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They were knee deep in the swamp, and had killed six other wyverns, by the time they encountered the white one Vivienne had specified. Months ago, Bridget could never have considered approaching a beast so large and vicious, not to mention venomous. But the Iron Bull was delighted to charge the thing, barely seeming to notice the poison spit that splattered his skin or the resulting raised welts, and Dorian and Varric flanked Bridget, adding Bianca's quarrels and Dorian's magic to Bridget's own. Before she knew it, the wyvern was down.

"Boss, you know you could have taken the heart of one of the others back to Vivienne. She'd never have known the difference," the Iron Bull said as they were carefully wrapping the heart in wet burlap to carry it back to Skyhold.

"I would have known, Bull. That's not the way I like to treat people."

"Fair enough. Still, you don't know what she wants to do with it."

"How do I ever know? I have to trust my people," she said, wincing when she remembered what had happened the last time she'd trusted one of her people. He'd run off and turned out to be a lying murderer. "Even now," she added, forestalling whatever the Iron Bull might have replied.

He looked at her a long time with that single grey eye before shrugging. "Suit yourself."

On the way back, Bridget found a moment to pull her horse up next to Dorian's. "We have to talk," she said abruptly.

"Tired of me already? I thought better of your taste," he replied, shaking his head sadly.

She smiled. "Never. It's … something else. There's a letter you need to see." From her saddlebag she retrieved the folded parchment she had taken from Mother Giselle and held it out to him.

"For me? I'm all atwitter." His good cheer faded visibly as his eyes moved down the page, however, his mouth thinning until it was little more than a white line below his mustache by the time he crumpled the parchment up in his fist. Gamely, he attempted his usual insouciant attitude. "And here I expected a humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager."

"I wish it had been."

Dorian was staring morosely at the letter. "'I know my son'," he said bitterly, quoting from the letter. "What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble."

"So you think it's a trick of some kind? It sounds like a trick of some kind, especially since they suggested we not tell you about it."

"Thank you for that, by the way. For being honest with me. I won't forget it." Dorian shook his head. "I imagine this 'retainer' is a hired thug, ready to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter."

Bridget reached over and squeezed the fist that still clutched the letter. "He'd have to go through me."

"That's comforting." He looked as though it truly was, too. "We should go. Meet this 'family retainer'." Forcing a smile, he added, "If it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. You're good at that. And if it's not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his 'alarm' in his 'wit's end'."

"I'm sorry there's bad blood between you and your family," Bridget said softly. She thought of Malachy and the way he had helped her when she was pregnant with Declan. That had helped Malachy as well, of course, but there would have been other ways for he and Deirdre to adopt. He didn't have to take his sister's potential mage of a baby.

"You have no idea how apt that turn of phrase is. 'Bad blood.' But you're right—they don't care for my choices, nor I for theirs."

"Because you left? Or because you didn't want to get married?"

"Yes. Both of those. And … more."

"So I'll make the arrangements and we'll meet with this family retainer, then?"

Dorian nodded. "I think I should hear what this hireling of my father's has to say. I warn you, though, I may well storm out in a huff."

"If you find that kind of thing necessary, I'm likely to want to storm out right behind you."

He smiled at that. "I will appreciate the company."

They returned to Skyhold near dusk, exhausted and spent. Bridget wanted nothing more than to go up to her quarters and take a hot bath and sink into bed and sleep for … days, maybe. But her quarters would be full of reminders of Blackwall. Thom Rainier, she reminded herself. She wasn't sure there would be any rest for her there. And other tasks, other questions, hovered over her head.

Bridget hurried first to Vivienne's rooms, hoping the other mage hadn't gone to bed early this evening.

She needn't have worried. Vivienne opened the door even before Bridget could knock. Her lovely eyes were burning in her drawn face. "Do you have it?" she demanded.

"Here." Bridget held out the wet burlap.

Vivienne took it almost reverently. "Thank you, Inquisitor. I ... cannot thank you enough."

"Will you tell me what it was for?"

"If—if it works. Oh, pray to the Maker that it works!" She shut the door in Bridget's face.

When she came down the stairs from Vivienne's rooms, she found the main hall nearly deserted, other than Varric, always present in his favorite spot in front of the fire, scribbling away. To Bridget's surprise, Cullen was there as well, watching the stairs with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He got to his feet as soon as she appeared. "Inquisitor. I know it's late, but I have Leliana's report on Thom Rainier. I thought you would want it as soon as possible."

"I do. Thank you, Cullen."

"Of course."

Bridget took the report, but she was so tired and dispirited the writing swam before her eyes. "Tell me, please."

"Very well." Cullen's voice was soft and sympathetic. "It appears as though Bl—Rain—our friend was once a respected captain in the Imperial Orlesian army. Before the civil war began, he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene's biggest supporters. He led a group of his men, fiercely loyal to him, on this mission, without telling them what it entailed. When it went badly, he ran, and his men took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape."

He told the story carefully, clearly not wanting to hurt Bridget, but she could hear the censure in his voice. Abandoning one's men was a failing Cullen could not forgive. Nor should he, Bridget thought wearily. Except that it was Blackwall, whom they had all known, and surely he'd had his reasons. He must have had his reasons, her heart insisted.

"I'm sorry," Cullen said gently. "I know what he meant to you."

Bridget's voice sounded rusty in her ears as she forced it past the tears that swelled her throat. "Thank you. This is … educational. It fits in with what he told me in the jail."

"Inquisitor. Don't blame yourself. He deceived all of us."

"Me most of all. I was … I should have known." She blinked the tears back. "I ought to have known there was something, but how could I have guessed—this?" Bridget shook the papers for emphasis. "Cullen, what do I do now? Whatever he … is, whatever he's done, I don't think I can let him hang. But what else can I do?"

"What does he want?"

"He wants to die. He's afraid to keep living with what he's done."

Cullen nodded. "I understand. I understand very well. But while he may have accepted that fate, you don't have to. We have resources."

"Such as?"

"You could ask to have him released to us, and pass judgment on him yourself."

Bridget frowned. It didn't seem to be her place to judge an action that had occurred so long ago. "What would you do, Cullen, if it was up to you?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought it over. "What he did to the men under his command was … unacceptable. He betrayed their trust, then betrayed ours. Frankly, I despise him for it. I'm sorry if that hurts you."

"No, I understand."

Cullen went on, "And yet, he fought as a Warden, joined the Inquisition, gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it. Why?" His eyes rested on Bridget's face. "Because something made him want to be a better man? I think he did it for you."

"I … think so, too. I don't know whether to be proud or disappointed, or simply despair."

"Only you can decide if he succeeded in his attempt. Only you can judge him." Cullen reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's not an easy decision to make, but you can rest assured, no one will think less of you, regardless of what you decide."

Before Bridget was certain a decision had been made, the words were coming from her lips. "Get him out. Have Rainier released to us."

Cullen looked at her closely, and she thought he would ask if she was sure, but then he nodded crisply. "As you wish, Inquisitor. I'll see to it immediately."

"Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For your support. It means … more than I can tell you."

He gave her a small smile. "Of course."

She stood in the middle of the room, silent but for the crackle of the fire and the faint scratch of Varric's quill, and watched him walk away. It was done, now. Rainier would be brought to her. But what in the Void would she do with him when he got here?