The Warden-Commander of the Orlesian Grey Wardens looks perplexed at his request, but Thom Rainier does his best to look confident. He's gotten quite good at affecting faces he doesn't truly feel in the past few years.
"You wish to seek conscripts in Ferelden, Warden-Recruiter?"
Those unfamiliar with how the Order works would likely assume petty reasoning behind those words, but it is a matter of simple practicality. The Ferelden Wardens recruited from Ferelden, and the Orlesian Wardens recruited from Orlais. The Order is united by a cause that outweighs xenophobia and border disputes; there was little sense in stealing recruits away from their homeland Warden faction when they were all working together in the end.
Warden-Recruiter Blackwall cannot say that his own reasoning is anywhere near as selfless. He has heard rumors in the wind of an Orlesian Inquisition starting anew, and though he has found difficulty in acquiring more information, he knows what the soul mark on his wrist says, and he knows he wants to be nowhere near it. It is not that he doesn't yearn for companionship, has not always wondered just who the unusual name belongs to, but—call him a coward if you wish—he yearns to keep his life more. The very last thing he needs is one very important woman crossing his path and exposing his identity.
And so he delivers the convincing excuse he agonized over for hours, and gains approval, however uncertain the Warden-Commander sounds when giving it, to recruit from the most remote parts of the Hinterlands. No matter what he may be giving up, he can at least be certain he will never have to face his past again.
"I know your name because I'm an agent of the Inquisition."
He cannot say he blames the Maker for punishing him, exactly. Though it is tempting.
"I'm investigating whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the death of the Divine," says the qunari agent, because that's exactly what one expects from a politico-military arm of the Chantry, though she looks oddly uncomfortable as she says it. Or is that… nervousness?
She pauses for a moment, then turns to her companions—a dwarf, elf, and human—and asks them to head back to camp ahead of her. He's heard that the Inquisition is trying to distance itself from its past namesake, and can almost believe it when faced with a group that looks custom-designed to appear diverse and accepting. Apparently the Chantry has started putting effort into hiding their racism, these days. Desperate times…
They look uncertain, but give in without argument after only a few seconds, and she turns back to look him in the eyes.
"Also… one other reason." And then she pulls up her sleeve, and now Rainier is telling the Maker where he can shove his dramatic irony.
Blackwall. Aren't the things supposed to fade away when their namesake dies? It's not that he has anything against dating a qunari, and it is no hardship to admit that the woman in front of him is… rather appealing, at least on a visual level. What he does have something against is stealing a dead man's soulmate, after he's already stolen the rest of his life. Thom knows he isn't a good man, but that would be a new damned low, even for him.
And yet he cannot think of a convincing excuse to run as far away as he can on-the-spot, so he fakes a smile and agrees to join the Inquisition at her request that almost reaches the level of begging, and the public hanging he deserves seems a promising alternative to the torment raging inside of him right now.
He has made deflection as much of an artform as the dwarf by this point in his life, and somehow manages to delay every attempt she makes at courting him without crushing her heart. He knows he cannot keep this up forever, that it would be kinder to stammer out a lie about the Wardens looking down on courtship and get it over with, but dammit, he finds that he is falling for the woman as surely as her real soulmate would. He expected her to be… harsher, rougher, but she is among the most caring people he's ever known in her own way, and "I want you, too" hangs off the precipice of his mouth every time they talk. Guilt has not yet failed to steal the words away.
Rainier can only assume his own soul mark was a punishment. He still has yet to show the Herald what it says, for fear it might encourage her.
He should tell her his true name, he should. Any heartbreak she would feel would be swept to the back of her mind by the hatred and betrayal, and if there is anything war has taught him, it is that hate makes it dangerously easy to ignore any other feeling. But… Andraste forgive him, he doesn't want to. He wants to see the affection, the unspoken declaration of finally in her eyes every time they talk; wants to keep being able to forget, just for the scarce few minutes each day he can swipe her away from the rest of Skyhold, that he has to be anyone but himself to be accepted. Every day, the illusions walk away with her.
He makes a promise to himself: if he is too much of a coward to come clean, he will at least talk his way into accompanying her every time she leaves the castle. He cannot be with Blackwall's soulmate, and he cannot give him back his life, but Rainier will fight to the end to protect her for him. And if he takes a few more risks than he should, well, perhaps it would be better for them both if he fell.
It lasts until he catches Mornay on one of the reports an agent of Nightingale's is carrying. Curiosity—and guilt—overwhelm him at the name, and he distracts the agent with small talk and invitations to set them down and take some time off to drink with him. They resist at first, but he would not have made it this long without being convincing.
After a bit, he makes sure he is the first one to pick them up again, and pockets the top one when the agent is no longer sober enough to notice before he hands them over and sends them on their way.
Execution.
All the others only served prison time, but he was Rainier's second-in-command, and they will make a spectacle out of him to satisfy the bloodlust Orlais still holds.
He remembers the look on the Herald's face when Leliana handed her that sword: a look of wanting to be anywhere else, to give it to any other person, to run away and let the world sort its own fucking problems out. He also remembers how she swallowed down the fear, held the blade high, and did the right thing.
He will never be half the person she is, but he will die trying.
"So what should I call you, now?"
He can't meet her eyes. She is trying to be brave, not to show the hurt, and it is killing him. He has no idea why she freed him without stipulation or demand, but she was in tears during the 'sentence,' and it seems less a kindness than needlessly drawn-out torture at this particular moment. She trusted him. She loved him, as much as he was growing to love her. Just another fucking regret to add to the list.
But if she won't break in front of him, he can at least show her the same courtesy. He has gotten quite good at affecting faces he doesn't truly feel in the past few months.
"I've gotten rather used to Blackwall. Perhaps it doesn't have to be a name, just a—"
He freezes.
He has no idea why she has chosen to forgive him, even if it was only just enough to give him his freedom, but he allows himself to hope.
She lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, despite herself. "… Blackwall, are you alright?"
To hope that she might be able—one day—to forgive him the rest of the way, too.
"I… have never felt better," and it feels like the first time he's been honest with her since they met. "As I was saying… perhaps we can just come to think of it as a title."
And for the first time, he shows her his own soul mark.
Inquisitor.