Meatspace has sort of captured my attention away from my hobby fic writing for awhile, but I couldn't resist Blackwall as a character. Spoiler warnings here at the beginning: if you haven't finished Inquisition and you want to be surprised, you might want to wait.

Usually I like to tell a very linear, narrative type of story, but I thought I'd try something new with this piece. I usually write female PoV characters, but I wanted to look at the Blackwall romance from Blackwall's PoV, so that's a little bit of a change for me. The scenes for this piece skip forward a little bit instead of picking up one right after the other, but for those who have played through the game, it should be easy to figure out where they fit into the story. Blackwall strikes me as being the type of guy who has a complex inner life, so I wanted to think about why he made the decisions he did and what he would actually be like in a relationship with the Inquisitor. This first chapter is sort of a setup, to get a feel for the Inquisitor character before we get to Blackwall.

I hope you enjoy reading it, because I certainly enjoyed writing it! Feedback is most certainly welcome.

"The world bears no balsam for mistakes;
Men crown the knave and scourge the tool
That did his will. But thou, my lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool."

~Edward Rowland Sill

The cold shore of the mountain lake below the village of Haven was one of the few places where it was still possible to find some peace and quiet away from the overcrowding and noise of the fledgling Inquisition. With the surface a solid sheet of thick ice, the few fishing boats pulled up into their winter moorings on the gravelly beach, and the sharp wind, there was little reason for either the villagers or the soldiers to spend time there. So, naturally, that was where Aelis gravitated to now, being freshly returned from a complete disaster of a mission in Val Royeaux and finding the makeshift tavern to be too crammed with bodies and voices to get properly crocked in.

It wasn't surprising that the tavern was the most popular place in the village at the moment. There was a lot to drink about lately. The disaster at the Conclave and the resultant swirling green vortex of doom that gaped from the ruined sky. Death and destruction rampant, demons spewing from holes in the Fade to ravage the countryside. The end of the world. Everywhere you looked there was a reason. Aelis couldn't begrudge the others their moments of solace in the embrace of liquid forgetfulness, but she found it impossible to drink herself into a sufficient stupor when there were two dozen soldiers and civilians watching her to see how the Holy Herald of Andraste held her liquor.

Herald of Andraste, indeed. Believe whatever children's stories you like, but leave me out of it, she had growled back at Cassandra the last time the issue had come up. Does it look like anyone is at the helm of this sodding great horror of a universe? The Seeker now avoided her whenever possible, and that was just fine with Aelis.

She settled herself down on a rock, rubbed a gloved hand over her face as steam sighed between her lips like dragon breath, and pulled the cork on a naggin of questionable whiskey. It tasted vaguely of tar and regret, but it numbed the inside of her mouth and throat nicely, and so she assumed it was up to the task of numbing the rest of her. She took another sip, leaned her elbows forward onto her knees, and gazed out across the lake, positioning herself to avoid the sight of the Breach to the northwest. She'd seen quite enough of it already for one lifetime.

The whole situation was a mess. Haven had been a backwater pilgrimage stop before now; it hadn't been built to handle being the epicenter of a disaster. It was practically bursting at the seams. The soldiers already had to camp outside the palisade walls, which had been built in an attempt to fortify the village and which probably wouldn't keep out so much as an especially determined druffalo. The supplies were holding, but only just. And, having just returned from a spectacularly failed diplomatic entreaty to the Chantry Mothers, it was apparent to Aelis that no help was imminent. The Chantry was too busy flailing around like a beheaded chicken to offer assistance and the Templar leadership - if that Lord Seeker bastard they had met in Val Royeaux was any indication - had apparently all gone nug-buggering insane. The mages were problematic at the best of times and Andraste forbid the nobility of either Orlais and Ferelden lift a finger, so it was beginning to look very much like the Inquisition was the only chance this Maker-forsaken world had.

We're done for, then, Aelis thought, letting the whiskey burn across her tongue in penance for thinking it and blowing out a long breath. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were doing the best they could to hold everything together - better than most would have done - but even Thedas' best at the top of their game couldn't turn a broken down plow nag into a knight's charger. It was really just a matter of time now.

You might want to consider running, Varric had told her once the dust had settled and they were all out of immediate danger, I've written enough tragedies to know how this turns out.

"I'll drink to that," Aelis murmured to herself, tilting back the bottle again and wincing, though less so now that the buzz of the whiskey had started to work on her sense of taste.

She'd been waiting for the right moment to quietly slip away and leg it since those first awful, confusing moments in the basement of Haven's Chantry when she had woken up with chains on her wrists, a glowing terror branded on her hand, and a head full of vague and frightening memories that didn't make any sense. Now that Cassandra seemed unlikely to hunt her down and maul her like a damned Mabari hound if she left and now that it was much less likely she'd be lynched for a Divine-murdering criminal in the next town she set foot in, and especially since the Mark seemed to have stabilized and the danger of it draining the life out of her was less than it was, the time seemed just about right for Aelis to make her exit before something worse happened.

The problem was, where would she go? She didn't have a home to go to anymore, not with her brother dead along with so many others who had been at the Conclave. Farrell might take her in if she crawled back to her old mercenary company, but she'd slit her own throat and likely save him the trouble before she did that. She would find something, though. Even serving some flea-bitten backwater Ferelden dog-lord while the world burned down into oblivion would be better than pretending to be a divine messenger to a bunch of religious loonies here at the end of all things.

"What are we drinking to?" inquired a smooth, faintly Orlesian voice from somewhere behind and to the right of Aelis and she startled guiltily, gripping the bottle tight to keep from dropping it on the stones. Turning, she saw the silent, slender form of the Inquisition's spymaster approaching, wrapped in her dark blue cloak, the sound of her chainmail hauberk muffled by layers of cloth. Leliana smiled from under the shadow of her hood, and that smile sent chills down Aelis' spine as it always did. For all her politeness and poise, the Left Hand of the Divine was no one to trifle with. Whether all the stories were true, Aelis didn't know, but she didn't want to find out first hand either.

Aelis stood, trying not to look directly at the other woman, but trying not to look entirely away either in case either of those things might tip the spymaster off to what she had just been thinking. She shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"Nothing important. Just remembering something Varric told me on the way back from the city," Aelis replied and proffered the bottle. "Drink? It's vile, but it was made by dwarves so I think it's supposed to taste that way. Put some hair on your - well, something anyway."

"I think I'll pass," Leliana replied, her smile unfading as she glanced out across the lake and folded her hands behind the small of her back comfortably. "I like to take a stroll down here myself sometimes. It clears the mind."

"Well, don't let me interrupt you." Aelis started to move away, glad for an excuse to go. "I'll find somewhere else to finish this off." The spymaster shook her head, lightly holding up a hand in a gesture of pause.

"I was hoping I would run into you, actually." Leliana's gaze, serene and sharp at the same time, did not move from surveying the mountains and the woodland across the lake as she spoke. Her voice was unhurried, devoid of anything either alarming or comforting. "I have some news that I thought you might want to hear in private away from the others."

Aelis felt her heartbeat began to thump a little faster in her chest as she paused, waiting for the other boot to drop. In the small amount of time she had been working for the Inquisition, she had seen enough to know that Leliana was a ruthless piece of work and frighteningly thorough. And there were enough secrets in Aelis' past to make her wary. Who knew what the Inquisitions' agents might have turned up? Or, maybe it was a ruse to try and flush out information from Aelis herself. Aelis had had enough experience with shady characters to know that there was always a trick, always a bit of bait thrown out to hook a bigger fish, and Leliana was a master of that art. She felt her palms begin to sweat.

"Oh? Well, do tell, then. Can't think of what it might be." Aelis noted the falseness in her own tone as she attempted to seem unconcerned and cursed mentally. She wasn't good at this. She was a warrior, used to solving problems by hitting them until they went away. This wasn't her element.

"I've recently been in contact with a Commander Farrell of Farrell's Shieldbreakers. He sends his regards."

Aelis felt as if her blood had momentarily stopped flowing. A creeping feeling that started in her gut, spread up her spine, and suffused the base of her skull, making the small hairs on her neck stand on end along the way. She didn't dare show any reaction, though she could tell by the way Leliana's lips turned just slightly further up at the corners, that the spymaster knew the bait had worked as expected.

"Did he?" Aelis' mouth was dry, the question fainter than she would have liked. Farrell's regards were something she wanted even less than the spymaster's attention. She glanced uneasily around, as much to determine a way to escape as to ensure that there were no prying eyes or ears within hearing distance. Leliana laughed, a soft hum through her nose.

"He's not here. I've taken the liberty of settling your differences with the Shieldbreakers. We can't have the Herald of Andraste picked off by assassins or befalling some other 'accident' before the Breach has been closed, can we?"

"Assassins?" asked Aelis, her heart sinking further. She hadn't parted on good terms with the old bastard and she had expected him to be angry, but angry enough to spend the coin to send an assassin after her? She swallowed, shifting her foot anxiously on the gravel, and sighed. "Right."

"And I've made certain that your involvement in the incident at Pont de Galet will remain unknown."

For the second time, Aelis felt her heart nearly stop. She turned her gaze slowly to Leliana's clear grey eyes, which were watching her reaction with calculating interest.

"Nothing happened at Galet." Aelis emphasized each word as they came out through gritted teeth, already knowing that the spymaster knew otherwise. A hard note crept into her voice, breaking the name of the village in the back of her throat as the memory of that awful campaign stirred from its uneasy rest.

Leliana's expression remained still, unconcerned. "I think the villagers who died there and their surviving families might disagree."

"They were billeting enemy soldiers. The patron made his wishes clear. Farrell gave the order. I followed my orders. That's what soldiers do. That's war." Aelis felt her face growing hot, her teeth clenching and her breath quickening slightly as she fought against the thoughts that assailed her. The smell of smoke, the raw feel of dust and ash in her throat, the deadness that crept into her mind that anesthetized her thoughts and allowed her hands and legs and voice to do what needed to be done - it all threatened to rush back on her. It had been more than a year ago now, but the images and sensations had never left her completely. They had ceased haunting her in the day, but still populated her dreams and plagued her in her darker moments. She shook her head as if to physically clear it.

Leliana observed her for a moment and then turned her body fully to face Aelis. There was an oddness to the quirk of her brow, that was not quite sympathy. More like pain, but that was not it either. The spymaster nodded.

"Farrell has agreed to forget that you were ever involved in his company. He'll make sure that anyone else who might remember you forgets as well. You were never at Pont de Galet. Nor were you at the subsequent massacres at Murraille or Gazon."

"How much did you have to promise him to bring about that miracle?" Aelis retorted, bitterly. She scowled at the ground. "I know how Farrell works. He never forgets. He'll smile and compliment your negotiation skills and then put a knife between your shoulders before you've had a chance to fully turn your back. If you think he'll just let this go-"

"I have my methods," replied Leliana calmly, with the smallest of shrugs. "He might be a criminal, but he isn't a fool. He knows when to walk away from something bigger than him. But, more to my point, I wanted you to understand that I was not making an idle suggestion when I mentioned that the Inquisition could help you personally. You can walk away from Pont de Galet unburdened now. Those who would seek justice or vengeance for your part in it need never know your identity. No one in the Inquisition, aside from me, need know either."

"I'll know." Aelis kicked a stone furiously out onto the ice, listening to it crack and clatter across the frozen surface. She looked down, feeling the Left Hand's eyes on her, as an uncomfortable thought struck her. "You want something in return. What?"

"Consider it a gift," the spymaster replied, her tone turning up cheerfully despite the seriousness of the subject. "You remind me of someone. The Grey Wardens gave him a second chance at life, and in the end it was his efforts that ended the Blight. The Inquisition can do the same for you. If you won't believe that I would simply look out for your best interest as a member of the Inquisition, then accept the favor in honor of my dear friend."

She continued before Aelis could point out that the Hero of Ferelden had died in the end, even if heroically, and that the comparison was not comforting. "I hope that you'll think on it. We need you. Not just the Mark, but people like you. I don't know if Andraste sent you to us. Even if She did not, you are here and you have the power to save lives. That means something in itself, yes?"

Aelis stared hard at the lake for a moment, feeling her shoulders and arms clench and unclench with painful uncertainty as she pondered the spymaster's words. The urge to bolt was still strong. She had risked her life in battle hundreds of times now. She had long ago settled her fear of death. Even so, fear still stalked the edges of her mind. Fear of failure. Fear of defeat. Fear of the part of herself deep down that reveled in the skill and release of the killing. Farrell, the sly old snake, had seen all of those things in her from the beginning and twisted them to his advantage. She saw that all too clearly now. And she was free of the old bastard for the first time in six years, through both the efforts of her brother and now Leliana. Her brother had died for the peace that the Conclave would bring. Someone, at least, needed to pay for that. And, if Aiden were alive, this is where he would want to be, trying his best to help the survivors and mend the hole in the sky. If the world was doomed anyway, then there were surely worse ways to spend the last few weeks of her life. Better to go down fighting than just waiting for the end to come. Aelis sighed.

"Right. So, it's back to Redcliffe with me, I suppose, to try and talk some sense into the mages. I'll see if I can track down your Warden while I'm there. What was his name?"

"Blackwall," Leliana replied, her smile somewhat easier and less guarded as Aelis turned to face her. Rumor had it that the spymaster had once been a bard, and a lovely and somewhat famous one, too. Though the years since the last Blight seemed to have hardened and tempered Leliana to a razor's edge, Aelis thought she might have just caught a glimpse through that smile of the woman the spymaster had been all those long years ago. She returned the gesture with a hesitant smile of her own.

"Well, then, Warden Blackwall had better watch out. He's got a command audience with the bloody Herald of Andraste herself."