Thank you all for reading! Now that we're in Skyhold, if there are any particular side quests or characters you're hoping to see in this, I welcome suggestions and requests.
There was a lot of work to do. Skyhold was remarkably well-preserved, for a castle that had stood empty for what seemed to be centuries, but debris had built up everywhere. Buildings had to be cleared out, animals shooed away or trapped, depending on their usefulness, timbers shored up, rocks put back in their place and cemented.
Josephine and Cullen took charge, she of the keep and he of the defenses. Since neither of them knew much about the actual work that needed to be done to make the buildings safe and strong again, a call went out amongst the Inquisition's people and the pilgrims following it. A hefty number came forth, and from those the clear foreman emerged in Sherice, an elf from Churneau in the far north of Orlais. She was muscular and mouthy and took no nonsense from anyone—but she was also efficient and focused, and within a few days everyone had learned who to go to if you needed something completed.
Bridget tried to stay out of the way of the actual work. She had no skill with her hands, not when it came to building. Or to swordsmanship, it appeared. Remembering the lessons learned in the battle at Haven, she asked the Iron Bull and Cassandra and Blackwall to teach her in the basic use of weaponry and defense. Her hands blistered from the hours spent on the practice field, both with them and with Dorian and Vivienne and Solas, who were continuing her tutelage in combat magic. She felt like a slow learner, and her teachers' serious faces and exacting standards weren't always encouraging. But they had her best interests—and the welfare of the Inquisition—in mind, and so she worked her hardest under their guidance.
The rest of the mages were organized under Ellandra, whom Bridget had first met in the Hinterlands. She took charge of them and offered their services where needed, and to Bridget it was fascinating to see her fellow mages learning that their skills had practical applications—almost as fascinating as it was to see everyone else make the same realization.
Slowly but surely, Skyhold took shape. Leliana's birds made it possible for them to communicate their whereabouts to their allies. A detail, led by Rocky and Grim from the Chargers, began building a road down the mountain so that supplies could be brought in. Krem took the rest of the Chargers, and another detail of the Inquisition's people, back to scout the area around Haven. Their orders were to begin the road on that end, to look for anything salvageable, and to point anyone looking for the Inquisition in the direction of Skyhold.
The odd boy who had arrived in advance of Corypheus's army, Cole, flickered about. Sometimes Bridget forgot he existed entirely, and then she would be surprised to find him somewhere unexpected—but she noticed that wherever he appeared, he offered to help, and he seemed to have no concern whatsoever for his own needs. Varric spent most of his time writing, and he seemed pensive when he did take a break. Bridget knew he had commandeered some of Leliana's birds, and he kept the poor things in steady motion between Skyhold and various areas. But she also knew, from a discreet conversation with Josephine, that Varric had pledged a hefty amount of his personal fortune to the Inquisition's needs, and she assumed the writing must have something to do with that. Sera had made herself at home in the kitchens, particularly, but she seemed to be on good terms with all the workers in Skyhold. Bridget approved, wishing she had time to do the same … time and the space with which to speak to the Inquisition's people. Every time she approached, they stopped talking to stare at her, to bow to her, to treat her like royalty. She wasn't royalty; she had never wanted to be. She just wanted to be helpful. So she tried to maintain close ties with Sera, so that through the elf she would know what the people needed.
Leliana made certain that the highest tower was cleared almost immediately, and she set up a rookery there for her birds … and then proceeded to hide herself away there. Bridget suspected she was feeling guilty over the loss of the scouts, and over the way they had all been surprised at Haven. She didn't know enough about how that had happened—with Haven in its current condition, and the Inquisition scrambling to rebuild, none of them had yet had time to delve into the details—to say for sure if she agreed, but she couldn't blame Leliana, or Cullen, in the rare moments when he allowed himself to stop working, for their guilt. She felt it, too, as the roll of those lost grew. She should have been able to do more.
Next time, she vowed, she would do more, and she threw herself back into her training.
She and Blackwall hadn't spoken again about the night in his room by the stable; there had been no time for that, and Bridget felt no need of the words. She knew how she felt, that she was her most comfortable, her most at ease, by his side, and she knew that he seemed to feel the same, and there was a comfortable pleasant anticipation that thrummed at a low level within her, knowing that some day they would have the chance to act on those feelings.
In the meantime, they walked the battlements most nights, looking over the fortifications, as Blackwall taught her things about guard rotations and preparation for attack that left her wondering who or what he had been before the Grey Wardens. Someday she would ask him, she told herself, just as someday she would tell him about Declan.
One morning, in the midst of all the chaos, she left the room temporarily assigned to her to find her advisors all huddled up together in serious conference. With the lack of a War Table, there hadn't been much time to go over the major issues ahead of them, and they had all agreed that making Skyhold habitable and safe for all the Inquisition's people took precedence, but it seemed something else must have come up.
Cassandra caught sight of Bridget and waved her over. As Bridget reached them, the others scattered, without looking at her. A chill worked its way down her spine. "What has happened? Is something wrong?" She searched Cassandra's face. While the Seeker was difficult to get to know well, she thought they had a certain understanding of one another, and she believed Cassandra would never lie to her.
"Walk with me, will you?"
"Of course."
They passed knots of tents, pilgrims come to be part of the Inquisition, to watch it grow. Bridget was proud that they were a destination for those in Thedas who were searching for new answers, and worried about what their ultimate answer would be. But it wasn't her place to formulate that answer, and for that she was grateful.
Cassandra saw her gaze at the tents, and nodded. "Yes. They arrive daily, from every settlement in the region. Skyhold has become a pilgrimage, like Haven was before it."
"It's no joke making that climb, with the road not yet completed. I hope they all get what they've come for."
"As do I." Cassandra looked at her gravely. "You know, of course, that if word has reached all these people, and those sending us supplies and information … it has also reached the Elder One."
"Yes. I had thought of that." Part of Bridget was proud that she had learned to think tactically, at least this far. Another part of her was scared to death to have to face that twisted monster again. But he wanted her, not the Inquisition. She, and the Anchor she bore, stood in his way and had foiled his plans. He would come for her again—she must be ready.
"We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated." Cassandra led her up the stone stairs to the upper courtyard.
Bridget felt tears sting the back of her eyes. "It's my fault. I brought this on all of us." She raised the hand with the Anchor on it. "I don't even know how I got this, but … somehow, I drew the anger of Corypheus."
"The Anchor has power, yes, and it will continue to draw Corypheus, but it has done so already and yet here we are. The Inquisition has not fallen—if anything, it has grown, and you are still standing here. Many of us would not have believed you capable of the strength and courage you have shown." Cassandra's grey eyes held a respect and affection that filled Bridget with warmth. To think that she had impressed this stalwart warrior, this proud and strong woman in front of her. The old Bridget, the Bridget of the Circle, could never have done so.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Not at all. You have earned my words. And more. Your decisions allowed us to heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature's rival as much because you snatched the mages out of his grasp and defeated him at Haven as because of whatever action brought you that mark. And we know it. All of us."
They were at the foot of the stairs that led to the main keep now, and Cassandra turned to look at Bridget. "You are a symbol of hope to many, not just because you were found after the Conclave, or for the mark you bear, but for what you have done with your freedom and your responsibilities. You stepped up. When you could have run, or shrunk from leading when you were called upon to do so, you stood forth and allowed your voice to be heard. Do not think we have missed the way you work to learn, to train your body to be ready to fight better and your mind to understand the world of combat, a world you were not exposed to before you came here."
As they reached the first landing, Bridget saw Leliana standing in front of them, holding a sword delicately balanced on her two outstretched hands. She lifted her bowed head when they approached, looking Bridget in the eye.
Next to her, Cassandra said softly, "The Inquisition requires a leader. And who better than the one who has already been leading it without knowing she was doing so?"
Startled, Bridget turned to look at her. "Me?"
"Of course you. Who else?"
"I had thought that you would—"
But Cassandra was shaking her head emphatically. "I do not have the disposition for leadership. I can command, but not encourage, or hearten, or sympathize. You can do all those things."
Below, in the lower courtyard, Bridget could see the Inquisition massing, their eyes on her, and she gave Leliana a nod to show that she understood the manipulation at hand. She could no sooner have bowed out of this responsibility in the face of all these people looking to her for answers, people she owed for their courage and faith at Haven and for their hard work at Skyhold, than she could take the Anchor off and give it to somone else. Leliana managed to avoid smirking, but only just barely.
Cullen and Josephine were at one side in the crowd, and Bridget searched both their faces, looking for any misgivings. Neither seemed to feel any, or they masked them well, if so.
But they had all forgotten one very large factor, something that seemed likely to cause endless problems. She turned to Cassandra. "Have you forgotten that I'm a mage? How can a mage head the Inquisition? When my kind are locked up all over Thedas?"
"Not any mage," Cassandra corrected. "You."
"But I am a mage. I can't change that."
"I will not pretend to imagine there will be no objections … but times are changing. Perhaps the Maker sent you to change them. How can we know for certain? And no one will ever know if we do not try, here, today."
Put that way, it was even more impossible for Bridget to refuse.
"Without you, there would be no Inquisition. How it will serve, how you lead—those will be yours to decide."
Bridget could feel the burden as a tangible thing settling itself on her shoulders. Maker forgive her, she didn't truly want this. But she would take it, and she would do her best, because really, she had no other choice. She had recognized that after Haven, as she led her people up the mountain at Solas's behest, when she saw Skyhold in front of them and understood that as far as anyone knew, she was the one who had brought them here.
She reached out and took the blade from Leliana's hands, lifting it experimentally, and very glad she had been training with the Iron Bull, because it was heavy, and she would not have wanted her first act as Inquisitor to be dropping the sword.
"How will you decide? To what end will you lead us?" Leliana asked softly.
The answer came to Bridget's lips immediately. "There is only one end that matters at the moment. Corypheus will never let us live in peace—he made that perfectly clear. And what he intends for Thedas would bring ruin across all the lands we love. He intends to be a god, to rule over us, and his rule would not be a benevolent one. He must pay for what he did at Haven, for what he has done to the Templar order, for what he did at the Conclave. Corypheus must be stopped."
Leliana nodded her approval, and Cassandra's eyes shone. She stepped to the edge of the landing and called down to the courtyard, "Have our people been told?"
"They have," Josephine replied. "And soon the world will know."
"Commander, will they follow?"
Instead of responding directly, Cullen drew his sword and walked before the people, holding it aloft. "Inquisition! Will you follow? Will you fight?"
The cheer he got in response brought tears to Bridget's eyes. She thought suddenly of Declan, wishing he could be here, wishing he could see what his mother had accomplished with her life. Of course, he didn't know she was his mother … but in wishing, anything was possible. She found her eyes drifting over the crowd, looking for the familiar dark head of hair and full beard, and her eyes met Blackwall's. There was pride in his face, and satisfaction, but a sadness, too, some distance that hadn't been there before. Or so she felt, before her attention was drawn back to Cullen.
He stood with his sword pointed in her direction, shouting, "Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!"
Bridget raised her own sword in response, the cheers filling her heart and lifting her spirits. She could lead these people, these supportive and enthusiastic people. And she would, if that was what they needed from her.
There was a celebration of sorts, a chance to take a break and rest from their work and enjoy the fruits of their labors—so much had already been done.
After the feasting, everyone withdrew to their own tents or temporary rooms. Musical instruments began playing, songs were sung, card games were played. Bridget stood in the dark and listened, enjoying the sound of the Inquisition at rest and at play.
Behind her, she heard the Iron Bull's deep voice. "Inquisitor, huh? Well, at least you've got the fortress for it."
"Yes, I do have that going for me. What do you think of all this, Bull? What do the Qunari think?"
He shrugged, smiling a little. "The Qunari think anyone who's going to take care of the hole in the sky and that darkspawn Vint asshole has their, albeit limited, approval. I think you've worked damn hard and deserve the chance … and I'm here to see you don't fall on your ass."
"Thank you. I think."
"I'm good at keeping people from falling on their asses." Then, in a different voice, he said, "You have a second? I want to show you something."
"Sure."
"Good. You'll want to wear this." He held out a battered and filthy mercenary's coat.
"Okay," Bridget said doubtfully, but she shrugged it on. The Iron Bull wrapped a scarf around her neck, partially obscuring her face, and gave her a pair of old gloves to pull on, hiding the Anchor. And then he led her on a tour of Skyhold, the part she never got to see because everyone went silent when she approached. They met young men and older women, elves and dwarves. They met idealists who believed the Inquisition was saving the world, political-minded types who wanted to build an empire to rival Orlais', adventure seekers who saw the Inquisition as their chance to start a new life and see the world, the downtrodden who were looking to lift themselves up and have more out of their lives than their parents had, mercenaries who saw a chance to make quick coin, braggarts who intended to make a name for themselves, those who had been inspired by Bridget's stand against Corypheus, true believers who really thought she was touched by the hand of Andraste herself, and many, many more.
At the end of the night, when the Iron Bull took the coat and scarf and gloves back from Bridget, she felt she knew the Inquisition she had promised to lead this afternoon much better. "Thank you, Bull."
He nodded. "I make a point of knowing every soldier under my command, but you don't have that option … and it'll only get harder as the Inquisition—and your reputation—grow. I thought a few faces might help."
"I appreciate it. It helps to have their perspective, a great deal."
"Thought it might. You've got a good army coming along; remember that, no matter what comes next." The Iron Bull smiled at her, the rare smile he gave her on the practice field when she did something right. "Good-night, Inquisitor."
"Good-night, Bull."
Still full of everything she had seen tonight, trying to work through what she had learned, Bridget sought out Sera for a bit of light-hearted fun to settle her mind, but she found the elf surprisingly pensive.
"Inquisitor now, right?" Sera asked as Bridget took a seat next to her on the battlement, swinging her legs out into space above the courtyard. "Big doings."
"Too big."
"Just so you don't let being one of the big people go to your head. Too many little people around for that."
"How are your friends?" Bridget asked. "Are they ready to get on with the Inquisition's tasks?"
Sera looked at her as though she'd grown a second head. "My friends don't do the Inquisition's tasks; they do its work. They're muckin' out your stables and your privies and peelin' your bloody potatoes."
"True." Bridget hadn't thought of it quite that way, but she supposed if your job was to clean up after a meal, you didn't particularly care what the people who had eaten were about to do for the world; you probably mostly cared how neatly they had eaten. She said as much to Sera, who nodded approvingly.
"See, you're gettin' it. Keep thinkin' like that and you won't find hairs in your milk."
Bridget smiled, but she knew the elf was completely serious.
"Hey, you remember that war we were gonna stop?" Sera said. "Full of little baddies I can stick with my little arrows? That one?"
"I remember it."
"Well, that's not a friggin' Archdemon, is it?"
"No. To be fair, I didn't know about the Archdemon myself."
"True enough," Sera admitted grudgingly. "Still, have to wonder what we've stepped in now." She frowned at Bridget. "I know what happened to you—or what everyone here thinks happened. It seems … well, I don't know what it seems."
"It seems overblown, because it is. I didn't die, Sera. I was buried by the snow, but I crawled out. That's all. Anyone could have."
"Yeah, but anyone didn't, did they? And now we've got this thing after us, a magister who cracked the 'Black City'. It's a hazy dream, right? Supposed to be. Has to be. Because if that's real real, then the Seat of the Maker? Real thing. A seat needs a butt, so the Maker? Real thing. Fairy stories about the start and end of the world? Real things!" Sera was bouncing around so violently in her agitation that Bridget was afraid she'd fall off the wall. "It's too far, innit? I just want to plug the hole in the sky so I can go play!"
"I think that's what we all want to do, Sera," Bridget offered. She didn't particularly want to fall into the trap of overthinking Corypheus's claims and what they meant for belief systems across Thedas. She wanted to focus on the one real being in front of her and stopping him from ending the world as she knew it. So she supposed she also wanted just to plug the hole in the sky so she could play. She said so to Sera, who snorted.
"That's what the little people say. Big people like you, they say the big things and make it all sound right."
"Tomorrow," Bridget said wearily. "Tomorrow I'll say the big things and make it all sound right. Tonight, can we just remember that I used to be a smaller person than I am now?"
"Deal." Sera smiled. "Tell you what—I have arrows. I can make this Coryphellus believe in those. Good enough?"
"Good enough for me. You know, you're starting to not sound completely crazy."
Sera laughed at that. "I know! Scary, right?"
Bridget laughed, too. "Terrifying." She got up off the wall and made her way down to her temporary quarters. She'd been told she would get new quarters as Inquisitor, and Josephine promised a good long talk about fabrics and furniture … In the morning, Bridget imagined that would sound exciting. Tonight, it sounded like a lot more exhausting decisions. She fell onto her cot and was asleep within minutes, Declan's locket firmly clutched in her hand.
Blackwall paced the battlements for a while, looking up at the stars. It was nice up here—almost like living in the wilds in Ferelden, but near people, too. He had forgotten how much he missed them. Taking off his coat and working to rebuild walls, side by side with the rest of the Inquisition, made him feel like part of something, the way he had imagined being a Grey Warden might have, if he had ever managed to truly become one.
And then those cooling, refreshing draughts of ale with them afterward, laughing at their jokes, telling a few himself—but carefully, lest their age and provenance reveal him to be something other than he claimed to be. All of it felt remarkably normal. For the first time in a long, long while, he felt almost … happy.
Not a little of that, of course, was the Herald of Andraste herself, the newly minted Inquisitor. He hadn't had a chance to speak with her about that yet, but he wanted to know how she felt. But at the same time—he deserved her friendship, and the something more he could see dawning in those blue eyes, the something more that quickened his heart and made his breath come short, even less than he had before.
Varric's voice came from behind him. "Ah, there you are, brooding on your dark backstory again. Why is it always the broody ones?"
Blackwall turned to look down at the dwarf. "Excuse me?"
"Come on, you know you have one." Varric handed him a covered flagon. "Brought you some libations, since it didn't look like you were coming down."
"Maybe I wanted to be alone," Blackwall suggested, but he took the flagon anyway.
"Maybe so. But I have experience with you broody types—if you're left alone too much, it's bad for everyone."
"Who says I brood?"
Varric chuckled. "They always deny it. Out with it. Someone dear to you that you lost? Someone you failed to save?"
"Does anyone ever punch you? You deserve to be punched."
Ignoring him, Varric cocked his head to the side. "A grave error in judgment, maybe, causing one too many deaths? I've known a few people like that."
Blackwall sipped his ale, looking out over the edge of the battlements, concentrating on keeping his face impassive.
"Betrayal! That's always a good one." When Blackwall didn't respond, Varric cajoled, "Come on, you have to give me something."
"No, I don't."
Varric gave a dramatic sigh. "You know if you don't tell me, I'll have to make something up. Let's see, how about 'the lone wanderer, searching the world, trying to find' … what's he trying to find, you think? Love? Absolution?"
It was a good question, and one Blackwall had never quite found the answer to. "Probably he just wants to be left alone. Or perhaps he's just looking for someone with a strong arm and a stronger will to fight darkspawn."
"Good, good! What does that represent?"
Blackwall took another sip, looking down at the dwarf imperturbably. "Wanting to kill more darkspawn."
"You know, I knew someone just like you in Kirkwall. Chantry this and retake his throne that. Never cracked a smile once in six years. You ever smile, Blackwall?"
"I might if I kicked you over the edge of the battlement."
"Ooh, touchy."
"You know, I've been to Kirkwall, once. Probably been twenty years ago, actually."
"Oh, yes?" Varric perked up. His love for his home was well known.
"The Hanged Man, actually. It was a dive, if I remember correctly."
"It's the dive," Varric corrected. "Filled with the best and worst people in the world."
"Which are you?" Blackwall quirked an eyebrow at the dwarf. He liked Varric well enough—it was hard not to—but he was more comfortable when Varric's endless curiosity was pointed elsewhere.
"Ouch."
"Can dish it out but you can't take it, eh?"
Varric grinned. "I can take it all right."
"You know, I read some of your book once. Hard in Hightown? Riveting stuff."
"So riveting that you only read some? I'm crushed."
Blackwall gave the dwarf his wickedest grin. "Couldn't afford to buy my books, you see. Found this one in a latrine in a village near Dragon's Peak. It was missing some pages."
Varric laughed outright at that one. "And game point to Blackwall. For today, my broody friend, for today. I imagine there will be plenty more material for stories, coming right up."