Every single time he tried to talk to Anon she got distracted or called away to Inquisitor business. Without fail he would always be interrupted. He had to get his true identity off his chest and by the Maker, tonight was going to be that night.

The tavern in Skyhold was, as the youngsters would say, “hopping”. The bards were loud and the patrons even louder. Of course thats where he’d find his little creature. His Inquisitor Anon.

She was over shooting the breeze drunkenly with the Iron Bull and his chargers, one of them, the silent one making crude hand gestures that got them all rolling laughing and filling the air with mirth. His stomach was tied in knots thinking about how he’s about to burst this joyful bubble.

But his true identity and telling her about it was weighing heavily upon him, keeping him up at night as he fell more and more in love with her. She deserved to know. Had to.

Blackwall approached her gently, leaning into her ear that he wanted to talk to her. And just as she was about to get up, a joke was made and laughter erupted around him again.

Alright. Enough was enough.

Blackwall hoists Anon into his strong arms, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of the tavern and to the stable where he normally hides out. He feels the Inquisitor drunkenly kick her legs and lightly (obviously playfully) thump at his back and all he can do is chuckle.

When he finally has her alone he sets her down pinning her to the wall. He breathes shakily through his nose, looking her in the eye. “Anon. We need to talk.”