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Apart from her own carefully maintained braids, Blackwall absolutely had the longest hair of any of their traveling companions. If you took into consideration the beard, he may have even more than her. It had honestly taken her a while to notice anything beyond the copious amount of hair when he first arrived at Haven. Until, as they chatted outside the blacksmith, he pinned her with that insanely intense stare, demanding an accountable answer from her. His grey eyes were so sad, so haunted. Her breath had hitched, and she almost forgot to answer his challenge. The slight smile, mostly hidden by the beard, suggested that her distraction had not gone unnoticed. Then she couldn’t stop noticing things about this mysterious Grey Warden. The powerful body he hid underneath padded jerkins. The way his face crinkled when he laughed, showing that joy used to be a common thing for him. The way he quietly hummed and inspected interesting bits and bobs they found in the field, especially if they had Grey Warden connections. When she started flirting with him, there was immediate excitement, always followed by an immediate cautious withdrawal. Blackwall was an enigma she couldn't walk away from, not that she was sure she wanted to.
During a moment of calm, she was trying to work through those very same knots. There were plenty of things she should be doing instead, but the distraction had fully enraptured her. In Crestwood’s never-ending rain, while they waited for her to be done with the legwork establishing their claim to Caer Bronach, she had a rare opportunity to watch Blackwall and Cassandra sparing. And when Blackwalls long hair, wet from sweat and rain, blocked his vision, Cassandra made sure to take advantage of it and land a nasty pommel blow. “Ha! This is why most soldiers maintain regulation haircuts.” Her Seeker crowed. She couldn’t see his face from this angle, but she could imagine the searing glare he was surely giving Cassandra.
“Blackwall!” She had called and waved him over, letting herself cease on impulsive thought. Both her companions immediately dropped their sparring posture, and shaking hands quickly before he came over to where she leaned against the wall.
“My Lady.” It was his common greeting, how he always spoke to her. Maybe it helped him remember who she was, what she represented, the gap he was convinced existed between them, but it still sent a thrill through her.
“You know, Cassandra does have a point. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a Grey Warden who looked quite as… rugged as you.” She kept her voice softly teasing, hoping it was clear that she was speaking as a woman, not a leader.
“I’m hairier than a bear, my lady, you can say it. Everyone else has.” He said chuckling. But his words set her wondering about just how much more hair he might be hiding. And how it might feel under her fingers.
“Why do you let it be so long? I can tell it drives you crazy sometimes.”
She expected a chuffed laugh, some wry commentary. Instead, he withdrew in the way he would when pushed on his past. “It's.. better this way. Trust me. If-If you do desire some regulation in the ranks-“
“I wouldn’t change a thing about you Blackwall.” She interrupted, and then let the words rest between them for a moment. He seemed momentarily breathless, and she wasn’t sure when exactly he had leaned against the wall next to her. Blackwall was so careful about always maintaining a proper distance, but if she moved a single step over, would he lean over her still? Would his breath wash over her? Would they be close enough to-
“Turn around. Let me help.” Best not to keep thinking that way in front of a courtyard of Leiliana's people.
Blackwall, as always, obeyed. The Inquisitor hesitated for just a moment before carding her hands through his hair. She wasn’t sure what to expect, soft and silky like her own hair? Rough and course like her horse? It was somewhere in between, actually. The strands are thick but soft. “What-“ He jumped a little, but let her continue. She wanted to keep playing in it, wondered how it would feel to place little braids in it, but kept it short and brief, gathering his hair into a queue tight enough to hold, but loose enough to not cause a headache, and then fetching one of her extra leather strings for tying her hair back from one of her many waist pouches.
She didn’t realize the mistake she had just made until she dropped her hands and he turned to face her once more. First, she noticed how many faint silver strands were now visible, glinting in the dim grey light. Then, her mouth went dry. It was just a ponytail. It shouldn’t make a difference, but where he had been lost in a mess of hair, now his features shone. Previously she called him rugged, and would maybe have even said rough-hewn. How wrong she had been. Blackwall was every bit as classically handsome as Cullen, though still more traditionally masculine than Dorian. The lines of his face, the aquiline nose, soft lips. Blackwall noticed her slack jaw and blushed, which in turn set her to blushing and sputtering. “There… all better. Um- You can, just keep the tie, okay? That way, just you know. If you need it.”
She tried to turn and retreat back into paperwork and decision-making in an office far away from the sparing ring and this distracting man, but he grabbed her hand before she could run away. “Thank you, My Lady.” His smile was soft and warm and actually reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corner. In a moment that seemed to stretch on for years, Blackwall raised her hand and pressed the gentleist of kisses against her knuckles, his facial hair tickling ever so slightly. Then like a spell breaking, time rushed forward and just as quickly as he grabbed her hand, he released it and returned to Cassandra. And while the Inquisitor distracted herself by making a face back to Cassandra’s singular raised eyebrow, she couldn’t help but notice Blackwall clenching and unclenching the hand that held hers.