Maddy knows she's not the smartest girl in the world. She doesn't have a slim waist or even a pretty face to make a man look twice. The thought of carrying a sword or a dagger frankly frightens her. But she can clean. And when she heard about the Herald and the magical castle in the mountains, Maddy felt she finally found her place in the world, giving her notice to the noble family she served and never looking back.

Skyhold's Head Housekeeper's instructions had been clear. The Main Hall must look perfect. Too many people will want to see today's Judgment for the hall to look anything less than pristine. It's why Maddy and the other servants are working before the rising of the sun. She's on her knees, scrubbing a spot on the floor where some noble spilled wine and didn't bother to tell anyone. She doesn't mind spills if they can be cleaned right away. But this one lingered, seeping into the stone, and she's not sure she'll be able to wash it clean.

As she works, Maddy thinks about the Herald. She didn't expect the dwarf to be so kind, almost always waving and saying hello to the servants, making them feel just as important to the Inquisition as those who fought by her side. Maddy prays for the Herald, like so many others, not only for her health and safety, but that someday the Maker might open her heart to Him. She tries not to question the Maker's plans, but how strange to have a Herald who prefers the Stone.

But it is not her place to judge, she thinks, looking down at the spot. It's not quite disappeared, but will only be visible in certain lights. Maddy nods, pleased with her work, and moves on, ready to clean the next stone.

#

Bethroot wakes with a crick in her neck, thanks to sleeping on the sofa.

A chill surrounds her, a gift from the balcony doors she left open last night. Standing, she wraps Blackwall's dark red brocade dressing gown around her shoulders, the one she gave him as a nameday present, knowing she looks ridiculous the way it trails behind her on the floor with sleeves that go past her fingertips. But his scent still lingers, if only in her imagination, so she presses her cheek against the fur-lined collar and breathes in deeply.

Without truly thinking, Bethroot walks to the very spot she first saw him in her quarters, more than eight months ago, before stepping onto the balcony. The prudent thing to do, what would be best for the Inquisition, she understands, would be to give him to the Wardens. Then she could wash her hands clean and send him to Weisshaupt, praying to the Ancestors he survives the Joining.

But why doesn't that feel right?

Her mind wanders, and she settles on choice. Becoming a Warden shouldn't be viewed as a punishment of some sort, but a new beginnings. And then her heart clenches and Bethroot understands if Rainier is to have a new beginning, she's selfish enough to admit she wants it to be with her, not with an Order a thousand years old. But if she is to do this, if she is to give him his freedom, there can be no conditions.

She knows him well enough, she likes to think, that if given his freedom, he will want to continue to atone for his past. Perhaps that atonement will lead him to the Wardens. If Rainier decides to join them of his own free will, Bethroot will not stand in his way. Better he die of the Joining than of a hangman's noose.

Looking out at the mountains, Bethroot realizes she's missed yet another sunrise. The sun is already hovering over the mountain, bright and cheerful, a mockery of her feelings. The sunrise is a running joke between her and Blackwall; even after all this time is Skyhold they've never yet been able to see one together. Maybe they never will. But Bethroot would like to think they have the chance.

They're more alike than she ever thought. He called himself a traitor and a murderer when she saw him in prison. From the Carta's point of view, how is she any different? Rainier might have done horrible things in his past, but so has she. How many people did she keep addicted to lyrium, with only the thought of her own profit in mind? How many cities did she go to, walking through the poorest slums, looking for the telltale sign of a lyrium addict so she could make some quick gold?

Thanks to the Inquisition, and even more, thanks to Blackwall, Bethroot's risen above her past. She's become a woman she thinks her mother would finally be proud to call daughter. And maybe, just maybe, Bethroot's lived up to her namesake, a silly little plant the color of dried blood, when mixed with milk, that could save a life.

"Atrast nal tunsha," she whispers, thinking of the old dwarven saying. May you find your way in the dark. She has.

And Thom Rainier deserves the same chance.

Bethroot crosses her arms over her chest, feeling the light yellow silk of the robe lining glide against her skin. He had been so touched at the gift, something he could wear late in the evening or early in the morning when he stayed the night with her. At the time, she assumed he never owned a dressing gown as nice as this one - the brocade had such a lovely pattern - and would smile whenever he wore it, enjoying how the dark red fabric looked against his skin. But Rainier lived in Orlais for more than half his life; he probably owned far nicer robes than this.

It hurts how much she wants to know him, wants to know the good and the bad and every detail he can give. She wants to delve into his history, slowly leaf through each page, until she discovers exactly what makes him who he is. And more than anything, she wants to know if he agrees with what she told him in prison.

There was truth to what we had.

There is only one way to find out, Bethroot decides, her path set. She steps back into her quarters and starts to dress for the most important Judgment she has made as Inquisitor, secure in her choice.

She loves him, oh Ancestors, she still loves him. And because of that, Bethroot will grant Thom Rainier his freedom and hope it leads him back unto her side.

#

Since the moment he made the decision to go up to the Inquisitor's quarters, all those months ago, Blackwall should have realized their story couldn't end any other way except with him in chains.

But he kept fooling himself, kept thinking just one more day, please, kept hoping he could simply continue the pretense. He should have known better. Everyone's past catches up with them in the end. Now Blackwall will stand before her while she decides what to do with his pathetic existence.

Then there's the hardest truth to face. Even with her past, Blackwall lifted her up on a pedestal, perhaps in a desperate attempt to raise himself up. The woman he placed on that pedestal should have left him to hang. She should have never looked back once she learned the truth. But his lady refused, and who knows what machinations took place to free him? If she's not the woman he thought her to be, one above reproach, who exactly is she?

And will he even have the chance to find out?

Two Inquisition guards approach and Blackwall stands, preparing himself for the spectacle ahead. No doubt it will be. Even though so many of the common folk love the Herald, there are still some who find it perverse that a Stone-fearing dwarf should be in a position of power for the Chantry. They'll revel in the sight of Blackwall standing before her, twisting any words spoken to their own purpose, and it will all be his fault.

If only Blackwall could have stayed away from her. If only she sent him away when he asked. If only. The story of his fucking life.

If only he saved his money from the Grand Tourney instead of squandering it on women and wine. If only he had the courage to say no when offered that first bribe. If only he walked away from Ser Robert. If only he told his men to stop when he heard the children singing. If only he could have saved the Warden-Constable.

If only he had gone to Gwaren.

Instead, he only feels the weight of the manacles on his wrists, and the shove of a guard behind him, telling him to start walking. Blackwall complies and steps into the Courtyard, with his head hanging low. Voices whisper all around him and Blackwall realizes he is scared, not of the Judgment ahead, but after. He's terrified of living with the truth, instead of hiding it. His shame is out there for everyone, including his lady, to see, and it frightens him.

He waits outside the closed door of the Main Hall, and takes a breath. Judgments mercifully do not last long, so the horrible waiting and wondering about his fate is almost over. The doors open, and even this far away, Blackwall sees her sitting on her throne, her feet not touching the floor. He's never understood why the lady Ambassador insists on such a throne for the Inquisitor, one where she needs to jump up into. But she always needs to jump into chairs, thanks to there hardly being any dwarf-size furniture in Skyhold. And when it was just the two of them together, she'd forgo a chair and jump into his lap, telling him he was much more comfortable than a wooden seat.

As Blackwall takes his first steps into the Main Hall, the two guards grab his arms, too forcefully to be just for show. These guards would have been chosen by Cullen, a good indication where he stands with the Commander. He starts to walk and looks at the Inquisitor. He finds his heart swelling, aware he's never loved her more than this very moment.

Then he gets a good look at her face. Exhaustion is the first thing he notices; she looks so fucking tired. There are bags under her eyes and her clothes don't seem to fit quite right, as if she's lost weight. And anger his lady does not deserve flares up inside him. She could have saved herself all of this if she could have just let him go in Orlais. He would be deservedly dead and she could move on.

But she didn't let him go and now they have to live with the consequences. So he stands in front of the only woman he's ever loved and waits for her to speak.

#

"Did that really just happen, Leliana?" Josephine asks, rubbing her temples as Leliana pours them each a glass of wine. It's only ten in the morning, far too early to drink, but after that spectacle, Josephine decides she's never needed a drink more. "Did Thom Rainier of all people call the Inquisitor corrupt before kissing her in front of close to a hundred people?"

Leliana hands her the glass of wine, and Josephine takes a moment to sniff the bouquet out of habit. It's a dark port, and she smells citrus, caramel and oak, before drinking the entire glass without stopping. There's a moment of light-headedness, but she simply shakes her head and thinks of all the work ahead.

"Don't blame Rainier," Leliana says, her eyes dancing. "If the Herald had stayed in her seat, he might not have moved. But she looked ready to sprint into his arms."

"He called her corrupt-"

"He called the Inquisition corrupt, Josie, not the Inquisitor," Leliana says a bit more somberly. "The difference is slight, but it is there."

Here is the privacy of her office, Josephine lets her shoulders slump slightly as she sits down at her desk. "I disagree," she says, crossing her leg at the knee and leaning back. "We will have to be above reproach after this. Especially since you and Cassandra are being considered as replacements for the Divine. I will not have the Chantry dragged into this as well."

Leliana perches herself on the edge of Josephine's desk and sighs. "Did we do the right thing?" she asks, her voice quiet. "I think I would feel more at ease if she told him to join the Wardens."

"She must not have wanted to be parted from him," Josephine says, bringing a hand up to her cheek. "I suppose some might think it romantic."

"And others, a sign of weakness," Leliana says darkly. "There will be consequences. She's announced to the world what will hurt her most: losing Thom Rainier."

Josephine meets Leliana's gaze then and the look they share reaches all the way to her toes. Having been the target of an assassination attempt herself, she would not wish it on anyone. Except perhaps Corypheus. The thought makes her smile, putting a contract on Corypheus' life from the House of Repose. Would they hunt him as stridently they hunted her? They did have their reputation to protect, after all.

"Assign a watch for a few weeks, but discreetly," Josephine says, trying not to feel like she is betraying the Herald. "The Inquisitor would not appreciate knowing he is being followed."

Nodding, Leliana says, "You know, I've always thought humans and dwarves were adorable together. Like the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair. He always rested his arm on her head, messing up her hair. I think she hated it until she became used to it."

"Blackwall could pick up the Herald so easily," Josephine says, thinking of the times she saw him help Bethroot up onto a chair or his workbench. "Where is she now?"

"I might have overheard her tell Rainier she would walk him to his quarters, but then she had work to do," Leliana says.

Josephine picks up her quill, ready to do some work herself, hoping the wine she drank doesn't go to her head this early in the morning. "I'm surprised she doesn't stay with him."

Leliana picks up a trinket from Josephine's desk, studying it before saying, "She's putting work before play, as she should. None of us can afford to let our guard down."

"I can't imagine talking to Rainier will be play today," Josephine says with a shake of her head. "Can you imagine how much they need to work through?" Leliana's eyes light up and Josephine knows she needs to nip this talk in the bud. Spymaster Leliana might be, but she still loves gossip as only an Orlesian can. "I apologize. I don't mean to gossip about the Herald. She deserves more respect than that."

"You're no fun, Josie," Leliana says with a pout, putting back the trinket. "But you're right. I'll assign a guard for Rainier."

"My thanks," Josephine says. She watches Leliana leave the office before deciding what document to work on first. She thought to write the Arishok, see if there might be some way to salvage the relationship with the qunari, but a more personal matter comes to mind.

Her mother needs a response, whether or not to formally propose a betrothal to Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto.

Opening her top desk drawer, Josephine brings out the handkerchief, the one she helped Bethroot make for Blackwall, so many months ago. After the Inquisitor told her how he accepted the favor, Josephine made a point to keep an eye out for the handkerchief when she saw him. More than once, she watched him simply place his hand over the spot where he had it tucked away, and there would be a sense of renewal on his face. The move never failed to tug at Josephine's heart, so when she saw the token balled up on the floor of the prison next to Rainier's clothes, she picked it up for safekeeping.

She thinks back to the Judgment, to that look Bethroot and Rainier shared near the end, a look enveloping passion and love above all things. A look that transcended betrayal and secret identities and even possible death.

Josephine decides to accept the betrothal. Then she, too, will be able to work towards a love like that.

And once she's written the letter which will change her life, Josephine will find a way to sneak Rainier not only the handkerchief, but those half dozen boxes of moss candy she brought back from Val Royeaux, so he can give them to Bethroot.

Candy won't solve all of the problems of the world, but it's certainly a start.

#

To be continued in Masks. "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James A. Baldwin