Chapters 4 and 5 are what I call "Transitional Chapters" they're short; the shortest ones I've written, because they involve the scenes we saw in the game. This means they contain elements that were taken right from the game, some changed or slightly altered to fit my story.

Once again, thanks to enc0432 my beta and best friend. And to everyone who reviewed/followed/favored, knowing there are people out there who respond positively to my writing make it all worth it.

Disclaimer: All characters, places, etc... are property of Bioware etc. etc. etc. And I am thankful as a fan to get the chance to play in their sandbox.

Chapter IV

The jail smelled of piss and unwashed bodies. It was a fitting home for someone like him. He had a cell all to himself. All though the day and night the cells filled and were empty for some reason or another. Some were drunks passed out and allowed to leave once they sobered, others were thieves sent right to judgment and then to prison or freedom. But he was the only murderer in today.

The guards ignored him; they didn't even bring him food. He didn't mind, he wouldn't be able to eat anyway, not with the sound of Genevieve's desperate pleas echoing around in his head. At some point he was certain he heard yelling upstairs. He made himself think it was some angry guard captain yelling at his men, but he knew the voice. That voice had once moaned his name in the throes of passion, had laughed at some terrible joke he'd made, had sung in the garden while he watched her work. And now it was angry, demanding to see him.

But she did not see him that day, or the next. He sat on his bench and let his sorrows take him. On the third day he was surprised to see them open the dungeon door and escort a man down to the end of the cellblock.

It was Cullen.

"I told her to leave it be," Cullen said without even looking at him. "But she won't. She wants to know if you're okay."

Thom Rainer did not answer him. Cullen took hold of the bars and rattled them. "Maker damn you Blackwall, how could you do this to us—to her?"

"Leave me down here to die Cullen, it's what I deserve. You should take her back to Skyhold and leave me to my noose,"

"You say it as if it is so easy to sway her," Cullen smoothed his hair back and looked at the guardsmen. "The Inquisitor wants this prisoner treated well. That means; do not forget to feed him. I assure you; yesterday's rage is not even the truest extent the Herald's wrath can take."

The guard bowed his head. "Of course," and they walked down the hall to the stairs, Thom Rainer jumped up and grabbed the bars.

"Tell her to move on, Cullen! Tell her to leave me to my fate!" The Commander did not answer and Thom Rainer was left to the silence.

XXXX

Another day and night passed; he ate a bit of bread and drank some water. He didn't speak to anyone, not even the boy they put in the cell next to him. The kid must have been in his teens and he spent the entire night crying for his mother and begging the Maker to forgive him. In the morning they took him away and once again left Thom Rainer alone.

But in the evening, when they were meant to bring him supper, the door opened and it was not bread and water that came through the door. It was the Inquisitor.

She must have stared at him for twenty minutes before he finally gained the courage to speak. But he didn't meet her eyes; he didn't want to see the hurt in them.

"I didn't take Blackwall's life," he began. "I traded his death." She came closer to the bars close enough that he could smell the sweetness of elfroot on her. "He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed."

He dared a peak at her. She was in that armor again, all beauty and splendor and power. "I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man." He took a deep breath. "But a good man, the man he was, wouldn't have let another die in his place."

"You thought you would just die and disappear, that I wouldn't find you?" she murmured.

"I didn't want you to see me like this,"

Her voice broke, "The note you left me. You made me think you went on your Calling. That you were dead or worse." She sounded angry now. "You broke my heart and you dare to call it better?"

He jumped up, grabbed the bars, and shook them. Genevieve backed up, a sudden fright in her eyes. She could face down Templar behemoths and not bat an eyelash, but the man she loved behind bars scared her—he almost wanted to laugh at the sad story they were.

"Don't you understand?" he roared, the bars shook like thunder. "I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing!" He stopped his foot against the stone floor. "And when it came to light I ran, Genevieve—I ran! And my men paid for my treason while I pretended to be a better man!" he looked down at his feet; he could not face the look of fear and heartbreak.

"This is what I am, little bird, a murderer, a traitor…a monster." He knelt on the floor and leaned against the bars of his cell. "Wouldn't you be happier thinking I was a noble man? A Grey Warden, instead of this? I would have saved you the pain of learning all you knew about me was a lie…that you loved a lie."

She was leaning against the stone wall opposite his cell. A miserable smirk came to her face; "Flaming sword," she swore. "Sweet Maker, I sure do know how to pick them," then she came towards him and put her hand through the bars and gently placed it on his shoulder. He could feel the thrum of magic in her blood. He had missed it more than anything, he wanted nothing more than to feel her skin on his to hold her and kiss her lips and tell her it was all a terrible joke and misunderstanding.

"But there was truth to what we had, and there is good in you, I have to believe that," she whispered gently. He decided not to answer and instead focused on the feel of her touch. "I've been called back to Skyhold, something urgent. I don't know if it's true or if they're all conspiring to get me away from you,"

"Good, you need to be away from me. Leave me to face justice for what I've done,"

She ignored him. "I sent a bird to Josephine; she's working with our ambassadors to get you moved into Inquisition custody. I'm leaving men to ensure nothing happens. If they move to execute you, my soldiers will stop them,"

"You should not be using your power to stop a dead man from dying," he muttered. "Your reputation shouldn't be tarnished because of me."

Genevieve rose and she was no longer Genevieve. Now she was the Inquisitor with hard set mouth, cold eyes, and a no-nonsense-I-will-be-obeyed look; "In this matter," she growled. "I am tired of being told what I should do. You, most of all, will not tell me what I should do. With time, you will be transferred into Inquisition custody and that will be the end of it."

"You intend to judge me yourself?"

"I intend to get to the bottom of this," she corrected. After a moment her face softened and she whispered; "I still keep hoping that this is kind of misunderstanding; that I'll be able to clear it up and everything will go back to normal…or well, what passes for normal right now."

And then there was silence. He expected her to leave then, but she didn't. She leaned against the wall, looked at him, and sighed. He remembered when he first saw her; young and eyes bright with the thought of a grand adventure rattling around in her pretty head. She had spent her entire life in the Circle and though many had paid with their lives to get her out, she was free for once in her life. Now she could pick flowers from the wild instead of draw them as she saw them in books or in walled gardens. The world outside those walls was new and fresh even with the war looming, even with suffering. She had found joy in the simplicity of walking around without a Templar tied to her.

It had been so easy to fall in love with her. She was too youthful, too pretty, too smart, and joyful to not love the moment you saw her. Despite all the suffering she still found it in herself to smile, to pick her lovely flowers, to care for the sick, and to love every man and woman who pledged themselves to the Inquisition. And it was all those things that made him love her—at first when her advances began he thought it was harmless, she was free now to pursue those things the Chantry forbad of mages like love and hope of a family. But then they got to Skyhold after all that had happened and she went to him. To him! For the comfort she needed.

He had been so happy and so terrified that she wanted him to hold her, to comfort her after all they lost at Haven. But he knew the kind of man he was and he told her it couldn't be. She had simply smiled that sweet smile of hers and told him that she would not be so easily foiled.

And oh Maker she had not. There were sideways glances and winks, her eyes turning soft when they fell upon him during court. Healing touches after a battle and kind words murmured over supper. And even when he was supposed to be dissuading her from him, he couldn't help but point out plants along the road if only to watch her scrambling down from her horse to study it and then to hear her thank him for his sharp eyes. He had been powerless to her onslaught, though he had hardly put up a fight.

He should not have gone to her room that day. He lied to himself, told himself he was going to give her one more chance to back out. But he had gone up there with the hope that she finally make true one all her little flirts. He still gave her the chance all the while praying she would kiss him.

It was then when he started calling her "little bird" because her kiss was clumsy and all too adorable. The circle didn't offer much in learning the ways of romance. All she knew she knew from second hand stories and other unreliable sources. She had also admitted to him that her love of plants drove her to keep to herself as many of the mages her age "found my love of herbalism to be dreadfully boring." He had chuckled and let his fingers comb through her hair and gave her a very proper, manly kiss.

"You're fine little bird," he told her. And she had smiled, her mouth inches from his and giggled softly "oh, I'm a bird now?" He had kissed her again. "You sing," he explained. And she said; "badly," to which he responded; "and you left your gilded cage behind. So yes, you're a little bird." Then she told him that she kind of liked it and then it was all about practicing kisses without burning her cheeks on his beard until Leliana interrupted them with Inquisition business and a smile that made him feel like a naughty teenage boy caught kissing the farmer's girl by a Chantry sister.

"I have to go," her strained voice brought him back to reality. For the first time since she entered the dungeon did he finally notice how exhausted she looked. Her eyes were tinged in red and slightly swollen, he couldn't tell if it was from crying or raging or lack of sleep. But the shadows under them told him it was lack of sleep and the pallor of her skin wasn't the natural paleness of a lady accustomed to the inside life of the circle. And he realized that she had worried herself sick.

"I didn't mean to make you ill," he said softly.

She turned to him and scoffed bitterly. "Right, you only meant to break my heart." Then she sighed as if she wanted to apologize for harsh words. "Oh, you make me so angry, and so happy; I don't know if I should hate you or love you or both." He was silent. "I am sick of it all," she continued. "Of Cassandra, and Cullen, of Corypheus, of those stupid Venatori, and you!"

"Then leave me here and let me be someone else's problem." he stood up and almost reached out to her to wipe her tears away, but he feared what touching her might do to her. He did not want her to break down so completely that the guards would have to come and get her.

"I can't," she barked. She took a deep, shaky breath, and reached into one of the pouches on her belt for a handkerchief and dabbed her tears away herself. "I have to go,"

"I know," And then she was gliding down the hall. Just before the door closed he whispered; "I'm sorry," once again. She did not hear him.

Happy New Year, guys!