Work Text:
The Winter Palace had a fresh coat of paint, and some statues had been replaced, but with a building of this size, a few cosmetic changes made little difference.
It still looked, to Zaryn’s eyes, as if a good storm would destroy it. Even after all these years, human constructions still looked flimsy to her, and especially after making Skyhold her home. Even though the fortress was Elven in construction, its bones were still good stone. This place wouldn’t last a century if the humans abandoned it.
There were more people about than the last time she’d been here, and most of them weren’t the perfumed and masked fops that had infested the grounds during Celene’s ball. A veritable bazaar had set up around the palace, and the crowd had a variety to it that the court lacked. Cries and shouts of people greeting each other, interspersed with merchants hawking their wares, along with an occasional raised voice at a near miss or collision, provided the backdrop as the Inquisition approached the palace.
“It certainly is livelier than the last time we were here,” Cullen said, and Zaryn laughed.
“Hopefully there’ll be less killin’ than the last time we were here,” she replied, and both Josephine and Cullen grimaced.
“You shouldn’t say such things. You’ll bring bad luck to the talks,” Josephine scolded her.
“Any trouble that’s gonna happen is already here, and prob’ly on account of us. Talkin’ bout it won’t make it any better or worse.”
“You’re probably right,” Cullen said.
Josephine sighed, then brightened. “At least we will get to see Leliana again. Or I should say, Divine Victoria.”
“Jest as long as yer knickers stay in your drawers this time,” Zaryn teased.
“Oh, you!” Josephine laughed, and the rest of their ride to the palace went pleasantly.
There were the usual rounds when they arrived. Palms were pressed and Zaryn had finally gotten over the urge to yank her hands back when people kissed her knuckles. She still wiped them on the back of her pants afterwards, much to Josephine’s continued dismay.
“’Member, Josie, you can take the dwarf outta the Carta,” Zaryn whispered between rounds.
“But you cannot take the Carta out of the dwarf,” Josephine finished for her, with a shake of her head and a smile.
It took several hours for things to settle. They were shown their quarters—a much more opulent suite than they’d received on their previous visit.
“Still remembers we saved her royal ass,” Zaryn muttered once the servants had left her in peace. It was the work of moments to strip off the Inquisition tunic and don her favorite leathers and she slipped out via the balcony, making her way along the outside of the building until she reached an empty suite, and slipping through the halls and down to the servants’ quarters, and from there out a side door to the garden.
Now she was just another dwarf in the crowds, and she could wander and listen. That was her plan, but then she saw her first familiar face. Instead of spending the afternoon eavesdropping and feeling out the lay of the land, she ended up spending the rest of the day catching up with old friends.
They’d all scattered, one by one, after Corypheus’ defeat. They’d all had good reasons and Zaryn didn’t begrudge any of them the leaving, but every goodbye still hurt. When she heard Dorian’s laugh, a piece of her heart filled back in. And it continued on and on that day and through the next. She didn’t ask and didn’t look for one familiar face and yet his presence haunted her, hovering in the corners of her brain, as she spoke with her former companions. They danced around mentions of him as well. Well, all of them did except Varric. It would be Varric.
“He is here, you know.” Varric didn’t say who he was. He didn’t have to. “A group of Wardens came in a few days ago. They’re usually hanging around in the corner, other side of that wall.”
She had seen a flash of blue and silver in that general direction earlier that morning and had veered away, a reflexive flinch of her whole being.
“You should talk to him. Clear the air. Let it go,” Varric told her, then changed the subject, morphing seamlessly into a tale of a marquise and her ill-advised attempt at an assignation to secure a contract with one of Kirkwall’s merchant guilds that had her wiping tears from the corners of her eyes before he was halfway through.
Bran called him away after that and he rolled his eyes, but went, leaving her standing in the courtyard watching him go. It was only a coincidence that his path took him towards that wall, where the Wardens tended to congregate during the day, but it drew her eyes in that direction, and this time her feet followed.
The Wardens must have just finished sparring, as they were in the process of stripping off their armor and dunking each other with buckets of water. And so it was that the first time she saw Blackwall since the day she’d exiled him, he stood in the sun with his wet shirt clinging to him, outlining a form she still knew so well. Water dripped from his hair and beard, sparkling in the sun, and her heart twisted in her chest when he threw back his head and laughed at something one of the other Wardens said.
She was trying to make herself walk away when he turned and saw her. He froze, pinned in place by her gaze. She could tell he was trying to make up his mind whether to approach her or not, and then one of his comrades said something, distracting him. She took advantage of this to slip away, cursing herself for a fool.
There hadn’t been anyone else since him. She’d had a few tumbles, but nothing serious. She didn’t need the distraction, she’d told herself and anyone who’d dared to ask. But the truth of it always had been that her heart still yearned for him. The years apart hadn’t changed that.
Bull and his Chargers provided a needed distraction, and a drink or four to dull the pain. It was that, maybe, that put her on the path to that same corner of the courtyard again, later that afternoon. This time he stood alone, working against a set of pells, his Warden armor discarded in favor of the old padded coat she remembered so well.
This time he didn’t see her until she stood at his elbow.
“Blackwall,” she said, and he nearly dropped his practice sword. “Or Rainier, is it? I don’t know what to call you anymore.”
“Blackwall will do,” he said when he’d recovered. “Although you’ve the right to call me a fair number of names.” He met her gaze without flinching this time, no longer the broken man she’d sat in judgement on.
“You look good. Warden life agrees wi’ ya,” she said after the silence between them had stretched out for an uncomfortable length of time.
“You look like you haven’t been sleeping enough.” Blackwall still stared at her, his eyes filled with an expression she refused to recognize.
She shrugged in response. Words filled her thoughts, but she couldn’t form any of them into speech. As he continued to gaze into her soul, she fidgeted, breaking eye contact with him at last.
“Well, glad to see yer doin’ well. Take care of yerself.”
Before her feet could take her away, he reached out, nearly touching her before stopping. “Wait. Please.”
She stopped, but didn’t look up at him again.
“I’ve spent these last few years making amends. Visiting those of my men still left. Apologizing.”
“That must’ve gone well,” she said, unable to help the teasing tone that crept into her voice.
Blackwall chuckled, although there was little humor in it. “You could say that. But there’s still one more left. Zar….” He broke off before finishing her name. “Inquisitor. I have no right to ask this of you. But I was wondering. Could we maybe start over?”
“Whatdya mean by that?” she asked.
“Inquisitor Cadash.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him bow, a courtly gesture that wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow inside the palace. “I’m Thom Rainier. I’m a coward of a man who used others to commit murder for pay and let them take the blame, then took a good man’s name and pretended to be what I wasn’t. Some still call me Blackwall, after the man who recruited me for the Wardens, although I’ve no right to it. I hurt you, and saying I’m sorry for that isn’t enough, not by a long shot. But it’s the only way I have to start making amends to you.”
Those words hung in the air between them until she ventured a response. “Reckon things are gonna get ugly at some point with all these talks. When it does, could use someone at my back.”
“I’m yours,” he said, with another bow.
“Well, then. It’s a start,” she said, finally looking up at him. She couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth as he beamed down at her. “I’ll let you know when I need you.”
“I’ll be here,” he promised.