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Thom Rainier looked up at the ramparts of Skyhold as he passed through them. He had never expected to see this sight—or any other—again, and yet here he was.

Part of him was glad to be back, this imposing structure as much a home as he had ever had, and part of him longed for the peace that would have come with execution. To be finished with this life, to be done seeing the faces of those for whose death he had been responsible, to finally feel that he had atoned by giving his own life … He had been ready for that. What he wasn't ready for was to go forward with his burden still on his shoulders, to know that everyone who saw him knew him for what he was: a coward, a murderer, and a liar. To see condemnation in the faces of those who had been his friends. The thought made him shudder with horror.

At the very least, Cullen had been intelligent enough to bring him to Skyhold under cover of darkness, along with a shipment of supplies, so no one was expecting him. He was taken straight to the dungeons—a chilly place, far beneath the keep—and his shackles removed as he was put in a cell.

"The Inquisitor?" he asked his jailer, a dark-haired dwarf he didn't think he'd ever seen before.

"Not here." The dwarf turned his back, indicating that no further conversation was to be allowed.

Rainier didn't know whether to be relieved or not. He wanted to see Bridget more than he wanted to take his next breath, but he dreaded it as well. He was under no illusions as to why he was here, whose request had freed him from Celene's dungeons and brought him to the Inquisition's. He should have known she wouldn't be able to let him go so easily, that she would try to find a way. If only he could have kept himself from her, if only he could have not loved her.

Bridget's beautiful face came to his mind's eye. How could he possibly have done anything other than love her? Her courage, her grace, her refusal to be beaten by the challenges of the Inquisition—everything about her cried out to be loved. He had helped her in her work, he knew he had. It was one of the few acts to his credit in his long and misspent life. But he had also hurt her by letting her love him and knowing all along that she loved a lie.

How could he ever apologize enough for that, for betraying her, breaking her heart, leaving her alone when she had learned to trust to him to protect her? He couldn't. He would have to make her understand that there was no redemption to be had here, no bringing him back to atone for what he'd done. Whatever she planned, she was going to have to know that he had to be sent back to Orlais to take Celene's punishment for his long-ago wrong, because his wrongs to the Inquisition were insurmountable.

Rainier sat back on the narrow cot, waiting impatiently to be able to have that conversation once and for all.

Bridget had made certain she would be away from Skyhold when Rainier arrived. She wanted him to have time to adjust to being moved before she had to speak to or see him—and she wanted time for herself to adjust as well, to prepare and decide what she would do. She took Leliana and Cassandra and went to find something the Divine had left for Leliana in a Chantry in Orlais, and then to Ferelden to investigate the disappearance of the Seekers of Truth.

Leliana found only a small box, with an inscription: "The Left Hand should lay down her burden." She had been very quiet since they left the Chantry.

Cassandra found the Seekers in advanced stages of red lyrium poisoning—when they had proved resistant to its effects any other way, they had been fed it. She had personally had to end the pain of her young apprentice, Daniel, and she took it out on the demon-possessed form of Lord Seeker Lucius.

On Lucius's body, she found a letter from the Red Templar commander, Samson, bearing direct orders from Corypheus to corrupt and destroy the Order of the Seekers. In the fortress itself, she found a book, very old, which she treated with great care, telling Bridget it had passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, containing secrets of the Order and instructions carried through the ages. She didn't read it as they rode back toward Skyhold, but Bridget could tell she wanted to.

They camped the first night, nearly silent, as each woman wrestled with her troubles, sitting in front of the fire, lost in thought.

At last, Bridget stirred herself, speaking to both of them. "This won't do. Our strength, the Inquisition's strength, is in each other. Perhaps if we talk these things through, we can come to some kind of acceptance."

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged glances. Leliana nodded briskly. "You are right, Inquisitor. It is too easy to become trapped in one's own thoughts."

"Then, would you like to talk about the Divine's message?"

"I … no, I confess, I would not. But I will, nonetheless." Leliana clasped her hands, leaning forward as she looked above the flames into the darkness beyond.

"Do you regret leaving Sister Natalie alive?"

"Yes." The answer came with disturbing promptness. "I cannot trust her, and I do not like leaving people I cannot trust out there. But … I too have betrayed people, and I was given second chances. I owe Natalie the same."

"The Ambassador will be pleased," Cassandra said.

Leliana gave a small smile. "She will be beside herself. I will never hear the end of it." The smile faded. "It means something, to have earned Josie's approbation. She has been worried for me. 'Niceness before knives, Leliana! Have I not always told you?'" she added in a good imitation of Josephine's accent.

"How do you feel?" Bridget asked.

"Hm. Do you know, I had not considered that." Leliana frowned thoughtfully. "I believe I feel … good." She looked across the fire at Bridget. "If you had not been with me, I would have killed Natalie without a second's thought. I would have believed I didn't have a choice. But you reminded me that there is always a choice. I am more than the Left Hand. That is Justinia's message—that I am more than she made me."

Cassandra asked, "Do you resent the demands she made on you?"

"How can I? When there is so much between us, when she gave her life for peace? No. Her intentions were pure; I made myself what I became. But I know now that I cannot ignore my heart. Mercy is not always a weakness. I almost lost myself," Leliana said softly. "But now I know that I can stay true to who I truly am—not Spymaster, or Left Hand, or bard—and still be what I am needed to be." She smiled. "To answer your question, Inquisitor, I feel … reborn."

The three of them were silent, contemplating Leliana's statement. Bridget was glad to hear it—she had always sensed a good heart beneath the hard exterior of the Spymaster, and she looked forward to seeing more of that from Leliana.

Leliana turned to Cassandra. "It must have been very difficult for you, my friend, to see what has become of the Seekers. How are you faring?"

"I cannot forget Daniel's face," Cassandra said unsteadily. "Those lines of red lyrium. The pain he suffered …" Her face was drawn as if she felt that pain herself. "If only he had come with me. He never believed in the war. Still … I am glad I was able to give him peace, to let him meet the Maker at the hands of someone who cared for him. I … have never known a finer young man. And the Lord Seeker," she added in a harder tone. "To lure the Seekers to him, only to turn them into those … things. I could never have imagined that one of our own order could … would …" She clenched her jaw against her emotions.

"Do you agree with Lucius, that the Seekers went astray from the intentions of the original Inquisition, creating the Chantry and the Circles, and sowing the seeds of the war we now suffer?" Bridget asked.

"Yes … and no. And even if it were the Seekers who caused this, then it was for us to help resolve it!" Cassandra cried. "Destroying the Seekers cannot have been the answer."

"Do you believe those are the answers you will find in the book?"

Cassandra shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps there will be nothing there but old stories." Her careless tone belied the way she had ridden all day with one hand always near the saddlebag where the book was carried, as if to draw the words from it by hand if she could not read them immediately.

"What will you do?"

"I will … learn what there is to learn from the Lord Seeker's book, and I will find the other Seekers. He cannot have destroyed all of us."

"Cassandra …" Leliana said softly.

"No, Leliana, he cannot! I will not accept it."

"And by the force of your will, you will make it so?" There was a faint smile on Leliana's face.

"Yes," Cassandra replied, although less vehemently. "Or I will die trying."

"We will help you all we can," Bridget promised.

"Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your support more than I can say."

Both women turned to look at Bridget. "And you, Inquisitor?" Leliana inquired. "Your decision has been weighing heavily on your mind."

"Has it been that obvious?"

"It has," Cassandra said gently.

"I … don't know what to do," Bridget admitted. "Perhaps it is foolish of me—no, I'm certain it was foolish of me—to spend my good will with Celene on freeing an admitted criminal, and a murderer and a traitor at that. But—I could not have done anything else." She looked at her companions, wondering if either of them had ever loved someone so deeply they would give up anything for them. Perhaps they had; it was hard to tell. "And now … I feel that nothing I can do with him is enough. I can't send him back to Orlais, not after making such a fuss about having him released. I can't keep him in the Inquisition's dungeons indefinitely—that is no answer at all. I could have him killed, if I could bear to. It's what he wants, and arguably it's what he deserves." She spread her hands out helplessly. "And those would appear to be my options."

"You are overlooking one very obvious possibility, I believe," Leliana suggested. "He was meant to be a Warden. He lived the life of a Warden for many years. You could send him to them now, have him become the Warden he was always meant to be. It would be a fitting punishment. And the Wardens take anyone who can fight, give them a life of meaning. There are darkspawn even yet, although there is no Blight."

"Yes. I could do that," Bridget said with dawning hope. "I would—" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "I would miss him horribly, but—it would be fitting, as you say."

"There is another option," Cassandra said. She glanced at Leliana, looking uncomfortable, and then looked back to Bridget. "It may strike you as a foolishly romantic one."

Bridget had long known of Cassandra's love of romance and high drama. She supposed it shouldn't be a surprise that it was coming out now, in this situation, but she had always imagined Cassandra kept her romantic streak firmly hidden and did not allow it a foothold in the real world.

"You could keep him with you as one of your companions."

"But … that's not a punishment at all. He would never accept it."

Cassandra shook her head. "Not a punishment? Bridget. We all know that Blackwall—Rainier—is a good man. An honorable man. The fact that he has not always been so does not change that. Living with what he has done is punishment all its own, and much, much harder than dying. We need him. You need him, in combat and out of it. We all know this."

"The world would despise me for a weak-willed fool," Bridget whispered against the hope that was springing up inside her.

"The message could be … adjusted when it was sent to the world," Leliana said. She looked at Cassandra with some amusement. "To think that you should be the soft-hearted one, counseling forgiveness."

"Does not everyone deserve a second chance?"

"Yes," Leliana agreed. "Yes, they do."

Bridget watched them, appreciating their support, their vocal encouragement to do what she most wanted to do … but it felt too easy, and Rainier would never agree to it.

With a heavy sigh, she realized that she was no closer to knowing what she should do than she had been before. She wouldn't be, not until she had spoken with him.