Thank you all for reading! No update next week - then another week off in April, and we should be good for a

Responding to a note from Blackwall, Thule went down to the stables after he'd eaten his evening meal. He'd felt uncomfortable around Blackwall ever since Leliana had imparted to him the information that their resident Grey Warden wasn't actually a Warden at all. Blackwall did good work for them—he was a good man, that was plain. But if he was pretending to be something he wasn't, there must be a reason, and Thule didn't like the sensation that the solid ground under his feet might suddenly become quicksand. He didn't like it at all.

Blackwall looked up from his carving—a gryphon, by the looks of it—as Thule came in. "Thank you for coming. I … had a hankering for company tonight. Want a drink?" He reached for a bottle, holding it aloft.

"Sure. Any reason you were hankering for my company particularly this evening, instead of going to the Herald's Rest?" Harding was visiting Skyhold; usually the head scout's presence was enough to pull Blackwall out of his self-imposed solitude.

"Limited company this evening," Blackwall said shortly, not rising to Thule's attempt to tease him.

They sat down with cups of wine in front of Blackwall's little fireplace. Thule sipped the wine—a surprisingly good vintage—and waited for Blackwall to begin. This was about more than company. Blackwall had something to say, and there was no point rushing him.

"I've been thinking … about my childhood," Blackwall said at last.

It wasn't at all where Thule had expected the conversation to go, but he hoped a discussion of Blackwall's childhood would lead to some answers about his more recent past. "Yes?" he asked encouragingly.

"When I was a boy, there were these urchins who roamed the streets near my father's house."

"When I was a boy, I was an urchin roaming the streets," Thule countered, and Blackwall nodded.

"Even then, I doubt you were like these. They were lawless, utterly wild, and heedless of who they might hurt. One day, they found a dog. A wretched little thing, starving. It came to them for food. They caught it, tied a rope around its neck, and strung it up."

"Why?"

"Because they could," Blackwall said, his voice low and savage. "Because they didn't care. But I—I was there, I saw, and … do you know what I did?"

The Blackwall Thule knew would have charged in and stopped them. But Blackwall as a child? It was hard to say. He shook his head, raising his eyebrows to encourage Blackwall to continue.

"I did nothing. Not a damn thing." He took a deep, sharp breath, looking at the fire to steady himself. "It was crying. I saw its legs kicking, the neck straining and twisting … It was horrid. Anyone who says that animals don't feel pain—" He shook his head. "They do."

"Did you watch until it was dead?"

"No. I turned around, went inside, and closed the door. I could have told my father or alerted someon, but I didn't. I just pretended it wasn't happening. Because it was easier than fighting them, because I didn't know what I would do with the dog if I saved it, because it was a weak and starving thing and I despised it as they did."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"Doesn't it? I've … I've tried not to be that boy, for a long time. Even then, I was old enough to know the dog was suffering and that it was wrong. I may as well have tied the noose myself. I—It's not the only time that I've seen suffering and walked away, but it's stayed with me, somehow. The look in its eyes …" He shuddered.

"You've changed, Blackwall. The man that you are now—you wouldn't let something like that happen again."

"Wouldn't I? I've been wondering." He looked over at Thule. "We could make the world better, but it's easier just to shut our eyes."

"No one here is shutting their eyes. We've all got them wide open, looking out for Corypheus. We're doing our part to make the world better, and you're right here with us. It's not easy, but then again, nothing worth doing is."

Blackwall chuckled. "You would have done the right thing. I knew you would have."

Thule raised his eyebrows. "I was starving myself. I would have eaten the dog and been glad for the meat."

"You say that, but I have a hard time believing it. Whatever you used to be, you aren't anymore. You're the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and that role has changed you, even in the short time I've known you. And you—you have changed others. Never doubt that. We're lucky there are people like you in the world."

Thule smiled. "Thank you, Blackwall."

Blackwall nodded. "There's always some dog out there, some fucking mongrel who doesn't know how to stay away."

"That's what Skyhold is here for; to take them in and help them."

"Possibly."

Blackwall stood up, indicating that the conversation was over. Thule still didn't know what they had been talking about, but he hoped he had helped. He guessed only time would tell.

The next morning, when he came down to the stables again responding to a summons from Scout Harding, he wasn't at all surprised to find her in tears, reading a good-bye note from Blackwall, and Blackwall himself nowhere to be found.

Lilias bid Varric a good afternoon, getting up from his table with her lunch dishes. He was surprisingly distracted today, and a little down, which wasn't like him at all. She wondered if it had something to do with Bianca, but she knew that was the one topic you couldn't approach with Varric too well to bother asking.

At the buffet where she stacked her dirty dishes, she found Josephine busy doing the same thing. They chatted a moment about the toughness of the day's mutton, and then Josephine leaned in closer, dropping her voice. "I happen to have just received a box today with some luscious fruit, straight from Antiva, and a fine selection of teas. If you would like to join me, Champion?"

"I would be delighted, thank you, Ambassador, but only if you'll drop the Champion and call me Lilias."

Josephine smiled. "Of course. And you will call me Josephine—I hear the word Ambassador entirely too often, and frequently in tones that would make a dragon's dying scream sound pleasant."

Lilias winced; she vividly recalled the dying scream of the dragon they had killed outside Kirkwall … although she would have been very surprised if Josephine had ever seen a real dragon, much less been close enough to hear one scream or see it die. Still, she appreciated the attempt to put the complaint into terms she understood.

Soon they were seated comfortably in Josephine's office, with steaming hot cups of fragrant tea and plates of fruit that were remarkably fresh-looking, despite having come all the way from Antiva—Josephine said it was an enchantment on the boxes that kept things cold.

Josephine sighed. "It is so nice to have a bit of a break."

"I wish I felt the same. I'm at loose ends here, a bit, with no official standing and therefore nothing particular to do." With a momentary flash of panic, Lilias wondered if that was what she was doing here, if Josephine were planning to approach her to help with Ambassador duties. Which would be a disaster—she supposed she could work at being diplomatic, but nothing would change the fact that she was a disgraced ex-Champion who many people still blamed for everything that had happened in Kirkwall, and since. Just being attached to the Inquisition at all was problematic; it wouldn't look good for them if she was out front representing it.

Looking up into Josephine's eyes, she felt foolish. Of course Josephine knew all that—knew it better than Lilias did. She was very good at her job. Josephine smiled to acknowledge that she had read some of what had been going on in Lilias's mind; possibly all of it. "I was thinking that the Inquisitor has many calls on his time, requests to go and help people with their troubles. Some of it requires him in person, but other tasks are more …"

"Generic?" Lilias supplied.

"Yes. And perhaps being seen to help people could begin the process of restoring your reputation as well, don't you think? After all, that is how the Inquisitor got where he is. Remember, when he first came to us, everyone thought he was responsible for the Conclave."

"That's hard to believe."

Josephine chuckled. "It is now, but you should have seen him then. Hiding his fear with bluster, stealing everything he could get his hands on … He was always charming, but he has learned an astonishing amount. Just look at how he handled himself at Halamshiral. I do not believe the man I first met could have done so." She looked at Lilias thoughtfully. "You also managed to shine. Your dance with Florianne—I have seen little to rival it. Orlais will be talking about it, and you, for some time yet to come."

Lilias flushed at the praise, uncertain how to respond. "You seemed to enjoy yourself."

"Oh, yes! So bracing, to be in the thick of the Great Game again! One forgets how one misses it. The last time I was at Halamshiral was … let's see … yes, Countess Letienne's wedding. A dozen affairs, five secret alliances, and a duel between two Chevaliers over the vintage of an Antivan port." The nostalgic smile left her face. "But until the Duchess was unmasked, I have never seen the Winter Palace in shock."

"You don't see the Empress of Orlais almost killed in cold blood in the middle of her own ball every day."

"Certainly not so brazenly," Josephine agreed. She shook her head. "The Game has become increasingly insular in the past few years. Corypheus skillfully took advantage of that. It is disturbing that so few people in the Orlesian court were aware of the Duchess's machinations."

"You would think the Game's greatest players would be able to spot a murderer in their midst."

"You would, wouldn't you? As I said, insularity. Familiar rivals become the only ones worth sparring with; one begins to think one knows all there is to know, and forgets to look for new players and unusual tactics."

"But in the end, it was a victory, and another setback for Corypheus." Lilias remembered the tall, disturbing figure, part darkspawn and part man and part something entirely different, and shuddered.

Josephine saw the movement and smiled. "Yes, let's do speak of something else."

Lilias grinned. "Perhaps we could talk about the handsome man you were dancing with at the end of the ball."

To her surprise, Josephine nearly dropped her cup. "Must we?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was touching on a sore spot."

"No, you couldn't have." Josephine sighed. "That was Lord Otranto. My mother has betrothed me to him."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. Arranged marriages are still part of the custom in Antiva. More's the pity. I tried to tell her—and him—that I simply do not have the time to deal with this, but he … they were most insistent." There was a flush on Josephine's cheeks that made Lilias wonder if Lord Otranto's insistence had been more pleasant than Josephine had expected. "He … wants to come here."

"And you're afraid he'll be a distraction?"

"I am certain he will be a distraction. I am afraid … that I will enjoy it."

"Surely you have been involved with men before?"

"Yes, of course, but always with an eye to the ending, you know? In this case, he does not see an ending, and will be most … unwilling to allow me to imagine one."

"Hm. That is a conundrum. What are you going to do?"

Josephine shook her head. "I appear to have little choice. If I rebuff him, I will displease my mother, who will make my continued management of the Montilyet affairs—already difficult given the distance and my work here—a nightmare. If I allow him to come, who knows what will happen?"

Lilias smiled. "Sounds like you already have your answer—mystery in this case sounds better than certainty."

"It does, doesn't it? Still … I admit to being nervous." Josephine smiled. "Thank you for this. It has been nice to take a moment to relax with a friend."

Leaving Josephine's office, Lilias felt better than she had in a long time. Helping the Inquisitor help others sounded like just the job for her—essentially what she had done in Kirkwall, and done well ... and she had made a friend.