Bridget stared up at the huge mountain in her way. "Maker, no. I'll never make it."
"Come on, Sunflower. If I can, you can." Varric's voice was cheerful, but his face looked as gloomy and downcast as Bridget felt. Or as the weather, which was roughly the same. Rain, rain, and more rain. The branches were dripping liberally, the ground was sticky mud underfoot, and all Bridget could think of was getting back to Haven and sitting down with a hot cup of tea in hand.
Surprisingly, Vivienne, whom Bridget would have expected to hate this, seemed perfectly serene, surveying her surroundings with a placid interest.
Less surprisingly, Blackwall was invigorated by it, outstripping them all as he hiked up the rocky, mud-slick mountain trails and having to double back to retrieve them.
"Come on," he said encouragingly, holding out a work-roughened hand. Bridget took it in hers, feeling a warmth as it closed over her more pampered soft fingers that heartened her. Maybe not quite as much as the cup of tea would have, but enough to get her up the next section of trail. "You just have to keep at it," he told her. "Once you've worn out your first pair of boots, you'll be climbing mountains like a goat."
"Um, thank you?" Bridget looked doubtfully down at her boots. They seemed well on their way to being worn out to her, but then, she wasn't used to putting much wear and tear at all on her footwear.
Blackwall chuckled, appearing oblivious to the water dripping off the end of his beard and plastering his hair to his forehead. "Not much farther now to the rendezvous with this Iron Bull."
"Have you heard of him?"
He frowned thoughtfully. "Can't say I have, but I don't spend much time around people. Or, at least, I didn't use to."
Vivienne spoke up, "Oh, my dear, he is all the rage in Orlais. I understand both his weapons are quite large, and for hire with equal enthusiasm."
"Both his—? Oh." Bridget supposed she could understand that. A Qunari would be an exotic bed partner for a bored noble.
"The Chargers are the real deal, despite the Iron Bull's other prowess," Varric told her. "They do good work, on time, and they rarely make a bigger mess than they started with. I'd say they'd make a good addition to the Inquisition, but of course, that's your call, Sunflower."
Bridget still hadn't quite gotten used to these things being her call, and she couldn't help wondering what they were thinking, letting her be in charge in the field. But she was, so she might as well act like it. "Thank you, Varric. And Vivienne. I'm sure meeting this Iron Bull will be educational."
Varric chuckled, and Blackwall cast her a grave sideways glance. Bridget was grateful for his concern, and she felt he understood her reservations about this Qunari and his mercenary company. Or perhaps she was just imagining things. It felt so comforting to have someone of Blackwall's skills and experiences at her side in the middle of this wilderness.
Hours later, she walked away from her first meeting with a Qunari feeling troubled. She had agreed to bring the Iron Bull and his men into the Inquisition, and somehow she had been talked into having the Iron Bull as one of her companions … but she wasn't sure how that had happened, and she didn't like the sensation of being manipulated.
On the face of it, he'd been nothing but honest. He had spoken at length, and with unmistakable pride, about the Chargers and their various skills and talents; he had boasted about his own prowess on the battlefield and what he could bring to a fight. And he was large, and clearly skilled with his blade, as Bridget had observed in the brief battle they'd fought against some Tevinters. But that was what worried her—he carried himself as another mercenary, crude and boorish and none too bright, but that all changed when he was speaking to her, and a great and, frankly, frightening intelligence looked at her out of that single eye. She had to admit the dichotomy made her a bit uncomfortable; as did his open admission that he was a spy for the Qunari, working as a mercenary so he could funnel information back to the leadership on Par Vollen.
Could she really trust him to be straight with her? She wished for an answer, someone to tell her right out which was the real Iron Bull.
The Chargers were celebrating their victory, and their new alliance with the Inquisition, with open casks and a bonfire and a feast of fried fish, something Bridget had never tasted before but found she quite liked, salty and piping hot. Blackwall sat off to the side, nearly obscured in the darkness, but Varric was in the midst of a group, telling stories, and Vivienne was trying, and failing, to teach some of the Iron Bull's people the steps to an intricate Orlesian dance.
"Ah, there you are, Your Worship."
It was the Iron Bull's lieutenant, Krem, the one who had come to Haven.
"There's really no need for such formality."
"If you say so," Krem said, but Bridget could tell he wasn't buying it. "Couldn't help but notice you missed the first round. And the second." He paused for a moment, looking at her, then said, "Chief not quite what you were expecting?"
"You could say that."
"Yeah." Krem nodded. "He strikes some people that way. It's the big dumb ox routine, and most people fall for it, but then he lets you see there's more there and … it doesn't quite match up."
Bridget asked, "Was that your first experience with him, too?"
Krem smiled, an oddly dark smile, just a shade on the bitter side. "Not exactly. It was hard to see much of him with the blood."
"What blood?"
"Running down his face. See, he saved my life the first time I met him. Never thought I'd work for a Qunari, but he grows on you. You'll see."
Intrigued, Bridget said, "Tell me more. It seems odd to find a Tevinter soldier in a Qunari spy's mercenary company."
"It does sound a bit odd, when you put it that way, but see, I wasn't exactly a Tevinter soldier. I tried to be, but they didn't take kindly to what I didn't have in my pants, like that made any difference to how I could fight. Kicked the asses of most of my company, but that didn't matter." Krem tossed back a long swallow of whatever was in his mug, staring morosely out across the water. "So I ran, hoping to find a place where I could be who I am."
"You seem to have done so."
"Yes, but it wasn't easy. A tribune and his men caught me in a border tavern; they meant to make an example out of me. They jumped me, and two of them held me down while the other one came at me with a flail. Next thing I know, some big horned monster is between me and the flail. Next thing after that, the guy with the flail is dead, and so are his two friends, and the big monster is holding out his hand to help me up. Blood streaming down his face where the flail hit him, and he takes the time to patch me up." Krem gave a small smile. A real one, this time. "I've been putting up with his jokes ever since."
Bridget raised her eyebrows. "That's how he lost the eye?"
"Yep. Gave it up for me." Krem shook his head. "Big horned idiot. Didn't even know me. You can bet the Ben-Hassrath didn't tell him to do that."
"No, I imagine they wouldn't have."
"So, if you're thinking he won't play straight with you because he's two different people, or because he has loyalties to where he came from … well, a lot of people are loyal to where they came from. With him, it's just easier to tell where that was. He'll do his best for you, write a few letters home, talk to you about the letters he gets in return."
"I suppose that's all I can ask for."
"It's a steal. Trust me."
Bridget smiled. Her concerns weren't gone, but they had been significantly eased. "Thank you, Krem. I look forward to seeing what the Chargers—and the Iron Bull—can add to the Inquisition."
The next day, while the Chargers were packing up and getting ready to head south to Haven, Bridget and her people climbed the mountains again, searching for signs of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, who were supposed to have passed through the area on their way to Orlais.
Blackwall was tense, unsmiling, more closed off than Bridget had yet seen him. She stuck close by his side, hoping he would understand that she was there if he wanted to talk, but she didn't pry.
Not far inland from the beach, they found remnants of an old camp, and a few torn pages that looked to have come from a journal. Bridget read them over silently and handed them to Blackwall.
"So they were here. But who were they looking for?" he wondered aloud.
"They weren't looking for you?" Bridget asked. "The journal says, 'if he was here, it was some time ago'—when was the last time you were on the Storm Coast?"
"I can't remember," he said absently, "but it wasn't me."
"Are you certain? I imagine they would have wanted to collect all the Wardens, wherever they were going."
"It wasn't me, all right?" he snapped. "Can we just keep going?"
Bridget was taken aback. But these had been his friends, his people. No doubt he was worried about what had happened to them. She would be cranky, too, she told herself.
They climbed farther up. Varric was lagging behind now, spending a lot of time stopping to pretend to look Bianca over for damage. He waved the rest of them on, promising to catch up.
The next camp had a few more torn journal pages. They were hard to read—it looked as though someone had used them for kindling. Only the heavy rag stock of the vellum, and the thoroughly wet conditions, had preserved any of it from the fire. Bridget made out a phrase or two: "one of our most skilled warriors", "asked about joining the Grey Wardens. Under other circumstances," and something else about "the constant whisper at the back of my mind." Bridget asked Blackwall about that.
"I don't know," he said, still snappishly. "Maybe the Warden Commander was going mad."
"That would explain a good many things," Vivienne said. She was watching Blackwall sharply, as if she thought he knew more than he was telling. Bridget thought that was possible, too, but short as her acquaintance with Blackwall had been, she was certain that pushing him for answers wasn't the way to get them. Whatever he knew, he would tell them in his own good time. She was sure of it.
A third camp was hidden in the ruins of an old farmhouse high on a hill. It was beautiful here, Bridget thought, especially now that there was a break in the rain, but so much on the Storm Coast appeared to have been abandoned. It was a little depressing.
She said as much to Blackwall as he studied another torn and almost illegible page. Bridget made out the words "preparing to die with honor," or at least, thought that was what the page said. Was that Blackwall's secret? Had he been planning to die rather than accompany his fellow Wardens? She glanced at him, but his face was closed off, his eyes shuttered.
A final camp was nestled in a little hollow between two massive overhanging boulders.
"This is it," Blackwall said hoarsely. "This is where they gave up."
He held up another page, this one well-preserved, tucked under some rocks as if it had been meant to be found.
"There are darkspawn here. Ready to come up any day."
Bridget read over his shoulder about how the other Wardens had sensed the darkspawn. "Can you feel them?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
She looked at him, not wanting to push but knowing she couldn't leave it at that. "I am going to need more than that, Blackwall. The Wardens could be valuable allies … and their disappearance is concerning."
"I know that!"
"Then you have to tell me something. Maybe not now … but eventually." She didn't like pulling rank, but it was the truth. She couldn't afford to coddle him, not if he knew something that might help.
"I don't know any more than you do."
She looked at him. In their brief acquaintance, she had trusted him, felt comfortable with him … but he wasn't telling all the truth. She could feel it. "I doubt that,"she told him quietly.
He didn't say anything, just turned away and started unrolling canvas to set up a tent.
Bridget followed him. "Can I help? I don't have a lot of experience with setting up camp, and I need to—"
"You'll only slow things down," he said brusquely.
She recoiled as if she had been slapped, grateful that Varric and Vivienne weren't nearby to have heard him speak to her that way. To her embarrassment, she had to blink back tears.
Blackwall stopped and looked at her more fully, his face softening as if he recognized her distress. "I'm sorry. That was uncharitable of me, and wrong to boot. You work as hard as anyone I've ever met; you'll get to be fast at this with practice. Today … today can you let me do this? I need—I need to think, to clear my head."
Bridget nodded. That she understood. "I'll be just over there, working on the fire, if you want to talk."
He kept his distance from her, not sure what he could say that would keep his secret intact and still answer her very reasonable questions. But the hurt look in her eyes, even while Blackwall could see she was struggling to be understanding, cut him to the quick. She was trying to do a job that would have been hard for anyone, with no training whatsoever and very little assistance. The last thing she needed was some grumpy mountain man lying to her. He owed her … something.
At the end of the evening, he found her still sitting by the fire, chatting with Vivienne. The Orlesian mage got up as Blackwall approached, as if she could tell he wanted a private chat with Bridget, and withdrew to the tent the two women would be sharing. Blackwall could see Varric's shadow on their tent wall; the dwarf was writing again. Blackwall hoped not about him, although he couldn't see what about him would make an interesting story, anyway.
Bridget looked up at him, but she waited for him to speak.
"I … wanted to thank you. There are a hundred things demanding your time, and yet you came out here and helped me hunt for the Grey Wardens."
"Well. It wasn't just for you," Bridget said. "Leliana wanted to know as well, and the Wardens would be a very useful addition to the Inquisition, if we could find more of them." She offered him a smile. "Not that you haven't been helpful; I'm not sure what I would do without you out here."
Blackwall could feel his cheeks coloring, and he was grateful for the beard. "I haven't done that much."
"If you say so."
"I'm sorry I was short with you today."
"It was hard, finding no sign of your fellow Wardens. I understand."
"Yes. And I appreciate your patience. Do you—what questions do you have?"
Bridget's blue eyes looked straight into his. "Are you the warrior they were looking for?"
"No. I don't know who it is, but I know it isn't me. I've been in the south of Ferelden for years; I can't imagine anyone would be looking for me up here." It was the truth, as far as it went, he told himself.
"The darkspawn. Can you—can the Wardens—sense them somehow?"
"That is a Grey Warden secret. It requires someone higher up the chain of command than I am to break it." That, too, was more or less the truth.
She stood up, stepping closer to him, her eyes sparking in the firelight. "Was it you they meant when they said someone had been preparing to die with honor? Did you … do you want to die?"
He couldn't have held the answer back if he'd tried; she drew it from him with those dark blue eyes, that steady gaze. "Not anymore."
"But you did before."
"There were times."
"What changed?" They were speaking very softly.
"You did. You—You brought me out of the wilderness, into the world of men again. Because you, and the Inquisition, needed me. And … I've a great admiration for you," he admitted. "The way you face all these unfamiliar tests, the challenges they bring, your willingness to do what needs to be done. I want to help, in whatever way I can."
Her eyes were soft, like a flower. "Thank you."
"You have the world at your feet," he said. "Myself included." Now where had that come from? Blackwall asked himself. Too much Orlesian poetry.
Bridget swallowed, shifting her feet uncomfortably. "I don't deserve that sort of reverence."
"Hold on to that modesty as long as you can. There will be many out there who want to try to build you up."
"Like you?" Blackwall couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not.
"I meant every word." His voice came out husky and soft. That damned poetry again, leading him to places he shouldn't want to go. He cleared his throat. "I should … retire."
Bridget took a sudden step back, as if she had only just realized how close they were standing to one another. "As should I. Blackwall?" she called, just as he was about to lift his tent flap.
He paused, looking at her over his shoulder.
"I'm sorry about the Wardens."
"So am I."