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With a gasp Rebecca Trevelyan sits up, her book slipping from her lap and ending with a thud on the stone floor. Quickly, she picks it up, scared that her noises bothered someone, but then she remembers that she wasn’t in the Circle any more. She was safe from the gazes of the Templars, of the older Mages. Her breath comes out with a small shudder, and she notices that the sofa and the floor around her are covered in ice. She must have been dreaming again. Rebecca gets up, setting her bare feet gingerly onto the cold floor, the frost on the rocks not bothering her. She gathers a shawl around her shoulders and starts climbing down from her tower quietly, not wanting to bother the nightly peace in Skyhold. She makes her way into the war room, avoiding all the guards on the way, going through her secret pathways and sometimes just hiding if someone came too close. The war table looks imposing in the dimness of the room, full of markers, pawns and pins from the previous day. The only sound in the room is her breathing and the breeze from the leaking windows. The coldness is welcome to her. It feels right, even if the room itself is as strange as it was when she was appointed an agent of the Inquisition. It’s difficult to believe that was only four months ago. Sighing, Rebecca leaves the room, goes across Josephine’s abandoned study, and pads down the stairs into the small library of hidden books by the kitchens. Crossing the dusty hall downstairs, she hears a gasp and looks up to see a man there, holding a candle. “Maker!” he gasps quietly, “You looked like a ghost, my lady.” Rebecca feels her heart beating fast all of a sudden, and her breathing turns laboured. She begins to turn back to the stairway. “I did not mean to startle you”, Blackwall says gently, “But are you well?” He takes a step forward, and Rebecca quickly backs to the wall, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Don’t come closer”, she says sharply. Not that it would stop a certain kind of man, but Blackwall stops immediately, just looking at her sadly. She knew he would stop; he was always careful with her, like she was some sort of a shy animal he was interested in. But she had encountered that kind of behaviour before, too. It always ended the same way. Taking a shuddering breath, Rebecca tosses her blonde braid across her shoulder, and looks back at the dark man. “My lady?” “I wish you would stop treating me like this. I’m not a fennec.” “No, you’re not”, Blackwall admits, “But you look like you might take flight at any moment, my lady. I assure you, I will not come closer if you don’t wish me to. I will do nothing unless you give me leave.” Rebecca lets out a bitter, little laugh. “You’d be the first.” Instinctively, Blackwall takes a step forward. “Stay there!” she commands, and he freezes in place. She can feel her legs shaking, she couldn’t run if she wanted to. The last thing she remembers is Blackwall’s worried face and the candle light, and then everything goes black. “-ady?” she hears a voice say, as she comes to, “My lady?” There is warmth around her, but it’s not fire. It feels closed in, and warm. She starts kicking, and the hold on her tightens slightly. But to her amazement, it doesn’t feel threatening, not this time. “Shh”, she hears the voice say, “Shh. It’s safe.” “Blackwall?” she asks. “Yes, my lady?” he answers quietly. “It’s very dark here”, she comments, “Did your candle go out?” “Had to drop it to catch you, my lady. Now, are you able to stand?” “I should be. I just fainted”, she pauses, “Thank you for catching me.” “Of course”, he says gruffly and helps her up. She hold on to his sleeve, still feeling weak. She knows she isn’t able to climb the stairs back to her room like this. “Would you like to walk with me to the garden?” Blackwall asks. “Just until you feel a little better?” Blinking, Rebecca realises that she would actually like that. “Yes, please”, she says shyly, taking his offered arm, and they make their way carefully up the pitch black stairway to the upper level. The garden is quiet, there are no guards there. The torches flicker in the upper balconies, but there are no fire’s among the green calm of the small garden. Blackwall leads them to the gazebo where Cullen usually plays chess in his scant free time. Rebecca sits down, and Blackwall sits next to her, not quite touching, but still a reassuring warmth at her side. They are quiet for a long time. When Rebecca’s head starts nodding, Blackwall breaks the silence. “You will have to get to bed”, he says, in his usual gruff voice, and he looks at her more closely, “Can you make it?” “I think I might need a little help”, she admits carefully. She knows she’s putting herself at risk, but she also knows that Blackwall would never do anything to her if she told him to stop. “So, please?” Blackwall blinks gently, a small smile tugging his beard. “Of course.” He walks her all the way up the spiral stairs, only bidding her good-night at the oaken door of her chambers. He is already turning away, when Rebecca calls back to him. “Blackwall.” He turns to look at her. “Thank you.” He bows a little and starts his lonely climb down. She goes into her chamber, climbs into bed, and for once in a long while doesn’t have bad dreams.