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They made camp in a wooded area, not far from Skyhold – a day, maybe two left according to Cullen. On their journey back from Adamant, Cullen awkwardly tried to apologize to Alistair for his behavior nearly ten years ago. The Warden had easily forgiven him and the pair quickly bonded as brothers in arms.
As they sat around the fire - the Inquisitor’s strange group of companions, Cullen and himself – noise rose from the surrounding camps. Cheers, toasts, whispers about the Wardens spread, good ale and a destination in sight loosening tongues. The group ignored it at first, until Varric – who had been uncharacteristically but understandably quiet the whole trip (or Alistair assumed, given he had been avoiding the other man out of guilt) mentioned that Hawke’s sister had been a Grey Warden and Blackwell stood, abruptly.
“I’m going to get some more firewood,” he announced gruffly. The Inquisitor looked as though she might say something – she too, had been subdued on their travels back, though Alistair noticed the furtive yet thoughtful looks she sent Blackwall’s way throughout – but the older man turned and walked into the woods.
Without an axe.
Alistair stood a bit more smoothly and wordlessly grabbed the weapon from where it leaned against a woodpile that would more than make them through the night, and followed the other Warden into the woods.
He found Blackwall near the edge of a clearing – far enough that Alistair was certain their voices wouldn’t carry, but not so far that the orange light of the fire had completely disappeared.
“You forgot the axe,” Alistair said, holding it out toward Blackwall.
“Ah,” he said sheepishly, taking it from Alistair without a glance towards him. “So I did. My thanks.”
Alistair waited until the other man had the weapon firmly in hand before saying, “So, you’re not a Grey Warden.” To his credit, Blackwall didn’t freeze but his grip on the axe tightened, even as he kept his back to Alistair.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you’re not a Warden,” Alistair repeated in a slightly louder, exaggerated tone. “I didn’t know Blackwall but I’m fairly sure you’re not him, either.”
The other man paused, long enough for Alistair’s eyes to fully adjust to the darkness – though the moon was full, the thick canopy of the trees blocked most of the light out. The man before him was nearly entirely in shadow. As was his face as he turned it toward Alistair when he finally spoke.
“And what do you intend to do about it?” His voice, deep already, dropped an octave and Alistair shivered at the danger in his tone.
“What happened to Warden Blackwall?” Alistair asked instead.
“He had conscripted me,” Not-Blackwall said with an almost defeated sigh. “We were on our way to meet a nearby group of Wardens and for me to go through the Joining – we had stopped for me to complete the first part of it, in fact. Darkspawn attacked; I survived, Blackwall didn’t. I ran.”
Attacked while his conscript was gathering Darkspawn blood – before the Joining could be completed - Alistair had never heard of that happening before.
“Why take his name? Why not go to the Wardens and tell them what happened?”
“The charges against me, the ones Blackwall wanted to absolve me of by becoming a Warden, they were stacked against me. Even if I told the truth, my past would make it impossible for anyone to believe me.”
“So, you took his name?” Alistair asked, rather than the question he truly wanted answered. But the other man’s trust in him was tenuous at best and he was certain it would disappear if Alistair asked exactly what he had done. But it was probably safe to assume murder, from the sounds of it.
“He was a man I wanted to be, so I used his name and tried to become that man by helping others.” He turned fully towards Alistair and enough light slipped through the leaves for Alistair to see a wry, tired look on the other man’s face. “But the problem with trying to become a better person for yourself, is the lack of motivation.” His eyes flickered back towards the camp. “I think I’ve found better.”
“The Inquisitor,” Alistair guessed after a moment, and by the shift in the other man’s stance, he was right. “It’s rather exhausting, you know, watching you to dance around each other.”
“She deserves better.” His voice was almost small, if that was possible.
“Ah, so you love her but because you’re not worthy you’ve pushed her away?” Bitterness crept into Alistair’s voice. “Waiting for the right time to tell her? The right time to give in?” Curiosity and guilt filled the other warrior’s gaze as he nodded.
“Don’t,” Alistair said firmly. “Tell her the truth or not, that’s not for me to advise. But don’t wait to love her. Trust me, I know what it is wait to fully love someone and then it’s too late.”
Realization dawned. “The Hero of Ferelden.”
For the first time Alistair looked away, closing his eyes only to see the bright light signaling the archdemon’s death – her death. He looked back at the false Warden. “We loved one another, did what we could to show that as we went on our journey. But being on the road was hard, and I kept thinking – once this is over, we can devote everything to one another. Once the danger has passed….” He trailed off, surprised at how easily tears choked his throat. “And then she was gone.”
The other man said nothing but shifted uneasily.
“Don’t wait until the perfect moment, don’t think that there will be an after,” Alistair pushed. “Maker willing, this time it will all work out. But there’s no guarantee in that.” He thought of Hawke and her final words – “I’m sorry Fenris” – and they both ignored the few tears he finally shed.
Silence fell between them before Alistair wiped his face and the thoughtful, frightened look on Blackwall’s face cleared. “Your secret is safe with me, unless it comes to the point that keeping it becomes too dangerous,” Alistair warned before his tone turned light. “And I don’t know about you, but all the fallen trees here are rotted. Do you think our companions will be too disappointed if we come back empty-handed?”
A small huff of laughter escaped Blackwall. “Given the fact the pile we have is more than adequate? I think they’ll survive.” He clapped Alistair on the back, a thank you he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud, before the pair walked back.
Varric and the Iron Bull were in a heated debate over the dwarf’s latest book, the others looking on in amusement, so their return was little noticed. But Blackwall sat beside the Inquisitor, not close enough to touch, but she grinned at him anyway and something in Alistair’s chest tightened and eased at the same time.