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Josephine presented herself in Bridget's quarters before breakfast the morning after she returned to Skyhold. It was never a good sign when Josephine was worried that early in the morning. Declining Bridget's offer of tea, she got straight to the point. "You cannot keep him in the dungeons."

"Who? Bla—Rainier?"

"Yes. That you have brought him here, that you prefer to judge him yourself, that is understandable. That a man who has been your ... close companion, one whom it is widely known Celene intended to execute, languishes in the dungeons, his fate uncertain—well, that pleases no one. You must complete his sentence, Inquisitor. Today, if at all possible."

"I …" Bridget swallowed against her sudden nausea. "You're right. We'll do it this afternoon."

"I—I am?" Josephine blinked at her, clearly not having expected Bridget to agree so easily.

"He can't stay there. And I can't have this hanging over my head indefinitely. I … I don't know what I'm going to do, but that would be as true a month from now as it is today. If I have to make a decision, I will." Easier said than done, but she was trying to reassure Josephine and herself at the same time. She also hoped that having the judgment over with would help settle her stomach, which hadn't been right since Blackwall left.

"Excellent. I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear this, Inquisitor. And how sorry," Josephine added in a softer voice. "I cannot imagine what this must be like for you. If I can assist you in any way …?"

"I'll let you know," Bridget promised.

"Also, I am to let you know that Madame Vivienne is back, and she would like to see you."

"Back? Where did she go?"

"She has been in Val Royeaux. Personal business, I believe."

Bridget should have known that. Another reason to get the judgment of Rainier over with—to be able to put this behind her and try to be the leader her people needed again.

"Thank you. I'll stop by once I'm dressed."

Josephine took that as an invitation to leave, as indeed it was. Bridget got dressed, slowly. She had to see him. She couldn't pass judgment on him without talking to him one more time. But she didn't want to. She wanted—she wanted her Blackwall back, the gentle man she loved. The angry murderer in her dungeons was someone she didn't know, and she was afraid to hear him speaking in Blackwall's voice.

But it had to be done. She couldn't judge him without speaking to him, and the judgment would go forward now whether she liked it or not.

The stairs to the dungeon were long, and cold. The warder, a dwarf named Rennick, got hastily to his feet when she appeared at the bottom of the stairs in a way that made Bridget suspect he'd been deep in the middle of a nap moments ago.

"Inquisitor!"

"I'm here to see the prisoner."

"Of course. He's been quiet, no trouble."

She wasn't surprised. "You can leave us, Rennick."

"Those are not my orders, Inquisitor. Commander Cullen said—"

"I understand, but I am in no danger, and you can leave us," she told him gently but firmly.

He didn't like it, but he went as ordered.

Once they were alone, she approached the cell where Blackwall sat on a thin mattress. He looked up as she approached, his eyes dull. "Have you come to break me out of jail, Inquisitor?"

"No."

"No, you did that already, didn't you? What did you do? Blackmail? Bargaining?"

"Josephine called in a few favors. There are enough people out there who owe the Inquisition."

He laughed bitterly, getting up to come face her. "And you wasted them on me. You could have changed the fucking world, but you threw away everything you'd worked for in order to save me. Tell me, Inquisitor—" He laid a sarcastic emphasis on the word that was meant to hurt, but only made Bridget angry. "What happens to the reputation your Ambassador has so carefully cultivated when the rest of the world knows what you use your favors for? And who you gave them to? The whole world will know now how you use your influence. They'll know the Inquisition is corrupt."

Bridget fought against her rising nausea. The anger seemed to be making it worse. "You know all about corruption, don't you, Captain Rainier? You were the most corrupt of all, so enamored with the luxuries of Orlesian life that you killed children to get them."

Rainier looked away. "I didn't know they were there," he said thickly. "Once I knew … it was too late."

"So you've said." She believed him. Having had a few tastes of large-scale battle herself, she even understood how it could happen. He should be punished for what he had done, that much was clear. But he had also spent a lifetime punishing himself. He had learned just what the luxuries he had sold his soul for were worth, and he had put that life behind him, going forth in a life set on service, on helping people. Also on avoiding them, to be fair … but he had helped more than he had harmed. Was it enough? She didn't know. She didn't think it was for her to decide. And yet she must. "It's not corruption for the Inquisitor to want to stand in judgment on one of her own people. Had there been a way to accomplish the task without using our influence, I would have taken it. But time was short, and options were limited."

"You could have left me there!" His voice broke as he cried out, clutching the bars of the cell.

"I think we both know that's not true."

"I had accepted my punishment. I was ready for all this to end."

"And if you had spoken to me before you left, if you had been man enough to tell me the truth, I might have been as well. But you can't leave my bed in the middle of the night, sneak out without a word, and expect me to just … let you die. If you thought I would, you sadly misjudged me." Bridget was proud that she had so far managed to hold back her tears. There was time enough to cry later.

"I … You're right, I was a coward. I have been one all my life. I was never worthy of you. You should have left me to die."

Bridget stepped closer to the bars, holding his gaze with hers. "What you don't seem to understand is that this isn't about you. I wouldn't have left any of my people to die by someone else's hand if I had a way to stop it. You mock my title, but I am the Inquisitor, and the Inquisition's people are my responsibility. Even you."

Rainier blinked and looked away, unable to look her in the eye. "So what becomes of me, then? What will your judgment be?"

"I don't know," she told him honestly. "I really don't know."

And she left him there, taking her time up the stairs, wishing someone would appear with the right answer, the one that would make everyone—including herself—happy. But there was no magical way out of this one. It would be hard, it would be messy, and people would be unhappy with whatever she decided.

From the dungeon, she went to the showily appointed apartments of Vivienne. The mage welcomed her with less vibrancy than usual. Her lovely eyes were dimmed as though she had been crying.

"Is everything all right?" Bridget asked her as soon as she was seated.

"I … Perhaps I owe you an explanation."

"Only if you wish to explain."

There was a pause as Vivienne considered whether she wished to. Eventually, she spoke, her voice subdued. "The wyvern's heart you brought me—it was … part of a spell. For healing. For—for my darling Duke Bastien." Her voice cracked, and she took a moment to steady it. "It—it failed, and he—"

"I am so sorry."

Vivienne nodded to acknowledge the sentiment. "I can hardly believe it, even now. I thought—I was so sure—"

Bridget could only imagine how difficult that must be. Vivienne was so confident in her own powers at all times—to have been wrong at such a time must be particularly difficult on top of her grief.

"We met so long ago. At the Wintersend ball, my first visit to the Imperial Palace. A dozen or so of us had been sent to entertain the nobility. And across the room—our eyes met." A soft smile touched her lips for a moment. "Ridiculous, is it not?" Vivienne added in a tone closer to her usual style. "The stuff of tawdry romances. And yet, that was how it happened. Across a ballroom, a meeting of gazes, and the course of our lives was set from that moment on." Her face crumpled. "And now he's gone, and I—" She got abruptly to her feet. "I am sorry, my dear, I thought—"

"Of course." Bridget allowed herself to be led to the door. "If there's anything I can do …"

"You are very kind. I will not forget that you tried—that if my Bastien could have had more time, it would have been because you trusted me. Yes."

The door closed behind Bridget, Vivienne barricading herself in her grief. Bridget stood staring at the closed door. In another day, that could be her, alone, with no hope of ever seeing the man she loved again. And for what? For a quick end to his pain, for satisfaction for a crime committed a decade ago? What sense did that make, taking a strong arm away from the Inquisition just when it was needed in order to satisfy some need for vengeance?

Her mind made up, she returned to her quarters to attempt to choke some food down. Whatever the scene would be later today, however badly it would go, she didn't want to face it on an empty stomach.

Blackwall was led up the stone stairs from the dungeon, his hands chained. The two soldiers at his side were not gentle as they pulled him along, and he couldn't blame them. If he had been in their shoes, he wouldn't have been gentle, either.

He hoped that Bridget had made a decision, that today would be the end of it. This sitting here, only steps away from her, from where they had made love, was a torture more painful than any Celene could have devised. He wondered if she knew, and if that was the reason she had allowed him to be taken from her custody.

At last he was brought to the dais where the Inquisitor sat on her throne. Bridget was pale but calm, watching him expressionlessly as he was led stumbling toward her.

When the noise had died down, the assembled representatives of the Inquisition and Orlais composing themselves to hear what the Inquisitor would say, Josephine stepped forward, looking down at her writing board. "For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as the Grey Warden Blackwall. His crimes …" She broke off, glancing briefly down at him before turning to the Inquisitor. "Well, you are aware of his crimes."

"Yes."

The soldiers who had been holding him stepped away, and Josephine moved to the side of the dais, so that it seemed to Blackwall that he and Bridget were alone, looking at one another.

"I have given this a great deal of thought, Captain Rainier," Bridget said crisply. "The easiest solution for everyone would, of course, have been to have you put to death. But what does that accomplish? Does it balance a scale, one life for all those you were responsible for ending? I do not believe it does."

His heart sank. She wasn't going to kill him.

"No," she went on, "I believe your life has value to the world, and that it should be used to expiate your crimes. No punishment I could devise would be harder for you to bear than to live in a world in which you are a good man who has done a terrible thing. Therefore—" She took a deep breath, looking nervous, but when she spoke the words were firm and confident. "You have your freedom."

Shocked whispers filled the air around him, but Blackwall heard them only dimly, his world narrowed to the space between himself and Bridget, which had grown suddenly to cover all of Thedas. "It cannot be as simple as that," he said in disbelief.

"If you think it is simple, you misunderstand me." She leaned forward in the chair. "You are free to be the man you are—not the traitor you once were or the Warden you pretended to be. You have to learn how to be Thom Rainier, with all his follies and faults as well as all his virtues—and I suspect those will be the heavier burden. Atone as that man."

She was right; it wouldn't be simple. It would be terribly, terribly hard. Anger filled him. Anger that she knew him too well, that she had taken the peace of death out of his hands, that she expected him to be this man he had been hiding from for all these years. Anger that the gulf between them could never be crossed again.

He didn't dare trust himself to speak, but he glared at her as the soldiers unshackled him. He would stay, then, he decided. Let her watch his miserable atonement, let her see what she had demanded of him.

Without another word, he turned his back on her and left the room.