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He still used the name Blackwall as a kind of honorific, a title. It reminded him of honour, and bravery, two things he had been sorely missing in his life for some years. Thom Ranier was not an honourable man, and he was a coward. Blackwall hoped to atone for Ranier's crimes, to be a better man, a good man. So, for now, he would continue to use the name Blackwall. Perhaps, one day, the name Thom Ranier would be worth something. He could only hope.
She was the catalyst for all of it. He told her once that she was confounding, and she was. She'd gotten into his mind, his heart, and seeing himself reflected in her eyes was glorious and painful, knowing that she loved a lie. Yes, of course, she'd later told him she wanted to be with him, not necessarily with a Warden, or with Blackwall, or with anyone other than himself, but would she have started a romance with Thom Ranier, war criminal? He doubted it very much.
She had pursued him, much to his surprise, and he'd been too weak to stop it, to stop her from stealing his heart and falling for a lie. He had meant to tell her the truth, and there had been plenty of opportunities to do just that, but he always lost his nerve. She believed him to be something better than he was, and he couldn't let her down, except that by keeping his secret, he made it so much worse, and not just for her. Everyone had been affected by the shocking revelation that the man they knew as Warden Blackwall was, in reality, the war criminal, Thom Ranier. He heard the Inquisition had to make reparations for having used Warden treaties in his name, even though by the time the complaint arose, they were allied with the real Wardens, or what was left of them.
Maker knew, he hadn't wanted to leave her, but when he heard about the impending execution of Mornay, Blackwall had been unable to allow it. His original plan had been that he would simply leave in the night, and she would never know what became of him, or think he'd gone off on urgent Grey Warden business or... something. He left her a note. He didn't expect her to care enough to track him down.
The truth was that he couldn't live the lie any more, couldn't let yet another man die for his treason, for his sin. Looking back on how he'd left, he realised how very ungentlemanly it had been. He should have at least covered her with a blanket or something. When they'd finally talked after... everything... she'd been quite irate that he left her “naked in a barn and ran off” and he couldn't really blame her for that. One more thing to regret.
When she'd come to that Orlesian prison to speak with him, it had hurt like nothing else he'd ever known. She was a combination of lividly angry and deeply concerned, and the pain and heartbreak in her expression was almost too much to bear. It was bittersweet, seeing her, painful to see her like that, but wonderful to see her at all. So conflicted, and yet more regret, causing her such pain. He never expected she would find him at all, let alone personally come to see him, to talk to him. She was not supposed to suffer.
Commander Cullen had been there, as well. The commander hadn't spoken to him, but had come to the cell to identify him. It was a relief to Blackwall that Cullen was present, for her. He was strong, he was kind, and Blackwell knew they got along well. Someone to support her.
And then that mysterious release from prison, and hustling Blackwall into Skyhold in the middle of the night... What was the woman thinking? Where were her advisors? How could they allow this? Encourage it? How could she compromise the Inquisition in this way, and for the likes of him? He'd said as much to her, and she'd dismissed his accusations and pointed out, probably correctly, that no one would even remember the incident. And then she sat in judgement of him, all her conflicted emotions playing over her face. He expected... well, he didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't to be pardoned. Again, she confounded him. Her only condition was that he atone, and live up to being the good and decent man he had pretended to be. The man he wanted to be.
But when he'd asked, in open court, about their relationship, she had gone quiet for quite a long time. When she eventually spoke, she looked deeply saddened as she told him that while she would always love him, she no longer trusted him and did not intend to continue the relationship. It was like a punch in his gut, especially after she had so graciously pardoned him, but... it was fair enough. How would he feel if he'd suddenly found out she was someone else? That she'd been deceiving him in almost every way since the moment they'd met? That she had plenty of opportunities to come clean, to tell the truth, and yet she hadn't? Would he be able to move past that? He didn't know, but he didn't blame her for being unwilling to continue their love affair.
It broke his heart, but he accepted it. He'd lost her, and it was his own fault. Having her in his arms had been blissful, even if he could never tell her that. There were so many things he never told her, things he should have. How impressed he was with her skill in battle. How beautiful she looked as she drifted off to sleep, her face soft, lashes fluttering against her skin. How inspiring she was. Just being near her had been enough to change him, to make him want to be a better man, and not just pretend to be. He desperately wished he'd told her the truth before, but it was too late for that now. It was too late for all of it.
She told him she would always love him, and he believed she would, but not the way she had. He had betrayed her trust, even if he had loved her. Would continue to love her. She was... But, no. It didn't matter now. He would do whatever he could to become a man worthy of her, no matter that he never would have her again. He owed her that much.
And now he watched as she went through the courtyard and up the stairs to Cullen's office in the tower, something she seemed to do more frequently these days. Perhaps it was purely Inquisition business. Perhaps the Commander was a comforting shoulder to cry on, or perhaps he offered some friendly support or kindness that she needed. Blackwell suspected it was more than that, though. He'd seen her face when Cullen ended up naked in a card game at which they were all present. He'd also not failed to notice that the Commander was rather attentive to the Inquisitor, perhaps in ways he was too much of a gentleman to express, certainly while she was openly involved with another man. But now, of course, she wasn't involved with anyone else, and the Inquisitor and the Commander seemed to be seeking each other out in subtle ways, exchanging glances, all of that.
Cullen was a good man. He was a man who would cherish her, protect her as much as he was able. His secrets, whatever they were, would almost certainly not shatter her trust or shake the foundations of the Inquisition, itself. The thought of her in Cullen's arms was painful, like a dagger in the chest, but it was also strangely comforting. Perhaps at last she would have the man she deserved. A man she could trust.
Blackwell smiled sadly, bowed his head, and turned away.