He is Tal-Vashoth, true grey, anchorless and yet... not. The foundations he has held to consciously his whole life are shattered; the foundations that came sneaking in almost without notice - the Chargers, the Inquisition, the Inquisitor, Dorian - hold firm; ties that bind, hold him back from savagery. He is still a weapon to be wielded, violence not mindless, not undirected, not a threat to those precious to him. His instincts say “tread carefully, the ground you walk on will crumble and fall away beneath you.” His instincts say “they’re alive, nothing can be wrong as long as they’re alive.” His instincts say “you are what you’ve always hated, you should be hunted down and slaughtered like the beast you’ve become.” His instincts say “no. you aren’t. no. you shouldn’t.”
He’s the same person he’s always been. He’s changed, utterly. He is a traitor. His loyalty is unshaken and unshakable. He is Hissrad, and he is long dead. He is The Iron Bull, and not quite sure what to do with himself, except this: the next thing, and the next, and the next. Conveniently enough, they have a world to save; it’s not a hard decision to make.