He was not sure how long he had been in this cell. A week, perhaps. That was only a guess. He did not care, exactly. But it felt strange, not knowing what day it was.
Thom Rainier lay in the dark and waited to die.
Sleep came fitfully, and at strange times; a few hours at night, a few hours while pale daylight seeped down the stairs. He was fairly certain it was night when he heard the thump on the floor above him. They were dragging in another prisoner, he suspected; perhaps one who had been brought in unconscious.
Then, voices.
"Have I told you how much I have missed committing burglary with you, my Dark Wolf?" asked a soft Antivan accent.
"Not today, no," a female voice replied. "That should be all of the guards. Come on, he's downstairs."
Rainier sat up as two figures slipped into the gloom of the small jail—elves, from their slender frames. Both were dressed in soft grey, with dark scarves wound around their faces and hair. "Will you, or shall I?" asked the female voice.
"You should, of course," the male elf said, gesturing towards Rainier's cell. "You know how I like to watch."
"If you're here to kill me, just get it over with," Rainier said. He had expected this; there were many in Orlais who would not want these events dragged up again if it could be helped. Deliberately, he stood and stepped to the door of his cell. He curled his hands around the bars and leaned forward, letting the frigid metal dig into his limbs and chest and forehead. It would be easy for the elf to slide a dagger between his ribs.
"We are not. You may want to step back, I'm about to open that door," the woman said. She dropped to her right knee and slid a pair of lockpicks out of her sleeve. With practiced efficiency, she slipped them into the lock and began her work.
"These things you do with your fingers, my dear. They are like poetry," the male elf said as she twisted the lockpicks.
"I do love it when you needlessly flatter me," she replied.
"Are you here to kidnap me? Or will you just be having sex on the floor in front of my cell?" Rainier growled.
"Who says we cannot do both, my hirsute friend?" the man said.
A moment later the lock tumbled open; the woman stood and slid the picks back into her sleeve. Out of pure instinct, Rainier took two quick steps back.
"We mean you no harm," the woman said, opening the cell door. "We're here on behalf of the Inquisition." When Rainier did not move, she added, "Please come with us. You're rather large and I don't want to dose you with knockout powder and carry you."
"So the Inquisitor has allied herself with criminals on my account," he said. A sour taste flooded his mouth; he almost gagged. "How many did you kill to reach me?"
"Are we certain the Inquisitor wants this man back?" the Antivan said doubtfully. "He is a rather grim fellow."
"We didn't kill anyone. The guards will wake with headaches tomorrow, but there's no new blood on your hands for this. Andraste's ass, man," the woman said, crossing her arms and giving her fingers a few impatient taps. "Are you really going to make us carry you?"
Rainier sighed. "Very well. Lead on."
True to their word, the elves handled him gently. They tossed a cloak over his shoulders to provide at least some cover against being easily recognized, then swept him through several back alleys in Val Royeaux. The two moved so fast that there were moments when Rainier almost stumbled, unable to keep up after so much inactivity. They saw, and slowed their pace. Eventually they reached the outskirts of the city, where three horses awaited them. The elves tied his hands to his saddle and tethered his horse to the man's mount, but were otherwise courteous.
An hour later, they were far enough outside the city that Rainier felt he could speak. "Who are you? What did the Inquisition promise you in recompense for this?"
The elves looked at each other; the woman shrugged and stripped her scarf from her face.
Rainier found himself staring directly at the Hero of Ferelden.
"I'm Naia," she said unnecessarily. "And this is Zevran." The male elf unwound his scarf and gave Rainier an amused little nod.
"The Inquisition sent you?" he asked, looking between her and her companion, feeling as if the world were spinning around him.
Naia nodded. "Actually, we volunteered. The Wardens owed the Inquisition one after Adamant—well, a lot more than one, more like one hundred. And the Inquisitor said you helped talk the survivors down, so I figured we owed you one too. Besides, we really like breaking into places."
"So we do," Zevran agreed cheerfully.
Rainier was utterly at a loss for what to say. What came out was, "Maker's balls. I need a drink."
Naia laughed, not unkindly. "I can't promise that the Inquisition has whiskey rations for prisoners, but I'll see what we can do."
Cecily never enjoyed sitting in judgment at Skyhold—with the possible exception of her meeting with the Avaar goat-thrower—but she hoped she would never face a worse sight than this. Two Inquisition guards were half-guiding, half-dragging Thom Rainier towards the Inquisition's throne.
Josephine's voice only wobbled a little as she presented the man for judgment. Cecily breathed deeply through her nose and ran her fingers down the arms of the chair, not bothering to conceal how much this distressed her. She had cleared the audience chamber of all but those she trusted with this secret; the people here would not fault her for a few cracks in her composure.
Rainier looked even worse than Cecily felt. His hair and beard were matted, his clothing rumpled and stained, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted; the shackles on his hands dragged his shoulders down in a painful slump. "You fought by my side against some of the worst enemies we have faced. I do not enjoy seeing you like this," Cecily said honestly.
"Another thing to regret." His voice was rough. "You took me from jail under cover of night—took a murderer from the justice that awaited him. You're a criminal now, the same as me."
Cecily felt her hands tighten on the arms of her throne. "I beg your pardon, Captain Rainier?" she said icily. "Please, do lecture me on my criminal activities. Perhaps you've been keeping a list of the people I've killed for money?" She regretted that as soon as she said it—but only a little.
The warrior grimaced and looked away. "Pronounce your judgment. You went to enough trouble to claim it. There is nothing I could say in my own defense."
Cecily closed her eyes and took a long, silent breath through her nose. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. "Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Blackwall. I sentence you to resume your duties with the Inquisition, until such time as I release you. When your service to the Inquisition is concluded, you will report to Warden-Commander Nathaniel Howe in Amaranthine to undertake the Joining."
Rainier's eyes widened. "As you command."
"Many die from the Joining, and I have it on good authority that a Warden's life is not an easy one," Cecily told him seriously. "This is no escape. It is simply an opportunity to be the man you claimed, or someone like him." She studied his face quietly—so familiar and yet so strange. "I am also told that the Wardens often extend second chances. It seems a worthy example for the Inquisition to emulate."
Thom Rainier stood there, stunned. Then, slowly, he bowed, as respectful and grateful a gesture as a man in shackles could have possibly made. "You have my sword, my Lady, for however long you need it. And when you do not, I swear to you that I will carry out your judgment. If I die, it will be no less than I deserve. And if I live … I'll make it count."
"The Inquisition needs you, serrah. You are free to go and resume your work. Unshackle him," Cecily told the guards.
As the cuffs were unlocked from his wrists, Rainier—Blackwall—Maker, what are we supposed to call him now?—turned his face to Josephine. She closed her eyes and inclined her head, only a touch, but Cecily could sense forgiveness in the gesture.
If Josie can forgive him, surely the rest of us can as well?
He could feel so many pairs of eyes on him as the shackles were removed. He wondered if he ought to say something, but he had said the only words he could when he'd thanked the Inquisitor for her choice. He had not known what this serious, softhearted woman would do with him. Perhaps he should have guessed. Sending him to the Wardens was exactly the kind of poetic sentence she seemed to prefer.
He turned away from the throne and began his walk down the length of Skyhold's central chamber, standing straight but not meeting anyone's gaze. His muscles were cold and stiff; he rubbed his wrists, trying to shake off the memory of the shackles around them.
He was not sure how he should think of himself. Rainier, he knew, was his rightful name. But it was hard to think of himself by that name in Skyhold, in a place where people had only known him as Blackwall.
Sister Leliana was waiting for him in the stables. She avoided the issue entirely by simply saying, "You."
"Can I help you, Sister?" Blackwall-Rainier asked. His weariness had seeped so deep into his bones that he wondered if he might collapse from the sheer effort of talking to this terrifying woman.
"I blame myself, in a way," the spymaster said, looking him up and down, taking his measure. "I do have a blind spot when it comes to the Wardens. I will not make such a mistake again."
"Is that your way of saying you'll be watching me, Sister?" he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"It is," she said. There was a remarkable amount of menace in those two small words.
"I would have expected no less," he admitted. "And I suspect you'll have company." He could not imagine what Cassandra would say to him, or Varric, or Sera, or Josephine. They will hate me now. But I gave them that right.
For one bitter, ungrateful moment, he almost wished for his cell in Val Royeaux. Death, he saw, might have been the easier path.
It was another long meeting of the war council.
Despite their best efforts, the news that Blackwall was not truly Blackwall had already reached some of the people who had given the Inquisition coin and men based on his Warden treaties. Cullen argued vigorously for keeping what they'd taken—"We're allied with the Wardens now, aren't we?"—while Josephine urged Cecily to smooth ruffled feathers by returning everything and offering apologies. Leliana was silent, as she usually was when she could see both sides of the argument.
"We'll return the coin and men," Cecily said finally. "Maker willing, that will be the end of this mess. I suggest we all get some sleep. It has been an extremely trying day." Her tone was clipped, businesslike, almost brusque, and she was the first one to exit the war council room after everyone nodded their acceptance of her decision.
Cullen almost had to run to catch her. "Inquisitor, a moment, if I may," he said, trying to maintain some sort of professionalism as Leliana and Josephine slipped by them.
She paused and turned to him. "Commander?"
He waited until Josephine and Leliana had left the hallway. "Are you all right?"
She stood a bit straighter, her posture almost defensive, then her shoulder slumped. "No, not entirely," she admitted. She rubbed a hand behind her neck, shaking some of her hair loose from its pins.
"This has been hard on you." Cullen reached out to brush her hair behind her ear, but then he hesitated and pulled his hand back. "I do not mean to pry, but … you have been distant these past few days. Are you, I mean, do you still want …?" He could not bring himself to ask the rest of that question.
Cecily crossed her arms nervously. "I … I know. It's just—I don't want to saddle you with my burdens simply because we are courting." Her eyes suddenly widened. "But—oh, Maker, Cullen, I'm sorry! Of course I still want this. I just haven't been very good at showing it of late. There are times when I need to be the Inquisitor, not just Cecily, and I know you'd rather not have everyone in Skyhold talking about us so I try to be careful."
"You're allowed to share your burdens. And there's no one else here," Cullen said softly. "If you like, I don't have to be the Commander right now. I'm just Cullen."
Cecily closed her eyes. "I would like that very much." She stepped close and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his shoulder, apparently not bothered by the armor. Cullen held her tight, rubbing her back gently, trying to ease the tension in her frame.
"I still don't know if I did the right thing," she mumbled.
"I know," he said. "In this case, there might have been more than one right thing to do. For what it's worth, I think you did a right thing."
They stood like that for a long time. Then Cullen got up his courage and said, "I think things might be easier if … if the others knew. I will admit I don't like the thought of you—of us—being the subject of barracks gossip, but it would be far worse if there were nothing to gossip about." He kissed her hair. "And if they know, it will finally stop Dorian from stepping on my foot and giving me a meaningful look every time you draw near. I was not entirely subtle about my feelings for you, apparently."
Cecily laughed. "Neither was I. Remind me to tell you about the advice The Iron Bull gave me."
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Cullen groaned.
She tilted her face up, her cheeks flushing. "Well, actually, I'd hope you might find it appealing. But I'll need a few drinks before I can repeat it."