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Thom’s dart hit the triple ring of the dart board. With five darts each from him and Sera, this was the closest either of them had gotten to the bullseye.
“Friggin’ cheater!” Sera shouted over the dull roar of conversation on the busiest night of the Herald’s Rest. But true to the rules of their game, she took a swig of the pale ale in her cup. They were drinking some horse-piss brand from Ferelden that Sera loved. Thom didn’t know how she could stand the swill, bitter as bilge water.
“How can someone so good at shooting arrows be so bad at shooting darts?” Thom wondered as he sat back down at their table.
“You been moving the friggin’ board.” She glared at him...and slightly to the side of him. They’d both had a few drinks.
Their table was over two metres from the dart board. “Right. I’ve been moving the board from all the way over here.”
“Maybe with magic! We got so many mages now, and they’re not doing shite since we offed Corippy-pants. You coulda asked one to help you out. One last bloody victory before you scarper.”
The reminder that he was leaving Skyhold tomorrow sobered him. As the Inquisitor had ordered, now that the war against Corypheus was over, Thom Rainier was to become a Grey Warden in truth or die in the Joining ritual. He’d said his goodbyes at Varric’s Wicked Grace game earlier in the evening. Varric was still in the Herald’s Rest, sitting by the fire and regaling some of Leliana’s people with a story that sent them into fits of laughter. Bull and the Chargers had all come out. Even Dorian was here, though, given his and Dorian’s difficult relationship, Thom expected he was only here to flirt with Iron Bull.
He hadn’t bid goodbye to Lady Josephine in person, but he’d written the words to an Antivan folk song in his own hand and doused the paper with expensive perfume. ‘The Ships of Rialto Bay’ portrayed a lover waiting by the docks every day for his lover’s ship, growing older and greyer. It ended with no ship in sight: “I cannot see the white sails / I cannot hear the sea / But I will feel your sweet arms / when you return to me.” Lady Montilyet would have the song and a single white rose on her desk by sunrise, courtesy of the messenger he’d paid to deliver it in the wee hours of the morning.
He wanted to leave Sera with some words of wisdom, the kind she’d mock him soundly for but would maybe, someday, appreciate. But what did you say to Sera? Months ago, when the Inquisitor asked if he had gift ideas for her, he’d drawn a blank, and it was the same now.
He tried, interrupting Sera carving “ASS” in the table with the steel tip of the dart. What came out of his drunken mouth was: “Sera, don’t eat too fast. You’re always gulping things down. One day, you’ll choke on a bone.”
“Worse ways to go than with a full belly.” Sera got up to throw her dart, not even hitting the dart board. “Sodding piss-britches fricking arsehole! Argh!” She flung herself down into her chair but almost missed it; he helped guide her into it.
The Inquisitor and Krem passed by, chatting as they went to get more drinks. The Inquisitor beamed at Sera and waved.
Sera snort-giggled and waved back, her head lolling as she tried to prop it up with her hand. “Aw, there she is, yeah?” After another drink for her missed shot, she added, “My love life’s shit.”
“Er, what?” By all accounts, Sera and the Inquisitor were deliriously happy together.
“Oh, not the shagging. That’s grand. She gets me dripping like—”
“Maker’s arse, Sera!”
“Prudey little fussbucket. Anyhow, we been together five months. That’s ages, innit? Me and birds and constantness.... Not really words that go together. They’re anty-nims. That’s some culture for you, mate. You’re welcome. I need to ruin her life.”
“The Inquisitor’s life?”
“You listening, Beardy? Well, okay.” She began to drum her fingers on the table. “Ruin’s too much. But I need to get Inky good. Somehow. Someway. Somewhy. Otherwise, I’m not the ride. You know.” She bounced up and down like she was riding on a runaway cart, then mimed an explosion with big sound effects and then a swarm of bees. “I’m just some cookie-baker who draws, knits and sits around waiting for wifey to come home from her big important meetings.” She frowned. “And that’s not me.”
Her head sank as she rested face-first on the table, and she mumbled something he couldn’t hear.
“Beg pardon?” He brought his ear closer.
“So why do I like it so much if it’s not me?”
Thom took a moment to think. “We only killed Corypheus two weeks ago. There’s nothing wrong with needing time to relax and recover.”
“Just...my window’s all warm and sunlighty and I got all my favourite cushions out....” Sera raised her head so just her chin rested on the table. “Been having loads of naps. It’s weird. Naps outta nowhere get you killed where I’m from.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Give it some time, and you’ll be restless as ever.”
She looked up at him. “You really mean it?”
“Of course. Besides, you’ve still got Red Jenny jobs to do. Maybe check out...er....” Thom had only a vague idea how Sera learned of Red Jenny jobs and how she sorted which to do and which to ignore. He’d asked how common people contacted Red Jenny once, and she’d just laughed and said, “People just talk to people, is all!” “Maybe find some of them,” he finished. “If there are any on the way to Val Chevin, your agents have my blade and my shield.” He’d asked her about taking on a quick job for her earlier in the week, but she hadn’t gotten back to him.
“Frig. Yeah. Left this last minute, didn’t I?” She ran her fingers through her fuzzy hair. “Might have to snag you on the road, mate. One last bit of fun before the darkspawn-drink, huh?”
Thom wasn’t sure how he felt about knowledge of the Joining ritual being so public even Sera knew about it. He supposed that was for the First Warden to deal with, not him. Even if he survived the Joining, he’d be a junior member of the Wardens. Part of him couldn’t help thinking that he could have posed much more easily as a Grey Warden if more of their practices were common knowledge. “Keeping a promise to a friend.”
“Right. I’ll find you something that won’t take too long, I guess.”
Maryden played an up-tempo song that Thom remembered from his younger years: ‘The Lion’s Roar’. The lyrics were uninspired jingoism, but they were simple, and it was an excellent marching song. The Inquisition’s Orlesian soldiers and operatives whooped and cheered, many of them getting up to dance. Iron Bull and the Inquisitor pulled a protesting Dorian out of his seat and started dancing with him scowling between them. Varric looked around the room, scribbling something onto a paper. Thom understood Varric’s urge to chronicle even these small moments. I need to remember this. Tomorrow, my life changes forever.
His thoughts drifted back to the friend at his side. A happy memory from his time in the Orlesian army made him smile. “Now, you wanted a prank for the Inquisitor, did you? One evening, you go into her closet and turn all her clothes inside out. My men did that to me when I was first made captain.” His thoughts began to turn to the horrors his rank had led to, but with effort he stopped himself.
Sera’s obvious joy helped keep him in the moment. She bolted upright in her chair and whooped, punching the air. “Aw, brilliant! It won’t wreck her day, but it’s something only someone close to her could do. That’ll show her. Keep her wishing for more eyes. When am I gonna strike next? She’ll never know!”
Thom took a long sip from his cup of ale. Something Sera had said a moment earlier came into focus. “Always good to keep your wife guessing. Keeps things fresh, I wager.”
“Eh? We’re not....” Her face flushed. “What?”
“You called the Inquisitor ‘wifey’ a moment ago.”
Sera leaned over and got in his face. “Didn’t. Said ‘knifey’, ‘cause that’s what I’m gonna stab you with if you don’t shut it.”
“But first—” he waved to Cabot behind the bar “—I should buy drinks for the happy couple! And congratulate the Inquisitor!”
She tugged at his beard. “I’m tearing it off, hair by frigging hair!”
“Sera!” came Lady Josephine’s voice. She strode over to their table, fierce and angry as Andraste in battle. Against the browns and greys of the armour of the Bull’s Chargers and the beiges and creams of Dorian’s clothes, the gold and sapphire silk of her outfit stood out like a priceless jewel in an armoury.
Sera let Thom’s beard go and casually leaned back in her chair, tipping it so only two legs touched the ground. “Whozzat? Dunno who you’re talking ‘bout. Think she went that ways, though.” She pointed to the back of the bar.
“The king and queen of Ferelden are visiting at the end of the month. This is a chance to show the Inquisition’s good will and solidify an alliance we have spent a year cultivating.” Everyone knew she meant ‘she’ spent a year cultivating, but trust the lady to pretend the Inquisition’s status was a group effort. “Every detail must be precise and perfect.
“And now, instead of the napkins I ordered for the royal dinner, we have under-garments with the name of Ferelden’s king and queen embroidered on incredibly inappropriate areas!”
Thom rubbed at his face and sighed.
Sera was ignoring Lady Montilyet, waving and doing weird hand motions to someone in the tavern. When she looked back, she tilted her head and giggled. “Ha! Forgot about that one! Sorry, Josie. With all the comings and goings—well, mostly goings—I had to have a lot more fun in a lot less time. Can’t keep track, it seems. My mates were supposed to grab ‘em before you could see ‘em. Hope they got a few. I’m gonna plant them around wherever, so people can just stumble across them.”
The lady was, for once in her life, speechless. Her entrancing eyes darted to and fro, making calculations he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Thom would need to step in. “What mates?” he asked.
Sera grinned smugly. “Just some friends. You know me, Beardy—so bad with names.” But her smile dropped when she twisted around, waving to someone again. This time, Thom followed her gaze: Iron Bull was heading their way. At this point in the evening, most people were sloppy; even with Iron Bull's huge size, he was having difficulty getting through the crowd.
What was Sera up to? Thom glanced at the dart board. None of Sera’s had landed. He hadn’t played darts in years, but there wasn’t a tavern game invented that Sera didn’t play regularly. It was a rare day she was that unlucky.
“And what was the point of the...the under-things?” he asked. He was prepared for a shrug, a laugh, or talk about something else.
Sera surprised him. “After the Blight, the king and queen became the king and queen, and didn’t get nothing for any people, big or little. Trying to save funds for rebuilding, they said. Didn’t want the fuss.” She kept looking around as she spoke. “No portraits of the happy couple you can hang in your room, no fancy posters to mark the big day, no nothing.” She stretched her arms up with a loud yawn, then made a hand signal to someone he couldn’t catch. “And the queen killed a bloody Archdemon, didn’t she? Seems like they shoulda got something for their throne-taking or their wedding. Or both! So I made the souvenir. A few years late.”
Maker, Ferelden immediately after the Blight must have been a hard time, indeed. “Never thought you were patriotic.” Sera skimmed so lightly over her past that it was difficult to remember everything she must have been through.
“Heard the king could take a joke. Maybe he’ll like it. ‘Oh, this Inquisition’s not so stuffy. Let’s be best mates with them!’ That’s what he’ll say, I just bet.”
And then Sera moved too far back in her chair. Predictably, her chair went out from under her and she fell to the sticky tavern floor.
Thom stood to help her up—only to have Iron Bull’s hip slam into him and sent him stumbling forward.
Into.
Josephine.
His hands had shot out automatically to break his fall. Thank the Maker, his hands landed on her shoulders, not any other parts of her. She stepped back, startled. He caught his footing and jerked away from her, blurting out “Shit—I mean, apologies, my lady.”
Through the pounding of blood in his ears, he just managed to catch Maryden playing a slow song. The tune seemed vaguely familiar.
“That’s quite all right, ser Rainier,” Josephine said. She blushed prettily. Thom’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he dreamed of another world where this could mean something.
He let it pass, of course. She had her duty to marry well, and he had his duty to the Grey Wardens.
“Sorry, Blackwall,” Iron Bull said as he passed by. “Your next ale's on me.”
“Thanks.” He hadn’t told the Inquisition about his desire to return to his former name. He’d only just wrapped his head around it himself. But he resolved they would be the last people to call him Blackwall.
There was a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye, darting towards the second floor: Sera, totally fine from her fall.
“And so she escapes,” Lady Montilyet said with a sigh. “Well, perhaps tomorrow is a better time to speak of this. And ser Rainier....” She paused, looked away from him for a moment, then regarded him once more with a smile that made his knees weak. “Thank you for the song and the rose.”
She was supposed to have found them in the morning after he’d left. Thom winced. “I didn’t think you’d be at your desk so late.”
Josephine chuckled wryly. “You underestimate the extent of my duties leading up to a royal visit.” She adjusted the pendant at her neck. “You couldn’t have known, but ‘The Ships of Rialto Bay’ was one of my grandmother’s favourite songs. I have fond memories of sitting at her feet while she sang it to us.”
“Oh.” All Thom could do was blush. Somehow, he composed himself enough to bow. “I’m pleased it brought such joy, my lady.”
“The song will be bittersweet, now. But I will suffer the pain gladly, for it meant I met you and knew you, brief as our time together was. Thank you for everything you did for the Inquisition. Andraste watch over you, ser Rainier.”
He gulped. They shouldn’t have had to say these words to one another, but of course she spoke with eloquence and composure. And here he was, drunk as a sailor on shore leave. “And you as well, Lady Montilyet.”
Sera, hanging over the stair railing, spoke in a gruff voice, clearly trying to mimic him: “And maybe we can both watch over each other in a more private location, my lady? Y’know. Naked?”
“Sera!” he hissed.
But Lady Montilyet was poise itself: she glided away, pretending not to hear such coarse insinuations.
“What? No!” Sera smacked the stair railing in frustration. “Go after her, you nutter!”
Sera made flailing shooing motions that urged him out of the tavern after the lady. Thom didn’t move. The gestures became larger and broader the further Lady Josephine got. Sera clomped off the stairs and started to push him, but he crossed his arms over his chest and wouldn’t budge. Eventually, Sera groaned, hung her head and dropped her arms.
“You two are such weirdies!” she declared.
Thom rubbed his temple, righted her chair, and sat back in his. “Did you plan this?”
Sera followed him to their table and flopped into her own chair. “All right. I thought a fun game of Wicked Grace with all our mates would make you stay. Or, we’d have so much fun after the game, you’d have to stay. Getting Josie here was the third plan. Bull would knock you two into each other, you’d actually touch a woman for once in your life, and you’d dance. Like me and Inky at Halamshiral. Had the sheet music lying around, so I thought I’d use it. And Josie’d make you stay. There’s power in a pretty girl and a pretty song smushed together. But, no. Couldn’t even get that far because you’re both nutters.”
His stomach dropped. “Sera. I....” He had to swallow down the lump forming in his throat to continue. What had he done to deserve a friend like her? “You know why I have to leave.”
“Mm, I don’t, actually.” She glared at him. “When we learned who you are, you ran ‘round and ‘round feeling like shite. Now you’re just gonna run ‘round and ‘round feeling like shite except—whoops—darkspawn sometimes. Or loads of times. There’s more to life than that. Could be, if you’d let it. So what if Inky said you should be a Warden when she was in her fancy chair? Fancy-chair-people break promises all the time. They should when the promises are stupid. One word from me, and she’ll set you free.”
“Blackwall wanted me to be a Warden.” He still didn’t know what Gordon had seen in him. “If he hadn’t died, I would have been. I failed him for years, playacting as him. But I can honour him truly now. I can honour everyone at Adamant.”
His thoughts flashed to everyone he’d failed: the Calliers, his men. Cole had told him once that the Calliers probably weren’t watching him from Heaven, or wherever dead souls ended up. They didn’t need or want his guilt. But he couldn’t wipe away years of his thoughts going down the same tracks.
“‘Everyone’?” Sera snorted. “That means the ones the Wardens killed for blood magic? Real heroic, that.”
“Everyone. I can use what I’ve learned in the Inquisition to ensure the Wardens don’t walk such dark paths again. I can make the Grey Wardens what they should be, what they are to so many people: heroes. Or at least, I can try.”
“You already were a hero, Beardy! Saving the little people from bandits, and then killing demons and Venatori with us! A griffon on your chest means shite. If the Wardens still had griffons, maybe joining up could be fun, but they don’t. All griffons mean these days is you’ll be hunting darkspawn when you could be helping people. You told me you cared about little people, once. Or was that part of the Blackwall lie?”
“Hunting darkspawn is helping people, Sera. It’s saving lives that I’ll never get to see. Fighting not for gold, not for glory or power, not for anything other than the right thing.”
“Black veins and corpse flies and painful, screaming death. That’s all it is.” She leaned her elbows on the table, hunching over her beer as if to guard it. “We’ve had Wardens in the Inquisition long enough to know that. Half of them don’t even like being Wardens! They didn’t choose it. They just didn’t want to die by hanging or rotting in some jail.”
Thom took a moment to pull his thoughts together. “Do you know what I felt, when I stood before your lover in chains and she told me I’d join the Grey Wardens? Apart from shock, I felt relief. Something I haven’t felt in...Maker, so long. I still don’t think I deserve it.
“The Wardens are where I should be. It feels like I’ve been called by fate, or the Maker, whatever you want to call it.” His gaze drifted to the Inquisitor by the bar—who was shooting him and Sera anxious looks while she waited—to Iron Bull and his Chargers, to Dorian and Varric, to all the soldiers and spies whose names he didn’t know. Thom thought he sensed Cole hovering around, but that might just have been his imagination. “Why else did I survive everything we went through?”
He focused on Sera, who was staring into her ale blankly. “Fuzzhead.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “You’re the best friend I ever could’ve asked for. Whatever happens.... The times we’ve had are some of my best memories.”
“Obviously. I’m a best best friend.” She smirked, only for it to drop when she looked at him, replaced by wariness. “Oh no. We’re not doing this.”
He pulled her into a one-armed hug. Sera accepted it with a long-suffering sigh. He couldn’t see it, but he could imagine her rolling her eyes. She even deigned to give a quick squeeze back.
She wriggled out of it eventually, though. “I get it, Beardy. No more words. Frig, ‘least now I know you’d just piss and moan if you didn’t get to go off Wardening. Your head’s cracked, mate.” She sat up straight in her chair. “Right, we got a game to finish.”
Thom knew there was no way to get Sera to talk about something if she didn’t want to. “Sera, I’m drunk as sin, and you’re obviously fresh.”
She belched loudly.
He snickered. “Well, fresher. Where’s the challenge in beating me?”
Sera downed the rest of her ale, ordered four more cups from the bar, and set them both before her. “Okay. I’ll down these, then we play darts again. For real this time.”
Thom looked to freshen his own drink, only to find nothing where his coin-pouch should be. Sera tossed his pouch to him with a grin and a “Thanks for buying me the last round, mate.” Now he knew why she’d even put up with the hug.
Generously, she slid one of her ales over to him. She raised her new cup. “Here’s to more memories between us, yeah?”
Thom raised his cup. “To more times losing at darts.”
Crying got you killed in Denerim alleys. Sera learned to cry quietly years ago. Sera sat on the roof of the Herald’s Rest, clutching her knees to her chest, with only the tired moon and fading stars knowing the truth of it.
The window creaked open. The moon and stars and one other. One very important other.
“I’m so sorry, Sera.” Inky’s arms around her were porridge to a starving belly. Sera sighed heavily.
“About what? This dream you’re having where I’m sad about some arsehole? You should be sorry, not me. It’s a stupid dream. Dreams should have flying and...and....” She wasn’t up for thinking of fun right now.
“Do you want to make some ‘us’ cookies?”
“No.” She sniffled. “Yes. Shut it.”
“Maybe Blackwall would like some for the road. The way you two were drinking, I don’t think he’ll get up before noon.”
Everybody leaves. That’s why you had to do the leaving first, so they were the ones hurting, not you. She’d known that, once. But she’d forgotten.
“Gonna put razors in his cookies.” She leaned her cheek against Inky’s shoulder. “Try to give a bloke one happy moment before he throws himself into the Deep Roads.... He deserves a cut-up mouth. All that work I did. Wasted.” She’d had to stalk that poor messenger, then get the crate of underpants to Josie, then make sure Josie saw it at just the right time.... She’d called in some proper favours from her friends on the staff to pull all that off. “Some arseholes just want to be unhappy and there’s not a bloody thing you can do to stop ‘em.”
Or their happy is being stupid like running off to join the Wardens. Ugh, I bet he’ll save an orphanage from darkspawn or something. Then he’ll think it was all worth it.
She could see him standing in front of some cowering kids, shield raised and sword out. Her heart hurt a bit less, thinking how much he’d love that.
Inky said, “I’ve got some Red Jenny jobs you can give him, if you want to take a look at them.”
Trust Inky to help out with Sera’s pile of work as well as her own. “In a minute. Sun’s coming up soon. Let’s watch.”
And so they did.