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When he realized Bridget wasn't behind him any longer, that he had essentially abandoned her to the Elder One and his dragon, Blackwall wanted to go back. But Haven was on fire; he and Cassandra and Varric had barely made it back through the village in the first place. And the others were already gone, the avalanche expected any minute, assuming Bridget could manage to set it in motion. It was too late.

He went with the others up the mountains, he carried burdens and helped people walk through the snow and scouted ahead when Cullen asked it of him, because it was what Bridget would have wanted him to do. But he wanted to die. Once more in his life he had been given a task, a responsibility, to carry out like a man, an honorable man, and once more in his life he had failed utterly and an innocent person had died. How many times in one man's life could that kind of thing occur before there was no longer any excuse for his continued existence?

So when the Inquisition had finally found a relatively sheltered area to set up a hasty camp and his help was no longer so urgently needed, he had gone to Cullen and volunteered to take on the most foolish and suicidal mission he could think of: He had declared his intention of going back to Haven in search of Bridget. If he died looking for her, that would be a fitting end.

Blackwall had been very surprised when Cullen not only agreed to the mission, but insisted on accompanying him. Cassandra had, as well, and Solas.

And then, by some kind of miracle, they had actually found her. She had evidently survived the avalanche and dug herself out of it, to judge by the condition of her hands, and she had staggered in the direction of Haven until the cold and exhaustion and pain had been too much. It was lucky that Solas had come, because his magic was able to warm her enough to get her circulation flowing again.

They took turns carrying her back to the camp, but Blackwall was only at peace when she was in his arms, her slight figure held protectively against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She was even more delicate and fragile than he had thought the first time he had seen her—and yet infinitely stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for.

The reaction in the Inquisition camp when they came back carrying the Herald was electric—at first. And then the whispers began, the questions about whether blood magic or demons or something even darker that no one understood had been behind Bridget's survival. While Dorian and Vivienne and Solas and Adan worked over her tirelessly for hours, healing her wounds and bringing her body temperature back up gradually to avoid shocking her system any further, the rest of the Inquisition was busy muttering and grumbling and whispering until Blackwall wanted to tell them all to shut up.

He stationed himself at the door of her tent, moving only to sleep, and then only when he was certain that someone he trusted was with her. It was the least he could do. He had left her there in Haven; she had somehow managed to survive alone. She, who had lived her entire life in a Circle, with no skills, had managed something no one could ever have imagined. And Blackwall was never going to leave her again, he vowed to himself. This was one promise he was going to keep, one responsibility he was not going to shirk.

So it was that Blackwall was there, outside the flap of her tent, when she awoke fully for the first time. She had drifted in and out several times, but never for more than a few minutes. The mages said her body needed sleep to heal fully, and had never seemed concerned, but he was glad to hear the rustle from inside the tent and to look in and see her sitting up, looking faintly woozy still.

Mother Giselle from the Chantry was in with her. Blackwall couldn't imagine what a Chantry mother would have to say that needed to be kept from prying ears, so he didn't even try not to eavesdrop.

And the argument that had clearly disturbed Bridget's slumber could be heard across camp; no one could have avoided it, even if they'd tried. The advisors could not agree on the best approach, or the next step, or the first priority, or … anything, it seemed.

Cullen was particularly thunderous—Blackwall could tell he blamed himself for what had happened at Haven. "Who put you in charge?" he snapped at Cassandra when the Seeker tried to push them all to choose a location to remove the Inquisition to. "We must have a consensus, or we have nothing!"

"Please," Josephine interceded. "We must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled. We must rebuild. We must find a place that is accessible, where we can entertain visitors, or we are ruined."

"That can't come from nowhere! We have nothing but the clothes on our backs and what little food was in the Chantry. Before we worry about the nobles of Thedas, we need shelter and food for our own people!"

Leliana shouted, "She didn't say it could!"

It surprised Blackwall that the spymaster had been drawn into this spat. She seemed too self-controlled for that. But apparently there was plenty of blame to go around—if he gathered correctly, she felt guilty for not paying more attention to her scouts.

Cassandra made a loud noise of disgust. "This is getting us nowhere."

"At least we're agreed on that much!" Cullen bellowed.

Inside the tent, the soft voice of Mother Giselle rose above the argument—at least for Blackwall, standing as close to her as he was. "You need rest," she said softly.

Bridget struggled to sit completely up, putting her feet on the ground for the first time since her rescue. "I need to stop them. This isn't helping."

"With time to doubt, we turn to blame," Mother Giselle said. "Infighting may threaten us as much as this Elder One."

"Corypheus. His name is Corypheus."

Blackwall frowned. He'd never heard that name before. Where had this Corypheus come from, exactly? He would have to ask, sometime when Bridget was healed and ready to talk about it.

"Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?" Bridget continued.

Mother Giselle admitted, "We are not sure where we are. Which may be why there is no sign of him or the numbers he commands." She paused, then added, "Or you are believed dead. Or we are thought helpless, driven from Haven. Or he girds for another attack."

"What a lovely set of options," Bridget observed, and Blackwall smiled, glad to hear the dry humor in her voice. He had missed that. "If that thing is still out there, we cannot afford to stay still. He will come for us. For me," she added softly.

"They are uncertain where to go," Mother Giselle told her. "And … there are questions. About you."

Silence, and then Bridget sighed, a heavy, sad sound that made Blackwall's heart hurt. "Because I lived."

"Yes."

Wearily, Bridget said, "There was nothing magical in it, nothing miraculous. I was thrown clear of the avalanche; I dug my way out. I was found and brought back here and saved through the hard work of our mages. Simple as that."

"It is hard to accept, what 'we' have been called to endure. What 'we', perhaps, must come to believe. The people know only what they have seen. Or what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment, and in how it is remembered."

Unseen by the two women in the tent, Blackwall rolled his eyes. He had nothing against the Chantry, although he wasn't certain what he thought of the Maker, but this hardly seemed to be the time to try to convert the Herald of Andraste to greater faith.

"Corypheus claimed to have assaulted the heavens," Bridget said softly. "What do you think?"

Mother Giselle paused a moment, then said, "Scripture says Tevinter servants of the false Old Gods entered the Fade to reach the Golden City. Corypheus claims to be one of them?"

"He does."

"Hm. Their hubris is why we suffer Blight—they were the first darkspawn. And why the Maker turned from us. If Corypheus is one of them … he is a monster beyond imagining."

"Yes. That he is."

"If even a shred of that is true—all the more reason why Andraste would choose someone to rise against him."

Bridget sighed. "I just don't see why what I believe matters. It's what I can do—or what I can't—that is important."

She got up and came to the door of the tent, pausing when she found Blackwall standing there. They looked at each other for a moment. He wanted to speak, but there were no words. Bridget reached out and touched the back of his hand, briefly, then moved on toward the main campfire. Mother Giselle followed her.

The advisors had ceased their argument, with no resolution that Blackwall was aware of, and scattered to be alone. Clearly they, like the rest of the Inquisition, were bowed under the weight of their fear and uncertainty. Blackwall felt comparatively lucky—he had a task set before him, a tangible task, that of protecting the Herald. He may have given the task to himself, but it gave him focus, a purpose. The rest of the Inquisition seemed to be lacking that.

And then Mother Giselle began to sing, her deep voice ringing in the clear, cold air around them. It was an old song, one Blackwall remembered his mother singing to him in his cradle. He hummed along with her, liking the feel of the melody in his throat, the familiar notes comforting.

He wasn't alone. One by one the rest of the Inquisition joined in, until they were all standing around the bonfire, and around Bridget, singing.

Then, still singing, as of one accord they all took a knee, looking up at Bridget, who appeared discomfited and a little alarmed by the adulation implicit in the act. Still, she seemed to understand that the song, and the gesture, indicated that a new hope had dawned in their hearts, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement and appreciation as the song drew to a close.

Everyone dispersed, but where there had been heavy silence, there was now chatter, discussion where there had been snarls. It had helped. Blackwall's respect for Mother Giselle went up—she had known just what they needed, and had brought them together skillfully.

Bridget came toward him, and he nodded at her. "That was smart," he told her. "An army needs more than an enemy—it needs a cause."

She was about to say something, but then Solas joined them, clearing his throat slightly. "Bridget, if I may, could we speak for a moment?"

They went off together, and Blackwall forbore from following. Solas had saved her, therefore he trusted Solas. Simple as that.

When she came back from her talk with him, she looked thoughtful. She went straight into her tent, and Blackwall heard the cot creak as she lay down on it.

The next thing Blackwall knew, he was being shaken awake, Bridget's face hovering just above his. "Blackwall."

He cleared his throat. "Good morning."

"There is work to be done today," she told him. "I have to scout ahead of the Inquisition, lead them to a place … well, you'll see it when we get there. Will you walk with me, help me through the snow and keep me from falling on my face?"

Fully awake, he pushed himself up on one elbow. "I failed you in Haven."

Bridget smiled. "No, you didn't. I tricked you."

"I still shouldn't have let you."

"We can debate that later. Will you help me?"

"Of course. Can I have a few minutes to … freshen up?"

Bridget nodded. "I'll wake the rest of the camp. It will take time to get everyone mobilized."

And so it did, but she was energized, and her energy was infectious. Sooner than Blackwall had imagined she could, she had the Inquisition marching through the snow up the mountain. He walked in front of everyone with her, breaking the trail for her as best he could.

"This is something Solas told you last night?"

"How did you know?"

"You were very quiet when you came back from talking to him; I took a guess."

"It was a good one."

"He has you out in front so that the rest of the Inquisition can see you as a leader; because Corypheus came after you."

"For this." She held up the marked hand. "He called it the Anchor; he tried to draw it from me by force. As you can see, he failed." Clenching the hand, she looked down at it. "I believe it is mine to keep."

"I see." He wasn't sure he did, but it didn't matter. His task was to protect and serve, not to think or plan. "You think the advisors will go for it?"

Bridget glanced back. "They're following me, aren't they? And without shouting. I … I don't know if I want to be out in front, or if I deserve to be, but … it wasn't working, before." She shrugged. "I guess we go where we must, don't we?"

"Yes. Yes, we do."

They went on and on as the sun rose and stretched across the sky. Occasionally Solas joined them, pointing Bridget on ahead in a new direction, but mostly it was just the two of them. Glancing back, Blackwall saw Leliana in the lead of the main body of the Inquisition, and he wondered if it was she holding everyone back, or if it was Solas … or possibly Cassandra, who walked by herself, off a little from the rest of the group.

As the light turned the dark gold that said the afternoon was waning, Bridget said softly, "Solas told me of a fortress, long abandoned, waiting for a force to hold it, a safe place where the Inquisition can grow. I think that's what I want, to help it." She smiled. "I've never wanted anything before, not really. Dreamed, fantasized, imagined, but never really wanted something enough to work for it." Turning to look at him sideways, she asked, "Is this what it feels like to be a normal person?"

"No," Blackwall told her gently. "That's what it feels like to be an exceptional person. Most normal people, they want to eat, and to sleep, and if they're very lucky, to know love. You have an opportunity that few people are granted, to build something new. That you are rising to the challenge says that you are the right person for the job."

"Do you think I was chosen by Andraste?"

He shrugged. "I don't care. It's how you do the job, not who chose you for it, that matters."

"Thank you."

Solas caught up to them then. "Just over this rise," he said, leading the way, but a bit off to the side so that it would look, from behind them, as though Bridget was still in the lead. And then they went around an outcropping, and there it was in the distance, a magnificent fortress, nestled amongst the snow-covered mountains. "Yes," Solas said softly. "Skyhold."

"Skyhold," Bridget repeated. "It's beautiful."

It was, too, even though Blackwall could only imagine how much work lay ahead of them. Still, building a home put heart into a person, the will to do what needed to be done. Even Blackwall could feel the draw toward it, the longing to put his hands to work, and he smiled. For the first time in a long while, he was glad to be alive.