A/N: Sorry this is quite short! Another soon to come to make up for that. And thank you for all the reviews, every single one is appreciated more than I can say.

Skyhold was abuzz with talk of it: Warden Blackwall , the story went, was neither Blackwall nor a Warden, but a fugitive criminal named Thomas Ranier, a mercenary, a brigand, and a murderer.

Killeen stopped the first conversation she overheard on the topic with a sharp reminder not to spread baseless gossip, stopped the second too, but by the time she'd heard the same story from eight or ten different people, the remarkable consistency in their accounts began to sow a seed of doubt.

Gossip spreads faster than nits, true. But gossip tends to change with every teller.

When a dozen people are telling the same story, it's usually better described as news.

And Blackwall is gone.

Killeen kept an eye out for Dorian, or Varric, or someone else she might reasonably ask about what was going on as she went from storeroom to kitchens to stables to quartermaster, but the only person of any seniority she encountered was the Lady Vivienne, and there was no curiosity in the world strong enough to prompt her to address the cool, sophisticated, lethal Madame de Fer unbidden.

Her curiosity went unanswered, then, until she slipped into Cullen's office after the evening meal. He was standing by his desk, hands braced against it, staring at a report as if it would think again and alter itself under the force of his glare.

"Is it true about Blackwall?" Killeen asked bluntly.

Cullen sighed, and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Yes. He's not Blackwall, has never been Blackwall. He got away with it, too, would have kept on getting away with it if he hadn't turned himself in to save one of his men from execution."

Killeen fetched another couple of candles from the chest, and lit them, one by one, from the single light he'd been attempting to read by. Another hold-over from a straightened childhood. "Well, thank the Maker we're not facing an archdemon, then."

"You are," Cullen said, with a sideways glance, "the most unutterably pragmatic woman I have ever known. Everyone's asking how could he and what should we do and the first thing you think of is the problem of fighting a Blight without any Grey Wardens."

"Someone has to have a good grasp of essentials," Killeen said. "What's she going to do?"

Cullen sank into his chair. "About hypothetical archdemons, or about Thomas Ranier?"

"Does she have a plan for the archdemons?" Killeen asked.

Cullen shook his head. "And she hasn't decided on a plan of action for Ranier. We can use the Inquisition's resources to retrieve him, if she choses."

"Then make sure she does," Killeen said.

Cullen looked up at her. "You admire what he did, too," he said. "After all this time, knowing he was safe, being willing to give up his life."

"I don't give a nug's nut for what he did," Killeen said. "Darkspawn magister from the dawn of time, remember? Bigger fish to fry. If she thinks he should hang for what he did, hang him after."

"Thanks for saving the world, now off to the gallows with you?" Cullen suggested with a slight smile. "Seems a little heartless for Lady Trevelyan."

Killeen plunged straight past the fact that it was the first time he'd ever referred to the Inquisitor in less than exquisitely formal terms. "Then tell her she can redeem him. Tell her whatever she needs to hear, you'd know better than me. This is not a fight we can win with one hand behind our backs. This is going to take both hands, and both feet, and probably teeth and eye-gouging before the end."

Cullen grinned at her. "I can see you eye-gouging Corypheus."

"He's tall," Killeen said judiciously, letting him turn the subject. "You'd have to give me a leg-up."

"I saw something like that, once," Cullen said. "Two dwarfs head-butting a big mercenary called … Wolf-something, I think."

"Wolf-tooth," Killeen said, hooking over a stool and settling in for the story. "I remember him. Claimed to be part Qunari."

"Which was nonsense, of course. Anyway, it all started when …"

It was, for a small space of time, the way it had always been: just the two of them, trading stories, reminding each other of the details of the fights they'd shared, as the candles burned down and all around them the fortress settled in to night.

Then a knock at the door brought a messenger, and the illusion disappeared.

Cullen scanned the message, frowning. "Get the squad leaders," he said to the man, who nodded and went off at a run. Killeen held out her hand for the paper and Cullen gave it to her. "We've got a lead on the Red Templar's main source of lyrium."

Killeen scanned the page. "Sahrnia, that's Emprise Du Lion, isn't it?"

"Yes," Cullen said. "We've had reports of a heavy concentration of Red Templars in the area and now we know why. We haven't the forces to take them on head-to-head but we need to be ready to push into the area as soon as the Inquisitor needs."

Running footsteps outside, then, and the room quickly became crowded. Cullen spread out the map of Emprise Du Lion, long fingers stabbing at locations of strategic significance, ordering squads here and here. "Rylen's men will monitor the situation," he ordered, and at Rylen's crisp acknowledgement: "In the meantime, we'll send soldiers to —"

Bent over the map herself, Killeen heard the door open again to admit a latecomer, waited for a blistering comment from Cullen on tardiness.

Instead, after the briefest of pauses, he went on mildly: "— assist with the relief effort.

Killeen looked up, and met the gaze of the Inquisitor, leaning against the wall by the door, a small smile on her pretty face.

"That will be all," Cullen said, giving Killeen a sideways look that meant You, too.

"Ser," she said briskly, turned on her heel, and went out with the others.