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She’d given him the choice, in the end. There was a part of him that had just wanted Brigit to tell him to stay, to let the life of a Warden go for good. Another part would have rebelled against following the command.Worn but strong, tears had pricked her eyes as they discussed her decision to formally disband the Inquisition. He had put off the decision until morning, and filled their night with the same rolling passion as always, fringed with the akward pain of Brigit’s severed arm.“I’m not choosing the Wardens over you, love.” The hesitation in his words had shown clearly, and she’d draped her good arm over his bare chest, waiting for the rest of the answer. “But I owe them for the years of time I stole, pretending to be a warden.”“They were an inspiration for you, Blackwall. It gave you a purpose,” Brigit had added quietly.“So did you, with the Inquisition. Your task isn’t done either, with everything that bastard Solas has done.”“I doubt the Wardens will remain free of the coming conflict either.”She asked him to cut her hair short before he left, sighing as flaming red locks fell to the floor in sacrifice to practicality.Thom looked down at the letter he was trying to write. The Warden-Commander kept burning his messages to Brigit, on the principle that they “contained compromising information.” It was a load of political bullshit, and he would be glad to get out of the fortress and on to his assignment out in the Vimark Mountains with Warden Stoudenmire. He wasn’t sure when he’d have the chance to send a letter after they left.He sighed. Stubborn old fool...should have just written something simple from the start. His penmanship had never been the equal of Brigit’s, hard edged and coarse, a captain’s ordered hand.
Brigit,
Life as Warden Ranier is not so different as for Warden Blackwall. Less hiding, more darkspawn than demons and bandits. Still young recruits in need of redemption. No matter where they send me, my love remains with you.
Your Champion, always.
He rolled the letter around the white griffin feather they had recovered on the Storm Coast years before, and tied both into a neat package with the battered old Warden-Constable’s badge. She wouldn’t it know it as the symbol of hope that young Warden Valya did, but it would stir good memories, nonetheless.Weeks later, a warm Trevelyan smile fell on that same, single feather.