It seemed to take half an age to get to Val Royeaux. Bridget couldn't concentrate on anything, although the Iron Bull and Varric both tried to distract her on the way. All she could think about was Blackwall, and why he had left, and what there was about this Cyril Mornay that was important enough for him to rush off for.

She worried particularly that the broadsheet about Mornay had been a ruse, that he had left it to be found to deflect attention from where he had really gone. If he wasn't in Val Royeaux, she might never be able to find him again, and what would she do? She would have to go on—the Inquisition was depending on her—but she didn't want to. Not alone. Not without Blackwall with her.

They arrived in Val Royeaux the morning of the hanging. In desperation, Bridget had asked the Iron Bull to get in touch with his contacts within the Ben-Hassrath and ask them if they knew where Blackwall had gone. She turned to him now as they approached the marketplace, where the gallows had already been set up. "Anything?"

"Sorry, boss. Look," he said gently, "in my experience, if someone wants to disappear, it's a good idea to let them. What you find out when you get them back isn't what you want to know."

At her other side, Varric nodded in agreement. "This is either incredibly bad luck for him or exactly where he wanted us to go. Either way—you don't want to be here, Sunflower."

"Thank you both for your input, but … I can't not know. It doesn't matter what there is to find out, I have to." She would go crazy if she didn't.

Both men sighed and looked unhappy for her, but left her alone after that, other than entreating her to eat and rest before the hanging was scheduled. They both promised that they had personally put out feelers, in addition to the Inquisition resources hunting for Blackwall, but that no leads had yet come to fruition.

To Bridget's dismay, nothing happened as the crowds gathered and as Mornay was being led through them toward the gallows. Mornay himself was a small, terrified man, who wept with fear as he was pushed down to his knees beneath the noose that awaited him.

"You could at least take it like a man," the Iron Bull growled to him softly under his breath.

"We can't all have your fortitude," Dorian hissed back at him. "Many a better man than that breaks down in the face of death."

Bridget just wished they would both shut up while she scanned the crowd.

The bailiff read out from a scroll: "Cyril Mornay, for your crimes against the Empire of Orlais, for the murder of General Vincent Callier, Lady Lorette Callier, their four children, and their retainers, you are sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say in your defense?" Mornay clearly didn't, or he couldn't speak. He sobbed audibly. Unmoved, the bailiff continued, "Very well."

The hangman hauled Mornay to his feet, settling the noose around his neck.

Bridget felt distressed for Mornay, but more strongly a growing fear that Blackwall wasn't here, that they had fallen for a red herring and they would never find him now.

"This is grim," Varric muttered.

The bailiff stepped away from Mornay as he stood unresisting with the noose resting on his shoulders. "Proceed."

Then it came, the voice she had simultaneously been hoping and dreading to hear, splitting the anticipatory silence that had fallen over the crowd when the hangman moved to the lever that would open the trapdoor and drop Mornay to his death.

"Stop!"

Everyone did, their eyes turning to the figure climbing the steps of the gallows. Bridget gasped, her whole body tensing at the sight of him. What was he doing here?

She could feel Varric and Dorian moving closer to her, standing beside her in case she needed them, and she was grateful for their support.

"A Grey Warden," the bailiff said in surprise.

Blackwall ignored him, stopping in front of Mornay to address the crowd. "This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him. Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake!"

There was surprise on Mornay's face, and something like recognition as he studied Blackwall. Behind Bridget, the Iron Bull groaned quietly, as if he had just realized something, but Bridget was too focused on Blackwall to ask what it was.

The bailiff stepped toward Blackwall. "If what you say is true, then find me the man who gave the order."

Dorian gasped and stiffened, and Varric whispered, "Oh, shit."

Bridget couldn't take it any longer. To stop him from saying what she now knew he was about to say, to try one last attempt to make him come back to her, and because she couldn't stand here silent one more second, she called out his name. "Blackwall!"

She could see him jerk at the sound of her voice as though he had been struck, and when he turned and found her there in the crowd, there was a deep sorrow in his face.

"No. I am not Blackwall." He spoke to her alone, as though no one else was there. "I never was Blackwall."

"Crap," muttered the Iron Bull.

"Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am."

"You," Mornay breathed. "After all this time …"

Blackwall turned to him. "It's over. I'm done hiding." He faced the crowd again, his voice loud and clear and firm. "I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier."

Thom. He had told her that was his mother's name for him, his middle name. He had at least tried to tell her some of the truth. Whether that changed anything, Bridget didn't know. She was unable to think clearly, unable to do anything but stand here in shock.

The bailiff and the hangman closed in behind Blackwall … Thom Rainier … and ushered him off the gallows to where soldiers were waiting. Blackwall allowed his hands to be shackled and let them start to lead him away.

"No," Bridget said. "No." She began pushing at the crowd to get them out of her way, to clear away the people who lay between herself and the man she loved, but the Iron Bull put a gentle hand on her shoulder and held her there.

"Later, boss. Let him have his moment."

"But—"

"Tiny's right," Varric told her. "You do this now, you make him falter in his purpose, and he'll never forgive you."

So she watched as Blackwall—Rainier—was marched off without a backward glance.

Suddenly she was angry. So angry she couldn't even tell who she was most angry with—him, herself, Orlais, Leliana for not knowing about and tipping her to this months ago …

She had to do something. So she pushed through the crowd to the gallows. Mornay had been hauled down the steps, sobbing with relief and whatever complicated emotions he must be feeling at seeing Thom Rainier put himself in between Mornay and the gallows at this late date, but the bailiff still remained, watching to see that the people dispersed quietly.

Bridget marched toward him. "Bridget Trevelyan. Inquisitor," she snapped, before he could tell her to take herself off.

"Oh. Inquisitor. Serah." His hands wavered a bit as he tried to decide whether to salute.

"Where are they taking him?"

"To the jail off the marketplace. Do you—do you know him?"

"Warden Blackwall has been part of the Inquisition for some months."

He cleared his throat. "Well, then, you know what a damned mess this is. Begging your pardon, serah."

"Damned mess is a fine term for it," she agreed.

"Can you believe it? Thom Rainier, himself. I thought he was dead long ago. I can promise it'll be sorted out quick. Lots of people can't wait to see that man swing."

For the moment, Bridget was one of them. She wouldn't have minded strangling Black—Rainier herself.

"What do you know of Rainier?"

"Mostly what everyone knows: that he will hang for the massacre of a noble and his family. If you have goodbyes to say, I would say them now."

"I think I'll do that," Bridget said grimly. It was hard to decide who she was most angry with, or what she was most angry about, but there was no doubt that she was definitely angry, enraged in a way she had rarely been in her life.

She stalked through Val Royeaux only dimly aware of the Iron Bull on one side of her and Dorian on the other doing their best to intimidate anyone who might come near her. As she burst into the jail, a masked and uniformed soldier jumped up from his seat behind a desk. "I am afraid you cannot come in here."

"I am the Inquisitor, and you have a prisoner here who has vital information to my cause. You can either step aside or—" She gestured with a nod of her head to the Iron Bull. "Or I can have you moved aside."

The soldier looked up and up to meet the Iron Bull's single steely grey eye and did what any sensible person would. He got out of the way.

"Thank you." Bridget went past him, aware that the others weren't following her and appreciating the privacy they were offering. She felt sick as she walked down the steps, nauseated by the whole situation.

Having thought of himself as Blackwall for so long, it was difficult for Thom Rainier to think of himself by the old name now. More difficult because he didn't want to. He had put that name, and that person aside long ago, and for good reason. He didn't regret his decision to save Mornay's life by stepping in front of him, but he wished he hadn't had to denounce the man he had chosen to be in the process.

He was sitting on the edge of the narrow cot in the cell, head hanging, unable to get the image of Bridget's stricken face out of his mind. Why was she here? Could she not have just let him go? Could her spymaster not have determined what was going on and kept her from coming? He regretted not taking Leliana into his confidence. Maybe if she had known, she could have stopped this. It was unfair of him, he knew, but he couldn't get past the anger and betrayal he had felt looking down from the gallows and seeing Bridget there when he had made it as plain as possible that he didn't want her to follow him.

Into the silence of the jail came measured footsteps clicking on the stone. Blackwall didn't have to look up to know who it was. Having seen him at the gallows, of course she would be here now. That didn't mean he had to make it easy for her.

Bridget stopped in front of the cell, her heart in her throat. To think the last time she had seen him he had been making love to her, his eyes and hands so gentle and loving, and now a gulf separated them larger than the Waking Sea. She stood watching him, while he hung his head and pretended she wasn't there until Bridget had had enough.

"I'm not going away until I get an explanation."

"You heard what was said on the gallows. What more do you need?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

There was another silence, which Black—Rainier was the first to break. "I didn't kill Blackwall, if that's what you're thinking. I … traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed."

"A fitting end for a Warden."

"It was."

"Why did you not go on to become a Warden, if that was what he wanted for you? And clearly, what you wanted as well?"

He snorted. "Yes, I can see that. I, a wanted murderer, going to the Wardens, claiming Blackwall had been killed by darkspawn. I had no proof that I hadn't killed him, no way of knowing if they would accept me as he had. I … took his name to stop the world from losing a good man." Looking down at his hands, he added, "But a good man, the man he was, would not have let another die in his place."

Bridget approached the bars. "So you thought you would just … disappear, and die, and that I wouldn't find you? That Celene wouldn't tell me that one of my people had showed up at her door and revealed himself to be a wanted criminal?"

He turned his face away. "I didn't want you to see me like this. I still don't."

She didn't move. "I'm here now. I'm not going away."

Blackwall got to his feet, facing her, letting the anger fill him. "Don't you understand? I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, and I lied to my men about what they were doing! Then, when it came to light, I ran. Not a second's thought, not a look back—"

"But a lifetime of torturing yourself."

"Not enough. Meanwhile, those men, my men, men who trusted me, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man. This is what I am—a murderer, a traitor … a monster. I disgust myself. Why don't I disgust you?"

"I love you," she whispered.

"You love a lie."

The nausea that had been roiling in Bridget's stomach since she walked in was insistent now. Looking frantically around, she found a bucket in a corner and just made it.

Blackwall watched her, his heart twisting. How could he have done this to her? Better by far that he had never touched her, never loved her. He sank to his knees on the stone floor, holding back tears only by clenching his jaw tightly.

As Bridget came back to the cell, he whispered, "Wouldn't you have been happier thinking I was a noble man, a Grey Warden, instead of … this? I would have saved you this pain."

"You think it hurt less to be abandoned for no reason?" She looked down at his bowed head, a cold, hard anger steeling her spine. "There was truth to what we had, and there is good in you, and you are deeply mistaken if you think you can take that from me."

Blackwall remained where he was, not looking up. She would leave now. She had to leave. Every moment that she stayed was a twist of the knife, a further torture. "We have nothing more to say to one another."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, for me to turn and leave you? But I'm not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to know everything. And I'll find out for myself if you don't tell me, so you might as well resign yourself to it."

There was a chill in her voice that he had never heard before, a determination, and he admired her for it as much as he despaired that he was the one who had finally pushed her to find her own strength. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about Blackwall."

"He found me in a tavern. Sodden with drink, a waste of life, but he wanted to recruit me. On the way to Val Chevin, we stopped at a ruin, and he told me to go and kill a darkspawn, some sort of Grey Warden ritual. Only while I was gone they jumped him. Too many to fight. By the time I came back he was gone. He shouldn't have died. It should have been me."

"Where we retrieved the badge. Blackwall's badge."

"Yes. I was going to tell you the truth when we went there. I wanted to tell you—to explain why I couldn't be with you."

"Why didn't you?"

He looked up at her, the pain stark in his face. "Because I loved you too much to let you go, even then. And … when I heard about Mornay—I loved you too much to stay. To be the man you believed me to be, I had to go."

Bridget blinked tears away. "Blackwall thought you were worth saving. He believed in you. Just as I did."

"You both wasted your belief on the wrong man. Thom Rainier was never worth either one of you."

"So who was he, this Thom Rainier?"

"A captain in the Orlesian army. Well-regarded, respected … but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. I was a greedy fool. "

"And the man on the gallows?"

"My second-in-command. A good man. I heard he'd been caught when we were at the Winter Palace and … I couldn't run any longer. Not when it meant the wrong man would have to die."

"Tell me about the crime."

"No. You know enough." If he told her, told her all of it, she would never look at him again. Which was what he wanted, he reminded himself.

But she was inexorable. "I need to know everything. Tell me."

"I betrayed the Empire and assassinated a general for a little bit of gold. The hows and whys don't matter. Orlesian politics. The Game," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I didn't care about any of that, even then. Only about the coin."

It was hard to reconcile the simple man she knew with one so in love with coin that he would kill for it, but … perhaps there had always been echoes of a man with finer tastes. The poetry, the wine …

"What I didn't know until it was too late was that he was traveling with his family. His wife—his children," Rainier whispered.

Bridget's hand flew to her locket, holding it tightly. She clenched her jaw against the words she wanted to scream at him, the nausea that threatened again, the tears she was barely in control of. "And you didn't stop?"

"I couldn't. My men … they were at war. In war, you don't stop to think, you do what you're told. By the time I knew—it was too late." A tear rolled down his cheek. "I regret it more than I can possibly say. If I could go back and have died that day instead of them, I would do it."

"But you can't. You have to go forward. Is this how you atone, by dying now? What good does that do anyone?"

"It's what I deserve."

"Is it? Maybe the years since, when you tried to be a good man, were a better way to pay your debts."

Rainier shook his head. "I'm here now, and that's that."

Bridget lifted her chin. "I'll be the judge of that."

"No! Whatever you're thinking, just … stop."

Her blue eyes were like chips of ice as she stared at him. "You no longer get to have a say in what I do," she reminded him. With a crisp nod, she turned on her heel and left.

Blackwall listened to her footsteps receding and could no longer hold back the tears. He wept for her, for himself, for the Calliers, for his men, and for everything he had ever hoped to be.

She was nowhere near as calm or as certain as she tried to appear. He had a point—he had cheated his rightful sentence of death for a long time. Maybe now he needed to pay that debt. On the other hand, maybe his work with the Inquisition was more important than the symbolic loss of his life. The problem was a thorny one, and one that she couldn't solve in a matter of moments.

In the office of the jail she asked to speak with the captain of the guard, who appeared torn between his satisfaction at having caught Thom Rainier and his awe at being in the presence of the Herald of Andraste herself. Bridget deliberately left her glove off and let the Anchor show itself, something she rarely did, as she made it clear to him that the Inquisition was shocked and horrified by the revelation of Thom Rainier's true identity and would appreciate the courtesy of being informed of his impending execution in enough time to return to witness the event. She hoped that would keep him alive until she could get back to Skyhold and consult with her advisors on what her options might be if she chose not to let him go through with his attempt to end his life and his suffering on the Orlesian gallows.

Outside the jail, she stopped to take a deep breath of the crisp air, a relief after the dank cell.

"You all right, Sunflower?" Varric asked her.

"I will be. On the way home, we're going to stop and kill a wyvern."

The Iron Bull grinned in approval, but Varric winced.

"You're going to ruin my boots."

Bridget put a hand on his shoulder. "The Inquisition appreciates your sacrifice."

He chuckled at that one, and they made their way out of Val Royeaux as Bridget turned the knotty problem of what to do with Black—Rainier over in her head. For the moment, she was more than content not to have an answer; as soon as she decided what to do with him, she was going to have to figure out how she felt about him, and she was more than okay with putting that question off indefinitely.