Blackwall's story spoilers all over. This fanfic is built on them.
. . .
Broken Things
. . .
I
"Wardens have no past," the Inquisitor says before the recruit, Thom Rainier, can speak. A little too quickly.
She understands what it is to care for a friend. But she will not accept a lie. Yes, the Wardens have always recruited thieves and traitors and murderers for their cause if there was the need, she herself has done so, but she always knew. And this time it will be no different. "To forget the past, I must know what to forget." There are Wardens in Orlais. In the Free Marches. There must be a reason the Inquisitor has written to her, has chosen Ferelden.
The Inquisitor wants to speak, but Rainier steps forth, and bows to her. A courtly bow. So he was no mere soldier.
His features are set into a mask of resolve. "You deserve to know..." he breaks off, not knowing how to call her.
"Lady Cousland is my title," she explains, and there is a slightest grimace at the corner of his mouth. So despite his friendship with the Inquisitor he does not like nobles. Not that she can really hold that against him, after spending a week at the court as empress Celene's oh so honoured guest. "But you may call me Commander."
. . .
Her voice is clear and delicate like fine glass, but not brittle. There is strength hidden there, in those soft notes. It is, he notices, a voice one wants to listen to. For a moment, irrationally, he fears this voice will sound harsh once she hears his story.
But he agreed, all but volunteered to tell her. So he has to do that.
So he tells her. Tells her how he was a soldier, a captain, and chasing after gold, and how for gold he agreed to do what was asked of him. That he agreed to kill a man, because it seemed a quick and easy way to gain, money and a better position, things he had once and lost due to his own foolishness. He tells her of the ambush by the road and of the carriage, and of signals being given and blades being drawn, and everything spurring into motion. He tells her of the voices from the carriage, high-pitched voices, children's voices, and of having not been told that, having not agreed on that. He tells her of one moment of indecision, because it was their lives or his own and his men's, but he had not given his men much thought, more to his own survival, that one horrible moment of indecision, because by the time he made a decision it had already been too late, and how everything went wrong afterwards. And immediately corrects himself, because it had gone wrong long before. And how the blood is on his hands because he was the one who had given his men the order.
He tells her how in the end he had run away, of nameless taverns and countless pints of ale. He tells her of the Grey Warden, and how close he had been to being given a chance for another life – and how he had grasped at it – and how the Grey Warden died, killed by darkspawn, giving his life for his. How it did not seem right that the good man should die and he should live. How he took the Warden's name and kept trying to do some good to somehow keep the memory of the real Warden alive, and how he used that name as a shield and how used the guilt as a sword to protect him from himself.
How he joined the Inquisition and fought for them, and how he heard one of his men was to be executed, and how he could not let that happen because the order had been his.
. . .
She listens to him, and long buried but still not forgotten images of the past float to the surface, and once more she sees the castle burning, and she feels that overwhelming feeling of guilt for being the only one to have escaped alive. The memory of her father – the spirit – the vision in the old temple of Andraste told her it was time to let go, and she tried to. She thought she did. But she has only looked away, and deep down she knows she had failed, failed her parents, her nephew, her sister-in-law.
But now everything comes back to her with painful clarity. It had not been him, she knows, but it seems similar enough, it is similar enough, and she despises him, loathes him, hates him for bringing those memories back. Suddenly it does not matter that the Inquisitor vouches for this man, nothing matters but the memory of Highever and the story of Thom Rainier's past still ringing in her ears.
But she has conscripted others, whose crimes were no smaller than his, so why not him, too? What difference does it make? And he might die in the Joining... She stops this train of thoughts abruptly, horrified by them.
Rainier is looking at her expectantly, awaiting her decision. "Lady Cousland?" he asks tentatively.
She realises that he is afraid she will refuse him. She can see in his eyes that his wish to atone is honest. That he needs it. That he will give all he can to do that.
But the memories that have floated back into her thoughts are too vivid, and she cannot be indifferent, cannot be just. Because it hits too close to home, and the scar in her heart reopens to a wound and bleeds all over her thoughts, drowning the reason down, and she knows she will have to pay attention every time she will have to speak his name, not to make it sound like an accusation.
But another part of her, the part of her that has kept her sane through all the years, the part of her that still can see good in people, than wants to look for it, that part sees his remorse. And perhaps it is that part that makes her curios just how much a man can change.
She does not know him, and it had not been him. But suddenly there is this question burning in her mind like a fever, the question which she cannot even put into words, and suddenly it seems very important that she knew the answer.
. . .
He waits as she keeps pacing across the small room, her arms crossed at her chest, her feet quiet on the stone floor. Waits for her answer. Waits for her judgement.
"The Inquisitor wants it settled formally, right?" she asks, watchful, keen, observant. Her voice sounding different.
He nods. To his utter surprise, no judgement comes.
"So be it." She goes to the door and opens it, so that the people out in the hall will hear what she says. "I hereby conscript you to join the Grey Wardens, Thom Rainier," she says, and her voice is calm and soft, almost gentle even when she speaks his name.
His heart slows down and for a moment altogether stops when he realises that she has spoken his name as if it was just a name, not an accusation.