Of all evil I deem you capable: Therefore I want good from you. Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws. ~ Nietzsche

The evening light cast a soft glow over the hinterlands around Redcliffe, gilding the trees and hills with gold. The air was cool. Summer was giving way to autumn and a gentle breeze rippled through the forest leaves. The birds twittered and a fennec fox yipped somewhere in the distance. Blackwall stood at the edge of the shallow pond that lay a few yards from the Inquisition camp, surveying the mat of lotus pads and the dark red blooms peeking up here and there from the clear water. The first of the frogs were tuning up their voices for the nightly chorus. A glorious sound, better to his ears than the sound of any Chantry choir. Off to one side, in the distance, the smoke from cook-fires trailed up from the refugee camp at the valley crossroad. It was hard to believe that this idyllic countryside had been a warzone only weeks ago.

The Inquisition was making good progress in the region. Better than Blackwall had expected from a small force with few resources, really. The army was a patchy lot. Just a handful of ex-templars, some veteran soldiers whose respective patrons had died at the Conclave, a few companies of mercenaries, and a cud of green recruits that barely knew which bit of a sword was the pointy end. But, they were the only ones with boots and supplies on the ground already, and they were getting little enough help from the rest of the Thedas. The Chantry reeled, the nobles postured and waited to see how best to work the situation to their own benefit, and the countryside burned. It was always the common people who suffered, whatever the struggle, and Blackwall was gratified to see that the Inquisition hadn't forgotten the smallfolk. Humanitarian, as well as military, efforts were well underway. The refugees around Redcliffe were fed and warmed and made as safe as they could be. It was half of the reason he had stuck around after his visit to Haven. The other half was more complicated.

All of the Inquisition's people worked hard - their cause was desperate enough, after all - but a large part of their success was due to their primary agent in the field, a Marcher noblewoman named Aelis Trevelyan. The supposed Herald of Andraste. Most of the people Blackwall had talked to back at Haven referred to her as if she were the second coming of Andraste herself, though her closer compatriots - the elven mage Solas, the storyteller Varric, the Navarran Seeker - had more nuanced opinions about her. It was true that she had fallen from the Fade and later risked her life to stop the Breach from expanding, at least. Everything else seemed to be a muddle of hearsay and superstition.

For Aelis' part, she vehemently contradicted any claims of holiness. She scoffed at the idea that any god in its right mind would choose her as some sort of divine messenger, which Blackwall found oddly comforting as well as amusing. A spark of humility didn't go amiss in a leader, holy or otherwise. The subject seemed to irritate her, and so he had avoided it. He supposed it didn't actually matter at the end of the day. If the world survived this, then what would be remembered was who the people thought she was, not who she really was. Theology wasn't his strong point, besides. Blackwall wasn't sure what to make of it all, but no one could deny that Aelis produced results and turned heads. She had certainly gotten his attention right from the start.

"Missing your old stomping grounds?" a voice asked from behind him and he turned to see Aelis approaching, as if she had sensed him thinking about her. She paused a few yards away and smiled. The day had been a long and busy one and, though her face was freshly washed, stray red hairs stood out around her head and caught the light like the copper halo of a saint in a Chantry frieze. Blackwall found himself staring.

She wasn't what most men would call beautiful, though she did have the heart-shaped face, well-boned cheeks, and recurving lips that were considered a mark of noble breeding in the Free Marches. Her skin had the scoured look of someone who spent most of their time out in the elements, and a series of scars marred her forehead, cheeks, and jaw. Evidence of her profession, Blackwall knew and he couldn't hold that against her. Add to that the fact that she was tall for a woman - nearly as tall as Blackwall himself - broad-shouldered, and well-muscled and she was as formidable a fighter as he had ever laid eyes on. Women were common enough in the armies of Thedas, but most were light infantry, archers, or cavalrywomen. It was rare to see one with the size and strength to wield a two-hander well. He'd seen her roar through a gaggle of enemies like an Avvar berserker enough times already to be convinced of her skill.

Finding that his mind had gone blank, Blackwall fumbled for a response.

"Just taking a moment to appreciate a fine afternoon," he told her. Then, because he knew it would make her laugh, he let his eyes drop and ride quickly up her body again in an exaggerated way. He was right. Aelis rewarded him with a chuckle, one eyebrow arching in acknowledgement of the suggestion.

Despite her unconventional appearance, Blackwall had sussed out early on that Aelis had a figure under all that armor. She dressed to hide it like many military woman, but he'd caught glimpses here and there on their travels and while off-duty in the tavern. She carried herself like someone more used to tavern brawls than salons and ballrooms, but her accent betrayed her noble upbringing - which she also tried to hide. No soft lady was Aelis, but there was something appealing to him in that. Perhaps all the more so because she seemed to like what she saw when she looked at him as well.

The flirting was a game she had started. You're oddly charming for a man I found wandering the forest, he could remember Aelis teasing him one evening after they had returned to Haven. She had a brazen wit and it had been quite awhile since he'd had received that sort of attention from a young woman. Blackwall had found himself sporting back before his better judgement could assert itself, not least because it was so unexpected. The Herald seemed to keep most people at arm's length, a sentiment Blackwall understood well enough. Though, it was good to see her smile once in awhile. It felt good to be the cause of that smile. And, Blackwall supposed, it was harmless enough. If it really was the end of the world, it might be the last opportunity.

"You mentioned you wanted to take a look at some of the old Warden camps in the area," Aelis explained, getting to the point though her gaze and smile still lingered warmly. "There's one at the ruins of Fort Calenhad just a short distance from here. We cleared a rift out of the area last time we were passing, so it should be quiet. Time enough to have a look and get back before dark, if you want. Care for an evening stroll?"

After he had been debriefed at Haven, Blackwall had mentioned his interest in the old camps marked out on his maps, and Aelis had agreed to take a look if they could find one. There was so much to be done that he hadn't really expected her to make time for something most would consider frivolous, but here she was offering after all. It pleased him that she had remembered and that she would keep her word. He smiled back.

"I think I could just about manage that. Lead the way."

As they passed through the camp, Aelis stopped to inform Seeker Cassandra that they were going to take a short patrol over the hill and would return soon. Although the Herald was theoretically in charge of these field missions, being the only one who could close the rifts and therefore the one whose life was most at risk, Cassandra had actually declared the Inquisition in the first place and there was uneasy question as to who really had the final say. Blackwall noted the way that both women bristled when they were around each other, but the exchange was short and polite enough. Varric had related to him the story of how Aelis had fallen out of the Fade, how she had originally been a suspect in the destruction of the Conclave, and how the Herald and the Seeker's first meeting had been a violent one as a result. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have spawned a powerful grudge.

With duty discharged, they set out, descending the rough path and crossing the dirt road that snaked between grassy cliffs and broken stone up into the foothills. The further they retreated from camp, the more relaxed Aelis seemed to grow. It was easy to forget that she was as young as she was - barely more than twenty if what he'd heard was right. At that age, all that had been on Blackwall's mind was fighting and girls, not saving the bloody world. It was gratifying to see the girl in her, rather than the warrior, coming out now as her brow unknit and her gate slowed to a less aggressive stride.

"So, what are you expecting to find anyway?" she asked, conversationally, as they walked. Hearing the serrated sharpness fade companionably from her voice when she spoke to him infected Blackwall with the same easiness as well. It made him feel younger and less burdened, less alone than he had in a very long time. The walk reminded him of afternoon strolls through the royal parks in Val Royeaux during the halcyon days of his tenure in Orlais. His life had been both easier and harder at once, then, only in different ways. There had been fighting and death and politics, to be sure, but also a fair share of pleasure. A good dinner and a pretty woman on his arm - and hopefully later in his bed - had been all he had wanted of an autumn evening back then. The thought glowed in his mind briefly and - as it always did - faded to ash as other memories were dredged up along with it. He steadied himself, sobering again.

"Anything of use. The Wardens aren't just brutes with swords, you know. If we happen to stumble upon a cache, we could find maps or records. Something that could help the Inquisition."

It wasn't entirely untrue. The original Blackwall - the one who had actually been a Warden - had told him enough about the Grey Wardens that he could flimflam his way through most questions that came up if he leaned heavily on the mysterious air that the Wardens cultivated and didn't give too many details. Mostly, he just wanted to see the places that real Grey Wardens had been. Circumstances had prevented Blackwall from joining them, but he could live the life of a Warden as best he could and walk in their footsteps. That might be close enough to the real thing anyway.

Talking overly much about the subject was risky, however. He could easily blow his cover, and Aelis was the last person at present that he wanted to know the sorry truth. As they crested the next hill, Blackwall tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation, but found he needn't have bothered.

"I nearly became a Grey Warden once myself. Did I tell you?" she began, casting a mischievous side-long glance at him though her tone was one of feigned innocence. She was about to start teasing him again. Blackwall decided to play the straight man to the joke, though he was unsuccessful at hiding his smile.

"No, you didn't. What kept you?"

"The recruiter's good sense, really," she admitted, smirking at something in her own mind for a moment and then began, "I'd had a cousin who became a Warden. I only ever met him the once, but he made an impression. He was the closest thing to a real hero I'd ever seen. After that, whenever my brothers played stick-knights in the courtyard, I'd crash in and play at being a Warden. Drove my mother wild with disapproval."

"Of you wanting to be a Warden or just rough-housing with the boys?" Blackwall asked, warming to the story. For as little time as he had known her, he could easily picture Aelis doing something like that. In his mind's eye, he could see her red braid lashing around her face and shoulders as she scuffled with her brothers. A mock Grey Warden with a wooden sword, riding a broom-handle griffin into battle. That image, layered with what he'd seen of her since he'd met her, gave her greater depth and he liked thinking of it.

"Both," answered Aelis, though a shadow passed briefly over her face before her smile was back. Blackwall filed that thought away for later, as she shrugged. "Not that she had anything particular against the Wardens, mind you. They just weren't 'nice'. Mother didn't care much for that sort of thing. If it isn't 'nice' and doesn't make for pleasant conversation over brisks and tea in the parlor with the Grand Cleric, one really shouldn't want to know about it."

The change in inflection in her voice on that last quip, perfectly mimicking the genteel warble of a matronly Marcher noblewoman, set Blackwall to snorting with laughter. Marchers were thin on the ground this far south. Though they were from different cities, it was good to share a jab at the high and mighty back home with a countrywoman, not least someone who hailed from that class herself.

"So, what happened then?" he prompted her, amused and interested now despite his reluctance to talk about the Wardens. This was the most Aelis had ever disclosed about herself and Blackwall wanted to know more about her, both because he was genuinely curious and because it paid to know who you were fighting next to. Harder battles were coming, and so moments like this were invaluable to get to know the man or woman who might be the only thing standing in between you and a grisly end one day.

For, there was a darkness in Aelis at times that troubled him. Blackwall could see it struggling to surface in the way she looked at Cassandra when she thought no one was paying attention, in the snarling bite of her voice when she was angry, and in the vicious way she took apart an enemy piece by bloody piece. She was as hot-blooded as one of the fighting cocks he'd watched set against each other back in Markham as a boy, though that was hardly unusual among warriors of her type. To her credit, she checked herself more often than not, but there was something hardened and hate-filled under all that anger, too - something that twisted her towards destruction just as surely as he could see her conscience pushing back when she went out of her way to help the common folk. Not all of the demons she fought fell from the Fade, that was certain.

Blackwall knew the signs because he had been down that road himself, more than once. No matter how far he ran or where he went or what he did, Rainier would always be there in the end. The monster - the craven, corrupt, selfish, murderous beast - would always be there, waiting for a chance to come back out. Seeing a flash of those same claws and teeth in Aelis alarmed him, but it drew him to her, too. It was like looking into a mirror of himself at the same age. She bore the same conceits and bravado of youth, the same anger and fear crouching inside, and the same chance to get it fatally wrong. She was clearly struggling and, perhaps for his own sake as well as hers, he wanted to see her win.

But Aelis had continued with the story and Blackwall turned his attention outward to her voice again as they wove their way through the sparse woodlands.

"I was thirteen. I'd just had an argument with my parents. They were determined to send me for Templar training, which I wanted nothing to do with. I wanted to go the Academie in Orlais and become a chevalier," she related, pausing for a moment as she scrutinized the woodland ahead. She pointed at a bit of grey stone that made a jagged line just at the tree tops further head. "There's the ruin. Almost there."

As they corrected their course and picked their way onto an old and partially overgrown path that lead to the ancient fort, she continued, "I was angry. The Academie wouldn't accept me without my father's consent, and he wanted me nowhere near the Orlesian wars. While I was sulking in the guardhouse, I overheard one of the men talking about a Grey Warden recruiter in town, and it occurred to me that the Grey Wardens didn't require anyone's consent. If the recruiter wanted me, he could just conscript me. That would show my parents for thinking they could thwart me. I'd always liked the Wardens. Why not? So, I slipped out a window early the next morning and went to go find him."

Blackwall had to work to suppress laughter. In the time that he'd been wandering around under the guise of a Grey Warden recruiter, a dozen or so boys had approached him asking for exactly the same thing young Aelis had gone looking for. He'd turned them all down, kindly, of course, but he knew well enough the shine of near hero-worship in their eyes, the innocent determination in their faces. He'd tried to send them back to their parents with a smile instead of a heartbreak.

"Bet that went over well. Did you find the man, at least?"

"Well, I had no idea where to look for him, did I? I hadn't heard that part," explained Aelis, grinning. "Took me two days to track him down to an inn near the prison, and by that time I'd slept in a stable and gotten into a fistfight with a cook's boy behind a tavern. So, there I was, a gangly girl with a black eye, a busted lip, a torn tunic, and my hair flying out of my braid every which way. I marched right up to the recruiter and looked him in the eye, bold as you please, and told him I wanted to join. Looking back, I can't imagine how he managed to keep a straight face."

"Practice. Lot's of practice," Blackwall chuckled in retort as they arrived at the ruin.

Rays of faint sunlight slanted through the foliage and broken windows of the old tower. Vines and weeds had grown up through crumbling stone, turning what once had been a defensive fort guarding the northern road to a wild place once more. It was quiet now, save for the voices of the birds and insects. Blackwall surveyed it with the eye of the commander he had once been, appreciating the work of the ancient engineers and sappers that had carted stone and fortified the place in the early days of Ferelden's golden age. With many of the walls still sturdy, it was a good place to take shelter from the wind. Exactly the sort of place he imagined the Wardens would find convenient.

"Let's check the bailey," he told Aelis, who nodded. They threaded their way through what had once been the moorings for a portcullis. Blackwall could see the grooves in the stone, though the iron had all rusted to pieces or been carried away ages ago. He glanced at his companion, watching her pause and look the inner courtyard of the fortress with interest. Though he hoped to find the old campsite before the light failed and they had to go back, he wanted to hear the end of her story. "What did the recruiter say?"

"He never let on. He made a show of it, told me it was a serious commitment, and put me through my paces with a training sword. Told me I had talent and he would speak to my father, as my family should know where I had gone," she replied, turning over some stones with her boot. She smiled fondly, remembering. "Good job, too, because I'd never have gone with him if I'd thought he was just escorting me back home so I didn't get into anymore trouble. Which he did. Maker's balls, that was a scene. My father shouted. My mother fainted. The recruiter had the good grace to let me down easy. He said I had the spirit for it, but I was too young, and promised to come back in a few years when I was of age. Told me to train hard and mind my parents in the mean time. I was banned from picking up a sword and given extra lessons to do for a month after that, but that was nothing. A Warden recruiter thought I might be good enough one day to join. I was enchanted."

She squinted at a pile of stones in the western corner of the ruin, between tower and outer wall. "Look over there. Does that look like the remains of a firepit to you?"

Blackwall turned his gaze in the direction she indicated, noting a shallow hollow in the stony ground, with fragments of broken stone strewn around it, right in the crook of the ruin that would provide the best coverage from the wind. Though there were plenty of stones scattered around, the distribution didn't seem natural. He grunted assent.

"Looks like something to investigate either way."

He followed her over to the formation. Indeed, the hollow in the earth looked like it had been scooped out at some point in the past by human hands, though it was partially refilled with level dirt. The pit was too conspicuously round to be chance. Aelis dropped to a knee, her eyes lighting up with interest. She pulled her dagger from her belt and scratched its tip deeply across the soft surface of the dirt.

"Look, there's old ashes. Definitely a campsite," she said, pointing out the blurry, striated layers of char revealed under a layer of dried mud. Her gaze scanned the area and Blackwall knelt beside her, starting to share her excitement.

"They would have slept close to the fire, probably sitting up with their backs to the walls so they couldn't be surprised in their sleep," he noted, and Aelis nodded her assent. She rose and crossed the few feet between the old hearth and the wall, running her hand over the stone.

"I'd keep my sword across my lap while I slept, close to hand," she said, thinking out loud as she plopped down to the ground and leaned back against the wall, just as the men and women who had been at this camp before them would have done, "And anything valuable . . ."

She turned and looked at the narrow corner where the walls joined and her eyebrows raised in surprise. Quickly, she scooted towards the pile of rubble that filled it and began to dig at one of the larger rocks, jostling it free.

"What is it?" Blackwall asked, moving to help her dislodge the stone. He watched her expression screw up with concentration as she reached into the hollow space underneath and pulled out what looked to be a hard, gnarled roll of leather. Sitting back on her heels, Aelis blew dust off of it and picked away pieces of lichen before holding it up to the light.

"I don't know. It's light, though. Hollow."

He took the object from her, absorbed in the magic of the discovery as he turned the thing over in his hands. There was a slight seam in the leather and he followed it up to find the place at the end of the cylinder where a section could be detached. Better and better. "It's a mapcase, I think."

Beaming, pleased with herself, Aelis stood and crowded in to look as he carefully eased open the case. The leather was quite old, the joint swollen with time, but with a few tugs and twists, the seal began to slide free. Blackwall tried not to get his expectations up. It was probably empty. It looked as if it had been discarded. After so long outside, if there was anything there, the contents were probably crumbled to dust, anyway. Still, it would be a fine thing if there were something useful inside. He moved into a ray of light to see better, and spotted a tight curl of dry parchment spiraling in on itself deeper inside the case. There was something.

"Hold this while I see if I can get ease it out," he told Aelis, who obliged. A coil of vellum filled the case and it took them several minutes of breath-holding concentration before Blackwall was able to gently slide the scroll free. The vellum was stained and stiff, cracked in places, but it held together. Someone had backed it with a thin, but sturdy, section of nug leather. Blackwall glanced up to see Aelis gazing at it with an eager look of hope that perfectly mirror his own and felt something inside of him warm a little at that.

They decided to risk unrolling it. Aelis lent her careful fingers to the work. The vellum did not crumble, and soon they were looking at a map of Ferelden, ancient and water spotted, the pen-strokes faded but legible. Handwritten notes were scrawled in the margins in the script of someone long dead. The details were very precise, though towns and cities had been omitted. Built after the time of the mapmaker, Blackwall realized. The most prominent features indicated entrances to the Deeproads and known dens of Darkspawn. Exactly the sort of thing he had been hoping for.

"I think the Inquisition could make use of this," he told Aelis, triumphantly, grinning despite himself. She nodded, returning the sentiment.

"I think you're right. We'll have Leliana and Cullen look it over when we get back to Haven."

A pleasant feeling suffused Blackwall as they carefully rolled up the map and replaced it in its case. He wasn't sure whether it was because his hunch had paid off or because he was contributing something to the Inquisition's cause or because of the way Aelis had looked at him, their hands brushing as they worked together on the map. Perhaps all three. It was a rare emotion and he decided, this once, to let himself be content with it.

With the shadows growing long, they would have to start back soon, but it seemed a shame to leave the ruins so quickly after arriving. Aelis took a seat on a ledge of stone and removed a flask of water from her belt, offering it to him first and then taking a long drink herself. Blackwall, glad for the rest, sat down next to her.

"You never did finish the story," he told her after they had had a moment to savor the quiet of the woods and the pleasantness of a successful mission. He wanted to hear her voice, make the most of this opportunity to see her as she was when not having to play the Herald. He liked this side of her, and he liked that she would let her guard down enough to be this way with him. Any excuse for conversation, though Blackwall couldn't help but be curious as well. "Did the recruiter ever come back?"

Aelis sighed, took another drink from her flask before hanging it back on her belt, and shrugged.

"Don't know. If he did, I'd already bolted before then. I think my mother still blames him for that, though it wasn't his fault."

Ah. They were starting to veer into uneasy territory. There was a slanted, inward look in her eyes that told him he was getting close to something. He didn't want to pry it from her, but he couldn't help wanting to know now that the subject had been breached. He tried humor to keep the conversation on the light side.

"So, you didn't become a Grey Warden or a chevalier, and you're obviously not a Templar. Ran away to join the army, then? You wouldn't be the first. It's a time-honored tradition in the Marches."

Aelis snorted, amused, but her smile wavered. She shook her head.

"No, not the army. I was fifteen when I left home: too young to buy a commission and from too well-known a family to be able to just turn up somewhere and enlist. Well, I was full of piss and vinegar then," she said and shot him a look from under her eyebrows before he could catch her with the obvious quip. "Not a word from you, Warden. Anyway, I was itching to get out of Ostwick so I could prove myself without my family coddling me. Hired myself on with the first company of mercenaries that would have me. Bunch of bastards called Farrell's Shieldbreakers, lead by the biggest bastard of them all. I didn't know any better. I just wanted to fight. They put a proper sword in my hand and off I went."

The way she spat the name of her old company did not escape Blackwall. Her lip curled slightly, remembering something unpleasant. Mercenary life hadn't agreed with her, then. Good, he thought before pressing quickly so she would keep talking.

"So, that's how you ended up at the Conclave then? On a contract?"

"No," replied Aelis, uncomfortably. She wouldn't look him in the eye, but he could see the hint of pain rising into her face, and he felt suddenly guilty for pushing for the information.

"It's none of my business. Everyone's got something in their past that's better left there," he assured her, but she shook her head and sighed, grinding her boot into the stones and dirt self-consciously.

"No, better that you know. Leliana and Josephine hushed up what hadn't already been dealt with, but you have to risk your life out there right along with me. You should know who's guarding your back. I fought with the Shieldbreakers for several years. We were just this side of being brigands most of that time. I worked my way up to being one of Farrell's lieutenants after a couple of years of hard fighting, mostly because I'd had an education and better training than most. We made our living off of petty noble squabbles on both sides of the Orlesian civil war. Ugly stuff. I did things on Farrell's orders that I'm not proud of now. I hated it. Hated him. But I did it all the same, and by then it felt too late. Once you've hit the bottom, it's a long way to climb back up. And then it starts to feel like the only place you belong, you know?"

Blackwall felt his chest constrict with the eerie prophecy of her words. He did know. Too well. She couldn't know anything about his own past, but the parallel echo of it there on her lips made his nerves shiver all the same. He listened, wrapt, as she continued.

"Through it all, I had a brother - Aiden - who never gave up on me. He was a Chantry Brother, a historian of some kind, back in Ostwick. He'd write me letters, reams of them, and keep me up to date on what was going on back home. In every one of them, he'd ask me to come back, or at least come and visit him. After awhile, I couldn't bring myself to write him back anymore. It was too hard. And so, stubbornness being the Trevelyan family trait, he came and found me instead. Walked right into our field camp unexpected one afternoon with his scribal apprentice and a Templar escort. Maker knows how he found us. He announced that if I wouldn't come home of my own accord, he'd hire me to be his bodyguard on the road instead. Right in front of Farrell and the whole crew. You could have knocked them all over with a feather."

"What did you do?"

"I took him up on the offer. I'd had it with Farrell and the whole sorry lot. I knew he wouldn't tangle with a Chantry Brother and a gaggle of Templars. Someone would miss them and it wouldn't be hard to figure out what had happened. So, I packed up my gear with the old bastard shouting in my ear all the while. I told him I'd skin him and leave him for the crows if I ever saw him again and then left with my brother and the Chantry folk. Aiden was insufferable after that. Grinned all the way to Haven. Told everyone we met along the way that I was his personal ruffian. If he hadn't died at the Conclave, he would never have let me forget it." She paused, sadly, and then shook her head. "It should be him here, really. He would have known what to do about this mess."

Hearing the hurt in her voice touched painful places for Blackwall as well. He knew what it was to lose someone who cared about you, to feel like the world was worse for having you in it instead of them. His sister Liddy - ever a quiet child with large, soft eyes in his memory - had affected him in much the same way. As had Warden Blackwall, who had taken a blow meant for Thom Rainier and now lay buried out there on the cliffs. He turned to look at Aelis, her brow knit as she frowned at her knees, thinking heavy thoughts, and knew that this and whatever it was she had done at the behest of her old commander was the source of the festering anger in her. It was a cut too deep and far too familiar, and he could not leave her open and bleeding as he had been left bleeding all those years ago.

"But you're the one who's here. That's not nothing. No one could ask for better than what you're already doing, my lady," he told her, gently, and meant it.

For someone who claimed not to believe in the Maker, Aelis inspired more confidence in Him than a regiment of Templars and Chantry Mothers. She was rough around the edges and made a young commander's mistakes to be sure, but Blackwall had trained enough soldiers in his time to know potential when he saw it. She was plagued by her past, just as he was, but there was still time. She might not be the polished, devout warrior that someone like Cassandra would have preferred, but maybe the world didn't need another plaster saint. Maybe it needed someone like Aelis, who was raw and real and imperfect, who would grit her teeth against even the worst that could happen and get the job done. No, the Inquisition couldn't ask for a better Herald, and everyone but Aelis herself knew it.

Though she usually recoiled and chafed whenever anyone address her as '"lady", Aelis only exhaled a brief laugh, less humor than embarrassment.

"If you say so," she told him. Glancing up, she smiled ruefully, admitting, "That's what they used to call me in the Shieldbreakers. Milady. Because I couldn't shake my accent and because, apparently, I had manners once upon a time. Bunch of tossers."

"If it bothers you-" Blackwall began, but she shook her head, interrupting him.

"No. When you say it, it means something different. It's nice," Aelis told him, and then brushed onward before he could form a reply out of his surprise. She stood. "We'd best get back before Cassandra thinks I've scarpered and sends a search party."

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, ducking behind the tower walls and casting the overgrown courtyard in shadow. Blackwall stood and followed her out of the ruin. They found the path quickly and were soon back at the main track, the sounds of the camp in the distance and the glow of its fire peaking through the sheltering trees.

He turned to look at Aelis, pausing reluctantly as she composed herself once more. In the gloaming light, her scars were nearly hidden against the paleness of her face. Her story had moved him, gripping him inside in a way he could not begin to explain. That she had opened up to him, made herself vulnerable to potential scorn, touched him most of all. That was not a small thing for someone with secrets and shame. And, if she were not the Herald and if he were not a murderer faking his way through life as a counterfeit Grey Warden, then he could have made something of those few moments there in the ruin. And Blackwall knew that, from the way she had looked at him there before they had set off back to the camp, in that moment she would have let him.

But, there was no use in wishing for the world to be any different than it was. Wishing wouldn't close the Breach in the sky or resolve the terrible war between the mages and Templars or make him any less a scoundrel. After seeing her fight and watching her work, Blackwall was certain that the Inquisition already had what it needed to get the job done right there in the form of Aelis, whether she really was a holy messenger from Andraste or just a stubborn woman with a sword willing to stand in the way of danger. And it could so easily go wrong. The harder the battles became, the more that doubt and anger would whisper in her ear.

It wasn't enough to believe in the Herald. Aelis didn't put her faith in the Maker or holy saviors, and pressing that title on her would only drive her away and make her feel cornered by the weight of expectation. Alone, she would fall prey to the beast within like a dragon eating its own tail, no matter how strong or clever she was. If that happened, there was no end to the ruin she could cause the Inquisition and she would likely destroy herself in the bargain. But with the right support, with the right guidance, there was no end to the amount of good she could do as well. Redemption for her, redemption for the world, and - maybe - redemption of a sort for him, too.

To get there, someone needed to believe in Aelis for her own sake and Blackwall concluded that it might as well be him. Her other companions were either too absorbed in their own troubles or too blind to see what he could see all too clearly. Both of them were soldiers - she seemed most comfortable around other warriors - and they already had a rapport. He'd been in her position before, and she clearly trusted him, so he might be the only one she would listen to. And, he wanted to help her. For her, for the Inquisition, and for himself. Twice in his life he had been offered the chance for something better, and twice he had failed. Maybe he could find some peace by offering the same chance to Aelis. It was what the real Blackwall would have done. Underneath her growling, scowling public face, he had caught a glimpsed what was left of the little girl who had wanted to be a hero, and it broke his heart to think of that going to waste.

"I enjoyed the walk, my lady," Blackwall told her, as the chorus of night insects gained in strength. Since she had afforded him the privilege of addressing her by that title, he felt it only right to use it. Aelis turned to look at him and smiled in the twilight.

"Did you? We'll have to do it again sometime, then," she replied. She stepped towards him then, her hand brushing his shoulder and lingering for just a moment before she turned back to the camp. "Good night, Blackwall."

He watched her go, his feet practically rooted to the spot. She usually addressed him as "Warden" and it was the first time she had called him by name. And it was the first time she had truly, purposefully touched him outside of their regular sparring matches. The light pressure of her hand on his shoulder had affected him with the gravity of a warhammer and he couldn't think clearly, except to notice the sway in her hips for the first time as she disappeared around the bend in the trail.

Shaking his head to try and clear the impure thoughts that followed, Blackwall hurried up the trail after her. Cassandra and Varric were already sitting around the fire, the dwarf spinning some tall tale about the antics of the Champion of Kirkwall to the wide-eyed scouts. Aelis had paused at the edge of the circle, listening, but Blackwall ducked into his tent. He didn't need any more fuel for that fire tonight.

Stripping down to his tunic and breeches, he let himself flop onto his back on his bedroll, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of his armor and laying down at last. He listened to the chatter beyond the canvas walls. A laugh rippled through the camp. He could pick out Aelis' voice like the sound of a Chantry bell mixed in with the others and he closed his eyes, tracing in his mind the way her chin would tip back when she laughed, angling gracefully with her neck, the line of which would continue down towards her shoulders and the contour of her breasts. Almost immediately, he had to force his mind to other things to avoid the pent up and slightly painful reaction of his body to those images, wincing and shifting uncomfortably.

"She's nearly half your age, you filthy old lecher," he mumbled at himself, but appetites would not be denied. Not when he could hear her out there and call to mind the way she had looked at him him this evening, and the way she teased and smiled. Not when he could remember the feel of her hand on his shoulder.

This might not be as easy as I'd thought, Blackwall admitted to himself in the darkness of the tent.