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The return to Haven felt odd to Bridget; her heart lifted just a little as the familiar buildings came into sight. Did that mean she belonged here, she wondered, or was it just because it was someplace she knew? Their time in the Hinterlands had been filled with exploration, every moment something new, someplace new, and for a woman who had spent over two decades looking at the same walls every day, it was a lot to handle.

In the food tent, where the Inquisition soldiers took their communal meals, Bridget found the nearest empty place. She was tired enough that she just wanted to eat and then go and sleep for a long time, and for once she was grateful that everyone moved aside to leave her in peace. Usually she found this reminder of her perceived holiness somewhat irritating, but tonight the quiet was a nice change.

And then she felt a presence at her shoulder, a man clearing his throat behind her, and she looked up to see Warden Blackwall standing there. "Am I intruding, Your Worship?"

"You are if you're going to call me that. Bridget, and please sit."

"Bridget, then." He took the place next to her, putting his plate down. "You eat well."

"How long has it been since someone else cooked for you?"

He frowned, putting his knife down while he gazed into space, counting. "Longer than I can say."

"Would it surprise you if I told you I've never cooked for myself?" As so often since she'd come to Haven, she felt incompetent just admitting it.

"No reason why you should have, is there?" He smiled. "It isn't that hard. Mostly just watching to make sure things don't burn, and knowing the right things to put together."

"You make it sound like brewing a potion."

"Well, I've never brewed a potion, so you have one on me there."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Gradually, Bridget became aware of a tenseness in Blackwall, of the rapid movement of his head as he tried to watch everyone around them. She didn't realize she had stopped eating to watch him until he chuckled sheepishly.

"Been a long time since I've been around so many people."

"Did you miss it?"

"Can't say that I did. I like my solitude."

"Oh." For some reason Bridget found that answer disappointing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I chose to join you; I'll get used to the constant crush of people eventually." He smiled. "Perhaps I'll even learn to like it."

She returned his smile. "Stranger things have happened."

Abruptly, he got up, taking his plate, still half full. "If you'll excuse me, I think I … need some air."

"Of course." Bridget watched him go, hoping she hadn't said anything wrong. But she was too tired to think about it for long. She finished the last few bites on her plate and made her way back to her hut. But she couldn't sleep, not quite yet. Taking the locket from around her neck, she opened it up and looked for a long time at the little face painted there, the blond curls that rioted about the round cheeks, and the blue eyes, so much like her own, that looked out at her.

If things were different—if she'd been able to keep her son, to raise him, would he be here in Haven with her? Would he have been at the Conclave? Probably. Sending him to Malachy had saved his life many times over, she told herself. But she still missed him, still closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to hold that little body tight against her, to feel him slip into sleep in her arms.

Tears seeped out the corners of her closed eyelids, and she drifted off to sleep mourning her lost motherhood.

The next morning's War Room meeting was a tense one. With the arrival of Lady Vivienne, the court mage to Empress Celene, had come news that the Templars had entirely abandoned the Chantry, and an urgent message, rather reluctantly delivered by Vivienne, from Grand Enchanter Fiona of the rebel mages, to meet her in Redcliffe. This had sparked another round of the mage/Templar debate the advisors couldn't seem to settle.

They were at an impasse at the moment, each clinging firmly to their own point of view.

At last Cassandra sighed, clearly grieved by the Templars' stance. "Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember. I do not know how we would safely approach them at this juncture."

"He has taken the Order somewhere," Leliana said, "but my reports have been … odd. We cannot seem to find out where they have gone."

Cullen said urgently, "We must look into it. I am certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker, whatever his issues may be."

"The Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe as they asked," Josephine suggested.

"Do you think the mage rebellion is more united than the Templars? It could be ten times worse!" Cullen protested.

This endless back-and-forth was exhausting. Bridget rubbed a hand over her face. "Whatever the decision, you need to make it soon," she said. "This bickering is getting us nowhere."

Cassandra nodded. "I agree."

"The mages may be worth the risk," Josephine said.

"They are powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize."

Try as she might to remain neutral in the discussion, believing as she did that it wasn't her decision to make, Bridget couldn't help leaning in the direction of the mages. "After the Divine's death, they're probably scrambling for allies."

Cassandra turned to her. "If some among them are responsible for what happened at the Conclave …"

"We have no reason to assume that."

"We have no reason not to." They looked at each other, neither willing to back down.

"The same could be said about the Templars," Josephine said.

Bridget was surprised when Cullen agreed. "At any rate, right now I'm not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely," he added.

"I suppose that's my next task, then." Bridget sighed. Another expedition, so soon. "I'll go see if I can improve our image."

"Excellent." Cullen nodded at her, and he and Josephine returned to their offices. Cassandra excused herself, as well.

Bridget met with Harritt to go over the weapons and armor she had collected in the Hinterlands and determine how they could best be refit. With a hesitant smile, he selected an item from a rack on the wall and held it out to her. It was a staff—smooth and polished, beautifully carved, and it felt good in her hands as she took it from him.

She thanked him profusely, and carried the staff with her as she made her way back through the camp toward the Chantry. It felt strange to be carrying something that marked her so openly as a mage. Everyone knew she was, of course, but … the staff was clearly attracting attention. Harritt had promised her a harness to carry it with before she left Haven again, and she thought maybe it would be easier if she didn't actually have it in her hand as she walked around.

In the Chantry, she found Vivienne in the room the Orlesian mage had immediately claimed for her own upon arrival. It was beautifully decorated already, and Vivienne was reclining with a hot cup of tea and a plate of tiny cookies.

"My dear," she said, looking up with a lovely smile as Bridget entered the room. "I am so glad you came to see me. Hm … what is that?" She got to her feet and came over to inspect the staff.

"Harritt made it for me. I've never used a staff before, and I wondered—"

"Of course. You came to just the right place. Follow me."

Vivienne led her to the basement of the building, a long empty hallway with scattered pieces of broken crockery on the floors. They practiced with the staff, and Vivienne was able to teach Bridget how to use it to control and focus her strikes.

"Where are you from, originally?" Bridget asked.

"Why, from the Circle, my dear. What else matters?"

Bridget shook her head. "That wasn't my experience. In my Circle, it mattered a great deal where people came from. Those from farther away were … exotic. They generally climbed higher, faster, than those from the Free Marches."

"Well, that is true. It was much the same in my Circle. Indeed, I was born in Wycome in the Free Marches, which certainly did not harm my standing in Montsimmard when I transferred there from Ostwick."

"You started in Ostwick?"

"Yes, my dear." Vivienne smiled at her gently. "I remember you, you know. You had just arrived, so small and scared, with such very big eyes." She looked Bridget over. "In many ways, you have not changed."

"No. That's probably true." Certainly Bridget still felt small and scared far more often than she would have liked to.

"You found your place in Ostwick, did you not?"

"Yes, eventually."

"As you will here, my dear."

"I appreciate your faith in me." Bridget smiled at the other mage, but Vivienne didn't return the smile.

Instead, she said, "The sooner you reach that comfort, the better for all of us. The Breach remains, and cannot be allowed to stand much longer."

"No, I know that."

"Then you will meet with the mages? Or the Templars?"

Bridget sighed. "I don't know. Whichever I choose, I need to be sure enough to counter the arguments against it."

"Yes, I suppose." Vivienne shook her head. "I do not envy your position."

"No. I wouldn't, either." Bridget gave her fellow mage a weary smile and took her leave.

As she left the Chantry, she was approached by a young man in shiny armor. "Excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"I have a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me."

She raised her eyebrows, curious. While there might be complaints about the Inquisition, lack of someone to talk to didn't seem likely to be among them. Was it possible he had simply been waiting for her? "I'll take your message, if you like."

"Good." He nodded sharply. "We've got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast."

"The Storm Coast?" Bridget looked at him blankly.

"In Ferelden. On the … coast."

"Oh." She tried to look as though that had cleared up her confusion.

"Right." The man gave her a faintly amused glance. "Anyway, my company commander, the Iron Bull, offers this information free of charge."

Bridget wasn't sure she was happy with this man's approach, or that of his company commander. "I'm afraid we're fresh out of medals."

The young man grinned. "That's all right. We'll be happy enough if you want to stay on the Storm Coast and see what the Bull's Chargers—that's us—might be able to do for the Inquisition."

She wished for Varric, or Cassandra, to help her through this conversation, but no one seemed to be about. "The 'Bull's Chargers'? I assume that's …"

"We're a mercenary company," he finished for her. "I'm Cremisius Aclassi, second in command to the Iron Bull. He's one of those Qunari, the big guys with the horns."

Bridget had to admit to some curiosity. She'd never seen a Qunari before, but she wasn't sure if it would be an insult to admit that or not, or if it would make the Inquisition look bad if she accepted this offer just to see a Qunari. "Oh?"

Aclassi nodded. "Ask around; we've got references. We're tough, we get the job done, and we're professional." He frowned at Bridget thoughtfully. "This is the first time the Iron Bull's gone out of his way to pick a side."

"How nice for us."

"It could be. If you like what you see of us, we could be an asset to the Inquisition."

"And what would that cost us?"

"I couldn't say. That would be for the Iron Bull to decide."

"Well, in that case, I look forward to meeting him."

Aclassi grinned widely. "Glad to hear it." He handed her a rolled parchment. "Directions to our base, and marked locations where we've seen the Tevinters."

"We'll look into it," Bridget promised him.

He nodded and turned on his heel, hurrying down the muddy road toward the gates before Bridget could ask him anything further.

She unrolled the parchment, but didn't recognize the coastline on it. Which wasn't much of a surprise, really, since she'd never been to the Storm Coast. Maybe Cullen would have more familiarity with the area—he was Fereldan, wasn't he?

Outside the gates, she found Cullen watching the men spar, shouting out commands and corrections as he saw mistakes in their fighting style. Bridget couldn't see any of the errors he claimed were so glaring, but her eye was hardly trained to such things.

She was a little nervous approaching Cullen; while she had never felt the gap between mages and Templars, the hostility that appeared to be so common, she had the sense that Cullen had. She knew he had been at Kirkwall when the Chantry exploded. That in itself would be enough to turn a person against the group responsible, she imagined. And while Cullen's demeanor toward her had softened since the first time they met, if they were going to be working together as it appeared they were, she wanted to find some common ground between them.

He turned to look at her as she approached. Gesturing toward the busy training ground, he said, "We have received a number of recruits. Mostly locals from Haven, but there are already some pilgrims amongst them. No doubt there will be more to come."

"You seem to be doing a good job training them."

Cullen snorted, and she was instantly afraid she had said the wrong thing. "I'm doing the best I can, but there are so many coming in it's hard to keep them organized." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, and Bridget could see his brow furrow briefly, as if in pain. He breathed in, then out, and said, "But I'm up to the task. I've never shrunk from a challenge yet."

"I admire that," Bridget said honestly. "I'm afraid I've shrunk from more than a few challenges in my time."

"You're here now, and that's what matters." He offered her a tentative smile. "You certainly made quite the entrance."

Bridget nodded, returning the smile with a small one of her own. "I want to help, if I can."

"There's more than enough to do, certainly."

"This must be very different from what you're used to. Weren't you stationed in Kirkwall before?" She wanted to kick herself immediately on mentioning it; probably he didn't want to be reminded of what had happened, especially by a mage.

Cullen glanced at her, his eyes dark and his face suddenly stern and closed off. "Yes. This is—different, but in some ways the same."

"Ser!" One of his men came hurrying up to him with a dispatch, and Cullen took it, read it over, scribbled some notes on it, and sent the man back the way he had come.

When the man was gone, Cullen looked back at Bridget. "I'm sorry. I was going to say— It doesn't matter what I was going to say. What I want you to know is that I left the Templars to join this cause because I believe in what the Inquisition is trying to do. I am … cautious with mages. Given some of my past experiences, I can't help that. But I intend to try my best to leave some of the attitudes I was trained in behind."

"Thank you," Bridget said softly. "I appreciate that. For my part—we had a pleasant relationship in the Ostwick Circle. I harbor no ill will toward Templars. Or former Templars." She looked at him curiously. "You truly believe the Inquisition can work?"

"I do. The Chantry has lost control of mages and Templars alike—if it ever had the control it claimed, which I am no longer certain of. Now they argue while the Breach remains. Meanwhile, the Inquisition is free to act, and our followers would be part of that. There is so much we can do—" He stopped himself with a rueful smile. "But you didn't come here to be lectured."

"I appreciate that you've given this a lot of thought."

"I have. Possibly too much."

"Is there such a thing?"

Cullen chuckled. "You might be surprised." The smile faded from his face. "But I know all too well what happens when order is lost and action comes too late. We still have a lot of work ahead of us." Another soldier came hurrying up to them with a dispatch. Cullen took it, raising an eyebrow in Bridget's direction. "As I was saying—"

She smiled. "I'll leave you to it, then." She tucked the map Aclassi had left her away in a pocket; she could bring it up later in the War Room. Or perhaps Leliana was familiar with the Storm Coast. For the moment, she was late for her training session with Solas, whom she found waiting for her outside his cabin.

He admired the new staff, and they worked on building her comfort with it. Vivienne's lesson had been very technical, on how to channel her power through the staff. Solas was more practical, more concerned with teaching Bridget to hold it and move it naturally.

"In a combat situation, you will need to be able to draw it quickly and bring it into play without hitting anyone around you."

Bridget flushed; even without the harness to remove the staff from adding to the complexity, she had struck Solas's staff with her own three times in the course of the training.

He smiled at her kindly. "It takes practice; you are coming along nicely, given how many lessons you are learning, and at what a pace." He looked at her searchingly. "Are you ready to learn more?"

"I was thinking of branching out a bit, possibly learning some fire spells? I know the rudiments of one; it was useful when the wind blew out the fires in the Circle."

"Then you have a start. Practice that, somewhere safe. I recommend a rock rather than a tree." Solas smiled, and Bridget laughed.

"Duly noted. Solas," she said abruptly, reminded of a question she'd had. "Does it bother you that I've brought Vivienne on board?"

"Should it?"

"She's a mage."

"As are you. As is Adan. And several others I could name."

"I suppose when you put it that way. I just … I am grateful for all the help you've given me, and I didn't want you to think that …"

"That you were replacing me with a human woman?" The faint smile on his face softened the words. "I have not known you long, Bridget Trevelyan, but I have known you long enough not to worry about that." His smile broadened. "Perhaps I should worry that you are replacing me with Sera as the token elf amongst your companions."

"Definitely not." Bridget didn't smile; she was in earnest here. "In my Circle, there was little difference. We were all mages. If I have anything to say about it, the Inquisition will include elves and dwarves … even Qunari," she added, thinking of the Iron Bull Aclassi had mentioned. "I hope you know that about me, too."

Solas nodded. "I hope so."

It wasn't a ringing endorsement of her intentions, but she was new and she had the sense that Solas did not trust easily. For now, she would take his hesitant optimism and hope for a greater trust between them someday.

She left Solas and approached Leliana's tent, meaning to ask her about the map of the Storm Coast. Bridget saw the spymaster deep in conversation with one of her scouts. She came closer, not meaning to listen in, but Leliana was speaking more loudly than was her wont.

"There were so many questions surrounding Farrier's death. Did he think we wouldn't notice?" she was saying venomously. "He killed Farrier—one of my best agents. And he knows where the others are." She shook her head. "You know what must be done. Make it clean. Painless, if you can. We were friends once."

The scout nodded, eyes wide, but said nothing.

Bridget stopped still in the entrance to the tent, shocked. Was Leliana really ordering someone's death? Was that the kind of Inquisition they were building? "What are you doing?" she asked before she could stop to think.

Leliana turned to look at her, startled. "He betrayed us! He murdered my agent!"

"And you'd kill him? Just like that?"

"You find fault with my decision?" Leliana asked coldly, crossing her arms.

Part of Bridget wanted to back down. The woman before her had so much more experience than she did, knew so much more about the world, and was clearly willing to make the kind of hard decisions Bridget herself would shrink from. But at the same time … "We can't solve our problems with murder."

"What would you suggest? Leave him be? Butler's betrayal put our agents in danger! I condemn one man to save dozens."

"Would you condemn ten to save hundreds? A hundred to save thousands? Where does it end, Leliana?"

They were standing very close to one another, and Bridget would have given everything to have stepped back from the tent and never walked in on the conversation. But … this was her Inquisition, too. She bore the mark that would close the Breach. Was this the kind of action she wanted to champion? She knew that it wasn't.

"I may not like what I do," Leliana said in a low, savage tone, "but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this."

"If we give up our ideals, what do we have left? What are we doing all this for, if not for an ideal?" Bridget gestured around her. "This is not what these people are here for." For better or for worse, she had planted her foot on this ground, and she was not going to be moved off it.

Leliana stared at her for another long moment, and then she turned away, toward the scout. Bridget let out a long breath. Had she really just done that, stood up to the Left Hand of the Divine that way?

"Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives," Leliana said to the scout, who nodded and practically ran out of the tent.

Both women were silent, Bridget uncertain what she could say.

Leliana looked up at the sky, her face twisted in pain. "Is that what You want from us? Blood? To die so that Your will is done? Is death Your only blessing?" She turned to Bridget. "You speak for Andraste, so speak. What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all this?"

"I'm as baffled as you are."

"Then we can only guess at what He wants." She looked down at her hands, spreading them in front of her. "The Chantry teaches us that the Maker abandoned us, that He demands repentance for our sins before He will return." She swallowed hard. "He demands it all. Our lives, our deaths. Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!"

"I'm sorry. I wish … I wish I'd known her."

Leliana nodded, her face softening a bit. "I do, too. She was … she was the heart of the faithful. If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He? Why should we care more than he does?" She sighed. "I used to believe I was chosen, the way some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. I believed in the Maker's love, in the beauty of His world. But look out there. What beauty is there? What love, when someone so good, so beloved, lies in ashes?" She shook her head, her brow furrowing in anger again. "It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing."

"Service with a true heart always means something. My mother taught me that." Impulsively, Bridget took a step toward the other woman. "Maybe you have another purpose. I could help you find it."

"No. This is my burden." Leliana stepped back. "I regret that I ever let you see me like this." She waved a hand in the air, clearly indicating that Bridget should leave. "It was a moment of weakness. It will not happen again."

Bridget hesitated. What right did she have to advise someone with so much more experience than she had? But Leliana clearly needed something, someone, even if she wouldn't admit it. "We all have moments of weakness, Leliana. Denying them is as bad as giving in to them."

The spymaster wanted to snap at her, Bridget could see, but she thought better of it, sighing. "Perhaps you are right. Nonetheless … railing at the Maker will not change the situation." She walked to the open flap of the tent. "The people are frightened, Bridget. Reports of Fade rifts and demons keep coming, and it is only getting worse. The only thing that will calm their fears is the hope that someone out there can save them." She turned back toward Bridget, their eyes meeting. "You are that someone. You must be. Whatever your own doubts and fears, you mustn't let them be seen. No one else has any power over the rifts—we all must count on you."

Bridget swallowed. It was nothing she hadn't known already, but … "I know it."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Seal the rifts. Your legend will spread, and Thedas will learn to trust the Inquisition."

"Is it that easy?"

"Yes, and no. Like anything."

"Leliana."

"Yes?"

"Why is it that you support the mages so earnestly? Why do you want me to seek out the rebel mages? I understand why Cullen is pushing me toward the Templars, but …"

"I've known mages. Some of them were better people than me." Leliana smiled, a bitter smile. "Most of them, if truth were told. And yet, I am free, and they are not. It's not right."

"No. I suppose it isn't," Bridget said. A week ago, she would have defended the Circles, but … perhaps not now. Perhaps not anymore.

"Will you go?"

"Not yet." Bridget belatedly pulled out the parchment. "I was approached by a man on behalf of a mercenary company called the Bull's Chargers."

"The Chargers? Really." Leliana smiled. "I've seen the Iron Bull, at a party or two. He and his men might well be an asset to the Inquisition."

"Good. Then I'll head for the Storm Coast next, and we'll decide about the mages and Templars once and for all when I get back."

Leliana nodded. "Perhaps while you are there, you can search for anything that might offer clues to the whereabouts of the Wardens." She looked at Bridget searchingly. "I see you brought Warden Blackwall back with you."

There was nothing wrong with that, but Bridget found it difficult not to blush anyway. "Yes. When we told him about the missing Wardens, he wanted to come along to help look for them, but he didn't know anything himself. I gather he spent a lot of time on his own, recruiting."

"That is a shame. Perhaps if you take him with you to the Storm Coast, he can help you search for anything that might shed some light on that mystery."

"Yes." This time Bridget did blush, and she could tell Leliana saw it, but mercifully her spymaster asked no questions. Which was good, because Bridget couldn't have said why she was blushing. He was a good-looking man, yes, but the Inquisition was full of those. "I'll do that. See you when we get back."

"Travel safely."

In the tavern later, as Bridget was enjoying her evening meal and a brief rest, the chair opposite her was abruptly pulled out and the elven girl Sera collapsed in it. "So, this is it? Thought it'd be bigger, all … towery." She giggled. "That would've been hilarious if you were a man, right? Wasted." She shook her head.

Bridget smiled. "Too bad I'm not, then."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. All trousers, them. Why bother?" Sera looked around the room. "Big to-do, this, but needs more coin flowing. Everyone's too busy to look up at the real questions, but they have to if things are going to get back to normal."

"Whose normal, though? My normal was being walled in with my fellow mages. I … don't know if I'd want to go back now." Bridget was surprised to find herself meaning it. She missed her friends in the Circle, but now she was doing important things. She didn't want to stop.

Sera frowned at her. "Yeah? Yeah." She shook her head hard, as if a bug was buzzing near her ear. "First things first, right? I help you—march-march-arrow-kick—and then people stop being stupid, and everything starts to make sense again."

Bridget considered pointing out that the Inquisition was hardly in a position to stop stupidity in general, but she didn't think that would satisfy Sera. "I'll give it a shot," she said instead. "That's all I can ask from anyone."

"Shot, like with an arrow. I can do that."

"Good."

"What's your network like, Sera?"

Sera frowned. "Not mine. It's everyone's. Well, I guess I'm part of everyone, so it's mine …" She shook her head. "Too confusing. All I know is nobles hide behind gold and silk, and those little hats, and sooner or later everyone wants to shove it to them."

"So are you Red Jenny?"

"Pfft. Hardly. 'Red' is scary because blood, and Jenny … look, nobody fears a random bunch of people. They need a name, a title, someone to point at. So, Red Jenny." She grinned. "Nobles need a bogeyman, because they don't think normal people can get to them."

"But then … don't people think you're guilty of things you haven't done?"

"Sure. Why not? Let 'em." Sera shrugged.

Bridget looked around them at the tavern full of people. "Are some of these your … friends?"

"Dunno. Don't want to know. They wouldn't be much use if we all knew each other. Sort of the point." She looked at Bridget as if she was particularly thick, which Bridget supposed she was. "Every baddie uses people—cooks, squires … wipers." She grinned. "The ones with wipers deserve it right in the— Well, anyway, whenever you need something done, little people are there to help, in a million different ways. It just works. Most of the time." Sera winked at her, and was off. Bridget got the impression she didn't like sitting still for long.

Behind her, she heard Varric say, "If you ask me, that girl's a few ants shy of a picnic."

Bridget turned, smiling at him. "Personally, I'd say she's got more than enough ants. But we can use that kind of energy."

"If you say so, Sunflower. Mind some company?"

"Not as long as it's yours."

"Flattery will get you … a much bigger role in the book."

"I'm not sure I'm exciting enough to be in a book."

Varric raised his eyebrows. "You'd be the only one, then. Falling out of the sky, flashy green thing in your hand, turning Thedas's most wanted criminal into the spokesperson for the Inquisition—"

"Hardly that," Bridget protested.

Varric's eyebrows rose even further, but he didn't argue.

Bridget took her last few bites of stew and pushed the plate away with a sigh. "If I keep on eating like this, I'll need to get larger clothes."

"Keeps you warm in this weather." Varric shivered.

"Varric …"

"Something on your mind, Sunflower?"

"About the red lyrium at the temple." Bridget had been wanting to ask him, but had been afraid to bring it up. He'd been so disturbed when he saw it in the ruins.

He took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself for her questions. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you know about it?"

"Because my brother Bartrand and I discovered it during an expedition in the Deep Roads. It was an ancient thaig, so old it barely looked dwarven, and in it was an idol made of red lyrium." He shivered again, this time not for effect. "Bartrand went mad almost immediately, it seemed. He brought it back to the surface, and … everything went to the Void."

"But what is it? Just another kind of lyrium? It felt … different."

"It is different. I'm no expert on lyrium, but as far as I can tell the red stuff is lyrium like a dragon's a lizard. It's not just the color—it's … all sorts of weirdnesses all its very own." He shook his head. "I've written to every Mining Caste house in Orzammar. No one's ever seen the stuff before. No one's ever even heard of it."

"Something must have happened to make you afraid of it."

"Something? Everything, Sunflower. My brother went crazy listening to the song of the lyrium and started eating his own people. Knight-Commander Meredith turned into a red lyrium statue in the middle of Kirkwall. And, unlike regular lyrium, you don't have to ingest it. All you have to do is be around the red stuff to go out of your mind."

Bridget frowned. "If you found it in some long-buried thaig, how did it get into the Temple of Sacred Ashes?"

"Beats me. So far as I know, the only piece to make it to the surface was destroyed. And the location of the thaig it came from is a secret." Something flickered in his eyes, and he averted his face. "I don't know how it got there." He shook his head. "Unless someone found more in the Deep Roads, and you'll forgive me if I say that scares me shitless." Standing up abruptly, he said, "If you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to turn in. This … isn't my favorite subject."

"Of course."

Bridget had managed to go most of the day, other than the few strange minutes in Leliana's tent, without thinking about their new Grey Warden ally, but as she got up from her table and moved toward the door of the tavern, she caught Blackwall's eye, and she couldn't help but smile.

That smile warmed Blackwall all through, and he got to his feet without exactly having intended to. He'd given himself lectures all the way back from the Hinterlands about remaining aloof, not allowing himself to get too close to anyone in this Inquisition he had joined. Who knew whether there were any former Orlesian soldiers amongst the people who had assembled on this icy mountaintop, soldiers who might remember a captain named Thom Rainier?

But the Herald of Andraste was not a former Orlesian soldier; she had no way of knowing he was not exactly who he said he was, he told himself. He met her at the door. "Chilly out there."

"Yes, it is." She blushed a little. "But someone will have built a fire in my hut, so it will be warm when I get there. They always do."

"You are the Herald of Andraste, after all." He looked searchingly into her blue eyes. "Weren't you from a noble family? Surely you're used to being waited on."

"Not really. I was in the Circle for so long … I don't remember what it was like. And I was so young—other than a nursemaid, I didn't come in contact with a lot of servants." She glanced up at him. "What about you? How did you grow up?"

"Oh, about the same as most people," he said breezily. "Shall I walk you back to your hut? Perhaps I can block some of the wind."

"That's not necessary."

"No," he agreed, "but I'm offering."

"Thank you, then."

She didn't take his arm, but they left the tavern together. Too late, Blackwall considered what that might look like to the other people collected there, people who watched the Herald's every move. He had learned that much already; most of those at Haven had either come because of her or had learned to admire her while they were here. He would need to remember that going forward: He was only one of many, and should try to blend further into the background.

"How has it been here for you so far?" she asked.

"No complaints. It's been a while since I've lived near so many people. I'm used to … open space, a clear sky." He looked up, seeing the Breach glowing green and bright, eclipsing the stars. "It's so much easier to ignore that when it's far away. Here … it's so close." Blackwall looked at Bridget. "To actually walk out of it …"

She looked down at her boots. "I don't remember it, any of it. If I hadn't been saved by Inquisition soldiers …"

That surprised him. He had heard—well, he had heard she was saved by Andraste herself, and seeing her now, the delicacy of her, hearing her sweet voice … yes, he could believe someone like this could draw Andraste's attention.

"It seemed so simple, before," she said softly. "In the Circle. Out here—"

"I know. The Breach, the Divine's death, the missing Wardens …" Blackwall shook his head. "There's so much we don't know."

She stopped walking and looked up at him. "That's why I appreciate you coming with us. Your experience with the Wardens will be invaluable. Oh! I didn't think—some of those missing Wardens must have been your friends."

Blackwall shifted uncomfortably. If only she knew … "I doubt it," he said. "I've spent enough time in the Wilderness on my own, I don't imagine any of them would remember me." He cleared his throat. "As for my experience with the Wardens, well …" He remembered a long-ago conversation with the real Blackwall. "There are treaties, though—as a Warden, I can ask for assistance all across Thedas. Musty old parchments, but they have their uses."

Bridget looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "If I didn't know better, I would think you were talking about more than parchments. I imagine you have your uses, too."

He chuckled. "Possibly." The smile faded as he stood there with her. Could this woman in front of him truly have been touched by the Bride of the Maker? Was that what made her so … luminous, standing here in the greenish moonlight? "What about you?" he asked her, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. "How do you fit into all this?"

"I just want to help stop the war," she said earnestly, "try to put things back in order."

"Which order? Whose?"

"I don't know. I wish I did."

"A difficult goal, if you don't know where the path will lead … but it's a worthy one," he said softly, "and one I'm happy to support."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." She smiled at him, and then she turned away and walked across the frozen mud back to her cabin. Blackwall stood and watched her go, feeling old, and foolish.