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Ren had given some thought to which of the many dragons they had glimpsed over the course of their travels she should take the Iron Bull to kill, and was leaning toward the Storm Coast. It seemed appropriate, given that the Storm Coast was where they had first met, and given both of their yearnings toward the sea.

But that plan was put on hold at breakfast the next morning, when Ren was summoned up to Leliana's rookery. Leliana had finally tracked down Blackwall—he had been seen in Val Royeaux, attending the trial of a man named Cyril Mornay, who was accused of the murders of a nobleman and his family in Orlais. Mornay had been on the run for a decade since the killings.

"What does this Mornay have to do with Blackwall?" Ren asked.

Leliana gave her a sidelong look that told her nothing. "It is hard to say for certain."

Ren had the distinct impression that her spymaster knew more than she was saying, but she knew from experience that Leliana would say only what she needed to and no more.

"Mornay is being hanged in a few days," Leliana said. "I would strongly suggest that you attend the execution."

A strong suggestion from Leliana was as good as an order. "I'll leave after lunch."

The Iron Bull was less than entirely pleased that Ren was leaving again so soon, and for Val Royeaux of all places—meaning there was pretty much no chance of any fighting to be done. But he was relieved that he wasn't being left behind on this trip. He didn't think he could have handled any more time pacing the battlements, not knowing what was happening to her.

In the midst of her hasty preparations for the journey to Val Royeaux, Ren was caught by Varric, who had a female dwarf with him, both of them looking downcast and disturbed. Varric introduced his fellow dwarf as Bianca, bringing up all sorts of questions regarding the name of his crossbow; Ren wondered if she would ever be able to convince him to tell her the story. She made a promise to herself that she wouldn't ask unless Hawke came back, however. It seemed only fair.

Bianca, the living version, explained that she knew of an entrance in the Hinterlands to the Deep Roads thaig where Varric had first found the red lyrium idol, the beginning of all of this. Varric studied his boots through all of this recitation. Ren knew he felt a deep sense of guilt and responsibility over the red lyrium idol's fate and all the damage it had caused. She waited until he looked up at her, and then promised him that they would meet Bianca in Valammar, the entrance to the Deep Roads in the Hinterlands, as soon as she returned from Val Royeaux.

Varric played it off as though he didn't care. Bianca took off immediately, and he played that off as though he didn't care, either, but neither attempt fooled Ren. She hated to see the dwarf's usually cheerful face so closed-off and dark.

Ren had hoped to get a chance for lunch before leaving Skyhold, but was foiled there, as well; on the way into the keep, she ran into Mother Giselle and Dorian having a quiet but intense argument. When the mage stalked off, his face thunderous, Mother Giselle turned to Ren. The Inquisition's representative from the Chantry had few positive things to say about Dorian, despite the fact that she had rarely ever spoken to him and had certainly never discussed his conception of Andrasteism with him. Ren imagined if she had, Mother Giselle might have discovered Dorian's views weren't as far from hers as she thought. While Ren's own views were much farther, a fact Mother Giselle ignored as hard as she could.

Mother Giselle had gotten herself embroiled in a correspondence with Dorian's parents, and now she wanted Ren to trick Dorian into meeting a family retainer at an inn on the outskirts of Redcliffe.

Ren was hard put to remain civil. This was the Chantry? Lying to a believer on the behalf of people who didn't have the courtesy to approach him themselves? Lending itself to what appeared to be a kidnapping plot? She told Mother Giselle in no uncertain terms to mind her own business.

It wasn't until they were on their horses on the way out of Skyhold that Ren calmed down enough to remember that she hadn't managed to eat, thanks to Mother Giselle's meddling.

The broad-shouldered draft horse the Iron Bull rode pulled up next to hers. "Here, take this," he said, handing her a sandwich. "You should take better care of yourself."

Ren smiled up at him. "Isn't that what I have you for?"

He returned the smile, his grey eye warming. "And don't you fucking forget it."

They arrived in Val Royeaux just in time; the execution was set for just a few hours after they rode into town. A report from Leliana said she suspected Blackwall would be at the execution, so Ren left the Iron Bull, and Josephine, who had come along on an errand of her own, at the inn where they were staying and slipped into the crowd by herself, hoping to remain unobtrusive.

She saw nothing, and no one. The execution proceeded as scheduled, the noose around Mornay's neck … when a familiar voice shouted "Stop!"

Blackwall climbed the steps to the scaffold. Mornay looked up at him with a mixture of pleading, anger, and contempt, but Blackwall didn't return the look. Instead he addressed the crowd, proclaiming Mornay's innocence, asserting that the man had been acting under orders.

The executioner stepped forward. "Then find me the man who gave the order."

Blackwall turned to look out into the crowd, his eyes meeting Ren's. If he was surprised to see her there, he gave no sign of it. As his head turned away from hers, Ren could suddenly understand what he was doing here, the meaning of his story of the dead dog, his need to leave the Inquisition. She called his name.

His head snapped back around, and he shouted at her across the crowd. "No! I am not Blackwall! I never was Blackwall! Warden Blackwall is dead—I am Thom Rainier. I gave the order. The crime is mine."

Ren didn't know who Thom Rainier was, but it was enough to know that he—the Blackwall that was to be—had been responsible for the crimes Mornay was to have been hung for. The Orlesian city guards took Blackwall away to jail.

Turning away, Ren looked for any Inquisition messengers who might happen to be in the crowd. Instead, she was met by a familiar broad chest suddenly appearing in front of her, and looked up into the Iron Bull's eye. "I told you to stay at the inn."

"Yeah. Not going to happen."

"So you saw?"

He nodded. It explained a lot—Blackwall had always acted as though he was two very different people. The Iron Bull was pleased to see that Ren appeared distressed but not surprised. She had come a long way from the rather trusting young woman he had first met. "What are you going to do?"

"Go see him, get some answers," she said with determination.

"Good plan. You think he'll talk to you?"

Ren nodded. "I think he will. This time, though, please, don't come with me."

The Iron Bull smiled a little. "No, I don't think he'd talk to me at all."

In the prison cell, Blackwall was hunched over, staring at the floor. He didn't look up when Ren approached.

Softly, almost as though he was speaking to the floor, he said, "I didn't take Blackwall's life, if that's what you're wondering. I traded his death; I didn't think the world should lose a good man like that instead of … one like me. But if I had killed him, it would still be better than what I really did."

"You stepped up when it counted," Ren said.

Blackwall snorted. "You mean, after I destroyed his life, and the lives of so many others. I was their captain, their leader, I gave the orders. Do you know what it does to a man, killing children?" He glanced at her quickly and then away. "Of course you don't, and I hope to the Maker you never do. And then, once the deed was done, they had to hide. But they were caught, all of them, one by one. Mornay was just the last … I could have turned myself in at any time before."

"But you did it now."

Frowning, Blackwall looked full at her face for the first time. "Why are you here?"

"I want to know what happened."

"No. You don't. I was greedy; I took money, lied to my men, was responsible for the deaths of innocents. There is nothing there that you want to know about." He met her eyes, then looked away. "I know you feel an obligation, but there is no need. I … wanted you to think I was a good man, but you saw through that lie. You saw that I am this … murderer, this … monster."

"Blackwall—Rainier," Ren corrected when he glared at her. "You are a good man. I have seen that in you, whether you recognize it or not. Somewhere along the line, you became what you pretended to be."

He shook his head, turning toward the back of his cell. "Just … go."

She did, but only to the office in the front of the jail, where Josephine and the Iron Bull were waiting for her. After a whispered conference, and with some clear reservations, Josephine set about getting Blackwall released into Inquisition custody.

Tired as she was from all the traveling, Ren didn't want to stay in Val Royeaux any longer than necessary. As soon as Josephine's business was done, they left, riding fast back to Skyhold.

Ren kept her distance from Rainier/Blackwall on the way back, and the Iron Bull and Josephine both kept quiet on the subject, seeming to understand that Ren needed time to get her thoughts in order. Blackwall had lied to them, lied to everyone … but Ren understood why. He had tried to atone, in the best way he knew how, for the crimes of Thom Rainier, by becoming a better man. Wasn't that in some ways a parallel to Ren herself becoming the Inquisitor? The life of Ren Trevelyan, disappointment and waste of space and criminal, had been justified by the Anchor and her role as the head of the Inquisition. Could she sit in judgment on Rainier for doing the same thing?

When the Iron Bull came to her in her quarters at Skyhold the night before Rainier's judgment, Ren kept her clothes on. She sat before the fire, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, watching the flames leap.

The Iron Bull eased his body down next to her, but he didn't touch her. This problem she needed to work out without distractions from him. "You know, it's not good to look too long at the fire. It mesmerizes you, distracts you from approaching dangers."

"Are you an approaching danger?" she asked him.

"I could be. You never know."

She studied him, her blue eyes darker than usual. "No. I know. And I knew about Blackwall—Rainier, too. I knew he was a good man. You could tell there was something … he never quite was the man he claimed to be, and he carried a darkness there. It was obvious he was doing penance for something in his past. But … who isn't? Why does Solas keep to himself so much? Why does Sera never answer a question seriously? Why does Varric spend all his time writing about other people's lives instead of living his own? All of us are more—and possibly less—than we seem to be."

"You're saying you don't blame him." The Iron Bull worked very hard to keep his voice even. He despised Blackwall for the same reason Cullen had laid out when they returned to Skyhold; Blackwall, as Rainier, had betrayed his men, leading them into a job they knew nothing about, and when the job went sour, he had abandoned them. The Iron Bull would never have treated his Chargers that way—for fuck's sake, he had turned his back on his home, his faith, his very identity rather than betray his men!

"You do," Ren said, understanding. "How could you not? His actions went against everything you believe in." She turned her head to look at him. "If he remains with the Inquisition, will you fight next to him?"

"If you tell me to."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You don't have to like a person to fight next to them; can't say I care much for Solas, but I know he's going to do his job in a fight. Same goes for Blackwall … Rainier … ah, whatever the fuck you want to call him. I won't be his drinking buddy, but I'll swing a sword next to him, and try not to hit him with it."

Ren nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You're pretty damned amazing, did you know that?" She unfolded herself, climbing on top of him and straddling his lap.

"Am I?" he asked, his voice husky.

She grinned, pushing him backward. "Let me show you how much."

The following day, she sat on the dais in the main hall while two soldiers brought Blackwall in, chained and stumbling at the pace they set. Josephine came forward with her clipboard, saying sadly, "For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall. His crimes—well, you are aware of his crimes. The decision of what to do with him is yours."

Ren sat forward, looking at him keenly. "I have heard your arguments, Thom Rainier, and I have given them a great deal of thought. Your crime was reprehensible. You know that. And I know that you have not forgiven yourself any more than many here will be able to forgive you now that they know what you have done."

"I accepted my punishment," he said angrily. "I was ready for all this to end."

"What, your life? Wouldn't that be convenient—a nice sharp end to all the pain and guilt." Ren shook her head. "No, Rainier, I am not going to give you the satisfaction of being executed. While I can understand that you are weary of your burden, you are too valuable to be let go of so easily."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you will go where Blackwall intended all along for you to go—you will join the Wardens. I understand the Joining itself is perilous and the life of a Warden—a true Warden—is not an easy one. But you can do some good there, and you can do some good here. When we defeat Corypheus, you will report to the nearest outpost and take your Joining."

There was almost a relief in Rainier's eyes. "If I die, it will be no less than I deserve. And if I live … I'll make it count."

"Very well."

The soldiers stepped aside, and Rainier left the hall looking dazed, amidst the shocked whispers of many. Ren refused to discuss her decision with anyone, hoping if she didn't feed the whispers they would die away faster.

While most people the Iron Bull had talked to seemed to admire her decision, he didn't agree with it at all. Blackwall-Rainier had always romanticized the Wardens—he thought of them as knights in a tale, riding in on shining griffons to save the day, and in trying to be Blackwall, he had tried to live up to that romance. Sending him off to be a real Warden was just playing into his fantasies.

But then, perhaps Ren thought the reality of the Wardens would collapse the fantasies; a punishment in itself. The Iron Bull wasn't going to ask her about it, though. They had made her the Inquisitor—they would have to live with her decisions, whether they agreed with them or not.

Tonight, he was going to take her mind off it. In her room, he carried her wordlessly to the bed. He tied the usual scarf over her ears as well as her eyes, and he tied her wrists together more tightly than usual, so she couldn't wriggle free.

Ren lay back with a sigh. The scarf over her ears didn't deaden the sounds, but it muffled them enough. In this quiet darkness, unable to move, she was free to let go, to float away on the sensations the Iron Bull was building in her body. He used his hands and mouth everywhere, and then switched to what felt like a scarf, and then a feather, bringing her to the edge of completion over and over again until it was all she could think about—just that one more touch, one more lick, that would bring her to the pleasure that hovered just out of her reach.

Her voice was muffled in her ears, and she could barely hear her own pleas as she twisted and bucked beneath him. At last, at last, a scrape of his teeth and a crook of his fingers inside her and she exploded, her body pulsing with the force of it.

And then she slept, barely aware of him unfastening her bonds and pulling the covers over her, as he had that first night, so long ago.