Just one more chapter at this one, and it will be a shortish epilogue. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on this piece. It always puts a smile on my face to know that someone enjoys my work, and I had a lot of fun writing this one.

To love another you have to undertake some fragment of their destiny. ~Pierre Corneille

The great hall of Skyhold's keep was all but empty in the late hours, the low flicker of torches and gentle undulation of the hanging banners in the rafters the only movement to be seen. Dinner had finished hours before and most of the guests and the household had gone to their rest for the evening. A few guards stood by, and Blackwall felt their eyes on him as he entered and crossed the hall, the sound of his boots muffled by the thick carpets that had been brought in to cover the cold stone. It could do nothing to muffle the low thump of his own heartbeat in his ears, however, as he approached the empty throne.

Had it only been a day since he had last stood here in chains before the high seat of the Inquisition? It felt like something that had happened to him an age ago, or something from a nightmare long past still vividly recalled. He kept expecting to wake up, blood thrumming and breath gasping, back in his cell. When he had been rousted from the bowels of Val Royeaux' bastille, Blackwall had thought the end had finally come and he had welcomed it. His execution would have been deserved, his death the only currency he had to pay for the pain he had caused. Instead, he was hustled through the streets in the dead of night, loaded onto a horse, and drug back across plain and mountain to Skyhold, where Aelis - Inquisitor, holy Herald, abandoned lover - was waiting for him.

In the shadowy light of the hall, backlit by anemic moonlight through tall panels of stained glass, Blackwall paused before the throne, remembering. The bitter shock of seeing her again when he had been brought up from Skyhold's dungeon had turned his body leaden and shattered his composure into fragments of frustration and woe. Had the sight of him as a broken murderer in a dank cell and the knowledge that an execution certainly awaited him not been enough for Aelis? Had she simply want to be the one to send him to the Void personally, either out of a sense of responsibility or a desire for bloody vengeance? It was not what he had come to expect from her, but he had known that it was not beyond Aelis in her anger either.

From listening to their talk on the journey, he had learned that the men who had taken him from the city had been mercenaries from her old company. Criminals, scoundrels, more brigands than soldiers - their type was all too familiar from his life before he'd established himself in Orlais. That had been Aelis' life once, too, but he had thought her long since past it. That she would turn to them now - with him as the cause of it - when she had come so far and when there was so much now that depended on her was more than he could bear on top of everything else. He had not been able to stop himself from lashing out at her for it, though he had lost the right to chastise her for anything.

His brain sketched out the scene before him now in the empty hall: her there upon her throne, listening, as formidable as an Avvar warlord, as still as if she had been a statue carved from iron and granite, while he railed at her for selling her honor and giving him one more thing to regret. The thought of it made him burn inside with shame now and he almost turned back to flee to the barn and drown himself in ale until he did not have to think of it anymore - to, finally, disappear from her sight for good.

But, no. Aelis had forgiven him. When she had every right to leave him to the hangman or to take his head herself, she had bought his freedom and then pardoned him with Andraste's grace. She had given him his leave to go forth and do as he saw fit within the Inquisition or elsewhere. The shock of it had nearly sent him to his knees. He had wanted to die. He had wanted to have it all at an end. Aelis' mercy was crueler than any hangman could be, to force him to live with the knowledge of what he had done and as well as the scorn of the people who had once thought him good and whose respect he had craved most. And that, he had realized then, was true justice. Death would have been too easy.

There had been more. Fearing that it might be his only chance to say it - and able to have her believe him any kind of monster but never faithless to her - he had blurted out that his feelings for her had never been a lie. And, before the court, there before the Maker and everyone, she had acknowledged him as her paramour and kissed him, if only briefly. We'll figure it out, he could still hear her say. Together.

Blackwall was not blind to the politics of this. The kiss was a symbol to the Inquisition at large that the matter was closed and that he was not to be made a spectacle of at the risk of the Inquisitor's displeasure. It was an official seal on the matter, of sorts, but if there was actually a chance that Aelis herself, as just the woman - as just the woman he loved in the same way his body drew breath - could truly forgive him, he could not keep her waiting long.

The door that led to her chambers stood a dozen feet or so from the throne and Blackwall stared at it for a moment, collecting himself, and then approached. The guards did not stop him. They had, evidently, been instructed not to, as that was the only reason he could think of that they would let a recently revealed murderer and criminal anywhere near their liege. The door was unlocked and swung open with the smallest of creaks, the darkened stairway that lead up to the Inquisitor's tower rising beyond. How many nights had he climbed this tower with anticipation and joy in his heart? And now, fear. Blackwall could hear nothing inside save the flutter and beak-clacking of the ravens that lived in the unfinished tower as he disturbed their reverie. Aelis had declined to have the birds shooed away. She had named each of them, always fond of the castle's creatures. Perhaps that same affinity for beasts was why she had become fond of him also. Carefully, he shut the door behind him and began to mount the stairs.

The rest of that day had seemed to pass like a fever dream. His shackles had been removed. He had been free to walk the grounds of Skyhold again and take up residence in his place in the barn. Though Blackwall had received glares and overheard grumbled comments from more than one denizen of the castle as he passed by, if Master Dennet knew about his now infamous fall from grace, the horsemaster didn't let on. Dennet had time only for his charges and anyone with a strong back and a gentle enough hand to help him care for them. Blackwall fit those criteria well enough, and so the stable welcomed him back. He had put himself to work, letting the stress and strain of the body anesthetize the mind until he could bear to think about it again.

A sliver of light escaped through the crack around the door at the top of the stairs. The door itself was slightly ajar, enough that he could see the shiver of firelight on the walls. The mountains were cold and snowy at this altitude almost all year long, and so there was hardly a night that could be passed comfortably without a fire in the hearth. So much of their time together had been spent here, or around his make-shift hearth in the stables. Memories of the first time he had kissed her, both the struggle for control and the glorious surrender, rose up into his thoughts like the sun-lit silver flash of a fish in a stream and he felt suddenly flushed, his nerves electrified, his breath catching.

You're a good man, he could still remember Aelis murmuring to him that night, soothing him. He had wanted that to be true more than he had wanted anything in his life. More than Young Thom had wanted to win the Grand Tourney so many, many years ago now. More than Captain Rainier had wanted any of the women or the respect or the prestige he had won in Orlais. More than he had wanted the gold for which he had ruined himself, even. What would she say to him now, when she knew the truth? Did she remember those words with shame and embarrassment at how easily she had been fooled? He reached for the door handle and steeled himself to find out. Aelis had left it ajar for a reason. She was expecting him.

She had come down to the barn last night after everything was over with. He had been sitting beside his fire, alone, exhausted from the ordeal of the day, and had heard a creak from the direction of the stables. When he had looked, Aelis was there leaning in the doorway, regarding him. Since they had taken up together, she had liked to visit him in the tavern or in the privacy of the barn after dark each day to steal an hour or two in his company. It made her days as the Inquisitor more bearable, she said, if she could simply be Aelis with him at night.

Words had failed him - what could he even begin to say to her after everything that had happened? - but she had smiled at him anyway as he scrambled to his feet, her lips curving in that way that always made his spine tingle.

Would it make you feel any better if I said that I'm relieved you're not a Warden and therefore not doomed to an untimely death down in the Deep Roads after all? she had asked, though the humor in her tone was strained.

With a deep breath, Blackwall opened the door to Aelis' chamber and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. The upper room smelled sweet, the servants having hung aromatic herbs in strategic places in the rafters to keep the musty smell of old wood and damp roof tiles away, and the air was comfortably warm. The only sound Blackwall could hear, as he paused in the short stairwell that lead up to floor level in the tower room, was the crackling of the fire. Was she asleep already? Should he turn back? No, not yet. She had left him with an open invitation. She had left the door open for him, and he could not rest easy until he knew for sure where they stood with one another.

So you know, I'm not angry with you, Aelis had told him last night in the dim shadows of the stables, crossing the barn floor slowly until she was close enough to touch him. She had looked him in the eyes, wanting him to read the truth of the words there in her expression so there could be no doubt, and yet he still had not dared to believe her. I've been there, she said. I understand better than most what it's like to hate what you are, what you've done, to be willing to do anything to escape it. Before I met you, I would have done the same. If there's no hope for you, Thom Rainier, there can be none for me either.

He had begun to protest this, but Aelis had only shaken her head slightly; she wasn't finished. She had reached out a hand, her fingertips brushing his beard and settling on his cheek, her thumb tracing the orbit of his cheekbone. It had felt both comfort and exquisite agony at the same time to have craved that touch so much and yet feel to feel so unworthy of it when it was bestowed on him.

I gave you the chance that was given to me when I joined the Inquisition, she had told him. I know you're not happy with my methods, but it turns out that I'm no better than anyone else when someone I love is in danger. I'll work on that. I'm done with the life I had before this. You can be done with it, too.

She had shifted there in the light of his fire, her expression growing earnest. Words had never been easy for her, and she struggled to find the right ones to say.

You're needed here. You can start over, with the Inquisition and with me, if that's what you want. It won't change the past, but you can help me make sure there's a future. She had gestured at the barn door, then. All those people out there? Whatever they say, they really don't care if it's a couple of murderers that saves them, they just want to be saved. It's going to be hard. And it's a choice you have to make for yourself. Think on it. My door is open.

And then, without waiting for a reply, she had kissed him on the cheek and left him alone, the imprint of her lips burning on his face. And now Blackwall was here standing on her stairs, preparing himself to see her again. The timbers creaked very softly as he climbed the final handful of steps to the floor of the chamber.

Aelis was not asleep. She stood facing the fireplace, her arms crossed over her chest, her back turned so that most of it faced him. Her auburn hair was still bound up into a bun and held in place with a carved wooden pin. He'd whittled that for her in the first days of their romance. He had little enough to give her, but he had wanted her to have some token from him anyway and had been gratified when she had taken to wearing it whenever she was at Skyhold. One end was crudely shaped into the eagle-beaked head of a gryffon. The yew wood matched the dun silk of her court tunic and breeches, their cut and color severe and ascetic as befitted the commander of a religious order. That she still wore his gift made his heart leap with hope.

From the sliver of her face and brow that he could see, she appeared to be deep in her own thoughts, and Blackwall debated interrupting her from them. Before he could decide one way or the other, she turned and walked the few steps to the foot of her bed, stretching, and still apparently oblivious to his presence. Blackwall's eyes were captivated by the arch of her sides and silhouette, the flexing of those long fingers, and he could not remember what he had planned to say to greet her. She turned away, presenting her back again, and began to work with something in front of her. Blackwall felt his face redden and his heart freeze as he realized she was undressing, unfastening the clasps of her tunic and beginning to slip it off.

Time seemed to stop dead. His tongue felt as if it had turned to clay, his feet to iron. Blackwall watched her bare shoulders flex, working out the stiffness from sore muscles. She trained daily, just like any other soldier, and she never stinted or allowed herself to be coddled so she ached right along with the rest of the army every night. Even before their tryst in the stables, they had sat in front of the fire here more than once rubbing the tension out of each other's backs and shoulders. The memory was hot in his mind as he stared at her now and his fingertips itched for the feel of her skin.

He could count every scar and bruise that marked and puckered her pale flesh. Fresh, dark lacerations bloomed across the ribs on her right side. Those had not been there when last he had seen her like this. Who had been by her side on the field while he was gone? Cassandra? Iron Bull? Not a single member of Aelis' inner circle would hesitate to put their lives on the line for her, and they were all formidable fighters by now, but it worried him when he was not there to protect her personally.

"You could come in and help me with these damned laces," Aelis suggested suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice jolted him from his thoughts and he heard her faint giggling as he startled. She had evidently been aware of him the whole time. She could be tricky that way.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I should have knocked," he murmured, embarrassed, and instantly averted his gaze. Aelis turned just enough that - when he dared to glance up once more - he could see her smiling at him. She had always enjoyed teasing him, and he had always enjoyed letting her. The familiarity in her tone was balm to him, loosening his serious resolve, but he was still cautious. She gestured him to approach with a nod of her head, and then turned back to finish tugging the tunic sleeve off of her arm and toss it aside onto the bed.

"I've been the only ruffian on these stairs lately. It's not as entertaining," she replied, and glanced back, smirking and cocking an eyebrow at him. "Are you blushing?"

Cautiously, Blackwall stepped towards her, each footfall bringing him closer and making his heart gallop faster in his chest. He was blushing. She was nearly bare from the waist up, save for her cloth breast-band, and he drank in the sight of her - imagined tracing the angled feminine taper of her hips to her waist and the graceful line of her spine that divided the athletic swells of back and shoulder muscles. Her body was firm, hardened from years of constant fighting. And yet, she had been soft for him there in the shadows of the hayloft, her flesh yielding to his touch, the bite and growl of a warrior Inquisitor lost beneath the primal ecstasy of a woman in the arms of her lover for the first time. That night had never left him, torturing him in the damp darkness of his cell and leaping into his mind now as he looked upon her again, his face burning with the memory.

"I can come back later," he told her, because he could not think of a way to answer her question without sounding a fool.

"Help me with this," she replied, gently now, raising a hand to point down her back towards the laces that kept her breast-band bound securely.

He stared at the knotted laces, frustrated, but magnificently so. He drew in a breath and moved close enough to her that he could reach up to grasp the end of one of the linen ties, and pulled gently. The bow of the knot smoothly and steadily shrunk, before quickly releasing as he tugged the twisted fabric. She didn't need his help, he knew. This was an invitation. His knuckle brushed the warmth of her skin, and he was the one who flinched. She did not move, waiting for him to finish, but he noticed the small hairs at the nape of her neck rise a little. Steeling himself, Blackwall moved his hands to the second knot.

"I was thinking about what you told me last night," he said to her, forcing himself to concentrate on the words as his hands worked. Aelis turned her head slightly, though not enough for him to see her expression. He continued hesitantly. "About staying."

This knot was more stubborn. Blackwall carefully picked it loose, the distraction welcome as he composed his thoughts. He could feel her listening, thought the only sound in the room was the popping of pine sap in the fireplace.

"I'll see this through, no matter what," he vowed, earnestly. "Whatever happens between us, I'm the Inquisition's man. I want you to know that."

The knot disengaged under his fingers and the garment relaxed, loosening. The part of his mind that could not ignore her body imagined the movement of her breasts as they were released from their bindings, and Blackwall had to bite his lip to keep himself concentrated and in the present, even has he felt his own body wakening and responding with vigor. Aelis shifted a little, exhaling, and then nodded, waiting to see what he would do next.

Blackwall steeled himself. Now was the moment he had been dreading most. She was not making it easy - it would never have been easy anyway, but she was making it more difficult than he could ever have imagined. He was sorely tempted to abandon his reservations, to wrap his arms around her and press his lips to her neck and shoulder, to let the animal urge override all and give in. She clearly wanted him to. She was giving him every opportunity to do so. And yet - and yet.

"Is this really what you want, Aelis?" he sighed, the words slipping from his mouth before he could substitute them for the prepared speech he had been turning over in his mind all day. With the damage done, he leaned his brow to rest against the copper strands of her hair and closed his eyes, his hands resting on her solid shoulders. She did not move away from him though he could feel her draw in a deep breath. "Maker knows you deserve so much better. Can you love me, truly, knowing who I am and what I've done? I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you again. If you're not sure-"

She turned then. He couldn't look at her, his eyes remained closed, but he felt her hand on his cheek, her palms smoothing the ruff of his beard, and felt the touch of her lips softly on his brow and the bridge of his nose. Her cheek pressed back against his, warm, her breath light on his ear.

"I," she enunciated, slowly and with great emphasis on each word, "am not afraid of Thom Rainier." Her final word on the subject.

And so he kissed her, his arms wrapping around her tightly and felt his last reservations drop away as she responded avidly. Aelis' body pressed against his as perfectly and easily as if they had never been parted. He never wanted to be parted from her again. She purred against his temple as he moved on from her lips to kiss her jaw and then the soft place at the joining of her neck that he had discovered never failed to elicit a gasp. The sound of pleasure, the feel of her body both tightening with need and yielding ecstatically to his touch at the same time was the final confirmation. Blackwall let his mind submerge under the tidal current of desire as she pulled him towards the bed. Her breath against his neck felt like sparks running across his flesh, as if he were a man made of tinder and she was fanning him into flame.

It was only the second time, but the first felt like an age ago and it had been tinged with sorrow and regret. Blackwall felt as if his hands had taken on a life of their own, roaming her skin, pulling away the fabric of her bindings and cupping full breasts. He allowed her to help him shuck his own clothes, her fingers grasping the hair of his chest, the feel of her kisses on his shoulders and belly inflaming him until he feared that he might burst. He lowered her, spreading her across the coverlet, and eased her from her breeches and smallclothes. Her blue eyes followed him, her lips parting, as she lay exposed before him. He had bedded dozens of women in his time, but this was his woman, and that alone - beyond the Mark on her hand, beyond the stories of the Herald, beyond any of her accomplishments since - made her miraculous to him.

Crawling over her, covering her, he kissed calf and muscular thigh, tracing her hip and belly with his lips, pressing his nose against the rise of her breasts. He savored her, as he had not been able to do the last time. The humid, exotic, animal musk of flesh and hair and the earthy womanly scent overtook his brain as he followed the channel between her breasts to rest his face against the angled hollow of her shoulder.

"I love you," he told her, his fingers lacing with hers along the bedclothes as he covered the greenish sigil of her marked palm with his own dense hand, feeling long, strong legs wrap around his waist. He hadn't told her before, not with words. He would tell her now, so there could be no mistake.

"I love you, too," she replied, a sigh of both reief and need. She had been a virgin before, though he had not known it until the critical moment. There was no momentary resistance now as - with one electrified push - he entered her. The world seemed to roar around him, and he realized it was their own voices he was hearing.

When the thrashing of limbs and the rush of ecstatic blood and breath had reached their climax and settled once more, Blackwall lay spent and sweating on the coverlet with Aelis curled into the crook of his arm. Her hair had come loose, cloaking her shoulders with fiery tendrils. She toyed languorously with the dark mat of his chest hair as his heartbeat began to slow and the world took on the drowsy afterglow of sex. He looked down at his lover and saw her shift a little and open an eye, stormy grey-blue twinkling up at him in the candle light.

"I do love you," he told her, earnestly. There had been lies before. He wanted her to know that there would be no lies now - that there could be no lies about this. She stretched like a cat and propped herself up on one elbow, smiling at him. He'd lost his heart to that smile, no less now than the first time he'd seen it.

"And I you. And so that's that," she replied and tilted her cheek into the palm of his hand, sighing with pleasure as he caressed the strong line of her jaw with his thumb. "I thought I'd lost you. I'm glad I didn't."

Blackwall turned slightly to run a hand over her side, carefully avoiding her bruises. He wanted to map her body, measure its curves and recesses. Now that he'd been granted this redemption, he never wanted to forget it.

"What happens now?" he asked her. Her fingers moved up from his chest hair to tweak his beard fondly.

"Well, everyone knows about us, so there no use in sneaking around anymore for one thing," she told him, humorously. She looked down for a moment, before turning her gaze back to him. "What do you want to happen?"

He thought about this briefly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her brow, and then made a decision. Nothing was certain. They could win this war. They could lose it. Either or both of them could die on any one of their missions in the field. Even if they survived this, she was noble and he was not. There were politics to think of. Marriage would likely be out of the question. But none of that made a difference to him. Whatever happens, it won't change this, she had once told him, reassuring him with a kiss.

"As long as we're together, that's enough for me," he told her. Her perfect lips tipped further upward for a moment, and then a thought seemed to occur to her.

"What should I call you now? Thom?"

Blackwall couldn't help wincing a little at the name. How long had it been since he had left it behind? How much had he hurt inside every day since it had been resurrected? But, she didn't mean to hurt him. And it was a valid question. People would have to call him something. He considered.

"It's been a long time since anyone called me that. I've been Blackwall for so long that it doesn't even feel like my own name anymore."

"The way I see it," Aelis replied, carefully, kindly, "That Rainier is gone. He died that day up on the headland on the Storm Coast. And Warden Blackwall is gone, too. But, the Blackwall I know, he's still here. Like when they name a new baby, they name it in honor of someone, a family member or friend or a hero. Someone they want the child to grow up to be like."

"Like a title," he mused, catching her drift. She had always been sharp. He sounded the name in his head. It felt right. Fitting. He nodded. "Blackwall, then. A reminder."

The hour was growing late, the candles burning down. Aelis yawned. It would be another long day tomorrow - there was a war to win, a world to save. It was going to be hard for him for a long while, as his erstwhile friends tried to come to terms with the reality of Thom Rainier, but he would weather it - gladly - for Aelis. She sat up on the side of the bed and turned to look at him over her shoulder. The impishness of her eyes, the way her hair fell, and the suggestiveness of the posture melted Blackwall inside. He never wanted take his eyes off of her again.

"Stay tonight," she told him, and he nodded his agreement. He watched as she crossed the floor, naked, her barefeet padding on the stone and thick carpets, to draw the curtains and toss another log on the fire. He loved the way she moved both in and out of her clothes. For all her soldierly swagger, she had an unselfconscious grace to her when she wasn't paying attention that he never got tired of watching.

Aelis returned and drew down the rumpled bedclothes, pinching out the bedside candle and plunging the room into deeper darkness. Blackwall slid himself under the covers and felt the warmth of her skin contact his as she did the same. She snuggled comfortably against him, resting her palm - its green glow quiescent - on his chest, and he kissed the crown of her head, feeling at peace for the first time in a very long time. The stillness of the night began to settle over them, and he closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow as his head sank into the soft pillow.

"You had better be here when I wake up this time, Blackwall, or Corypheus will be the least of your problems," Aelis murmured sleepily in the darkness, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing, hearing her chuckle mingle with his. It was the last piece falling into place to let him know that everything was alright between them.

"I promise," he told her.

And he was there when she woke up - the next morning, and the morning after, and most of their mornings following. And, despite the difficulties of the days to come - of battles, of the suspicion of his comrades as they tried to determine how to act towards him - Blackwall knew that he was, at last, himself and home.