Okay, fourth time's the charm, I hope. FFN is being very weird about updates lately.
beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!
Emetophobes should skip the infirmary scene. There's vomiting.
Ciri held out her hand quietly as Solas pressed the chrysoprase disc flat against her palm. Unlike Triss, he didn't chant in any tongue, merely furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. Her hand prickled, then stung terribly as magic rushed through it, drawing the tiniest bit of the anchor from the shattered-glass lines of her palm to the glowing disc. By the time it became nearly unbearable, the disc was too bright to look at directly.
Solas pulled it away and turned to place it in the strongbox with the others. "You're doing well, lethallin. At this rate, you should be free of the anchor in under a year."
She didn't like the sound of that. "Is there any way to speed it up?"
"Not without damaging your hand further or straining the magic that belongs to you." He closed the lid on the brightly shining discs and locked them away. "Your avoidance of magic and of your unusual Fade step has helped a great deal to slow its progression."
"Do you think it will be safe for me to 'Fade step' again someday?"
"Of that, I have no doubt," he said with a small smile. "You'll soon be flitting across the battlefield again."
And after that, it was a short step to going home again, and to seeing her family.
She looked over his shoulder at the locked strongbox and tipped her head at it curiously. "What can those be used for? Or are they just very dramatic-looking trinkets, useless but attractive?"
"It would take a rare person to use them," he told her. "Very few people know how to channel the energies in Veil magic. And it has limited uses. Thinning, thickening, opening, closing, and manipulating the Veil – all could be made simpler with the use of one of those discs."
Ciri looked back at him swiftly. "Then we might be able to use them to strengthen the Veil."
"It is a possibility," Solas said.
"You told me the Veil must not come down in the future," she pointed out to him again. "You called its absence an abomination. You told me to tell you this."
"I remember your words." He frowned, an edge of frustration glinting in his lavender-gray eyes. "There was no such barrier in the days of the Elvhen empire. Spirits lived freely among the Elvhen then. One might see a spirit of knowledge hold a position at a library, or a spirit of integrity mediate an argument between bickering parties. Spirits would help or hinder as their natures dictated.
"Does that not sound marvelous to you, lethallin?" he asked her intently.
"Solas," she said, reaching out to place her hand over his. "The Veil was gone in the future. It wasn't like that at all. Sometimes…sometimes a thing is lost forever. It does sound marvelous. But I don't think it can ever be that way again."
The intent gleam in his eyes dimmed slightly, and he pulled his hand away. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "After all, if I should listen to anyone's words of wisdom, you'd think I'd care to hear my own. And your thoughts are always valued, of course."
"It's good that you can visit these ancient memories in the Fade," Ciri said carefully, "but Solas, you so rarely speak of things you like about the world around you today. I worry that you've isolated yourself here in the Inquisition."
He gave her another small smile. "The world of today brought me great joy when I met you, lethallin. I had not thought to find a kinswoman in such an unlikely person. And Cole is a good friend."
"It's a start," she encouraged him. "What of the others? Varric, perhaps, or Cassandra? Olgierd and Triss would be fine friends to have, too."
"If it matters that much to you, I'll attempt to socialize," he said. "Perhaps I'll try Varric first. I did have some questions for him about 'Hard in Hightown''s strangely high number of spies and characters in disguise."
"There you go," Ciri said. "Writers love talking about their work."
"Where are you off to next?"
"I thought I'd check on Cullen and Ser Rylen in the infirmary," she told him. "Then I must judge Crassius Servis, the Venatori mage who surrendered to us in the Western Approach."
"I'll accompany you," he said, and he reached past her to open the door. "Triss and Evelyn may wish for an extra set of hands for a while."
The walk next door to the infirmary was brief. Faint sounds of retching could be heard through the door, and Ciri turned the handle and stepped through.
Cullen lay back on a cot, his face wan and nearly as pale as the sheet beneath him, and covered in a sheen of oddly blue sweat. In the cot beside him, Ser Rylen hunched over a basin as his retching ceased. Ciri got a brief glimpse of its contents as Clemence came to take the bowl away. Thin and watery, and tinted a strange, bright blue.
"Time to have something more to drink," Evelyn told them as she passed them both mugs of lightly clouded liquid. "Sit up, Cullen. You, too."
Ciri ventured farther in and sidled up to Triss, who was studying the emesis basin carefully. "What's in the mugs?"
"Water, honey, salt, and a little lemon juice," Triss said. She raised her voice. "Evelyn, will you check Ser Rylen's head?"
"Right away!"
"The potion pulls the lyrium from the blood vessels and forces the body to expel it," Triss explained. "Through the pores, though vomiting, through excrement and urine. Unfortunately, this does some damage in the process. And all the vomiting can strain the blood vessels on the brain. Owain and the other Markham Templars will have an easier time of it since they have fewer blood vessels corrupted by lyrium, but these two…" Triss shook her head. "We're healing as we go."
"I'm here to offer my assistance for a few hours," Solas said. "Where would you like me?"
"If you could do for Cullen what Evelyn's doing for Ser Rylen, I'd appreciate it," she said. "She'll show you the technique."
Solas looked like he had something to say, but instead, he just nodded in acquiescence. "I'll get started."
"Thank you."
"How long will they be like this?" Ciri asked as she watched Solas approach Evelyn.
"They only got started yesterday afternoon," Triss reminded her. "They have another day like this, two at the most. Then we'll release them for short duty, with orders to eat lots of red meat and to exercise daily to rebuild their strength."
"This is amazing, Triss. I hope you know that," Ciri murmured. "You, Evelyn, and Clemence have cured an incurable addiction."
"I can't let Keira have all the fun of curing diseases, even if it's not an accomplishment anyone back home will care about," Triss replied, equally quiet. "But it's nice to do something practical here."
"Are you feeling left out?"
"No. Not really. This and the meetings have kept me busy."
Clemence set an empty basin into Cullen's hands and said in his strange, even voice, "It is fortunate for the Templars that the mages rebelled. Had they not, the Chantry would never have let them study the lyrium so closely, and the Templars' addiction would have continued without any hope of relief."
"Ha!" Ser Rylen let out a strained, barking laugh and winced as the movement jostled his head. "Maker, that's a strange thought."
Cullen stared down into the basin, looking sick. "Remind me to raise my next mug to Anders and Hawke," he muttered.
"Your toast would be more appropriately directed to Grand Enchanter Fiona and the College of Enchanters," Clemence corrected him. "But you are free to credit whoever you like for your situation, Commander."
Ciri glanced at him sharply, but he was as blank-faced as always, not a hint of humor to be seen.
Ser Rylen laughed hoarsely again. "Didn't think Tranquil were much for joking, but you're a sharp one. A lot like your sister, aren't you?"
"Rona is my sibling," Clemence said blandly. "It is natural we would have many similarities."
Cullen quietly began heaving over the basin as Solas hovered over him with his hand extended, a soft, warm light flowing from his palm.
Ciri took in the room from her position by Triss, seeing the way Evelyn diligently looked over Rylen while keeping Cullen in the corner of her eye, the way Cullen, miserably hunched over his basin, snuck glances at Evelyn when his body offered him a reprieve. She wondered if Cullen had considered that had Evelyn not been a mage, this cure might never have been developed in the first place. It was a stupid thing to fall out over, in her opinion, but she sensed that there was more behind it than just one poorly phrased compliment.
Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, Cullen spoke up. "Evelyn."
Evelyn spun around to face him. "Yes?"
"This is – I mean to say, you have my sincere gratitude," he told her. His knuckles were white around the rim of the basin.
"Oh." Her face fell slightly, and she gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're very welcome, Cullen."
He looked confused, then a bit distressed by her reaction. "I only meant –"
"It's fine."
Ciri sighed. They'd sort it out themselves, or not at all. It certainly wasn't her business.
"Rest up and get well soon," she told Cullen and Ser Rylen. "Cullen, I'll see you back in the War Room next week. No sooner than that. I want you to rest after this. Triss, if you need food delivered –"
"We already have a runner bringing our meals," Triss said. "Go. Get to whatever it is you have to do."
Ciri left the mages and ailing Templars behind and headed across the grassy courtyard to the steps leading to the main hall. She hoped she hadn't pushed Solas too far earlier. His thoughts on a world without the Veil were troubling, and the way he held himself apart concerned her. His statement, too, that a 'rare person' might use the chrysoprase discs to shape or alter the Veil in some manner rang faint alarm bells.
But she wouldn't borrow trouble just yet. Not without knowing what Leliana's agent found in Solas' village.
Malika Cadash and Thom Rainier loitered just beyond the doors of the main hall as she entered, and Malika greeted her quietly. Rainier hung back, his eyes wary.
"Your Handiness," the scout said pleasantly enough. "You got a moment?"
Ciri paused and looked at them. Malika's friendliness seemed to cover an edge of unease, and Rainier looked close to bolting. Leliana's talk paid off sooner than I expected.
"I will soon," she said. "I'm having Servis – the mage we captured in the Western Approach – brought up to be judged."
"Ah. Gonna –" Malika ran her thumb over her throat and made a gruesome face.
Rainier paled.
"No." An idea came to Ciri, and she leaned in to speak to them quietly. "I'm clearing the hall for this judgment, but you two can stay if you're quiet. There will be no executions today, I promise."
Malika and Rainier exchanged a long look, and Rainier nodded.
"Aye," he said gruffly. "We'll stay."
Ciri nodded back and went in search of Josephine. She didn't have to look far. Her friend was at her desk as usual, humming to herself as she read through a stack of paperwork. A small vase of vivid orange blossoms crowned the corner of her desk, a soft, sweet fragrance wafting from their petals.
"In a good mood?" Ciri asked.
Josephine stopped humming at once and looked up with a faint blush, smiling brightly. "Oh! I didn't hear you come in. What can I do for you?"
"I need Crassius Servis brought up from the dungeon and the main hall cleared of onlookers. Scout Malika and Blackwall may stay, however."
"The Inquisition would benefit from onlookers seeing you render your verdict," Josephine objected. "They'll carry the tale back home or to their patrons, and word of your wisdom and fairness will spread. If you do this in secret, all they'll have to share is rumors and gossip."
"This one needs to be handled differently," Ciri said.
She was certain of it after spending three weeks traveling back to Skyhold with Servis tied up in a cart, removing his gag to let him eat at mealtimes.
"He performs to an audience," she explained. "If we take that away, we'll have him off balance. Perhaps we may get some sincerity out of him yet."
"Hm. You may have a point," Josephine agreed reluctantly. "I did read Leliana's scouts' report on his activities in the Western Approach, and the addendum you made regarding Dorian's contribution about Servis' past. Very well. I'll see to it at once."
She rose from her armchair and brushed the nonexistent wrinkles from the front of her sleeveless coat. "If you could go wait in the throne, I'll have him brought to you in fifteen minutes, no more than that."
As Josephine turned to leave, Ciri called after her. "I'm glad you're happy, Josephine."
Josephine smiled brilliantly back. "So am I."
Ciri still couldn't get comfortable in the throne. She shifted minutely to relieve the strain it put on her back. She was almost tempted to slouch in it but for the thought of how appalled her grandmother would be if she did. Just below the dais, Josephine stood with her ever-present clipboard, her quill flying as she made last-minute notes.
At the table several feet away, Malika waited at Rainier's side, both of them silent and watchful. Malika drummed her heels against the floor quietly and rested her hand atop Rainier's. He leaned close to her to whisper something, and she shook her head and whispered back, tightening her grip on his hand.
All four of them looked to the end of the hall as the doors banged open. Two armed guards marched Crassius Servis down the empty hall to the foot of the throne and bowed shallowly.
Servis bobbed his head, a faintly sardonic look in his eyes. "I'd bow properly, too, but –" He held up his manacled hands.
Josephine cleared her throat. "The court identifies you as Crassius Servis of the Minrathous School of Magi, formerly Tribune Servis of the Venatori. Is this correct?"
"To the best of my knowledge," Servis agreed, still sardonic and too at ease. His robes were rumpled and dirty from his time in the dungeons, and his hair was unwashed, but he didn't look like he'd been deprived of food or sleep.
"Messere Servis, the charges against you are quite serious," Josephine said. She flicked a glance down at her clipboard. "Serving Corypheus in a leadership role and holding men in slavery within the borders of the Orlesian Empire. You also used your connections to smuggle magical artifacts out of the Approach – without your master's knowledge."
Servis' lips thinned at Josephine's wording. "That was pretty clever of me, wasn't it?" he said, darkly amused. "Still, all gone now."
He was closing off, withdrawing. They needed to head that off.
Ciri leaned forward. "No, you don't have a master, do you? You're a free man."
"Free as the wind." Servis tried to spread his hands and failed. He gave her a rueful smirk. "Or I was."
"And as a free man of Tevinter, naturally the state of slavery is of little interest to you," Ciri continued. "What does Crassius Servis, a man as free as the wind, care for the servorum of the Venatori?"
His smirk disappeared at once, and his eyes hardened. "Altus Pavus has been telling tales."
"Dorian says you must have been exceptionally talented to gain a spot at your Circle of Magi," Ciri said. "And quite hard-working to have a position of authority in the Venatori."
"Oh, I'm just a typical laetan overachiever, Inquisitor," he dismissed. He cocked his head at Ciri, his eyes still hard. "'Servorum.' That's polite of you. You know most people in Tevinter would say 'mancipium.' Less polite than 'famulum,' but that's practically euphemistic."
Ciri hadn't realized there were multiple words for 'slave' in Tevene. It made sense that Hawke would learn one of the less offensive ones from Fenris.
"What were you smuggling the artifacts for?" she asked, changing the subject.
"I had…family obligations," Servis said, looking away. "The Venatori was only ever a means to an end. Demon armies, a darkspawn magister from ancient times, 'restoring the glory of old Tevinter?'" He grimaced. "I'm no fanatic. I wanted information, and I wanted money. I've lost the latter, and you can have the former."
"Tell me of your family obligations," Ciri prompted him. "The Inquisition has resources –"
"Not in Tevinter, you don't," he interrupted. His mouth twisted into another unhappy smirk. "My grandparents. Silus and Junia Servis. Magister Gallus Therastes holds their bond. I'd hoped to find leverage on him in the Venatori, but his ties there are third-hand at best. He wants a king's ransom for them. Spite, I assume, since I refused to come back to his household. Even if I called in the debts owed to me back in Tevinter, it wouldn't be enough. I asked Calpernia for help, but two old, well-treated house slaves weren't a priority."
Ciri nodded and made a mental note of the names he'd mentioned. "And the slave warriors in the Approach?"
Servis scoffed. "Three free soporati warriors to every slave, and a mage is worth ten of them in combat. What was I supposed to do, lead the shortest revolt in Tevinter's history? I joined for my own reasons, Inquisitor, not to advance the cause of abolition in the Imperium. I wasn't cruel. That had to suffice."
'Ambitious little worm,' the newly freed warrior had called Servis. Ciri better understood why his anger had felt so personal now.
"Crassius Servis, the Inquisition finds you guilty on both the counts of serving the Venatori in a position of authority and of holding men in slavery outside the Imperium," she said. "Your smuggling offense against the Venatori is not an offense against us and is dismissed. For your work for Corypheus, I sentence you to assist our spymaster in untangling the Venatori's intelligence network. You'll offer her every scrap of information you have. You'll hold nothing back."
Servis just gave her a cautious look, as if he could tell more was to come.
"For your crimes against the Venatori's slave warriors, you will also work with Sister Leliana and her agents to find ways to assist the men we freed in the Approach. Intelligence, gold, supplies –"
He laughed incredulously. "Are you trying to start another slave uprising?"
"Right now, my concern is the Venatori," she told him. Dorian's words of rebellions being violently quashed made her wary of encouraging one without considering all the risks first.
Servis sighed and shrugged. "Sounds like fun, Inquisitor. Not that I have much of a choice."
"No. You don't." She met his eyes and said more kindly, "Our agents will look into things in Tevinter, Servis. We won't leave your grandparents enslaved."
He gave her a jerky nod, and she gestured to the guards to unlock his manacles. "I don't suppose there's somewhere I could get a bath around here?" he asked as he rubbed his wrists.
"The guards will show you back to your cell and have hot water and a robe brought down for you," Ciri said. "It will stay unlocked during the day as a measure of trust. Sister Leliana's workspace is in the rookery, just through that door and up the stairs past the library. I'll ask that you refrain from wandering too freely without supervision."
"I'm sure I can withstand the temptation," Servis said. He offered her a florid bow, drawing his hands out to his sides with graceful flourishes. He looked up at her, still bent over, and smirked. "See? A proper bow."
Ciri waved him and the guards off with a roll of her eyes. "Court is adjourned; that will be all."
She stayed in her uncomfortable throne until the main hall's doors closed behind Servis, then stood, sighing quietly.
"A gentler punishment than he deserved, perhaps," Josephine observed. "A man with no loyalties will not feel he is doing penance by working against his former employers."
"Perhaps," Ciri agreed. Privately she wondered if she'd have been half as lenient if Dorian hadn't given her that bit of insight into Servis' surname earlier. "But whatever the case, the choice is made. Will you please tell Leliana to set him to work tracking down those magical artifacts he smuggled? I don't want those out there in strange hands. Who knows who he sold them to?"
"A good point," Josephine said. "I'll bring it up to her."
"Thank you." Ciri gave her a smile. "Will Owain and I see you and Olgierd at supper?"
"We wouldn't miss it."
Ciri left her with a quiet goodbye and walked over to the sole occupied table. Malika and Rainier rose to greet her.
"Nicer than I expected," Malika said. "But you did that with old Alexius, too, and you sent off that Avvar chieftain without making him pay for the goat-chucking or what his son did. Got a soft spot for troublemakers, Your Handiness?"
"I must," Ciri teased her lightly. "What else could explain your place here in the Inquisition?"
"Ouch. Hey, so that talk…"
"Follow me to the War Room," Ciri said. She searched Rainier's face; though uneasy, he no longer showed any sign of wishing to turn tail and leave. "We'll have privacy there."
"As you wish," Rainier said.
They trailed behind her as she led the way through the door to Josephine's office and beyond that. She opened the small door set into one of the great double doors of the War Room and ushered them through ahead of her, closing it firmly behind her as she entered.
She turned to face them and waited. Rainier dropped his gaze to his boots, his hand coming up to rub at his scar. Malika gave him a look of encouragement, then a gentle nudge in the ribs with her elbow.
"Come on, handsome."
"Did you have something on your mind, Blackwall?" Ciri asked.
"Aye, I do." He looked back up at her, frowning. "It's been weighing on me since Crestwood, since our talk after we fought the wyvern together. Your honesty shamed me. And you praised me as a Warden, as a brave man."
"I did say that," Ciri agreed.
"It shamed me," he repeated. "Inquisitor. I'm not a brave man. Not a good one, either, for that matter."
The last time Olgierd had told her he wasn't a good man, she'd shoved him. Ciri didn't think laying hands on Rainier would be quite as effective. But the refrain was a familiar one.
"No?" she asked. "I must have misremembered Haven, then, for I thought I recalled you standing with me against the red Templars when the village burned. It must have been some other brave man who volunteered to ride ahead to the Western Approach to aid Stroud, and it must have been him, not you, who took an injury to his face when he stood against demons and a blood mage. It certainly couldn't have been you who accompanied me through Adamant Fortress and into the Fade itself –"
"I did those things, aye," he said. "But a Warden's past –" Malika cleared her throat and elbowed him again. "My past – is shameful."
"We all have things in our past we aren't proud of," Ciri told him. She nodded to Malika. "Organized crime, for instance."
"Guilty as charged," Malika said cheerfully. Her hand snuck up to twist into the back of Rainier's gambeson.
Rainier shook his head. "Anything Malika did is paltry compared to my crimes."
"Why don't you allow me to be the judge of that?" Ciri suggested. "You keep dancing around it. What could you have done that's so bad?"
"Be the judge of it, hm?" Rainier chuckled humorlessly. "Will I get the same leniency as that Venatori mage?"
Ciri already knew but she asked anyway. "None of what you did took place during the Inquisition?"
"No, it was years ago."
"Then I don't see how it's something I could officially judge you for, anyway."
It was a frail, hypocritical excuse; Mayor Dedrick's decade-old crime hadn't stopped the Inquisition from arresting him. But she'd been just as unhappy with that dilemma as she was with Rainier's, and more than glad to pass it off to King Alistair and his verdict of mercy.
"It's alright," Malika said to him, her voice soft.
Rainier straightened his spine and met her eyes squarely. "My name. It's not Gordon Blackwall. It's Thom Rainier. I'm a murderer."
"Thank you for telling me," Ciri said gently.
"Maker's balls," Rainier swore. He turned away, running his hand through his hair in distress. "Maker's bloody balls!" He swung back around, his eyes wide. "You knew!"
In response, Ciri pulled Leliana's small scroll from her belt pouch and passed it to him. "I knew. I had Leliana investigate after we returned from the Western Approach the first time. Rainier –"
He flinched.
"Thom," she tried again. "You didn't know things that Stroud knew. You didn't fight like Stroud did, couldn't sense darkspawn as he did. I had to look into it."
He read the scroll and swore again. "You know everything, then. Why the song and dance? Why get Malika to convince me to come clean to you?"
Malika looked up at him, her moss-green eyes grave. "We're tangling with Orlesian politics now, handsome. The Nightingale's intelligence has our next foray out to the Exalted Plains, where soldiers in either army might recognize you. You're a wanted man. I want you safe. That means telling Her Handiness so she can figure things out."
Rainier wrapped a loose strand of her auburn hair around his finger as his eyes lost their wild look. "Minx," he said, very quietly. He looked at Ciri and sighed. "Now what?"
"I don't know everything, in fact," she said. "I know Ser Robert Chapuis hired you to kill Lord Vincent Callier for Grand Duke Gaspard, and I know you and your men murdered his family and fled once the crime was discovered. What I don't understand is why you killed his wife and children as well."
"And the carriage driver," Rainier added grimly. "Chapuis gave me the information for when and where Lord Callier would be traveling. He told me nothing about his family. I gathered my men and told them we had a special task – secret, just for us. They trusted me. Of course they did, the loyal bastards.
"When we got closer to the carriage, we could hear children singing. I knew then. But –" He grimaced. "The men didn't know what our orders really were. If I'd signaled a retreat, they'd have known I'd led them into something foul. And the money Chapuis promised me was enough to set me up for life back in the Free Marches. So I kept quiet."
"Instead of letting your men suspect you might be betraying the Empress, you turned them into traitors as well," Ciri said quietly. "Traitors, and child-killers."
"Good, loyal men paid for my cowardice," Rainier spat. "They paid for my greed. We all have innocent blood on our hands, and I'm the bastard who put it there."
Ciri couldn't disagree with that assessment. But she also couldn't bring herself to condemn him entirely, not when she called Olgierd her friend. Not when she had banditry in her past, and killers for comrades as a teenager.
"How did you end up taking on the real Blackwall's identity?" Ciri asked.
Rainier stiffened. "He found me in a tavern in Churneau. I'd traded blows with the village drunks – made them leave the barmaid alone. Came to find out they were the local militia. Blackwall was one of the tavern patrons. He was impressed enough to recruit me."
"And then?"
"We traveled together a while. Went out to the Storm Coast. He told me I needed darkspawn blood for something, a secret Grey Warden ritual of some sort. I gathered it, but we were ambushed by more of the monsters. He took a blow for me. Died." Rainier shook his head. "I let Thom Rainier die on that coast. Better a good man live than a murderous traitor. Blackwall walked away."
"Why not pretend you'd died in the ambush as well?" she asked. "You didn't have to take his identity. No one would have looked for you."
"Blackwall was a good man," Rainier said. "A hero. The world needed him. And I – I wanted to be better."
"But you couldn't as yourself," Ciri pressed.
"No."
"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Ciri said, stifling the urge to rub her forehead. "You felt you could only do good as Warden Blackwall? That Thom Rainier was too tainted to redeem?"
Rainier stared at her, as if he hadn't heard it put so simply before. "Aye, that's the long and short of it."
"And it had nothing to do with the fact that you'd be hunted under your own name?"
"Well." His ruddy cheeks darkened beneath his beard. "That played a part."
Ciri sighed. "Is there any truth to what I've heard? Grey Wardens can't be prosecuted for crimes committed before they joined the order?"
"That's true enough," Rainier confirmed. "I hinted around to Blackwall, and he told me all would be forgotten once I became a Warden."
"And if you could go back to that moment before you attacked the carriage, what would you do?"
"Call my men off," he said at once. "Let Lord Callier go. Put myself between their blades and his family if I had to." He shook his head. "What does it matter? It's done, Inquisitor. My regrets can't change the past."
"I am a man drowning in regret," Olgierd had told Ciri once. "But regrets won't bring anyone back to life, now, will they?"
"It matters to me," Ciri told him.
No one would fault her for turning him over to Orlais and taking matters out of her hands. It would be justice if she did so. She could even, if she chose, execute him for what he'd done. Lord Callier and his wife and children, and the innocent carriage driver, surely deserved recompense.
And yet he was a comrade in arms. Brave and stout-hearted, self-sacrificing at times, desperately trying to live up to a dead man's good name. Olgierd had told her from the start of 'Blackwall's' self-loathing. There was a stark difference between a penitent man and an unrepentant murderer.
She wasn't sure it was the right choice at all, but looking at Rainier and Malika standing before her, she couldn't bring herself to make any other.
"I want you to go to Soldier's Peak," she said. "I'll send a raven ahead of you. Join the Wardens properly this time. Come back when you're ready. Under your name or Blackwall's, whichever you're more comfortable using."
"I thought –" Rainier slumped against the table and raised his trembling hand to his face again. "I half expected I'd be walking out of here in chains."
"You were already recruited to the Grey Wardens," Ciri said. "It's time to follow through on that."
"This feels like cheating," he muttered.
"It is," Ciri said, flat and hard. "Seven people won't get justice, and you'll continue to live free. But I told you I won't judge you for what you did before the Inquisition started, and I truly think you've turned over a new leaf since the real Warden Blackwall died. Go to Soldier's Peak. Join the Wardens. Live up to whatever it was that Warden Blackwall saw in you, and never forget what your second chance cost."
"I won't forget," Rainier promised. "I can't."
"Well!" Malika spoke up. "Guess it's time for us to pack and hit the road."
Rainier looked down at her, his heavy eyebrows lifting in curiosity. "Us?"
"You think I'm letting you do this on your own?" Malika asked. "You'll get all gloomy without me. Or fall in love with some cute lady Warden and replace me. And we still have half of 'Obeying Her Order' and all of 'Dreams of Desire' to try out in the hayloft."
Rainier flushed and laughed shakily. "Ah, Malika. I don't think anyone could replace you."
"I'll make your excuses, though you should say goodbye to Sera yourself," Ciri told Rainier. "Malika, speak with Leliana before you leave so she knows to hand your responsibilities off to someone else. Will you be leaving today or tomorrow?"
Malika and Rainier exchanged a look, and Rainier said, "This afternoon. Best not to put it off."
"Safe travels, then. I hope to see you both back here again someday."
"Come on, handsome," Malika said as she tugged at Rainier's hand. "The faster we pack, the faster we can get going."
Rainier paused at the door and turned back to face Ciri, his face troubled but grateful. "Inquisitor. I don't know if it's the right thing to do. But thank you."
The door closed behind him, leaving Ciri alone with her thoughts.
I don't know if it was the right thing to do either. But I must believe it was.
