Thank you all for reading!
Cullen was shouting, calling to everyone within hearing to fall back to the Chantry, and people were streaming through the little settlement of Haven, rushing toward the massive building. The Red Templars hadn't breached the walls yet, but they were coming closer, and fireballs were flying over the walls, smashing buildings and landing on the unwary. Most of the huts were on fire already.
The Templar Lysette called out to Bridget, "Inside the inn! Someone is trapped!"
Bridget and Blackwall ran in that direction, pushing their way through the debris. Flissa, the bartender, was pinned under a fallen piece of timber, crying out between coughs. The smoke inside the room was dense. Between them, they pried the wood off her, and Lysette helped her to stand. "Get her to the Chantry!" Bridget shouted over the crackle of the flames. Lysette nodded and hurried out, half-supporting and half-carrying Flissa.
Adan, the potion maker, was trapped inside his hut, the roof having collapsed over the door. Blackwall battered at the debris until he had made enough of a hole to get Adan out.
As they approached the Chantry, Cassandra and Varric came from the other direction with several other villagers, soot-marked and scraped and bloody. Cullen awaited them at the doors of the Chantry. "Hurry!"
Bridget made sure Adan was inside and being cared for before she turned to Cullen, who was closing the doors behind them. Outside, she could hear the dragon scream, the sound sending chills through her body.
Cole was kneeling next to a wounded man just to the right of the doors. With some surprise, Bridget recognized the man as Chancellor Roderick. She hadn't seen him in quite some time; in fact, she'd wondered if he had left Haven. Apparently he hadn't, and he was going to pay for staying with his life, to judge from the blood that bubbled to his lips when he coughed.
Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Our position is as bad as it could be. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. We'll have to prepare for a siege, and we're hardly equipped."
"I've seen an Archdemon," Cole said softly. "I was in the Fade, but … it looked like that."
"Archdemon?" Bridget repeated. "What difference does that make?" A regular dragon would have made just as much of a mess out there.
Cullen appeared to agree. "I don't care what it looks like; it has cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven."
Bridget clutched at the locket around her neck. She would never see Declan again. He wouldn't even notice; she was just the odd mage aunt he wasn't comfortable around. There would never be another chance to get to know him … and the Breach would spread and he and everyone else in the world would suffer under the Elder One's rule.
"The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald." Cole was looking off into the distance as though he heard things the rest of them didn't.
"Then that's what he'll get," Bridget said with decision. "How do I stop him?"
She could see that her statement, and her question, weren't what Cullen had expected. He looked at her, frowning, searching for an answer.
Cole said, "It won't be easy. He has a dragon."
"We know what he has!" Cullen snapped. He looked at Bridget, his shoulders slumping. "Herald, we—there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche."
"Couldn't we create another one?" Cassandra asked. "We could turn the trebuchets, cause one last slide."
"We're overrun," Blackwall objected. "To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven."
Cullen nodded, not taking his eyes off Bridget. "We're going to die," he admitted, "but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."
Including all of those who would be doomed under the Elder One if she couldn't stop him, Bridget thought.
A moan came from Chancellor Roderick, a faint whisper, and Cole bent his ear to hear what he was saying. "Yes, that," he said. "Chancellor Roderick can help. He says … there is a path, half-hidden, that goes from the back of the Chantry up the mountain, high enough to avoid being buried by the avalanche."
Bridget felt something like hope steal over her. She looked at Cullen. "If I distract the Elder One and his dragon, can you get the people to safety?"
After a moment, he nodded. "I will do my best. But what of you, your escape?"
She held his gaze steadily.
"But—" he began to protest, no doubt thinking of the mark. But the Breach was closed. The Elder One was the danger now, and Bridget would see that through. Cullen must have read her determination in her face, because he sighed, accepting the inevitable. "Perhaps … you will find a way to surprise it."
"Perhaps." Bridget glanced at Blackwall over her shoulder. He nodded, and she was grateful to have him with her. Cassandra moved to stand next to him, and Varric, after a moment, shouldered Bianca and joined them. Bridget regretted that the three of them were willing to throw their lives away, but she needed them.
Cullen barked a few orders over his shoulder, getting people moving. Cole got to his feet, helping Chancellor Roderick to his feet and down the hall toward the back entrance of the building. The rest of the Inquisition began to assemble, other than those who Cullen was detailing to collect food and blankets and other supplies from around the building.
He ordered a few soldiers to accompany Bridget and her people out to load the trebuchets, and several of Leliana's scouts to go scavenge what they could from the burning village.
In the midst of his orders, Cullen came to Bridget, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line, if you can. If we are to have a chance—if you are to have a chance … let that thing hear you."
"Thank you, Cullen. Take good care of the people," she told him. "And of yourself. The Inquisition needs you."
"As it does you," he responded. "You will be in our prayers."
"I'll need them."
He nodded at her and turned away. Bridget faced the doors. "Let's do this."
"We are behind you, Herald," Cassandra said stoutly.
The soldiers ran ahead of them. Bridget couldn't help stopping to mourn the destruction. Haven had slowly but surely become her home, and now it was gone. Would she ever have another home? Would she outlive this one? Was this her last night, her last moment?
Well, it didn't matter if it was, she decided. She had survived the Conclave, had gained so much precious time she wouldn't otherwise have had. She would be grateful for it, and she would use what time she had left for the benefit of the world.
The dragon was swirling above her, probably looking for her, if Cole was correct that she was the Elder One's target. The sounds of battle were coming from the direction of the trebuchets, Blackwall and Cassandra already moving that way. Bridget and Varric followed them.
Between the four of them and the few soldiers, they were able to push the Red Templars back and get the trebuchet loaded, but the dragon had found them now, and it was sweeping low. "Move!" Bridget told the others. "Go!"
The soldiers went, and Varric. Cassandra glanced up at the dragon, the retreat clearly not sitting well with the Seeker, but she went, too. Blackwall was slower, trying to wait for Bridget, so she put on a burst of speed and gave him an encouraging smile, and when she thought he was far enough down the road she fell back. If the Elder One wanted her, he could come get her, and she would hold out long enough for the others to escape.
A blast from the dragon caught her, rolling her over in the snow, and by the time she had managed to get back on her feet, he was there. The Elder One, seeming to emerge from a burst of flame, stalking toward her. He wasn't in a hurry, for which Bridget was grateful. Maybe she really had a chance to distract him long enough to buy safety for the others.
And there they were, face to face at last, the Elder One tall and twisted strangely, almost as if he had been partially melted at some point. Bridget was proud of how steadily she stood, despite the apparent imminence of her death.
The dragon landed behind her, waiting, watching the Elder One. It wasn't going to hurt her until it was ordered to do so, Bridget decided, and she ignored it, keeping her eyes on the Elder One as well.
At last he spoke. "Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken."
"I did what needed to be done. That's all." She took a deep breath. "Whatever you are, I am not afraid."
He laughed, his twisted face grotesque. "Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once even my own words. They are always lies. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be."
"I never wanted to be you!"
The Elder One ignored her. "Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus!"
Corypheus. Bridget filed the name away. If she managed to escape, by some miracle, Cullen and Leliana would need to know the Elder One's name.
"You will kneel," he commanded her.
Bridget's knees were quivering, although she wasn't conscious of being afraid. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her waver, however, and she stiffened her back, raising her chin. "You'll get nothing out of me!" There was a quaver in her voice, however much she tried to hide it, and she could tell he heard it.
"It matters not." He suddenly held some kind of glowing orb in his hand, studying it, turning it in his long fingers. "I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now."
Any questions Bridget might have had about what the Anchor might be were answered when he reached out his free hand and green magic flowed from it, attaching to the mark on her hand and beginning to pull it. The pain was excruciating, as though her arm was being torn out of its socket. She cried out, clenching her teeth against the agony, stumbling forward in an attempt to relieve the pressure. There was no sign that the mark was coming apart from her body, however, and the Elder One, Corypheus, was growing frustrated.
"It is your fault, 'Herald'," he ground out. "You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose."
"I did?" Bridget could barely focus on his words in the face of the pain. "I … don't remember."
If he heard her, he gave no sign of it. "I do not know how you survived, but what marks you, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens!"
Abruptly the pain ceased, as did the pull of the Elder One's magic. At the release of the pressure, Bridget fell backward onto her rear, clutching her still-marked hand to her chest. Behind her, the dragon moved, growling deep in its chest.
"You used the Anchor to undo all my work," thundered Corypheus. "The gall!"
"What is it?" Bridget gasped. "What is this thing meant to do?"
"It is meant to bring certainty where there is none." He came to her, lifting her to her feet, and then off her feet, by her marked hand. "I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person."
"In person?" It was hard to focus, dangling here in the air, her arm on fire from the resumed pain. "What do you mean?"
"I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers," he said, looking into her face but seeing something far different from long ago, ignoring her questions. "For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world."
The words sounded good, but there was nothing correct about what he wanted to do. The future of Redcliffe had told her that. Bridget tried to move, but he held her arm in an iron grip.
He pushed his face very close to hers, and she could practically taste the faintly sweet essence of the red lyrium that seemed to be part of his body, borne on his very breath. "Beg that I succeed," he whispered, "for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty."
With a flick of his hand, he sent her flying through the air. She smashed against something wooden, falling in a crumpled heap, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Bridget blinked to clear her head, even as Corypheus continued speaking.
"The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling," he said angrily, coming toward her.
She saw a sword lying near her and scrambled for it, not sure she could manage her magic in her current state. She wasn't sure she could use a sword, either, but it was better than lying here on the trebuchet platform and waiting for him to kill her. Bridget got to her feet, holding out the sword, trying to remember the way she had seen Cassandra and Blackwall hold their swords. Training, she told herself. If she lived through this, she would get some training—in swords, in daggers, in magic, in defense.
Corypheus and the dragon continued to advance on her. They weren't hurrying, as though they were enjoying having her trapped here. "So be it," Corypheus said. "I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation—and the god—it requires."
"I've seen the kind of god you would be," she told him breathlessly. Behind him, she saw a flash of light high up in the treeline. The Inquisition was safe. It was time. And she was on the trebuchet platform, she realized. "And no one requires the kind of world you would create. This madness ends here." The mechanism to release the trebuchet was right next to her. "Your arrogance blinds you," she said, and she kicked the mechanism, setting the trebuchet in motion.
They all stood still, watching as the projectile flew up above them, as it struck the mountain, as snow began to slide down it in massive chunks. Bridget turned to run. Behind her, she heard a shriek and a beating of wings as the dragon took off, no doubt carrying Corypheus with it. Well, she had held him off long enough for the Inquisition to get to safety. She wished she could have killed him, but at least she had done that.
The avalanche was almost on her now. She tripped over something on the ground, falling forward, and landed on her face on something wooden that splintered underneath her, landing in the darkness as the light was closed off above her. And then the darkness took her.