"If you'd searched the whole wide world

Would you dare to let it go?

Don't give me up."

-Birdy, "Not About Angels"

He stared at her in the silence, the woman he had held and loved and betrayed, as she contemplated his fate. Her sweet eyes were averted from his, an expression of pain and uncertainty coloring her face and slowly breaking his heart. She was still so beautiful, he thought in the stillness. So beautiful and strong and simply good in this tainted world of hate and greed.

"Blackwall," she began, breaking the quiet and shocking his heart. "…Thom Ranier," she corrected, her mouth twisting with distress as she said his real name, a name that represented nothing more than disgrace and unworthiness. "You… you have your freedom."

He felt his own expression shift to one of disbelief, his mouth unable to form words in the span of a skipped heartbeat. "It cannot be as simple as that."

"It isn't," she said, her voice regaining some of its composure. "You're free to atone as the man you are, not the traitor you thought you were or the Warden you pretended to be."

"It will take time," he admitted, feeling small under the weight of her gaze. "You would accept that? And what I used to be?" he asked, his heart beating wildly out of control. "I lied about who I was, but I never lied about what I felt," he said, taking a tentative step towards her.

She stood from her throne abruptly, her mouth pursing with discomfort. "Everyone is dismissed," she said, her eyes still trained on his in a silent warning.

"Karrah," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear.

"Don't," she hissed, raising her chin with authority as he moved closer.

He shook his head, now high enough on the steps to tower over her dwarven form. "My lady, please let me-"

"I said don't," she growled, backing away from him. The angry tone stopped him in his tracks as she turned to retreat to her chambers.

He began to follow as she rushed away from him but was stopped by a slight hand on his shoulder. "I would not follow her," Josephine said from behind him, her voice soft but stern. "Haven't you done enough?"

When he turned to her, the Antivan's face was solemn and tired. "I need to see her and make this right."

"You did not see her while you were gone," Josephine said. "When you left, she was distraught. I had never seen her so scared. And when she found you…" she averted her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Maker, I was afraid you had broken her."

He felt shattered as she spoke, a piece of him falling away with every damning word. He wanted to believe Josephine was exaggerating, but by the grim look on her gentle face, he knew that her words were nothing but the truth.

"She is such a good woman," Josephine said. "But somehow, the world gives her nothing but pain. Please, Blackwall, let her heal before you hurt her again."

She shed her armor piece by piece as she entered her chambers, letting the metal parts fall on the floor haphazardly as she moved toward her bed.

She was so, so tired.

After a solid two weeks in Emprise du Lion and a total of one week of travelling, every part of Karrah screamed for nothing more than a hot bath to unwind her knotted muscles and the sweet escape of sleep.

Seeing as she had been away from Skyhold for three weeks with Dorian, Cole, and Cassandra, she had not seen Blackwall since she had judged him on her throne. She was almost relieved that he had not tried to see her before she left for the Emprise, although it was hard to not be offended by his absence.

She knew he was still at Skyhold, thankfully. Despite everything that had transpired between the two of them, she was happy to still have his blade in the fight against Corypheus. He was a valuable ally, and she was relieved to know that he believed her cause to be worthy of his time.

Silently, she cursed herself as shame flooded her body. Is that really what she thought of him now? As nothing more than another soldier, another blade to live and die alongside her army? He had hurt her – no one could deny that – but her feelings for him had not diminished. He was worth so much more than her bitter thoughts made him out to be.

She walked into her washroom, thankful to see that someone had prepared a hot bath for her in advance. She was almost sure it was Josephine – the woman was always looking ahead and always looking out for Karrah whenever she forgot to take care of herself.

Removing her underclothes and testing the water, an involuntary sigh left her mouth. The water was still blissfully, miraculously hot.

With a soft groan, she submerged herself in the water and felt three weeks' worth of grime and dirt leave her skin. She was lucky her companions had been in the same situation as her, or they would've definitely teased her for the unsightly state she had been in. Fortunately, Dorian always carried perfume on these ventures, so the smell of her group could be masked by lilies and elfroot.

As the water slowly cooled, she relaxed into the basin and let her body shed the horrors of death and blood and earth. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until slight but noticeable sounds awoke her.

Her body fully awaking, the warrior in her began to bristle at the noises coming from her chamber. Slowly removing herself from the water, she managed to put on only a clean tunic and smallclothes before she tiptoed out of the washroom.

Preparing herself to fight, she silently entered her bedroom and scanned the area for any sign of trouble. The room was dark from the blackness of night outside her windows, the walls illuminated only by the glow of her fireplace.

In the darkness, she was prepared to ambush any lurking intruder, any bastard that dared invade her space. However, she was not prepared to see Blackwall slumped in a chair seated by the fire.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, straightening from her defensive stance but still tensed. He started at her words, standing and facing her nervously.

"My lady, I…" he began, though he couldn't seem to form any more words. He wasn't looking at her, his head hung as if he could not bear the shame that gripped his soul. "I know I should probably stay away, but… I needed to see you."

She wanted to be angry when she saw him again. She wanted to be furious and throw things at the lying bastard, but the only emotions that flooded through her were unadulterated joy and relief, a feeling that only made her angry at herself. "Well, you've seen me," she said icily, trying to conceal the betraying warmth that bloomed in her chest.

"Please," he murmured, finally lifting his head to look at her. "Please, just let me stay. Let me hear your voice, even if only to have you curse my name."

"Blackwall…"

"I know I don't deserve even that," he said softly into the air, stepping towards her timidly. She could see his face clearer now that he was closer. He looked… disturbingly haggard. His eyes, glassy and vulnerable, were framed by dark circles and new worry lines. And how could such a large, solid man seem so frail?

"Have you been sleeping?" she asked, concern overpowering her anger. She moved closer to him, hoping his ashen appearance was only a trick of the flickering light.

"No," he admitted simply. "Not for a while."

"Or eating?" She already knew the answer.

"I avoid the kitchen," he said. "I don't like seeing the others. Their glares are too much." His eyes moved away from hers again. "I wanted to know if you need me to leave Skyhold. If it would be better for you. I don't want… I cannot cause you any more pain."

It was in that moment that she felt her heart break again and again and again.

He was completely shattered, and she had abandoned him. She had left him, led him to believe she hated him and hated his presence. She knew she had a right to be angry – as did everyone – but she still loved him despite everything. Oh, Maker, did she love him. He was a good man underneath the lie he had worn, underneath the shame he carried, and he deserved the chance to finally be that man.

She stepped towards him, with complete abandon, impossibly closer. He tensed, and she knew he wanted to move away. She knew he wanted to run from her, run from her answer and her fury and her hatred. But he didn't, and the implications of his decision weighed heavily on her heart. He knew he deserved any pain she could cause him. He knew, for a fact, that he deserved to suffer, and for her, the thought was a dagger to her chest.

Instead, she gave him what he truly deserved.

Placing her palms on his tunic and gripping the material, she used her hold on his clothes as leverage to tug him town to her height. Releasing one hand from his chest, she moved it gradually, gracefully up to his face to rest her palm on his cheek.

His eyes widened, his body still tensed as if he were afraid to move. When she knew he wasn't going to pull away, she moved her other hand to tangle in his dark hair and gently pull him to her lips.

She felt his small gasp against her lips, felt his uncertainty as she molded her mouth to his own. Pressing her eyes shut as too many emotions gripped her chest, she wanted to cry as he jerked away from her, ending the kiss but keeping his face close to hers.

"What…?" she whispered, eyes fluttering open in confusion. When she saw his face, his expression seemed incredulous, unsure.

"My lady…" he said into the space between them. "Why?"

"Because I love you," she murmured, leaning her forehead against his.

He shook his head against hers, eyes closing. "You shouldn't. I'm not worthy of you."

"You've said that before. It wasn't true then, and it isn't true now," she said. "I know who you are, maybe even better than you do." She watched as his mouth tightened with pain, with all the contradicting words he needed her to believe. "You're mine, and that's it."

When he opened his eyes again, they shined with impossible, uncertain hope. "Karrah," he sighed, claiming her name and claiming her.

It was too much, too much.

This time, when she kissed him, he came back to life, back to her, and poured himself into their joining. He gripped her waist, gripped her soul with his large, human hands, and she could feel them tremble against her.

She moved backwards, holding his hands to her body so he would follow. When they reached the bed, she was thankful for its support as her knees gave way under the weight of weightlessness.

He kneeled on the floor in front of her, between her legs, so that his face was in line with hers. He was desperate, terrified to let go, afraid she would disappear like she always had in his nightmares.

Quiet, awkward tears fell against her cheeks, but they were not her own. Soft words left her mouth, small murmurs of soothing and sweetness.

"I love you," he said back, the words stumbling and choked but real as she pulled at the belt around his tunic. "I love you," he said again, his voice regaining strength and surety as she pulled the tunic away from his skin. "I love you," he said, and this time it was a prayer as her fingers grazed his bare chest.

They stripped every scrap of clothing, every piece of hesitance, every thought of unworthiness and fear and disbelief. They let everything and anyone else fall away. Just you and me.

When he sank into her, made her his again and again, she couldn't stop the cry that pulled itself from her throat.

He watched her the whole time, watched her uncontrolled expressions, watched her as if he needed to memorize every movement she made, every movement they made together. His eyes spoke words of love and admiration, words that coaxed her undoing, an all-encompassing shattering that mended her shattered heart.

He wrapped her in her arms afterwards, his solid warmth lulling her into a peace she hadn't felt since she had become the Herald, or possibly even a time far before then. She felt his calming breath tease her hair in their silence, his fingertips tracing invisible lines along her ribs.

"Promise you won't leave this time," she whispered after some time, her words ghosting against his bare chest.

His lips pressed against the top of her head, unburdened and feather-light. "Never again," he said, although they both knew that the words were unneeded, redundant.

After all, she felt the promise seared into her skin, the places his handprints lingered, written delicately with dried tears and invisible strings. I'm yours, I'm yours, she heard his heart sing. You're mine.

And it was more than enough.