"Inquisitor?"
Adaar looked up from her book and glared at the messenger. She shook out her hands, ignoring the tingle of arcane energy at her fingertips and thought again of Solas. As good as Her Trainer was, Solas helped far more with the mysteries of specializing as a Rift Mage. But there had been no sign of the elf for months.
She had been sitting at the desk for hours, hunched over and as she straightened her spine, and felt every single one of her forty-five years. Sometimes magic simply felt like a young person's occupation.
"Yes?" she said, her voice clipped with impatience. She would master this spell if it was the last thing she did.
"The spymaster said you were to be informed the moment we had word from Val Chevin."
The book fell from her lap. Adaar searched the messenger's face for some clue, some hint which might ease the hammer suddenly pounding her chest. "And what is the word?" she asked quietly. Truth be told, she expected the news quite some time ago, but the Wardens had been silent.
"I don't know, your Worship," the messenger said and she heard the truth in his words. "I'm to tell you to go to the Ambassador's office."
"Thank you," Adaar said, picking the book off of the floor. Bad news, she decided, steeling her heart. Why summon her for good news? She stood, trying to banish the image of Blackwall dead from the Joining in her head. Sending him to the Wardens seemed like the right thing to do then, during his judgment. Why did it feel so completely wrong now?
In her haste, Adaar forgot to duck at the door leading down to the Keep, solidly hitting her staff against the frame, causing her to stumble down a couple of stairs. She thought longingly of her small house in the Free Marches, made for qunari proportions, not elven ones, where she wouldn't have to worry about hitting her head or fitting into a seat.
"You are the Inquisitor," she muttered to herself. If her lover was dead, he was dead. Keeping away from the truth wouldn't change that fact. So she lifted her chin and strode down the stairs. It wouldn't do to act like a twenty-year old, pining after their first love. She had an infant grandchild, for goodness sakes.
She ignored everyone in the Keep, training her eyes on the door that would lead her to Josephine's office. Pushing open the door, she marched right to Josephine's desk, before realizing the Ambassador wasn't there.
"My lady."
Adaar had to reach out and place her hands on the desk in front of her at the sound of his voice, feeling her heart about to burst. Once steady, she turned and looked at Blackwall.
She wanted to drink him up, discover every detail she had missed over the past three months. She wanted to tell him how much she missed him while he was gone. But instead Adaar said the only thing she could think of. "You trimmed your beard."
Just one of several changes, she realized. He looked slimmer than she remembered, but perhaps that was due to the full set of Grey Warden armor he wore instead of a padded gambeson and chestpiece. Blackwall still had a beard, but it was trimmed close to his face and his hair no longer reached the back of his neck.
"I did," he said, his eyes not leaving hers and Adaar felt her cheeks redden under his gaze. He took a step forward. "Herah…"
Adaar couldn't keep herself from smiling, hearing her given name from him once again. With a laugh, she walked over to Blackwall and threw her arms around his shoulders. He gripped her hips as she leaned down at kissed him.
Their kiss was hungry after three months apart and some time passed before they parted. Adaar leaned against the wall with Blackwall flush against her, resting his head on her chest while she rest her chin on the top of his head.
They stayed like that for some time, before Adaar decided to break the spell. "I missed you, Blackwall," Adaar whispered, running her fingers through his now short hair.
He stood up straight then, his hands still holding her hips. "Thom Rainier, now," he said.
Adaar tilted her head. Every time he had said his true name before, he sounded as if it was a curse or a burden, something better left unsaid. But now his voice sounded clear as he said his name. "Are you sure?" she asked.
Blackwall - Thom - nodded. "I am. I'm not running any longer," he said. "Warden Rainier, liaison to the Inquisition, reporting for duty."
The words took a moment for her to understand. "Liaison?" she asked. "Does that mean you're staying?"
When he left for Val Chevin, she tried not to think of 'what ifs.' But when she indulged, Adaar's worst fear after him not surviving the Joining would be him posted at a far off outpost, and never getting to see him. And now it seemed that all her fears were for naught.
"If you'll have me," Thom said, reaching up and cupping her face.
Adaar closed her eyes as he traced the scar on her cheek. There was so much to tell him, about her own feelings, the state of the Inquisition and so many questions she wanted to ask. But for now, she was content holding and being held. "Always."