Next morning, he is changed. He seemed different after his admission of his true identity and after the judgement, after he finally found the courage to face his past, but this is something else. Before, many times, she has looked at him and thought: resolve. Now she can see she has been wrong, because the true resolve is what she can see now.
For the first time, he is not only determined, but calm and certain. The sorrow is still there deep in his eyes, and she doubts it will ever be gone, but he seems... less broody, less grim. As if he finally knew what to do, which way to go.
"I will join the Wardens," he announces. There is finality in his voice.
She nods. "If you feel this is right. You do, don't you?"
"Yes." He steps closer, puts his hands on her waist, holds her. "I've been thinking, last night. This is right, for many reasons. My past. The real Warden Blackwall." He pauses, kisses her cheek, smiling against her skin. "You," he adds, tenderly. "I want you in my life, lady Eiluned."
She puts her hands over his. "You don't need to..."
"Please, let me finish. I want you in my life, and to be part of yours. I want you not to be ashamed of me."
"I'm not..." she protests.
"Hush, my lady, and let me speak. Wardens have no past. If I visit you at Ostwick, I want you to be able to answer 'He's a Warden' to any questions people might ask. You will know, your family will know, others don't need to. I don't want to bring you shame. I don't want you to have to explain anything. I want you to have an answer." He pauses again. "And I will say I changed my name to honour the man who died saving me. It's just part of the truth, but that's the best I have."
She turns towards him, cradles his beloved face in her hands, smiles at him. "I will miss you."
"Ah, I'm not leaving yet, not for some time." He smiles back at her, and there is a gleam in his eyes. "And I promise you we'll make the best of it." He bows his head and kisses her shoulder, as he often does. "I will go back to the Free Marches before I join. I've heard the Wardens are going to establish an outpost in the Vimmark Mountains. That'd be closer to Ostwick than Ferelden."
She tilts her head up to kiss him. They breathe together. "Eideard," she whispers softly against his lips. He is a new man. He has made himself a new man, a different man. A good man. She blinks back tears, shakes her head – too much emotion, so much that her heart cannot contain it and that is why she cries. "It doesn't matter. Your name. You're not you name. You're you. You've made yourself into a new man. A good, honourable man. You..."
Blackwall kisses her.
"I'd rather have a name people won't ask you about," he explains, when their lips part. "I have acknowledged the past, I will not forget, but the burden that goes with it should not be yours, and it already is. This needs to end. I'd rather have a name that would not tarnish yours." And then he touches her cheek tenderly and smiles, and does something she is usually the one to do - jests. "I hope the hour isn't too inappropriate for bare hearts and other things?"
She does something she has not done for years: she giggles. Like a carefree girl she will never be again, but for a moment he makes her feel like that.
"A little," she admits, then smiles at him. "But I won't tell if you won't?"
She laughs when he picks her up and carries her inside. Perhaps, for once, the world can wait a little.
. . .
In the afternoon, she visits the kennels again. She has been debating with herself over that for some time, but there will be no better occasion.
The mabari pup sniffs at her hand curiously, recognises the scent and lets her pet him.
"Good choice, m'lady," the kennel master says approvingly. "He'll grow up to be a big boy."
"Isn't he too young?"
"Nay, he's grown enough." The elderly man couches to scratch the pup behind the ears. "Time to leave mommy and go adventuring, eh? What say ye, boy?"
The pup barks happily.
"He's Blackwall's favourite, too. They get on well." The kennel master smiles. "Good planning on yer part, m'lady."
She smiles. "Thank you."
"Ye're welcome, m'lady."
She carries the pup across Skyhold, hoping to get him to her rooms quietly. Luckily, the mabari falls asleep against her chest, probably lulled by her heartbeat. She smiles to herself; ah, the two of them are so alike.
When she enters, quietly, making no sound, Blackwall is stretched out on the bed, dozing off, snoring softly. For a moment she stops, just to watch him, his mouth slightly parted, his chest lifting and falling in a steady rhythm of his breaths. He looks peaceful, as he rarely does, no nightmares plaguing his sleep.
He still often wakes up at night, and she never asks what he dreams of, and he never tells, and that is how she knows. Those dreams are his grim reminder. They had a talk once, of Grey Wardens, and when she mentioned the darkspawn nightmares, he said he would welcome them.
On her tiptoes, she comes closer, and carefully lays the sleeping pup on Blackwall's chest. The mabari moves, jarred awake by the motion, looks around, puzzled, then sniffs at Blackwall's tunic, recognises the scent and gives a happy little bark.
Blackwall wakes instantly. Blinks. Looks at the pup, which is trying to lick him on the nose, and gently pulls the mabari away.
She looks down at him. "He's yours," she says with a smile.
Blackwall blinks again. "But I'm going to join the Wardens..."
"I've heard that Wardens sometimes join their hounds."
Slowly, Blackwall sits up, cautious not to throw the little mabari off the bed. "Thank you." He smiles briefly. "I'd say this means a lot, but..."
There have been and there are things that mean a lot more. Yes, this is just a part of a bigger pattern, a tiny part, she thinks, sitting next to him. Perhaps it is as necessary as all the others. Or perhaps just a fancy. Or perhaps it does not matter what this is.
He reaches out to her, touches her cheek, leans over, guiding her in for a kiss. The pup barks at them, puzzled.
Blackwall laughs and pats the mabari on the head. "Quiet, boy. Your lady needs a proper thank-you for such a gift, you know?"
"I've heard you were friends," she says with a smile. Which dissolves into a trembling coil of emotion when Blackwall looks at her as understanding dawns on him.
"I've always wondered who called him Grit," he says, his eyes deep and full of those feelings and things they do not really know how to speak about, so they do so by speaking of other matters, and telling stories, and doing things like she has just done.
"I thought it a fitting name," she explains in a whisper.
He leans over, tangling one hand in her hair, kisses her. They part when the pup starts barking again.
Blackwall eyes the mabari with mock-sternness. "He's definitely going back to the kennels for the night."
She laughs. It is a wonderful discovery, knowing that, despite all, they can still have some semblance of happiness.