Disclaimer: Bioware and EA own the characters and setting.

Author's Note: I feel like this fluff is just going to be short chapters so I can update more frequently. I might combine them later depending on how things go, but the theme for today is how Rainier feels about being beardless again. That is a much more profound thing than it would be for most people, so lots of introspection here.

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He stood before the cracked mirror, attempting awkwardly to take everything off as close to the skin as possible, at least everything that was left after cutting a majority of it from his face to start. Besides the fact that the light of the single candle provided in his cabin barely did its job, or even that the ship he had boarded to cross the Waking Sea occasionally jostled from the waves, he hadn't attempted this in over a decade. Trim his beard, sure, not long after his trial. But take it all off? Not since he was Captain Thom Rainier of the Orlesian army. That made the whole experience bittersweet, especially as he was watching intently in the mirror. He was going to be looking like THAT man again. But he couldn't think about that now, he had to focus on the task at hand… If he slipped and cut himself, wouldn't that just draw attention to his face? And when he saw her at last, she'd ask what dangerous fight he'd been in to get that injury; to only have a lame response like a shaving accident…

He paused, steadying himself and cleaning the shaving cream from his blade. The blade was certainly sharp, brand new, in fact. A gift from Varric before he left Skyhold so he'd look presentable when meeting those ex-soldiers, and it seemed fitting considering Varric had been the one to hunt one down for him when he needed a trim after his trial, being a sturdy (albeit short) shoulder to lean on in those difficult times. He himself hadn't actually owned a razor since he fled Orlais. Besides being unessential when he was hastily grabbing things to take on the lam, he'd wanted to grow a beard at the time. He'd never sported one before that, and it would throw pursuers off. Even he could admit it turned out a bit ratty by the time he was finally caught, though Malika never seemed to care.

As he wiped off the finished portion of his face, he smiled into the towel. He could remember that time he'd made a flippant comment about how his beard must not bother her after they shared a kiss in the stables. She'd laughed and informed him she liked it. That it must be a dwarf thing to prefer hairy men. Come to think of that, hopefully she wouldn't be too upset that he shaved it off! If she refused to kiss him because of that, he'd about die from being denied.

With a chuckle, he resumed his work on the other side. "Who knew you could forget how to do this after going so long without…" he muttered under his breath.

After a while, it was finally finished. He set the razor down and toweled himself off, removing the final traces of shaving cream. When he finished, he studied the end result in a mirror. It was mind-boggling, like a completely different person was staring back at him. It shouldn't have been a surprise, considering that was the reaction he was hoping for from other people, but that it still knocked him off balance… Once that shock wore off, he began to realize how much it felt like stepping back in time. That WAS him, but the him of twenty years ago, though with more weathered skin and extra wrinkles around the eyes. Yes, his outward appearance looked a good ten years younger, even if his body ached from the strain he'd put on it all those years. He idly wondered what she'd think of that; taking ten years off his looks would put him at about her age after all.

The thoughts were spinning, but the strongest feeling wasn't the surprise or the amazement: it was the knot forming in his stomach, put there by being reminded of a past he wanted nothing to do with. Back when he looked like that, he'd been a completely self-centered ass besides being a coward. These days he'd probably punch someone like the man he was in the face to teach him some manners. And looking like that again, if he was honest with himself, it scared him. He knew of course just changing his appearance wouldn't take away all the hard lessons he'd learned in the time that passed, but was it like taking a step back? Would Malika call it finding Thom Rainier inside all the Blackwall, or was he just being over dramatic about a superficial change? It was just that…the beard seemed to represent more than just hiding. Beards were for people who didn't worry about appearances. People who had better things to do than waste the time preening over themselves, who were hardy and strong. He felt like none of those things standing there and it was unsettling. In fact, he finally decided, he felt plain naked. Perhaps this hadn't been as good of an idea as he thought… He felt a bit of the old anxiety flare up and wished more than anything that she was there to calm him down like she was so good at. Malika may have come across as a bit harsh to people who didn't know her, but she always knew just what to say to the people she cared for.

He probably would have spent a sleepless night tossing and turning and fighting with his old friend anxiety when he noticed something. His eyes. They were more prominent now that there was less hair, but they hadn't changed. No, they did change. They didn't change from before when he had the beard, but they had changed since the last time he was beardless. Twenty years ago, those blue-gray depths would twinkle with mischief, especially when eying up a pretty woman ripe for seduction or an opportunity to advance through the ranks. Now, they were tired, sober. But it wasn't bad. They were the eyes of someone older and wiser, with better judgement and more empathy. They showed the effects of his struggles just as much as the scars on his body, and they proved he was not that man.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, he finally moved his focus to his hair. It was getting long again, and soon it would be a tangled mess unless he slicked it back like he did before. That wouldn't do for the situation at hand. Perhaps he should pay a barber to take care of that; he'd probably make a noticeable mistake doing it himself and have to shave himself bald as well. That would be overkill, especially if he was headed back to those freezing mountains! Not a whole lot, but trimmed so it no longer even covered all of his neck. Surely that would make him look less rugged.

Content with this plan, he blew out the candle and shuffled to his bunk. A few hours of shut-eye before he was needed on deck for cleaning or hauling or whatever they'd have him do. He was working his way back to Skyhold instead of using the money she'd given him (he hadn't been earning anything during his entire stint with the Inquisition and had no money of his own). With what he saved from earning his keep on these voyages, and any other odd jobs he could find, he'd be able to return with an engagement ring worthy of her when his mission was complete.

After growling something about how strange it was to feel the cloth of the pillow on his face, he pulled the blanket up and hung onto the thought of that day. Beard or no beard, Malika had made him a decent man, probably even a good man. There was no changing that. The last thoughts he had before drifting off to sleep were of her, the woman he loved.