"I fought with him in Perendale," Desmond says, scratching his neck. The scar on his left cheek itches like mad, but he knows better to take off his mask in the presence of other Orlesian soldiers, especially higher-ranking ones. Once, when he first came to Skyhold, he hoped not to wear the mask at all, but all the others insisted. Damn things threw off his balance and cut his sight lines in half.

The other soldiers cock their heads, showing their curiosity. With masks covering their entire faces, the military created a second language of sorts, using the body. Knowing his story is wanted, Desmond continues. "Worst campaign I've ever been on in my life. I will never understand what the Empress was thinking when she sent us there. Rainier was a lieutenant then." Desmond stops and realizes he doesn't want to speak any longer, doesn't want to relive those memories.

"And?" one of the soldiers asks. He doesn't know her name, but she sounds young.

"They called the retreat and men just scattered," Desmond says, suddenly grateful for his mask, even though it won't cover the hollowness of his voice. "A few men, Rainier one of them, Mornay as well, kept going back to the battlefield. Carried off the ones who might be saved and gave quick deaths to those who couldn't. He must have brought back a dozen men before he collapsed."

"Pity he lost the Game," the other soldier says, voicing what they all thought.

He nods. Murderer or not, Thom Rainier had done a great deal of good in Orlais' name until the Callier Incident. Even if it was all an act, a way to get ahead, the Imperial Army needed more men like him.

#

At least Skyhold empties his waste bucket three times a day.

Food's much better, too, Blackwall thinks as he looks at his plate of boar's meat and vegetables. The Skyhold prison is much quieter than Val Royeaux's, with much more understanding guards. Not to mention they gave him medical attention; a mage fixed his broken rib right up. All in all, he can think of worse places to be caged.

"Beardy."

He looks up from the bench he's sitting on and sees Sera standing in front of his cell. "Didn't think I was allowed visitors," Blackwall says, leaning back against the wall, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile for the first time in a very long time. It's damn good to see her. Sera's the one person beside Bethroot he actually considered telling the truth.

"Chatted up the guard, I did. We're meeting for drinks later," Sera says, lowering herself to the ground, sitting cross-legged. She looks pointedly at his wooden plate. "Are you going to finish that?"

"I lose half a fucking stone in Orlais and you want to eat my food?" Blackwall asks with a laugh. Some things never change. "Some friend you are."

"I'm the best sort of friend, yeah? I'm here," Sera says with a shrug. "Not off to the Storm Coast like some."

Blackwall sighs and takes another bite of meat. It's cold, but hearty, and will fill his stomach easily. Sera and his lady have never gotten along well, much as he tried to say only good things about the other. Best to let her rant and get it out of her system. "Say what you mean, Sera."

"She left you in Orlais. Orlais, when you could have been hanged," Sera says angrily, crossing her arms over her chest. "And look at you now."

"The Inquisitor needed to get to the Storm Coast, you know that. The alliance with the qunari is more important than one man's life," Blackwall says quietly. Even if Sera doesn't or chooses not to understand, he does. For as long as it took to have him released, people would have frowned on the Inquisitor staying in Val Royeaux the entire time. And the last thing he wants is to cause her harm, any more than he already has.

Sera fiddles with a hem on her dress. "Well, word is the alliance went belly up," she says. "So she went out there for nothing. And could have been getting you out instead."

He feels a chill at Sera's words. What could have possibly happened to fuck it up? They spoke at length about the possibility of an alliance and decided it would only bring good things for the Inquisition. Guilt pools in his stomach for not being there, to help fight or support his lady. But then a sharp realization hits that if he had his way, he'd be dead and never there to support her anyway.

"Who went with her?" Blackwall asks to change the subject. Since the day he and the Herald met, he's fought by her side more often than not. The only time before this he couldn't go with her, because of his blasted knee, was when she went to Emprise du Lion. They've learned how the other fights, how to best use their abilities together. He's become a stronger warrior with her at his back. "Cassandra?"

"Bull, Cole and Solas," she says, shaking her head. "Sure that's going to be fun in camp."

Blackwall lets out a groan before he can help himself. "Bull cares more about killing than protecting. She'll be black and blue by the time she gets back."

"Well, maybe think about that, right, next time you pick up and leave."

She looks so fucking young. And she is, Blackwall needs to remind himself sometimes. Only twenty-one, from what she's told him. Yet they could drink for hours, talking about women and nothing at all in her little alcove in the tavern. She's one of the most important people in his life and he can tell he's angered her. "Sera-"

"You could have left me a note, too, you know," Sera says, bringing her knees up to her chest. She sounds a bit lost and he understands. Somehow, they became family over the past year and half and he ran out on her just as much as the Herald. "I didn't want to believe it when Quizzy told me you left. Pissed her right off, I did. Kept asking what she did to drive you away."

"Of course you did," Blackwall says, putting his plate of food on the floor. He's lost his appetite for now. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight when I left." He looks Sera in the eye and she squirms a bit, but doesn't break the contact. "I should have let you know somehow that I was leaving. You deserved that right. I'm sorry."

A pleased smile crosses her face, even as she waves away his apology. "Well, remember that for next time, Beardy. Will there be a next time?"

"Maker, I hope not," Blackwalls says, meaning every word. "I'm done running."

"Think Quizzy will forgive you?"

Blackwall tries to picture their reunion. There's a temper that runs throughout his lady's blood, a temper she doesn't let out very often, but it's there. And if anyone deserves to be on the other end of that temper, it's him. But when he continues to think, he realizes he has absolutely no idea how she'll respond, and a small part of him would rather not find out at all. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

#

"One gold for every Orlesian in the Inquisition?" Cullen asks, gripping the end of his sword's pommel. Perhaps it's silly to carry a weapon on him at all times in Skyhold, but after Haven, after Kirkwall, the sword gives him a stability he's not afraid to admit to himself that he needs. One day, he might not need a sword with him, but for now, the solid weight of the sword in its scabbard and the hilt in his hand, gives him comfort.

Josephine's face is stern as she leans back in her desk chair, just slightly. "On the surface, it might look like that. However, when one looks at the details…" She looks exhausted, of course she does, having just making it back to Skyhold this morning. "The arrangement is that for any Orlesian who willing joins the Inquisition's armed forces, we will compensate the Imperial army with one gold. Many Orlesians join and we find them other paths, instead of our forces. And don't forget, the majority of our forces to begin with are gifts from Orlesian nobles. We do not pay for them." A slow smile spreads across her face. "I think we'll find we won't be providing Orlais with nearly as much gold as they expect."

Cullen chuckles. Of course Josephine found the perfect language to make things work in their favor. "I still worry, though. This whole situation makes us look weak."

"I disagree," Leliana says, with a shrug of her shoulder. "From what I can tell from my agents, the people love the Inquisitor more than ever, especially Orlais. This whole thing has made her seem more human than ever to the common folk."

"Human?" Josephine asks with a smile.

"A poor choice of words on my part."

When he first joined the Inquisition, Cullen felt slightly left out, thanks to the long friendship between Leliana and Josephine. But since Haven's destruction, those walls have been torn down. They make an excellent trifecta, which is exactly what the Inquisitor deserves. And thanks to the long hours they spend together, he is able to look at Josephine's face, see the slight wrinkle between her brows and prepares himself for unfavorable news.

"The result of the negotiation is not why I called you both to my office," Josephine says, placing two scrolls on her desk.

Cullen looks at Leliana, who seems as mystified as he at the summons. "Is there any chance it's good news?" Leliana asks lightly.

At Josephine's frown, Cullen crosses his arms over his chest with a snort and says, "I knew it. What's the problem now?"

"I received two messages today," Josephine tells them. "The first is from the Inquisitor, who should arrive back at Skyhold in two days. She wishes to hold a private Judgment for Thom Rainier the moment she is back."

"I don't see a problem with that," Cullen says with a nod. "This is private Inquisition business. Maker, they'll have enough issues between them that I don't even think I'll want to be there."

"I agree," Leliana says. "The fewer people who know, the better."

The curve to Josephine's spine, the slight hunch of her shoulders, tells Cullen that she doesn't agree. "Josephine?" he asks, wanting everyone's opinion.

"We've never had a private Judgment before," Josephine says, almost apologetically. "I feel it would set a bad precedent. However, that does bring us nicely to the next issue." She pushes another sheet of parchment towards him. "This is a letter from Antoine Callier. Vincent Callier's brother."

Leliana snatches up the scroll before Cullen is able. He thinks of his own siblings, if one of them and their families were killed. It's an awful thought, one he doesn't even want lingering in his mind, so he pushes it away before the image can settle. One day, the first words in his head won't be revenge, which eats at him until he finds better words, more peaceful words. "What does he say?" Cullen asks.

"He worries because of the close relationship between the Inquisitor and Rainier, she'll try to cover everything up."

Cullen grips the pommel of his sword more tightly. "The Judgment will have to be public, then. There's no choice." The Inquisitor will hate every moment of the Judgment, but too much is at stake except to do everything above reproach.

"None at all," Josephine says, rolling up the parchment. "Perhaps if we have it early in the morning?"

"It will be packed no matter what, Josie," Leliana says. "Already people are waiting for news of the Herald's return to Skyhold. You know how quickly news travels. It will be standing room only in the Main Hall."

"Vultures," Cullen mutters under his breath, knowing Leliana is right. Still, as he told the Inquisitor back in Val Royeaux, only she is able to make the decision if Thom Rainier is worthy for the Inquisition. He does not envy her for having to make that decision at all.

#

Her ass hurts.

They've been sitting in the wagon since sunrise this morning with hardly any breaks. Bethroot is tired of being thrown around, thanks to the rocky mountain path, tired of sitting, and tired of waiting. Every turn of the wheels of the wagon makes her more nervous, until she thinks she'll be forced to stand up and scream.

She can't remember being this nervous since her first trip to Orzammar, her head full of stories from her mother, and the knowledge if she said the wrong thing or pissed off the wrong people, she could end up with a brand on her cheek.

Her fingers grip the side of the wagon once they make it up the path and start over the drawbridge. Even with her nerves, there's still a sense of coming home when the gate raises and they ride into the courtyard. Bethroot's come to love every brick of this place, especially when she considers how as a child, she and her mother moved from place to place, never settling down for long.

It's then she realizes the number of people milling about the courtyard, far more than there should be this time of night. Another glance and she sees that the vast majority are looking her way. Of course they are, she thinks, wondering if she's to be a spectacle for the rest of her life. How much more of herself can she give until it is enough? Her marked hand curls into a fist - it's been bothering her a bit lately - and she answers her own question. Whatever she is able to give will never be enough.

She's grateful night has already fallen. Her plan is simple. Judge Rainier the moment she steps into Josephine's office - but what will she say? - and tell Rainier they will speak in the morning. And then Bethroot plans on falling asleep in her bed and not waking up until she does so naturally. It might be a couple of days, the way she feels right now. Fear and weariness and anger are all tangled up, running through her blood, and she doesn't think she could separate the emotions from each other if she wanted.

The wagon stops - finally - and Bethroot jumps out, almost falling on her face because of the height. Usually Blackwall's steady hand would be waiting to help her out of the wagon somewhat gracefully. The thought leads her to look into the stable. The rocking horse Blackwall worked on for so long still stands on his workbench and without thinking, she steps inside.

She's not often been here alone, without Blackwall's steady hand on her shoulder when the horses inevitably frightened her. Taking a breath, she smells straw, horses, and yes, even a hint of manure. Funny how she used to wrinkle her nose at the stables when they first arrived at Skyhold, but now she can breathe in deeply and it doesn't bother her at all.

The usual fire in the firepit is out; hasn't been lit in weeks from the looks of it. Nothing else has changed. No one moved his bedroll or the pile of books by the fire. Kneeling, Bethroot runs her finger along the spine of one of the books, curious to know what he read, because she certainly wouldn't ask. Ancestors knows, she couldn't ask questions.

When she sees the top book is full of love poems, Bethroot stands too quickly, ignoring the sour feeling in her stomach, realizing she can't stay in the stable for another moment.

So she doesn't, picking up her satchel and calling out apologies to the stable hands. Her feet march her toward the Main Hall without her even having to think as she ignores all the people in the Courtyard. The loud voices and laughter Bethroot heard from outside the Main Hall stop the moment she steps inside. It's crowded for a Tuesday evening, but they too she ignores, only having eyes for Josephine's office.

Josephine is at her desk, writing, and looks up as she enters. A knot forms in Bethroot's stomach; she can tell, just by the crease in Josephine's brow, that something is wrong. "Is everything ready?" Bethroot asks.

"My lady," Josephine says as she stands, "there has been a change in plans."

"Oh?" Bethroot clasps her hands behind her back, waiting. It's been a month since she's seen Rainier; she's ready to go crazy from waiting.

"A public Judgment will be best," Josephine says and Bethroot can hear the apology in her voice. "It is arranged for tomorrow morning."

Twelve hours. It seems almost cruel. "I'm assuming there's good reason?" Her shoulders slump at Josephine's crisp nod. Bethroot refuses to doubt the ambassador's instincts now. She's waited a month. Somehow, she can wait another twelve hours. With a nod, Bethroot starts towards the door. "Then I need to get some sleep."

"Inquisitor…"

Bethroot stops and doesn't look back. "Yes?"

"Have you decided on what you would like to do?" Josephine asks quietly.

Bethroot shakes her head and leaves the office without another word. She'll have to wait until tomorrow to make a decision. Perhaps when he stands in front of her, she'll know what to do. But for now, she will go to sleep in her human bed, which never feels right without Blackwall beside her, and wait for tomorrow's dawn.