bed before dusting off one of the bedrolls by the unlit fireplace. He knew the night would be biting and cold, but as he tucked himself in and drifted off to sleep, he could only think of how he hoped the next day would be easier on them all.
