Disclaimer: Bioware and EA own the characters and setting. Plot's all mine.

Author's Note: This is just unapologetic fluff that all started when I saw an image of Blackwall without his beard (the magic of mods or something). It just made me wonder what fun he could have walking around without anyone recognizing him. And what would it take for the Inquisitor to recognize him? And then things just started to escalate in my mind... This part isn't the most imaginative piece of narration, but a necessary evil for setting the scene as well as the wheels in motion. Also let's you know what's been happening since he left Skyhold.

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He sat at the bar in a crowded, dimly-lit Kirkwall tavern, one of many just like it in the large port city, and simply listened to the hubbub surrounding him. The other patrons, much more inebriated than he, spoke much more freely as a result, something he had learned a long time ago when it was necessary to keep his ear to the ground to avoid trouble. The news was especially good in places where the sailors gathered, spreading gossip from the far corners of Thedas. Tonight was no exception, and the tidbit he was tuned in on made his heart ache even with the dulling influence of the ale in his mug.

"Ah, so the Inquisition's going to have a big to-do after stopping the source of those damned rifts, eh?"

"Aye. They say it was someone who got too close to the red lyrium. Nasty stuff. Heard it did a number to old Bartrand, drove him right mad it did." Bartrand. The name was so familiar. Wasn't that…Varric's elder brother? The dwarf had told him once, explaining his vendetta against the red lyrium. That's right, Varric's family was from Kirkwall…

"Couldn't be that simple; a nutter who got too close to the damned stuff and went mad?"

"No one knows the right of it, lest of all the common folk like you or me. Whatever it was, they needed a whole army. Soldiers, craftsmen, healers, even cooks. An old friend of the wife's signed on with 'em, sayin' she'd helpin' any way she was needed. Shite, they must have a huge number livin' in their fortress."

"Can ye just imagine the kind of party they'd be throwing? They say their guests are coming from all the different countries. That lovely diplomat they got workin' for 'em can charm even Tevinters, you know."

"Hmph, sounds like your wife's friend will be lucky to be scrubbing floors while the lot of them are out dancing the Remigold."

He could not pry his attention away despite the melancholy the conversation brought him. Normally, he would scoff at the idea of a gathering of pretentious nobles and mutter a few choice words about them. This was different though; they were coming to Skyhold, the closest place to home he'd had since leaving Markham as a teen. All the friends he had in the world were there. So was the love of his life, and she'd be at the center of it all. The thought of her being forced to dance the Remigold made him chuckle as he took another swig. How little they knew her. Being at the center would make her absolutely miserable…probably even irritable.

But damn it, how long had it been since he'd seen her? It felt like a year, but in truth he knew it had only been a month and a half. She couldn't write him, never knowing where he was or where he was going, and he wondered every day as he continued on his journey what she would be up to now that the great evil had been defeated. But he did make it a point to write her. He told her of the places he went, but more importantly he described the people he met.

Rather, it was the people he met again after so many years, hunting them down to ask for forgiveness. This was his mission, and he could not settle down with her until it was complete. He'd set out with a list of names and addresses collected by the fine connections the Inquisition wielded, and so far had been to Highever and currently Kirkwall visiting ex-soldiers who had been under his command. It hadn't been quite as difficult as the first confrontation back in Halamshiral, but he still had enough bruises to show for his efforts. She was not there to encourage him, but the thought of her was enough to push him forward despite the complete terror he felt every single time he was about to knock on a door. In the end, there were two soldiers, aged prematurely to be certain, that no longer intended to murder him on sight. Forgiveness might be a stretch, but that was at least something. Time and dedicated efforts to helping those he'd cheated out of a living, those were all that could heal the wounds he'd left on those people.

He'd known it would be difficult to do simply for what it was, but it was doubly difficult to accomplish it all while leaving her behind with the Inquisition. It was a shock the first week or so without her warming his bed, and the good sleep he'd finally been getting evaporated. After so many years of living in solitude, he thought he'd revert back to his old ways quickly, but was proved wrong as every night his thoughts turned to her while he stared at the ceiling of the tent or room. How amazing it would be to just pick up and return, just for a day, just to remind her how much he loved her in ways the words on the pages didn't do justice…

He roughly set his mug down. What was exactly keeping him from doing just that? He'd accomplished amends with two people since he'd left, so he could easily say he was back for a break…

And he'd been there, personally swung a sword at that bloody Corypheus besides being along on nearly every mission for a year, so shouldn't he be at the party? He snorted at the strange feeling of WANTING to be at a fancy engagement where he could no longer fit in.

Another snippet caught his ear, and this served to put him in his place. "Can you imagine the kind of security they'd need at such an event, what with all those other countries bein' there?"

"I imagine the Inquisition has plenty of security around. Best network of spies to boot. How would anyone get something past them?"

"You know that one louse did. Total criminal, he was, but got all the way into their inner circle. They'd still never know if he hadn't o' turned himself in."

From his spot at the bar, he sank deeper into his coat and put the mug to his face to hide the red even his beard couldn't completely conceal. Fantastic. Some lay-abouts in a poor Kirkwall tavern knew his story. What a sensational piece of gossip his life made.

"You got a point there, mate," one of the men agreed, completely oblivious to the fact that the focus of their conversation was a mere feet away from him. "Ain't that somethin'? Too bad, he was one of their best sword-arms. They say he up and left not long ago, somethin' about serving his sentence. Not that you could trust a man like that to keep you safe."

It was funny how Malika could stand by him so confidently while everyone else, himself included, condemned him. To others, the situation seemed so cut and dry, no areas of gray to be found. Of course they didn't know him, they didn't know the things in his heart the way she did. Never would, either, and that was the hard part. And this led him to realize one important fact that made his aspirations falter: his scandalous presence would ruin her party, especially if he was anywhere near her. What they did in the company of their closest friends and even loyal soldiers was one thing, but with all the dignitaries of foreign countries around… He wasn't just a land-less no-name warrior latching on to a great leader, but one who had committed unthinkable crimes and fallen from grace. She may have done some sketchy things in her past too, but that was all swept under the rug because of the glowing mark on her hand and her role as the savior of Thedas. No noble or diplomat from Orlais or Antiva would understand that they made the perfect pair, they would only ever see an imbalance in worth. Then they'd talk about her, and it would not be complimentary.

He sighed, staring into the bottom of his mug. That may all be true, but they had spoken of marriage after everything was sorted out. It would be a well known fact to all once they made that move. But that would be after she disappeared from the spotlight… Would he simply have to wait for that time? But what if she never did? His head was starting to hurt, and he was fairly certain it wasn't because he'd overdone it on the alcohol (he hadn't gotten dead drunk once since his truth had been revealed, not the way he used to when he was hiding things). The situation was complicated, but why did it have to be? If he snuck in dressed up, cleaned up, maybe even… A slow smile crept across his face. Maybe even clean-shaven! No one would recognize him except for the people who knew to look. Maybe not even then. He could still visit without drawing attention to himself and fulfill the need he had to see her again.

Standing abruptly, he lay his money on the bar and thanked the bartender, grabbing his pack and rushing quickly out the door. He figured he had a week to get back to Skyhold.