She appeared silently, as always, when she came, and paused in the shadow inside the open barn door. A chill breeze from the mountains blew smoke and the scents of hay and horses over her, a homely bouquet, not unpleasant, that reminded her marginally of clan life.
She watched him for a while, watched gnarled fingers scarred by combat, by living, smooth grace and form into ordinary lengths of wood. Watched the precise control over knife and chisel and hammer, the orderly attention to detail that saw one stroke made just so, followed by another, and another. She saw the strength in his hands and arms, reaching, holding; recognised the restraint that held his chest back from an almost instinctive fatal follow-through; perceived the passion that he tried to hide so hard it made him tremble minutely as he created.
Tiny curls of wood joined their fellows on the floor below and she watched, learning him. He endured it for only so long before he threw down his tools and rumbled at her. "My lady?"
She looked at him and smiled, just a little, delicate face framing big eyes that always reminded him of a sprouting field of wheat - new green and earth brown blurred together.
"I thought we could talk," she said, leaning against the wall beside him.
He grunted, and picked up his knife again, running calloused fingers over a rough patch of grain. "About?" He smoothed the blade over the wood, slowly; once, twice, before he was happy with the result.
The fire crackled a little before she replied.
"I just wanted to make sure you were all right," she said, studiously nonchalant.
He blinked. "All right? Whyever wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, no reason," she replied. "Just, with what happened at Adamant..."
An unnecessarily heavy swipe of the knife. "You did what you felt you had to. My lady."
The fire crackled some more.
"I'm sorry, Blackwall. The risk..."
He threw down his half-finished carving, the blade clattering after it, and turned on her, speaking through clenched teeth. "The risk? You exiled the Wardens. Exiled! Do you have any idea what that means? Do you?"
He was breathing heavily now, voice rising, and he leaned towards her, all massive shoulders and barrel chest. "It means they're gone. It means all those brave men and women won't be here when we need them. It means that you, my lady," taking no small amount of sick satisfaction as she flinched at the venom in his tone, "may have just singlehandedly destroyed the order that has saved Thedas half a dozen times or more.
"Don't talk to me about the risk. You can't possibly understand the fucking risk."
She blinked up at him, face pale, arms hugging her elbows. "I understood enough. I understood what might have happened if Corypheus had managed to get a hold of them again. They were brave men and women, yes, but they made a stupid mistake and they died. They killed their own, Blackwall. I couldn't let them kill us too."
"They would not have."
The look she gave him was heavy with pity. "Yes. They would have. I know it. And you know it."
"You can't know that."
Her voice was studied. "Yes. I can. And more importantly, I can't allow anyone who works with Corypheus of their own free will to continue. I can't let him bring his plan about."
He sighed, rubbed a calloused hand over his face. "Yes. I know. They went mad. That's... that's all I can say."
There was a creaking of soft leather and then her tiny hand was on his shoulder.
"They weren't mad, Blackwall. They were wrong. They chose wrongly. And their mistake could have cost us everything. I know they're your family, your brothers and sisters. But you don't need to make excuses for them, not to me, and not to yourself. The Wardens are human too, after all."
He stared into the fire. "Perhaps you're right. It doesn't matter any more now, anyway. They're gone, and not coming back any time soon. If ever." He shrugged. "Maybe that's a good thing, maybe not. I don't know. I'm just a soldier.
What I do know is that whatever happens now is thanks to you. For good or for ill."
He shook his head and muttered quietly, "Maker fucking help us."
She withdrew her hand and stood quietly beside him for a moment.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "This was not my intention. I just wanted to make sure you were all right and if there was anything you wanted to talk about. Any... issues you might have."
He grunted and stood, turning his back to her. "I'm fine, my lady."
He walked over to the workbench at the other side of the room, where he stood, sorting tools into neat rows. "And I have nothing I would like to discuss with you."
She watched him for a while, silently, and when she left there was sorrow deep in her eyes and mistrust written on her face.
He never heard her leave. It was a long, long time before she came back.