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Bridget stood in front of the assembled troops with Cullen and Cassandra, glad for their composed and confident presence, because she was so nervous she thought she might be sick at any moment. The amount of wine she had consumed last night hadn't helped any. She had choked down a biscuit this morning more because of Blackwall's grave reminder that she would need her strength than out of any semblance of an appetite.

She had awakened stiff and uncomfortable on the bench in his room, thoroughly embarrassed at her actions from last night. But Blackwall, bless him, had acted as though nothing was amiss, as though the Herald of Andraste slept with her head on his shoulder every night. His concerns had been entirely for her—for her comfort, for her good health, for her reputation, that no one should see her leaving his rooms. Harritt, the smith, had, but he had said nothing, merely wished her a good morning and good luck in the battle to come. He hadn't reminded her of everything that rode on the outcome of that battle, for which Bridget was grateful.

Cullen, on the other hand, had not hesitated to make clear to her what lay before her, and the consequences to everyone should the attempt to close the Breach fail. Bridget had wanted to weep at the enormity of the task, but that would have helped no one, and instead she had taken a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and agreed with Cullen that at all costs, they must get the Breach closed.

Cassandra had taken it as a matter of course that Bridget was ready, which was flattering, but daunting, too.

And now the army was there, lined up, the mages in the back looking nervous, which didn't help Bridget's fluttering stomach a bit.

Cullen was walking back and forth in front of the troops, giving them a loudly shouted pep talk, which from the looks of it, wasn't helping anyone … with the possible exception of Cullen himself.

Raising her voice to be heard, Cassandra said, "Let's go and face what is ahead, with no further formalities."

"Hear, hear!" called someone in the middle of the ranks, who sounded suspiciously like Dorian. Bridget stifled a smile, and she heard Blackwall, standing just behind her, give a faint, quickly smothered chuckle.

"By all means," Cullen said. "You heard the lady, troops! Let's move out!"

The trip to the Breach seemed to take forever—and no time at all. Bridget clenched and unclenched her fist with the mark, until the muscles in her hand were aching. The mark itched and burned more fiercely the closer they came to the Breach. Bridget could almost have sworn that she heard it sizzling.

"Will you be all right?" Cassandra asked quietly.

"I suppose only the Maker truly knows. I hope so?"

Cassandra nodded. "As do I. For my part, I will do my best to keep you safe, whatever is to come."

"Thank you."

Solas looked over at Bridget gravely, but he didn't speak.

The Breach was relatively quiet when they reached it, other than some spikes of green light stabbing out from it intermittently. Bridget stood underneath it, looking up, wondering if she would actually be able to close it, and if she would survive if she could.

Behind her, Cullen was arranging the mages in a long line. Dorian was with him, helping to reassure the nervous ones, although his Tevinter accent was almost as disturbing to many as Cullen's Templar bearing and intonation.

"Now," Cullen shouted, "when the Herald begins, you are to focus on the Breach. Focus past the Herald, let her will draw from you."

"You are the power, she is the staff!" Dorian added.

They were the power, she was the staff. Again, Bridget felt the weight of what she was expected to do. She wanted to turn and ask if they knew that she was no one, merely a minor noble's daughter, exiled to the Ostwick Circle for most of her life, taught little that was of any use, unable to be a daughter or a sister or a mother properly. Did they know that this was the first time in her life anyone had ever counted on her?

"It would not help if they knew your concerns and your misgivings," Solas told her softly. "It would, indeed, do a great deal of damage to their hopes and their will. That we know of your doubts is enough, and we are still here, supporting you. Keep that in mind."

"I will. Thank you." Instinctively, she looked at Blackwall, who nodded. His stalwart support warmed her.

"Are we ready?" Bridget called to Cullen. He surveyed the mages, and then called back in the affirmative.

"Then let's begin," Cassandra said crisply.

Bridget accordingly raised her arm, opening her left hand and feeling the tug and pull of the Breach against it. It hurt, almost burning, as the Breach and the mark clashed against one another. Bridget clenched her teeth, trying not to cry out.

"Now!" Cullen shouted, and suddenly she could feel the energy surrounding her, the other mages' power buoying her up, and she reached higher than she had known she could reach, crying out in pain and anger and determination, drawing against the Breach with all her own strength and all the combined strength of the mages behind her.

It seemed to take forever. Bridget had nearly forgotten what it was like to do anything but stand here and scream and fight the Breach.

Then, suddenly, the green light turned white and a mighty convulsion rocked the area, sending everyone flying backward. Her ears ringing, Bridget got to her knees, panting as she fought to catch her breath. There was a buzzing in her head, and she was too dizzy to stand. She could barely lift her head to see if it had worked.

Then she felt surprisingly gentle hands on her shoulders. Bridget looked up to see Cassandra's face near her own. She couldn't speak, so she asked the question with her eyes.

"Yes," Cassandra said softly. "You did it." She helped Bridget to her feet, steadying her as she swayed.

Bridget looked up to see that the Breach was, indeed, closed, merely a scar in the sky. "Maker be praised."

"Maker be praised indeed," Cassandra echoed, and behind them Bridget could hear the words repeated, louder and louder, rolling across the crowd of mages and soldiers. She turned around, smiling at them all, and they cheered her.

It was the most wonderful moment of Bridget's entire life, knowing that she had stood up under the pressure and accomplished something so important and so necessary to the world.

Slowly they made their way back to Haven, the group's spirits rising as they grew closer. There was music playing as they reached the camp, and Flissa and some others were setting out food and drink on long tables.

When those who had stayed behind saw Bridget, they cheered as well. From the triumph she had felt underneath the closed Breach, now she had come to feel shy under all the eyes on her, all the scrutiny.

"These are your accolades," Solas told her. "For their sake, you must accept them, even when you would rather not do so."

"I'll try." Bridget lifted her chin and smiled and waved her left hand. Only now did she think to look to see if the mark was still there. She held it open in front of her, staring at the palm, where the green light still flashed. Why was it still there? Had the Breach not taken it when it closed? Did it have some further purpose? A chill worked its way through her, taking with it the joy that had followed the closing of the Breach. If the mark was still there … perhaps there was more left. Closing the Breach, after all, got them no closer to determining who had opened it in the first place.

But she wouldn't take away the happiness she felt surging through Haven. Let them celebrate—let them dance and drink and laugh. There had been few enough occasions for such revelry since the Conclave.

Bridget smiled at those she passed, offering pleasantries and thank yous and appreciative acknowledgement of all the kind words sent her way. But she didn't stop, not even when Varric tried to call her over to share a flask, or the Iron Bull beckoned from the nest of tents where he and the Chargers were emptying kegs at an almost frightening pace.

Instead, she found herself with Leliana and Cassandra, looking over the camp, watching the dancing. Taken by itself, it was a lovely sight. Elves and dwarves and humans, mages and ex-Templars and the common people all mingling together, laughing and enjoying themselves with no sign of suspicion or distrust.

She said as much to Leliana, who nodded. "We have already done much. May we be granted the grace of time to do more."

"You feel it, too?" Bridget asked, feeling that chilling foreboding in her spine again.

"Yes. Something … there is more to come."

"Solas has confirmed that the heavens are scarred but calm," Cassandra offered. "The Breach, at least, is sealed. Isn't that what we set out to do?"

"It is," Bridget agreed.

"We have reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was indeed a victory. You have much to be proud of, Bridget," Leliana told her.

"I couldn't have done it without all of you."

"It has been our pleasure to stand at your side." Cassandra smiled. "I can remember a day when I could not imagine saying such a thing."

Bridget returned the smile. "Same here."

"Word of your heroism has spread, Herald. You will be known throughout Thedas."

"I'm not certain that's an honor."

"I doubt it will be, in the long run."

Bridget chuckled. "That's not exactly comforting."

"I suppose I could have lied," Leliana agreed, "but would you have believed me?"

"No, I don't think I would have." Bridget sobered. "You both know how many were involved today. Will the spread of the news also encompass the good work of the other mages, the cooperation with the Templars we have here?"

"Probably not."

"More's the pity."

Cassandra said, "But we will know, that this was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory."

"May there be more," Leliana said softly. "With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the alarms sounded. The three of them looked toward the gates. Bridget wished with all her heart that she was surprised, but she wasn't. Some part of her had been expecting this—whatever it was.

Below, she saw Cullen appear, fully armored as he always was. No celebrations for the Commander of the Inquisition, apparently. "To arms!" he was shouting. "Forces approaching!"

"Who are they?" Bridget asked. Both Cassandra and Leliana shook their heads; they didn't know. That frightened Bridget more than anything else—if her Spymaster didn't know, if Cassandra, who was always on top of every situation, didn't know, then how could they possibly be prepared?

"We must get to the gates," Cassandra said. She caught Bridget by the arm, dragging her along, hurrying down toward the gates to meet Cullen.

Cullen came toward them as they approached. "Only one watchguard has reported in. I fear for the others."

Bridget was sickened. What had happened to their guards? Those were the Inquisition's people—hadn't there been safeguards in place for them? "Who are they?" she asked Cullen.

He shook his head. "It's a massive force—the bulk of them are still over the mountain. And they carry no banner."

"No banner?" Cassandra asked in surprise.

"No."

Josephine appeared, running down from the Chantry. "What is going on?"

"We appear to be on the verge of being attacked," Cullen told her. "Can you rally as many of the noncombatants as you can, get them to the safety of the Chantry? It's the most defensible building we have."

"Of course." Bridget was impressed with the Ambassador's self-possession. There were no further questions, no hand-wringing. She merely hurried off, collecting people as she went.

The troops inside the gates were ranging behind Cullen and Cassandra. The troops outside the gates seemed to be under the capable gaze of the Iron Bull, or at least, his was the loudest voice. Bridget wasn't entirely certain she trusted the big Qunari, but she was glad to have him along in the current crisis. Judging from the professionalism of his Chargers, if anyone could keep the troops outside together until a plan was formed, he could.

There was a scuffle outside, and then a pounding on the outside of the closed gates. "Hey, you in there. Got someone out here who wants to talk to you," shouted the Iron Bull.

Bridget saw the brief flash of a look between Cullen and Cassandra, and she wondered if they shared her innate distrust of the Qunari and the faintest suspicion that he might be behind this attack. If so, they didn't show it, however, and Cullen moved to open the gates.

The Iron Bull stood there, one giant hand clasped on the shoulder of a pale and odd-looking young man in a giant floppy hat. "You might want to listen to him," he said. "He seems to know what's going on. More than anyone else does, at least." The grey eye in the dark face studied Cullen and Cassandra, and behind them Leliana, with disapproval. The Iron Bull clearly seemed to think the advisors had failed. Bridget didn't know what to think. The distant hillside was alive with torches, bright against the white snow. Surely they ought to have had some warning of the approach of a force that large.

"Who are you?" she asked the boy.

"I'm Cole," he told her. "I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you." He paused, looking at Bridget. "You probably already know."

"I had some inkling," she said dryly. "Can you tell me who is coming?"

"The Templars. They're coming to kill you."

Bridget looked quickly over her shoulder at Cullen, who paled and then reddened, as shock and then anger overcame him. "Templars?" he shouted, coming at the boy, who ducked and hid behind the Iron Bull. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly? What can they be thinking?"

Peeking around from behind the Iron Bull's bulk, Cole said quickly, "The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him?" He looked at Bridget, holding her gaze. "He knows you. You took his mages."

"The Elder One?" she repeated. "Alexius's Elder One? He's behind this? What does he have to do with the Templars? And who are the Red Templars?" She looked at Cullen, who shook his head helplessly. Clearly he didn't have the answers she was looking for.

Cole pointed to a distant ridge. A man stood there, and as they watched, he was joined by another man, taller and thinner and, even from this distance, odd-looking. There was something familiar about him, something that made Bridget's head hurt. Cullen, next to her, was squinting, studying the two of them.

"I know that man," he said softly, disbelief heavy in his voice. "How—how is it possible that he is here? And with the Elder One?"

"Who is he?"

"His name is Samson," Cullen answered.

"The Elder One is very angry that you took his mages," Cole said seriously. "He is coming to let you know just how angry."

"I think we've gotten the message," Bridget said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. There seemed to be so many of them. She hadn't known there were that many Templars in all of Thedas, much less massing just outside Haven. "Cullen! Give me a plan. Anything!"

"I—" He still stood, frozen, staring up at the man he'd called Samson. "Haven is no fortress," he said slowly, as if unwilling to make the admission. "If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle." He looked at Bridget. "I'll coordinate our people, we'll hit that force with everything we can. You take your team and go where it seems you are most needed. We must try to hold them back."

He drew his sword and turned to the forces assembled behind him. "To arms, Inquisition! We will attack, we will drive them back. Mages!" His gaze swept the group of robed figures. "You have sanction to engage them! But be wary. Those are Templars—they know what you can do. Show them your power! That is Samson at their head—he will not make this easy on you."

Bridget saw the mages nod their heads, one after the other. Her particular people were surrounding her now, and she looked at them. "Vivienne, Solas, Dorian, with the mages, please. They'll need encouragement and support from people who know what they're doing." Vivienne looked as though she wanted to argue, as did Solas, surprisingly enough, but all of them nodded in agreement. "Bull, you and the Chargers know what you're doing?" He raised an eyebrow, and Bridget smiled. "Of course you do. Take …" She looked around for Cole, but he was gone. "Where did he go?"

"No idea."

"Well, if you see Cole, hang onto him."

"I'll do my best."

Bridget turned to Sera. "Can you help Josephine rally the noncombatants and get them to the Chantry? Try to keep the panic down. And if any Templars come near the building—"

"Arrow in the face!" crowed Sera. "You got it."

Leliana was nowhere to be seen, no doubt off with her scouts organizing something. Cassandra stood near Bridget. "Are you with me?" she asked.

Cassandra nodded. "Of course."

"Bianca and I are at your service, Sunflower," Varric said from somewhere behind her. She turned and met his eyes and they smiled at one another. She felt better having him there.

And Blackwall was naturally just a few steps away. She hadn't even had to look for him. Bridget reached out a hand, touching his sleeve, the solidness of him comforting her. He nodded at her gravely.

In front of the troops, Cullen thrust his sword above his head, his voice carrying. It held the ring of command, and she could see how the strength of his voice heartened the troops. Something to remember, she thought, if they lived through this. "Inquisition!" he cried. "With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!"

Bridget led the three of them through the gates, looking around. The Templars were approaching rapidly. She could see odd spots of red on their armor, unusual. They were besetting a trebuchet in front of her, and Bridget motioned to her companions to head in that direction. As they came close, a Templar stabbed one of the Inquisition people, his sword slicing through a thin place in the armor so easily. Too easily. They needed better armor. If only she'd been able to get Harritt more help, more supplies. This was her fault, Bridget thought. In her anger and grief, she reached for the lightning and called it down on the Templar, who screamed as the lightning arced inside his metal breastplate.

The battle continued; Bridget struck and ran and dodged blows and promised herself she would learn some defensive moves if she survived all of this and did her best to keep track of her people and go where she was needed. Dimly she was aware of the trebuchets firing and the sounds of combat all around her … and of those sounds slowly receding, fading.

A particularly well-struck blow from a trebuchet smashed into the side of the mountain, creating a massive avalanche that rolled down over the oncoming troops of Templars. It appeared as though the battle was won, as though the troops were receding.

A cheer went up—but it was short-lived, because out of the cloud of snow created by the avalanche flew a creature of flame and rage. A dragon. A blast of its fiery breath as it swooped above them destroyed a trebuchet. Another blast caught a group of soldiers and mages, who screamed in agony as they rolled in the fresh snow to put out the flames.

"Run!" Bridget screamed. "Inside the gates!"

She retained enough presence of mind to try to push her people ahead of her; she didn't want anyone left behind to fall prey to that thing if she could possibly avoid it. Then she was inside the gates, Cullen closed them behind her, and outside the dragon screamed in anger, a piercing shriek Bridget knew she would be hearing in her nightmares for the rest of her life … if she had a rest of her life to have nightmares in.