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It was Harvestmere and the nights had grown bitterly cold, this one made even colder by a heavy rain that had persisted since noon, though it appeared to finally be letting up. Most of the inhabitants of Skyhold had retreated to their chambers several hours ago, leaving the courtyard of the looming fortress silent and still.
Thom Rainier stood half-drunk working away at a block of wood in his stables, one of the few people still awake in Skyhold. Now that the heavy rain had lightened somewhat, the sound of his carving knife against the wood was more audible. It was rhythmic, hypnotizing, a welcome distraction from the oppressive silence. Following his extraction from Val Royeaux, hardly anybody had spoken to him and even less people had anything kind to say. This was understandable of course, but Thom - Andraste's tits, the name felt strange - still found himself craving mercy, comfort. Love. Her.
He knew he didn't deserve such kindness, but his months with the Inquisitor had spoilt him somewhat. He had felt himself growing more and more accustomed to her gentle treatment. From the moment he agreed to court her, to step beyond the playful flirting, Blackwall - the name she had called him, the name she had thought so noble, so handsome, the name she had loved - found himself bombarded with constant affection. Any town or village they passed through had a collection of shops or marketplaces which Nousha would duck into, always promising to just be browsing. Every time, without fail, she would emerge minutes later bearing presents. Nousha Adaar, a woman who'd appeared so closed off to everyone else, displayed a shocking level of tenderness with those she befriended. Cole, Varric and Josephine often received gifts from her travels around Thedas, but Blackwall had gotten the most by far. Booze, books, oils for his beard, flowers, the small figurine of a Griffon which he'd kept by his sleeping roll in the loft for the past several months. It greeted him each morning, a reminder of both his lover and his lies.
Nousha's constant gestures of affection intensified further when she rediscovered her love of cooking, spending the odd evening in the kitchen, recreating her father’s recipes over and over again until she was finally satisfied. Thom glanced over in the direction of her chambers, where she'd occasionally sit him down and watch as he ate. Nervous at first, always afraid that he'd hate it. Then delighted at his enthusiasm, content to sit quietly as he finished the dish. There had been a few incidents when she'd convinced him to let her actually hand-feed him some wonderful sugary biscuits, giggling like a teenager experiencing her first romance. Blackwall’s heart had barely been able to withstand it. Now, as Thom Rainier alone in his stable, he wished he had let her do it more often. Her desire to spoil him was understandable, she'd been lonely for a long time and had a lot of love to give, though Blackwall hadn't known how to respond initially. Gradually, as he grew bolder, he'd taken to carving the occasional gift in return. Something nice for her to keep on her bookcase and mantelpiece. A bear, a dog, one of those nuggalopes she used as a mount, other animals she liked. Every single one had been displayed proudly, decorating each wall of her chambers, making him swell with pride each time he visited her. Where were they now? Burnt? Thrown off the battlements? Blown into bits by whatever magic Nousha had at her disposal?
Soon after her family had arrived at Skyhold, welcoming her back into their lives, Blackwall had made dragon carvings for Nousha's nieces. His attempt at welcoming them to their temporary home. Little Parveen was too shy to say anything, but Roxanna had thanked him dutifully before returning to Nousha with endless questions regarding her glowing hand.
Her hands. Rainier could still feel them against his cheeks, cupping his faces inches from hers when they had a moment alone. "You crafty bastard. How did you whip them up so fast?"
"Truth be told, it was originally for you." He admitted, placing his hands over hers. "I'd wanted to make a matching pair for us and was halfway done with mine when your family appeared."
Her eyes had welled up as she kissed him then. Adoringly, as if she hadn't already drowned him in gifts of her own. Her mouth tasted like the pastries she'd picked up in Redcliffe. Her mouth. Her lips. Her teeth. Her smile.
Her grimace when she saw you in that cell.
Thom abruptly dropped the lump of wood and reached for the half-empty rum on the corner of his crafting bench. He'd lost the woman he loved but he still had her gifts. The books that he'd pored over these past months, a bear pelt in the loft, some clothes and - of course - the alcohol. A sizeable collection of strong booze to help keep him company on these lonely nights. The heat in his throat and the lightness in his head helped clear his mind of such thoughts, but only for a moment. As soon as his vision refocused, all he saw was more reminders of her. The gifts, the shelves she'd helped put up. He'd had his own quarters in Skyhold, but Nousha knew he preferred to spend his evenings out here, so she'd insisted on making it a little more homey for him. She'd even added curtains to the upstairs windows and painted the main doors to the stable. The same shade used by the Grey Wardens. Thinking of her these days always lead him to remember their most recent interactions. Val Royeaux, the cell, his fucking judgement.
As he resumed carving into the wood, Thom was vaguely aware that he didn't even have a design in mind. He was just cutting up a piece of wood to let off steam, reducing it to shavings.
At his judgement he had asked, in front of everybody, for Nousha to take him back, for them to start over again. She looked sickened by him, averting her gaze as she quickly ordered him back to his post. Like the sight of him made her ill. He wanted to beg, to plead with the person he adored, to selfishly seek comfort from her. But he silently allowed himself to be marched away. He knew he didn't deserve forgiveness; he knew he had to accept her rejection. Don't drag it out, fool. He'd known from even their earliest flirtations that she could never love him as Thom Rainier, but his own weak, pitiful desires forced him to ask, just to be sure. Just to be certain that there was no hope for them. To further humiliate himself. Always a glutton for punishment, Rainier.
His hopeless silence had remained almost totally uninterrupted for over a week now, nobody wanted to speak to Thom Rainier. Nousha wasn't interested in him now either. Lately she'd been forced to remain at Skyhold since her knee was still recovering from their battle with a High dragon they had slain shortly before his trek to Val Royeaux. To what should have been his death. After the battle, he'd knelt beside Nousha as she inspected the damage. His fussing over her was short lived once she saw his face, though. He'd received a beating of his own and was caked with dirt and blood. Nousha soaked a piece of cloth with her waterskin and began to wipe down his forehead, no longer concerned by the pain in her leg. He'd frozen as he always did when she cleaned his face, stunned by her gentle hands. He'd never really gotten used to her constant shows of affection. Now, he never would.
"Oh no, she's doing that soppy shit again!" Sera squealed. "You'd better not try that with me or you're getting your other leg broken, yeah?" Blackwall opened his mouth to tell her off, but Nousha spoke first.
"Don't worry, Sera. This is special treatment for only my favourite people." She said cheerily, giving Blackwall a little wink.
How things had changed in just a month.
In the first few days after his release, Thom had ventured out into the courtyard a few times. Brushing the horses, watching the recruits train, drinking at the bar. He accepted the occasional barb thrown his way by strangers. What he couldn't endure was the sight of Nousha appearing, a grey giant in the corner of his vision, automatically turning towards her and seeing her own gaze locked onto him. He'd look away, unworthy of eye contact, but it would always be too late. He'd have already seen the look on her face, the bags under her eyes, the disheveled hair. And then she'd turn and march away, retreating from him despite the authority she wielded. He'd hurt her terribly, knocked her confidence when her position as the Inquisitor demanded it. He'd forced her to take refuge within her chambers, even when she found Skyhold’s walls so crushing and oppressive.
"The whole fortress is full of all these people coming to see their Herald, their precious symbol of Andraste's love, but not me as a person. All these little attempts to turn the Inquisition into something religious. Which I guess it is, but the idea still makes me sick to my stomach. Remember the fucking Chantry imagery scattered around the place when we first got here? How everyone was so shocked and scandalized when I, a fucking mage, reacted negatively to it? Disgusting." She muttered, getting the worst of her frustrations out while he listened. They drank together on her balcony often through the summer nights, an opportunity for Nousha to vent about her hatred of the order she'd been forced to lead. "This place is a prison, Blackwall." Her voice had softened when she addressed him directly, though. The anger fading as she reminded herself that he was there beside her.
Thom hadn't seen her on the balcony since his return from Val Royeaux.
He couldn't stand the thought of Nousha confined within the walls she resented so terribly. He couldn't continue hurting her even after his betrayal had been revealed. The only solution was to switch things around, confining himself to a hiding spot while Nousha reclaimed ownership of Skyhold's grounds. Thom kept himself tucked away within his barn in the corner of the courtyard, only leaving for quick trips to the kitchens or the privy. Without the ability to socialize he had to keep himself occupied with wood carving, heavy drinking and a considerable amount of crying.
Seeing her come and go, walking past his stable without even glancing in his direction tore at Thom’s heart. Keeping her eyes locked onto the distant mountains whenever her frequent patrols on the battlements brought her near the stables. Being left unnoticed by her was bad enough but he knew it was worse than that. She actively avoided looking in his direction. She still can't stand the sight of you, he realized when he figured out what she was doing.
Sera had made a few visits, trying to cheer him up, but he'd not been much in the way of conversation. The occasional ten-minute chat didn't do much to make the days feel any shorter. More frequently, a braver member of the inquisition’s forces would show up so they could tear into him for his actions. Familiar looking troops who needed a few days to process their feelings before they could express just how disgusted they were. They were entitled to the catharsis of yelling at him, he'd disgraced the organization that countless people had died for. Some of his visitors had been so excited to spar with the noble Warden Blackwall only a few months previously, they'd looked up to him with the same admiration that the men under Thom Rainier had felt before he led them to kill an innocent family.
Thom had run into Nousha's parents a few days ago, he'd stepped out to grab some food and there was Navid. The old man was carrying Nousha's son under his arm, still strong enough to lift the lad with ease. He'd been mid-sentence about how he was going to show his grandson each of the new mounts that had arrived that morning. His wife Darya stood a few paces behind him with Nousha's toddler nieces. He'd frozen, his normally jubilant face switched to that of bewilderment as he remembered that Thom was out of the dungeons and back in the stables. Back with the inquisition despite the crime he'd committed. Here it comes, Thom thought as he chewed his tongue in anticipation. They've left you alone for now, they've tried to be polite, but the sight of your craven face will be too much for them to endure. You hurt their daughter. Here comes the screaming, it'll make the little ones cry but they deserve to get the hatred out of their systems. But the rage never came. Navid's grey face tightened, the same way that Nousha's did when she stifled a frown, and he gave Thom an awkward smile. Then he spun round and hauled Siddel off towards the Inquisition's garden, announcing that he wanted to pick some flowers instead. Darya lingered a moment, her face as unreadable as always, before joining her husband. There was no ill-will, Thom realized. Their only concern was supporting Nousha and helping her recover from the pain, not lashing out at him over some petty anger or revenge on Nousha's behalf.
They just want to help her move on from you.
The sudden sharp pain in his palm distracted Thom from his sulking. Refocusing his eyes, he realized that while his attention was elsewhere the carving knife had slipped and bitten into the flesh of his hand, instantly spilling hot blood onto the useless lump of wood. He swore and stepped backwards, clutching at the gash in an attempt to slow the bleeding. The knife had gone deep, too deep for him to ignore. Thom stared at the dark liquid seeping through his white-knuckled grip, weighing his options. There would certainly be one or two healers still awake, even at this hour. The question was if Thom could face them. The looks of hatred, the whispering. He briefly considered bandaging his hand with one of the scraps of fabrics lying around the stable, used to dry off the mounts, covered in dirt and hair. No, he thought quickly. He did not need whatever else was on those filthy rags getting into his open wound. The infamous Thom Rainier, known for escaping the noose only to die weeks later of an infected cut.
Thom sighed and trudged out of his hiding spot, out into the gentle rain. He couldn't try to avoid the judgement of others, not anymore. He'd be facing it for the rest of his life, that was a consequence of revealing his identity, now that he wasn't going to hang. If the Inquisition hadn't interfered, if Nousha had just forgotten about you, it would all be over now. Justice would have been served. But no, that'd be far too easy. You have to suffer through life as a despicable, pathetic-
His thoughts were interrupted by the shape in the dark before him. Silver skin pale and unhealthy, clutching herself for comfort. Despite being a foot taller than Thom, she looked small and fragile now. Unsure of herself, insecure, devastated. Her hair and clothes were drenched, stuck to her body. How long had she been lingering outside his shelter?
"Hello, Thom." Such an ugly name felt unworthy on her tongue, like it was poisonous and she risked making herself sick just by saying it.
He took a moment to respond, struggling with what to call her. "Inquisitor." Don't call her "My Lady". She's not yours anymore. Was she ever?
"Nousha's fine."
"...Nousha." He knew she hated titles, nobody called her Herald, not to her face. Inquisitor was far more acceptable, but she still didn't like it. "Forgive me, I didn't want to overstep any boundaries."
A moment passed, a stretching, sheepish silence between the pair. Then Nousha's eyes, red-rimmed, flicked down, towards Thom's bloody hand. "Oh!" She cried, stepping forwards hurriedly, only to have Thom pull his arm away from her, staring at his feet.
"I can, ah, have the healers deal with it."
"I know some healing!"
"It's fine."
"It's not! Thom, please!" Nousha's voice was thick and strained. "Please let me help."
Thom forced himself to look at her again. Nousha's face was twisted like she was on the verge of tears. Don't make her cry, you cruel bastard.
"I...I don't want to be a bother. Well, any more of a bother." He said, guilt clawing at his insides. "You've better things to do than deal with me, Inquisitor." His eyes fell back to his feet.
"No, I-" She stopped and then sighed, the sudden surge of emotion draining from her just as quickly as it had started. "Oh, enough of this, Thom." Her voice took on a tired, gruff tone as if she were scolding him. "We're too old for these theatrics. Come on." She didn't bother waiting for Thom's reply, simply walking past him and into the stable. Following along behind her, Thom noted that her change in demeanor made Nousha resemble her usual self again. Decisive, authoritative, confident. She's a grown woman, of course she's not going to sit and weep over your failed relationship for the rest of her days. She's not you.
The relief at knowing she was feeling better was short-lived, extinguished by the consequences of her emotional recovery. She's getting over you. That selfish part of him, an old evil that had urged him towards the unthinkable, bellowed and raged against the idea of Nousha leaving him behind, their love a piece of her past. Let her go, you've already lost her. If you've any love for her at all,be happy that your betrayal hasn't scarred her too horribly.
Nousha stared at his workstation, the wood shavings, the bottle and the blood. It was still wet. She turned to face him, a strange smile on the corners of her mouth. Thom's nerve failed him and he fixed his eyes downwards on his feet. They were joined by Nousha's as she stepped forward, intimately close. She wants to help, that's all. Don't start reading into it.
"Shall we sit while you work?" He gestured with his good hand towards a bench to his left, opposite the carving station. Low, bulky and sloppily made. It was far from his best work, done hurriedly. As everyone was settling into Skyhold, Thom felt it would be too selfish and petty to ask for a seat in his stables whilst there were still so many injured to take care of. He'd made one for himself, intending to replace it once his woodcarving skills were less rusty. He never did, though. Gifts for Nousha and toys for the camps' children quickly became his main priorities.
She nodded and raised a hand, reaching for him again, but stopped herself. She instead itched her arm almost guiltily as she stepped past him.
"Bit small for you, I'm afraid."
"I hope my knee forgives me." She grunted as they sank onto the bench together, with her trying to spare her injured leg from the worst of the strain. After settling in, she removed the glove from her glowing hand before reaching for Thom's own. The familiar gesture made his chest hurt. Her hands were large and warm, fingers almost as calloused as his. "This'll only take a few minutes." Savour the contact while you can, Rainier.
As Nousha cradled the back of Thom's hand in one palm, she held her other over his ragged wound, sandwiching his hand between her own. Between the tender way she held him and the weight of her eyes on his skin, he could barely breathe. The lump in his throat made swallowing difficult.
The seconds dragged by, agonizingly slow.
"Been drinking, have we?" Nousha's voice was even, clearly trying not to sound judgemental.
"Yes. Not a good idea while you're working with sharp tools. Shocked I didn't lose any digits." He mumbled. Despite her attempt at sounding light, Nousha's observation made Thom's skin burn with humiliation. She knows you've been drinking alone at night in your sad little hideaway while you take your anger out on a piece of wood like a child throwing a tantrum. She knew that you're a coward and a murderer, but now she knows the extent of how pitiful you really are. "I'm a foolish old bastard, I know."
"At least you like the rum." She pointedly ignored Thom's self-flagellation. What was she supposed to say? Do you want her to reassure you? Tell you that you're actually a clever man for playing with sharp objects while pissed? "I always thought I'd picked a bad batch for you since you never drank them, you just put them over on the-" Oh shit.
Nousha turned her head to the shelf on the far wall. Where there had previously been fourteen bottles of expensive booze, barely fitting on their perch, there was now only six. They had been well selected, each one of the rums, brandies and mead tasted wonderfully. They'd gone down well and warmed his belly when it was dark and his loneliness got the better of him. That's the only way she'll ever warm you again. He'd thought that every night for the past week as he dozed off in a stupor. Though that was apparently wrong, it turned out that skewering himself was a fairly reliable way to feel her hands on him again, warm as ever while she healed his wound. Don't go down that road, it won't end well.
"You... you picked them perfectly, Nousha. You know me - ah, you know my tastes well." He didn't like her staring at the bottles like that. The realization dawning on her face made him feel sick. She probably feels even worse at having to sit so close to you. You must stink of it.
Nousha's jaw tensed as she gave a little sigh. "I think I know you fairly well, Thom." She finally tore her gaze away from the damn shelf and looked him in the eye. "Despite everything." Thom's eyebrows leapt up, causing Nousha to give him a little smile.
"Nousha," Thom choked, still unsure about calling the Inquisitor, his lady, by her name. It felt too intimate. The time for intimacy between them was over now. Thom had destroyed it. "You've adjusted quite well to calling me by my true name." It had only been three weeks since he'd interrupted Mornay's execution, exposing his true identity. Nine days since he'd been brought to face judgement. Since then, nobody else had called him Thom Rainier in casual conversation. A few passersby spat it at him like a curse, which it was, but Sera hadn't called him it. Neither had Varric, when he visited Thom in Skyhold's cells before his judgement. Then again, the man favored nicknames to an almost compulsive degree.
"I've been going over it. Getting used to thinking of you as Thom. Thought exercises, you know? I just say shit like 'Thom has a beard, Thom likes woodworking, Thom is a warrior'. It helps. I've had friends change their names before. Not for the same reasons as you, though." She returned her gaze to his hand. "It suits you." The gentle way she said that final sentence made Thom's ears burn. She almost sounded bashful, like when they'd first officially started courting. Get your head on straight, she's clearly just being nice. Don't make assumptions, don't give yourself false hope, but most importantly don't make her uncomfortable.
"Even I haven't gotten used to the name yet and I was born with it." He'd been Thom Rainier for thirty-seven years, but somehow the name had lost all its old familiarity after just a few short years as Blackwall. It was foreign, now. Ill-fitting. "I remember being so afraid to turn forty as Thom Rainier. Then I became Blackwall." His voice had gone quiet at the little admission, forcing Nousha to lean in close.
"Forty's a scary age. I remember losing my marbles over it, too. And then it comes and you realize you don't feel any different than you did in your thirties."
"I know. It was mainly my own vanity. I suppose I'd been working in Orlais for so long that their obsession with appearances had rubbed off on me. I'd started dyeing my hair to hide the grey." He almost laughed at the memory and ran his spare hand through his hair, streaked with silver at the temples. It all seemed terribly foolish now, after living so simply for the past few years.
"You will get used to your name again, eventually. Can't be easy being Thom again when everybody still calls you Blackwall."
Thom was mid-shrug when Nousha's words suddenly snapped together in his head.
"You took the time to practice my name so you could help me readjust to it." He realized, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone.
Now was Nousha's turn to shrug. "It's nothing. Basic respect, that's all. I owe you that and more." Her claim stunned Thom for a few moments. He wracked his brain for any reason why she might think such a thing but found nothing. She didn't owe him any kindness, she never did, but especially not now.
"Nousha, you don't have any obligation-"
"Don't start." There was that irritated growl again, back with a vengeance. He swallowed the urge to argue, afraid that she might storm off. Don't leave, please don't let me suffocate alone in this silence.
"Fine, then. Though I must admit that having people still call me Blackwall isn't too bad. It could be like a title. Almost like Inquisitor. Reminds me of what I ought to be."
"I don't like titles." Her voice was softer now, but still firm. The surge of affection hit Thom so hard that he had to stop himself from rubbing his thumb along her hand as she worked. Despite being standoffish when they'd first met, Nousha's insistence on being called her own name and calling other people by their names rather than rank had quickly drawn him to her. A foundation of respect built before their first flirtations.
"No, you don't, do you? Thom it is, then."
"Or Thomas, if that's what you prefer-"
"Thom." He interrupted, his voice a little more forceful than he'd intended. The name Thomas made him think of a drunken old brute who'd beaten him as a child and mistreated his mother. A man who was long dead by now. Nousha's head snapped up to give him a look. He'd seen it plenty of times before, whenever he'd gotten irritable with her out of nowhere, usually over something that wasn't actually her fault. It wasn't anger or fear or distress, just mild curiosity. A look that told him he hadn't actually upset or offended her, but merely made her wonder what had brought on his outburst. As usual, it shamed him far more than if she'd just been hurt.
"Thomas Rainier was my father." He explained, fixing his eyes on the dwindling fire. He'd uttered those words before, long ago. Call me Thom he'd said as he was proclaimed champion of the grand tourney, only eighteen and already distancing himself from all association with the old bastard. Despite keeping his eyes away from Nousha, he couldn't cover his ears. Couldn't prevent hearing the soft breath she took at his confession. A rare piece of information he'd given her himself, unprompted. No spirit-boys to pull things out of his head, no spymasters to show her any reports, just a plain truth from his own lips. A small show of trust she'd been waiting for throughout their doomed romance, given far too late.
"Thank you for telling me, Thom." She said in a small voice.
It was too late, wasn't it?
"What did you come here for, if I may ask?" He needed a new topic, before his mind went down a dangerous path.
Nousha cleared her throat uncomfortably, but didn't look up from her work.
"You may. Um. I came because I wanted to see you. Well, that's obvious, sorry. I meant I wanted to talk. Ask you- ah, ask you... something." Her voice was beginning to break again. Thom gritted his teeth. Please don't cry, Nousha, my sweet lady, don't do this to me.
He wanted to squeeze her hand in his, despite his wound, despite the impropriety. What he wouldn't have done to comfort the woman he loved. Instead, he remained entirely still and forced himself to sound calm. Keeping his voice even was a monumental task.
"Of course, I imagine you've a few questions about what I--"
"Not that. Not right now, at least." Her eyes hardened, grounding herself by directing all her focus onto the healing. She smelled like the perfumes she put in her baths. Thom realized how close his face was to her and pulled back, ashamed. He clenched his good hand into a fist and tried to dispel the memories of Nousha washing his hair, the joys of all their nights together.
Nousha tried to speak, but faltered. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder and into the courtyard, silent for a few long seconds. Thom opened his mouth to urge her to say whatever was on her mind, just a moment too late.
"Sera's pranks. She ever target you, or does your status as her best friend protect you from that?" Nousha asked abruptly. She'd retreated from a tough subject, clearly trying to make things a little lighter before she plunged into whatever it was she'd been contemplating.
"I don't know if I'm her best friend, but I suppose I'm afforded some protection from her..." Thom trailed off, looking for words while suppressing a smile. He hadn't had a best friend in decades. The term was juvenile, he knew this, but it still made him feel warm inside. Sera and Thom, best friends. He wondered if she'd done any doodles of them drinking together. Hopefully she didn't put too much grey in his beard. "Her antics."
"She's been trying to cheer me up." Nousha's smile was back, warm and thoughtful. "Or distract me from my moping by making me mad. Difficult to tell, really. Maybe she can't decide."
Thom sighed. "Nothing too bad, I hope?"
"No, no. Nothing I can't handle. Doodling on my papers, teaching my son a few swears... Sewed some padding into my breeches to make my arse look even bigger." Thom burst into laughter at that, earning him a grin from Nousha. Her teeth were lovely. "I don't know where she got the idea, the little swine." It felt good to laugh again. Or maybe it was Nousha's presence beside him. Either way, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment. Who knew when the next opportunity might show up?
"She's-" Thom wiped a tear from his eye. "She's very imaginative, that girl."
"Oh yes, that's one way of describing her." Nousha's voice went quiet.
Thom sighed at the thought of Sera. "I don't think she's sure of how to cheer me up either. She's tried talking me into going to the tavern, but..." Do not tell Nousha about how you've been hiding from her so she can walk around Skyhold without having to see you. She probably knows, but it would be uncomfortable to say it openly to her. She'll feel guilty. You don't want that, do you?
Thom winced, forcing the thought from his head. Nousha didn't deserve any more guilt than she was already struggling with. Especially not from him. "Well, I just haven't felt like going outside much."
Nousha gave a gentle frown, concern lining her forehead. "I hope people aren't being too cruel, Thom." Maker, she's worried about you now. That's even worse than guilt.
"Nothing I can't handle." He said, echoing her earlier words. "But I'd still rather not start any issues with anybody."
"From what I hear, that hasn't stopped anyone who wants to give you an earful."
"Yes, well. Better to get it over with in the relative privacy of the stables than in Herald's rest, where everybody can watch." Watch the criminal get chewed out, like it's the highest form of entertainment.
"In Herald's rest, people could intervene, too. If it got physical, I mean."
Thom bristled at that, the idea that he would strike an Inquisition member over some petty insult wasn't something he was willing to endure, not from anybody. Not even her. Still, he took a moment to steady his voice before speaking. Do not yell at her. "I won't hurt anybody, Inquisitor. I've done terrible things, but I am not some wild animal that has to be watched for any sign of an impending attack on someone." The retort came out quietly, but it was still thick with indignation.
"Oh, don't be obtuse. I'm not saying you would. I mean if an overzealous young troop tries to hurt you out of some ... warped sense of righteousness. Or worse yet, a group of 'em. I'd rather not have you injured and left to bleed to death without anybody noticing." She spoke with the same scolding tone she'd given him earlier. The same one she used in her disagreements with Dorian and Varric. No real disdain or aggression, which showed up in her many altercations with Cassandra and Cullen. She's still speaking to you like you're family. "Especially when you're too drunk to defend yourself." She gave him another little smile. She wasn't even angry at him, despite his defensiveness. Why is she demonstrating such patience? Why for you?
Thom deflated, his anger quickly giving way to embarrassment and guilt. "I...I'm sorry, Nousha. You didn't deserve such harsh words."
"Harsh words? You didn't call me anything. You didn't even swear!"
"You know what I mean. My tone was unnecessary."
"It's fine. I should have clarified. I know that..." Nousha paused, rolling her lips around as she searched for the right words. "I know that with the truth out there, you're feeling vulnerable. It can be difficult to tell when someone's being sincere or if they're accusing you of something. Especially if you've only been getting the latter lately."
Thom nodded, feeling his throat constrict.
"Plus, as previously mentioned, you are drunk." Nousha sighed.
"I'm only a little tipsy!" Thom argued, but Nousha continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"Perhaps giving you all that booze was a mistake..." She mused.
"Perhaps." Thom couldn't muster anything else. All the gifts had been a mistake, he knew that. He shouldn't have encouraged it, shouldn't have accepted it.
"I should have just fed you more of those cakes instead. Some extra weight would have slowed you down when you ran off. We'd have caught you before you made it to Val Royeaux." Her eyes flicked up from her healing to meet his, another spark of humour on her face. It died as she read his expression, though.
"And Mornay would have hanged in my place." He huffed, too worn out to fake a laugh. Nousha cleared her throat awkwardly.
"Right, yes. That'd be bad. Sorry." She refocused on his hand, guiltily avoiding his gaze.
Thom replied with a wordless grunt, already regretting his words. A tactless joke is nothing, not when it's compared to what you've put her through.
"I heard he's been given financial compensation by Gaspard. A nest egg while he pulls his life together."
"You mean Briala gave him compensation."
"Who?" Nousha asked in mock innocence before throwing Thom a conspiratorial wink. Thom couldn't stop himself from giving a tired chuckle.
"We offered him a job, too. Over here with the Inquisition." She continued, her voice suddenly a little wary, unsure of how he'd react.
Thom pursed his lips as he mulled over the news. Mornay had been practically skin and bones at his would-be execution. Malnourished, probably. Maker knew how long it'd been since he'd had a decent meal. "You didn't make him a soldier, did you?"
"Not really, he's a lookout on one of our watchtowers outside Dennet's farm. Pretty boring work, but maybe boring's what he needs. Plus, he's being paid and fed proper food, with a few others stationed alongside him. Maybe when he's packed some muscle on, he can take up arms for us. Or maybe he's satisfied as a hired hand. You know him better than I do, so your guess is probably worth more than mine."
Thom gave a little sigh, knowing that Mornay probably was satisfied. He'd never been especially ambitious or prone to greed. Easily satisfied with his lot in life, Thom had once observed. Had their positions been switched, Mornay would have never sold them out. He was about to tell her as much when Nousha continued speaking.
"I figured since my main reasoning for pardoning you was that you were a changed man, it was only fair to offer him the same opportunity to prove himself. Perhaps he's just as guilt-ridden as you are over what he did." The quiet appreciation for a man he'd worked alongside twisted in Thom's stomach, boiled into something ugly and defensive.
"And why might he feel guilty when it was my orders he was following?" Thom asked, narrowing his eyes at her. Nousha returned his expression twofold, giving him a contemptuous glare for a few long seconds.
"Because he murdered a family. Four children, if memory serves correct." She didn't get it. She couldn't understand why Mornay and the other lads had no choice, yet she spoke about it as though she was there. Thom's skin was burning and he could feel his pulse in his ears, it made his own voice sound muffled and far-off.
"Mornay and the rest of my lads were good soldiers. Good men!" Nousha's posture straightened as Thom spoke, suddenly rigid with outrage of her own. He wasn't exactly yelling, his voice wasn't a roar like it had been when she confronted him in his cell, but there was more force in his words than he'd intended. "They trusted my judgement and believed that they were doing what was necessary!"
"Repeat that for me, Thom?" She hissed, venom slipping into her voice. "Your so-called good men believed that slaughtering children was necessary? Do you fucking hear yourself?" Thom opened his mouth, ready to cut Nousha's argument apart. He was halfway through the first word when he realized he couldn't actually think of any counterpoint.
"You-- I-- Nousha, it's not that simple."
"It is. Cover it up with as many complex Orlesian political schemes as you want. Your men willingly cut that family down. It doesn't lessen your wrongdoings in any way, but to paint the men who served under you as, like, upstanding beacons of virtue who were tricked into committing murder is unfair and untrue." The desire to counter Nousha with an argument was still there, but Thom's tongue had turned to stone. Sitting and listening to such slander hurled at his men felt like yet another betrayal against them, but he couldn't think of anything to counter with. "Remember what you said a few months back? You are who you choose to follow. Those men saw children in Callier's caravan and chose to follow your order anyway. They could have refused, turned against you, but they didn't." The scorn had disappeared from Nousha's voice, replaced by something else. Something tired and sad, but painfully earnest.
Thom stood quickly, clearing his throat in a failed attempt at dislodging the lump from it. His eyes stung as he trudged across the stable and grabbed the half-empty bottle of rum from his work bench. With his back still to Nousha, he stared down at the label on the bottle, pretending to be interested in what it said. He couldn't turn to face her, not with his eyes so wet.
"He had a family once, you know. Mornay, when we were working together. A wife and three girls. I can't imagine what must have happened to them afterwards. Not only did they lose their main source of income, but the family's reputation must have suffered. Esmé can't have had an easy time finding employment once her husband's role in the attack came to light." After taking a long swig from the bottle, Thom glanced at his palm. The split flesh was almost completely rejoined, if a little raw. "After all, who would want to hire the wife of a traitorous fugitive?" His question hung in the air for several long seconds while he tried to pull himself together. The alcohol had numbed the tightness of his throat sufficiently, but the tears were still pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill at any second. He couldn't wipe at them with Nousha watching. She probably knew that he was close to tears, but he hoped that as long as he didn't make it too obvious, she'd not acknowledge it. Thom knew that she could be merciful.
"They're the real victims, aren't they?" He choked, clutching the bottle so hard that he thought it would shatter in his fist. "What I did to my men was monstrous, but their families, their spouses and children, they played no part in our crime." He'd not thought of Esmé and Mornay's girls in years. The oldest daughter would be a grown woman by now, assuming she still lived. Maker, let them be alright.
"Sit back down, Thom. I'm not done yet." Nousha's voice was painfully gentle as she patted the spot on the bench beside her. Tender, almost. Thom numbly turned and stepped towards the bench, no longer concerned by the lingering wetness of his eyes. As he resettled himself next to her and she took his hand, he noticed his blood on her fingertips. The glowing, divine hand that she used to seal rifts had been marked by him. Tarnished. Dirtied. Her other hand reached across and took the bottle from Thom's loose grasp, bringing it to her lips. She locked eyes with him as she sipped, challenging Thom to complain at her for drinking his rum. He didn't say anything, though, instead offering a weak smile. Take whatever you want, my lady. Show me that I'm still worth something.
"We could try finding his family, offer his wife a job, too. Assuming she's still using her husband's name. If not, we could ask Mornay what she went by before she married him. We're not guaranteed to find them, but it's worth a shot. Cabot's been asking for some extra staff at the bar, anyway."
"That would... be very kind of you, Inquisitor." He grunted, retrieving the bottle from Nousha. As he drank, he found that the rum suddenly tasted far more precious than it had before. "Forgive me for snapping. Again."
"It's fine. I should have known better than to bring up such a sore subject. Maker, I told you I wasn't going to ask about it, but then I decided to throw in my two bits as if it's absolutely vital that you hear my opinion on the matter." Thom laughed before he could stop himself, then rushed to undo any offense he'd caused.
"I don't-- well, you make a good point. I never really thought about it like that before, never considered what kind of person would willingly carry out an order like the one I gave." He gently swirled the liquid around in the bottle, watching it ripple like a tiny, syrupy-smelling ocean. He heard Nousha give a long sigh as she squeezed his injured hand.
"Good men and good soldiers aren't always the same thing." She said grimly. Thom nodded in agreement, chewing the inside of his cheek. He'd seen plenty of good soldiers in his life, especially during his time as captain. Strong fighters who followed their orders obediently. Good men and women were often punished or discharged for insubordination. Some were labelled deserters and faced criminal charges. If his men had turned against him when they saw Callier's children, who would have hanged? Them for refusing, or him for his involvement in a treasonous plot? Would he be able to cover his tracks and feign innocence? Bribe someone to falsify evidence that they were on an unrelated mission? It didn't matter, really. His men didn't hesitate, not even for a second. Callier's family never stood a chance.
"I hate having all these people fighting for me. Even if it's to save Thedas. I can't ensure that nobody's using their status as an Inquisition troop to hurt someone, even with all of Leliana's spies about. She's not omnipotent, though she pretends otherwise. Shit, I can't be sure the advisors aren't up to anything nasty behind my back, either."
"I know you've had issues with Leliana and Cullen, but I'm sure they wouldn't do anything too heinous." Even though the spymaster was intimidating, she was dedicated to saving the world while Commander Cullen always had his troops' best interests in mind.
"Yeah?" Nousha asked, giving him a wry smile. "When we were figuring out how to get you out of Orlais, Leliana wanted to switch you with someone else and have him die in your place."
"She what?" Thom asked, incredulous.
"Cullen wanted a more direct approach, he proposed that we just send our forces to go and drag you out, cut down anybody in the way."
"Maker's balls!" He choked. Thom had called the Inquisition corrupt for relying on political favour to release him from custody. Now knowing what some of the alternatives were, he felt relieved that Nousha had taken the non-violent option. His shock earned a little laugh from the Inquisitor before she sighed and slouched lower, exhaustion obvious on her face.
"Seriously, though, I really don't like being the head of an organization like this. With something this big, it's impossible to check things as thoroughly as you should. Corruption can easily spread and it's always the most vulnerable people who suffer the worst because of it. Little people, as Sera says. Except I include the elves in my definition of the term." On top of magic, she and Sera had had a good deal of arguments regarding the Dalish, too. As someone who was neither a mage nor an elf, Thom was glad to stay out of it.
"You've always done that, worried about those in need. Tried to help them. Even back when the Inquisition had just started, you were assisting the refugees in the Hinterlands, feeding them, gathering a potion for a sick woman, taking those flowers to that shrine. That's when I knew I'd made the right choice by joining you."
"Hush." She scolded gently, failing to suppress a smile. "Any decent person would have done it."
"Decent people with your level of power are a rare breed, my lady." Shit. The affectionate term left his mouth before he could stop himself, simultaneously burning his face and freezing his chest. Mercifully, Nousha breezed right past it.
"I know. So many self-serving bastards out there willing to step on those beneath them in order to grab some more power. I was hardly ignorant about how shortsighted the upper-class are, but being the Inquisitor has allowed me to get a much closer look at them. Closer than I'd ever want to be. You know, despite all the good it lets me do, I can't wait for all this power to evaporate once Corypheus is dead. I'll finally go home, head back to Rivain, wash my hands of all this. The amount of insufferable pigs whose company I've had to endure--"
"That's not a veiled jab, is it?" Thom did his best to keep his voice serious, but couldn't hide his grin once Nousha broke out laughing. Maker, what a sound.
"Don't start!" She cackled. The way her eyes crinkled had Thom's heart pounding harder than it should have. As her warm bout of chuckles subsided, their eyes locked again and Nousha's smile faltered. Thom realized he'd been staring at her and quickly averted his gaze, choosing instead to look down at their entwined hands. After silently reaching for the bottle, Nousha placed it at her feet.
"Please look at me." Maker, what choice did he have? Thom dragged his eyes up to Nousha's face again. Her expression was hard, brow furrowed with determination. "Two things, okay?"
"Two things. Right." He choked. What two things could Nousha have to say to him? Fuck you and die? She didn't appear to hate him, which was a wonderful surprise, but it also wiped a lot of good amount of possibilities from the list.
"First of all, I-- I really should have said this when we first sat down. That's not one of the things I'm here to say, ignore that." She shook her head impatiently, bouncing her good leg, a nervous habit of hers. "Thing number one: I'm sorry." Thom's eyebrows twitched upwards
"For...?"
"For how I've acted lately. Avoiding you like that. You ran off because you wanted to do what you thought was right, you..." She paused to take a breath, her eyes wet. "You had a good reason for disappearing on me. It hurt, but you were doing what you felt was the right, moral thing to do. I've been ignoring you, leaving you alone during-" She sniffed. "During such a hard time, for no reason other than... I don't even know! Spite, maybe?" She finally broke eye contact, looking back to their hands, locked together. Her thumb dragged over his palm affectionately. Thom was paralyzed.
"Andraste's tits, I'll be forty-one soon. I’m too old to be acting like some stroppy teenager giving you the silent treatment. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Thom. It was needlessly cruel." She sniffed again and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. It made Thom's vision blur with tears of his own.
"Nousha, I... I lied to you. I lied to the inquisition. I abandoned you, alone, naked, in a filthy stable to run off to Orlais. I really don't deserve an apology."
"Waking up alone was-- yeah, that stung. But I still think it's unfair to make myself the victim. You ran off to save a man's life, you were prepared to die in order to do it! You-- you did something brave and good and you shouldn't be punished for it. Not by me."
"I should! Nousha, it's because of me that a family is dead."
"Yes. And you're doing your best to be a better man. I shouldn't have let you face everybody's judgement by yourself." She shifted closer to him, raising her shoulders.
"No, no, you were right to distance yourself from me. I'd only stain your reputation. I already have, you--"
"Thom, look at me!" She cried, gesturing to herself with an open hand. "I'm an apostate ox who doesn't like the Chantry. I was never going to win any popularity contests. You've been a loyal, dependable member of the Inquisition since the moment you joined and I've repaid your service by-- by just sitting around feeling sorry for myself while you were the one suffering." Maker, how could she say that? Did she really see him as the victim in all this, after what he'd done to her? Outrageous. Absurd. Unjust. Sickening.
"Nousha, you've already been good enough to me. Please, I don't deserve an apology."
"Yes, you do! You're trying to make things right, you're still a person. I'm so sorry, Thom."
"Don't be! Please, don't be sorry."
Nousha raised her head to look at him again, giving a little laugh despite tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
"Too late, sorry again."
Without thinking, Thom reached over to wipe at Nousha's tears with his free hand, fingers gentle and eyes tender. He quickly withdrew after Nousha's smile vanished.
Foolish old man. She's kind enough to heal you and she's emotionally compromised, but she doesn't want your hands on her. Not anymore. Keep your filthy, traitorous hands off of this woman.
He shuffled away, shame falling over him.
"I'm sorry, that... that wasn't appropriate of me."
"Oh, Thom." Maker, the way she said his name made the world go fuzzy. Such tenderness for a man like him was wrong, undeserved.
Neither could look at one another. Thom heard her sniffling, still raw.
"You know where those cloths for the horses are?" She asked. Thom pointed to a cabinet under the stairs, before changing his mind abruptly. Nousha was in the process of standing when Thom's hand clapped onto her shoulder.
"No, I'll get it. Sorry, Nousha. Forgot about your leg."
"The knee's not that bad," She grumbled, but allowed herself to sink back into her sitting position. Thom was back in seconds, clutching the cleanest scrap of fabric he could find.
"I don't think you should be drying your eyes with these, they're not exactly-" His concern was unneeded, though. Nousha instead blew her nose with it. Thom sat next to her again, both relieved and embarrassed to have his worries be unfounded. As she pocketed the cloth, Nousha took Thom's hand back in her own.
"I- I think it's healed, Nousha."
"I think so, too." She murmured, stroking her thumb along the cut. She didn't release his hand, nor did Thom pull it away. "There's another thing I wanted to talk about. When you asked about our relationship, I shouldn't have just brushed you off like that in front of everyone."
Thom's stomach dropped. Maker's balls, please don't bring that up. Not now.
"It's fine, Nousha. Honestly, after what I've put you through it's a wonder you let me stay in Skyhold at all. You've no obligation to continue our... relationship. I understand completely." He kept his eyes fixed on the bloody chunk of wood opposite their bench, willing himself to appear calm. Relationship was such a clinical way of describing it, what they had.
"Thom-"
"It was unfair and impulsive of me to ask. After everything that had happened, of course you wouldn't want me anymore."
"Thom, please-"
"All I did was embarrass you!" He spat, grimacing at the memory. "I'm the one who-- I'm... I'm sorry, Nousha." I'm just a man with his heart laid bare, he'd said to her in front of all those onlookers, reminding everyone of how he had tricked his way into the Inquisitor's arms. What a fool he'd been. What a fool he still was.
Nousha took a deep, shuddering breath and held it for a few long seconds before slowly releasing. One of her methods of staying calm. As she repeated this exercise, her hand snaked up from his own and stroked a path up his arm until she was gently clutching his shoulder.
"Look at me, Thom." She requested again. Just like last time, Thom was powerless to resist and raised his head to lock eyes with her. He hadn't noticed how close she was, their hips almost touching.
"I never said I didn't want to continue things with you." The world lurched slightly at her words, making Thom flinch. The sad little smile on her face nearly destroyed him. "It wasn't a rejection, Thom. I just needed some time to think things through. I-- I know I should have clarified earlier. I wanted to send, like, a letter or something, but I couldn't ask someone else to deliver it, because what if they read it? Leliana has her spies reading everything written down, it's impossible to have a private conversation through letters in this fucking-"
"You still want me at your side?" He asked, interrupting Nousha's rant. Her eyes were already glittering with tears, and his question broke what little composure she had. Her face crumpled and Nousha gave a gentle sob as she nodded her head, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. Thom swore his heart was somehow breaking and mending simultaneously.
"Yes! Yes, I'm-- I'm sorry, Thom. Everything happened so quickly, I'd barely wrapped my head around what you'd done. I just wanted your judgement out of the way so I could sit and digest all this new information. I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you to rot in a prison, the sight of you in that filthy fucking cell was stuck in my head and making me lose it, so I rushed things. I'm really sorry, I--" She paused, averted her eyes for a moment, then gently cupped his face with her hands. "I love you, Thom Rainier. It doesn't matter what your name really is or who you once were. I fell in love with the person you've become." A wet sob tore its way out of Thom's throat as he surged forwards, burying his face in the curve of Nousha's neck. Her warm grey skin muffled his cries while she cradled him close to her. "I should have told you that long ago, Thom. Forgive me." Nousha planted a gentle kiss to his forehead, rubbing little circles into his back while his shoulders heaved.
Feeling her familiar warmth against him after thinking he'd never experience it again was indescribable. It made Thom a little frantic, crawling into her lap like he'd done many times before. Nousha gave a breathless laugh through her tears as she adjusted her position to let him sit comfortably, resting his torso against her chest while she pressed her lips to his scalp more times than he could count.
The pair stayed like that for a while, weeping and murmuring gentle reassurances. Apologies, forgiveness, promises to live together in Rivain once Corypheus was dead, what kind of plants they could grow in their garden, all spoken in voices so low that nobody else could have heard them. But as a natural consequence of their age, both of them quickly grew achy from their tangled position on the bench. Finally, Thom climbed off his partner, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve.
"You alright, love? I sort of leapt on you there." The flush that had spread across his cheeks deepened. Maker, he'd missed calling her that.
"Oh, yeah. It'll take more than that to bother me, Thom." She smiled and curled a finger through his beard. "You know, I think I like this name better than Blackwall."
Thom closed his eyes and leaned into Nousha's touch, still craving affection. "It has its charms."
"It's certainly more intimate than being on a last-name basis, right?" She asked, planting a kiss against the bridge of Thom's nose. His hands came up to cradle her face as he brought his lips up to meet hers. When they finally separated, Nousha took Thom's hand, flipping it over to inspect his once-injure palm. "Pretty good work, eh?"
Thom admired Nousha's handiwork, other than a slightly pale line in his flesh there was no sign of the deep gash that had been there so recently. "Very good, my lady." He breathed gently as Nousha lifted his hand up to her face and kissed the rejoined flesh.
