T

Bridget looked around the large, spacious room that was to be hers. Work had already commenced up here, flooring and walls being redone, doors to the two balconies being installed, the chimney being repointed. She had protested that her quarters were of possibly the least importance, but she had been talked over—by Sherice, who had taken this on as her personal project; by Josephine, who insisted the nobles needed a place of refinement to visit and it was easier to build the Inquisitor's quarters first than to finish the entire guest wing; and by Cullen, who made no bones about his concern for Bridget's safety as long as she remained in the temporary quarters she was currently living in. Unable to stand up to the three of them at once, she had given in and chosen paint colors—and she had to admit she loved watching it come together. A room of her very own, for the first time since she was a child!

She heard footsteps on the stairs below her, and looked down over the railing to see Josephine coming up, head bent over her ever-present board.

"Don't trip on the steps," she said. "We can't have our Ambassador taking a tumble—I don't know what I'd do without you."

Josephine smiled. "You would manage, I am certain. You seem quite resourceful."

Bridget had no idea where that impression had come from, but she was learning that no one listened when she protested against their praise, so she left it alone.

"I've had some news from the Imperial court," Josephine went on, "and the political situation is … unstable. Dangerously so. We will need to keep a close eye on it if we are to anticipate the danger to the Empress."

"How unstable?"

Josephine sighed. "The Empress's cousin, the Grand Duke Gaspard, is leading a rebellion against her, making a bid for the throne, and a former servant of the Empress's, a woman named Briala, appears to be fomenting an elven uprising. Meanwhile, the Orlesian court is watching us, waiting to see what we will do. We must not lose their interest—the court's disapproval could be as great a threat as the Venatori, given our position here perched between Ferelden and Orlais. The Fereldan monarchs are pleased with the work we did in Redcliffe, and they are sympathetic to the cause of mages, so we have an edge there, but Orlais … we have yet to impress."

"So you're suggesting I should make some expeditions into Orlais, try to strengthen our ties there?"

"Exactly. In a few months, there is to be a Grand Masquerade at the Winter Palace in Orlais; Celene intends to hold peace talks there."

"In the midst of a ball?"

Josephine smiled. "Balls are excellent places to play the Great Game, Inquisitor. It is the best way for her to ensure that every power in Orlais will be there when the negotiations are concluded." The smile faded. "It is also the best place for an assassin to attempt to strike."

"Then we need to attend this ball." Bridget thought how odd it was that months ago, she knew almost nothing of Orlesian politics … and yet here she was today, embroiled in them.

"I will arrange for an invitation, Inquisitor. Ah, a masquerade. It has been such a long time."

"Do you miss Orlais?"

"Sometimes, yes." A shadow passed over Josephine's face. "Sometimes no. On the whole, I believe I would rather be here. If you will excuse me, Inquisitor?"

"I'll come with you," Bridget said, following her Ambassador down the stairs. She was late for a study session with Solas.

She found him in the atrium beneath the library. As he sometimes did, he appeared to come out of nowhere as she entered the room, smiling at her. "Hello."

"I am sorry I'm late."

"You have many calls on your time."

"Too many," Bridget agreed.

"They will only increase," he pointed out. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes, of course." Bridget drew her staff and began running through some of the forms Solas had taught her, although she didn't use her magic. The forms themselves helped to build her muscle memory for later combat. "Can you tell me more about your studies of the Fade, Solas?" she asked. The curiosity had been building in her for some time, but she was shy around Solas, reluctant to ask him too many intrusive questions. He avoided answering them, anyway, most of the time.

This time, however, he looked at her thoughtfully, studying her as if to gauge how serious she was about the question. "You continue to surprise me; I enjoy your thirst for learning. I will tell you more … but preferably somewhere more interesting than this. Close your eyes."

She did so, and was immediately taken by a dizzy sensation, as though she was whirling about like a child on a swing. When it stopped, she put a hand to her head and cautiously opened her eyes, surprised to find herself in Haven, or what looked remarkably like it. She winced at the memory, seeing the blasted ruins the dragon had left in place of the bustling camp she saw now. "Why here?"

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you."

Bridget acknowledged the truth of that as he led her through the camp and down to the dungeon where she had first awakened to find her world—indeed, the entire world—irrevocably altered.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor. You were a mystery then." He looked at her sideways, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You still are."

"I'm just me," Bridget said.

Solas went on as though she hadn't spoken. "I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing." His smile broadened slightly. "Cassandra suspected me of duplicity and threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I could not explain who you were and where your mark had come from and what it did."

"Of course she did."

He chuckled. "Yes." Turning, he led her from the dungeon and back out into the sunny camp. "You were never going to wake up, I realized at last. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, and frightened—for you and for the world. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach, and I was left to my own resources." Solas shook his head. "I was ready to flee."

"Why didn't you?"

"I told myself I would make one more attempt to seal the rifts. But my attempt failed, and I was at last convinced that no ordinary magic would affect them. I watched them expand and grow, helpless to do anything about them, and I resigned myself to flee—and then it occurred to me: the mark. I used it on your behalf, and it sealed the rift. I felt the whole world change in that moment."

"And that was what woke me up?"

"I believe so."

"Thank you, Solas. For … saving my life, for Skyhold, for everything you've taught me."

He inclined his head gravely. "It has been my pleasure. And you are an unusually apt pupil." He gestured around them. "Visiting me here, even as a mage—it should not have been so easy for you."

"Here?" Bridget frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Where do you think we are? Certainly not at Haven—it no longer exists, at least, not in this state."

"This is the Fade?" She felt foolish for not having realized it sooner. But it didn't feel like the Fade, not as she knew it from her own dreams. It was clearer, sharper, more real.

"You asked for more knowledge of it … and here you are." Solas smiled. "We can discuss it more—when you wake up."

The dizzy sensation came back, and the next thing Bridget knew she was blinking sleepily up at Solas from the couch in his atrium. "That was … unusual."

"For you."

"Thank you for showing me."

"Thank you for asking." Solas looked up. "Ah, I believe you are wanted."

"As always."

"Get used to it." He turned back to his work on the table in the center of the room as Dorian came in.

"Ah, there you are. I was told to bring you to the battlements."

"The battlements?" Bridget repeated, getting up off the couch. "Why?"

"To quote: 'I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.'"

She raised her eyebrows. "Varric?" Only he was that cryptic.

"The very same. You will tell me what all this is about, won't you?" Dorian asked. "I detest a mystery."

"If I knew, I would, but since I don't …" Bridget shrugged.

"Very well. I will escort you anyway and then perhaps learn for myself." He put an arm around her waist and led her from the room, through the main hall where the hammers were going constantly; it was nearly impossible to hear oneself think. Bridget often wondered how Josephine got any work done in her office off the main hall.

It was a relief to step outside into the courtyard. She paused to look around, and Dorian watched her with amusement.

"They are busy little ants, are they not?"

"Not ants. People."

"Yes, of course. I only meant … you have a great deal of work ahead of you." His grey eyes were unusually serious as he looked at her. "You know that no one will thank you for any of it, don't you?"

Bridget smiled. "That attitude must be why they kicked you out of the Imperium."

Dorian laughed, showing his perfect white teeth. "They didn't kick me out—I abandoned them, callously and cruelly depriving them of my presence."

"And will you abandon us in the same way?" Bridget said lightly.

There was nothing light about Dorian's face. "Not as long as Corypheus draws breath. Men like him ruined my homeland—I won't stand by and let him ruin the world."

"Good. I'm glad to have you, you know that."

"Perhaps." He nodded at her as they reached the battlements, and then turned and left her there in response to an unmistakable shooing gesture from the dwarf who awaited them there.

"Sunflower."

"Varric. Is this your mysterious visitor, at last? I've nearly perished of curiosity."

"It would take a lot more than curiosity to take you out. Come on." He led her to a lesser-used portion of the battlements where the mortar was crumbling and several large chunks of wall appeared ready to fall far down to the rocks below. Two men stood there, very close to one another, having what appeared to be a tense conversation. A man and an elf, Bridget amended as she came closer and the elf turned away, every line in his posture conveying disapproval. He was striking, dark skin with lines engraved in it in white, and bright white hair shining in the sun. The other man was good-looking, too, slender and dark-haired, with a neatly trimmed black beard and piercing blue eyes. He grinned at Varric as they approached.

"There you are."

"Brought a friend," Varric said. "Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall."

Gideon Hawke pushed himself off the wall and reached out a hand to Bridget. "He exaggerates. I'm hardly the Champion of anything any longer. And this is Fenris," he added, gesturing to the elf, who was now leaning against a more stable-appearing area of the battlements with his arms folded across his chest. He gave Bridget a nod.

"Bridget Trevelyan. Inquisitor, apparently."

"Yes, it's amazing how quickly these things happen, isn't it?"

"I thought Hawke might have some things to tell you about Corypheus," Varric explained.

"You could have told her as much as I could, Varric. We did fight him together, after all."

The dwarf sighed. "We dropped half a mountain on that bastard this time, and he's still out there. I have to admit, at this point, I've got nothing."

"Anything either of you know helps," Bridget said. "Corypheus will keep killing people until he gets what he wants … and he wants to be a god."

"Don't they all." Hawke sighed. "We fought Corypheus in a Grey Warden fortress in the Vimmarks. He had somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence the Wardens who were supposed to be guarding the place."

"He messed with their minds and turned them against each other," Varric said. He shuddered.

Bridget couldn't help thinking of Blackwall. Was he vulnerable to Corypheus? The darkspawn had paid no attention to him at Haven, but he could have been distracted by the Anchor. "The Wardens seem to have largely disappeared," she said. "Could they have fallen under his control again?"

Varric sighed. "Well, shit. Corypheus has the Venatori, the Red Templars, and now maybe the Wardens?"

"Wonderful," Bridget agreed.

"I didn't come this far just for bad news," Hawke assured her. "I have a friend in the Wardens—he's been investigating this red lyrium for me. The last time we spoke, he seemed worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, he's gone silent."

"Did he disappear with the rest of the Wardens?"

"I don't think so. He told me he'd be hiding in an old smuggler's cave near Crestwood. That's where we're headed next."

"I appreciate the help."

Hawke shook his head. "It's as much for myself as it is for you. What happened in Kirkwall—"

"Was not your fault," Fenris cut in, speaking for the first time.

Hawke shot him a look. "Opinions differ. Nonetheless, Corypheus is my responsibility—I thought I had killed him before and I was mistaken. This time, I intend to help you make sure of it."

"I look forward to it," Bridget said grimly.

"We're off, then," Hawke said.

"Send me a message from Crestwood when you find your Warden friend, let me know what you want me to do," Bridget told him.

Hawke nodded, and he and Fenris left the battlements together. Varric watched them go, sighing.

"Trouble in paradise?" Bridget asked.

"The elf wanted Hawke to go away somewhere safe, but Hawke insists on feeling responsible. It's what got him into all that mess in Kirkwall in the first place. You couldn't tear the elf away from Hawke's side, but he intends to make his disapproval known all the way." He shrugged. "Hawke would rather be scowled at by Broody there than made love to by anyone else, so it works out."

"Lucky them."

"In some ways. Took a lot of mess getting there."

"Was it good to see Hawke?"

"Yes and no. Brings back old times, but … brings back old times."

"I think I see what you mean."

Varric looked up at her, frowning a little. "You know, I don't think I ever officially joined the Inquisition. The Seeker dragged me here, kicking and screaming—literally—and then, to piss her off, I refused to leave."

"And thank the Maker for that," Bridget said, smiling at him.

"Well, I don't know. Bianca's pretty useful, though. I guess my point is that … I don't really know how to do this disciplehood thing. I'm a businessman—never really followed a Chosen One before."

"Sure you have." Bridget nodded her head in the direction Hawke had gone. "And, much like him, I don't need a disciple. I need a friend."

Varric grinned."That, I can do. Just … don't forget what you are to all those people down there. The Herald of Andraste is a symbol bigger than any of us."

"And a heavy responsibility."

"You can handle it. I have faith in you." Varric looked up at her. "Care for a game of Wicked Grace while I put off getting back to work?"

Bridget was on the verge of agreeing when she looked down and saw a familiar dark head climbing the steps to the battlements. "Maybe later."

Varric followed the line of her gaze, and groaned. "Here we go again." He smiled at her, and headed toward the stairs.

Pacing the battlements had become a habit of Blackwall's—partly because the Thom Rainier in him still remembered how to be a soldier and a commander, to keep an eye on the fortifications, to seek the high ground to watch for potential dangers, and partly because it kept him away from people and allowed him to pursue his endless debates as to whether to stay or go without distractions.

He hadn't seen Bridget up here when he came up, and was thus surprised when she joined him—and also not surprised, since she so often found opportunities to be where he was. He liked it; he had to admit that to himself. He was most at peace with himself in her company. But he shouldn't like it, and he shouldn't be at peace, and he tried to tell himself that also as often as possible.

It was hard to remember with her golden head bobbing along at his shoulder. "I thought I'd find you up here," she said.

"And so you have."

"Lucky me."

"Are you?" he asked mildly. Most women in her position wouldn't think themselves lucky—there was a tremendous amount of work, and danger, ahead of them all, but mostly for her.

She sighed. "Sometimes."

"You're the Inquisitor; many people would consider that lucky."

As he had hoped, that made her smile. "Only if they didn't know how much work it would be, and what the consequences might be if I fail."

"You won't fail," he promised her. "Not with so many people here ready to help you succeed."

"I hope you're right."

He watched her as she looked out over the mountains. Toward Haven, he noticed. "We'll be able to see Corypheus coming from miles away," he assured her.

"On the other hand … that means he can also see us from miles away." She stopped walking, leaning against the stones as she searched the clear blue sky for some sign of incoming danger.

Blackwall thought of her pale, frightened little face at Haven, of the stiffness in her spine as she left the Chantry to put her life on the line for all of them. He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face him. "Let him come. I swear, I'll take the twisted bastard down, even if I have to die to do it."

Her eyes met his, her face determined. "I don't intend to lose anyone else to Corypheus." She took one of his hands in both of hers, the small cold fingers wrapping around his larger ones. "Especially not you."

The moment stretched between them. Blackwall found himself unable to breathe. He wanted what was there in her eyes, the invitation and the longing and the concern for him—but he deserved none of it, and he dared not tell her why. With all the strength in him, he summoned his voice. "You can't afford to think I'm special."

"I can't help it."

He tugged his hand out of her grasp, shaking his head. "I'm a soldier, no different than any soldier lost at Haven."

"You know that's not true. You know you're more than that to me." The words were flat, matter-of-fact, but she meant them.

Blackwall sighed, looking down at his boots. "I am … fond of you, it's true, but … we can't let this go any further. This … whatever you want this to be—" He steeled himself against the hurt, wondering look in her blue eyes and the treacherous pain in his own heart. "It's impossible."

"Why? I know you have feelings for me." She was holding on to her composure, but it was a tenuous hold, and without thinking, he reached for her hand.

"My lady, don't do this." The endearment dropped from his lips unnoticed as he tried to spare her from inflicting pain on herself—pain that was far more than he deserved from her, or from any woman. "You are the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. Even now, there are people flocking to your banner, ready to serve you. To die for you."

"I don't want that! I never wanted that," Bridget protested. "I don't want anyone to die for me."

"If you are to prevent that," he told her, "we must remain focused on the task at hand."

"You're asking me to be superhuman, to be above emotion. I'm not like that—I can't be like that. And I don't believe you are, either."

He didn't bother to point out that he had spent what felt like a lifetime alone in the wilderness, learning to live without emotion. Now that he was here, with her, emotion had come flooding back into his life and his heart, and it was as much as he could do to keep his head above water. "I wish it were simple," he said. "Believe me, I do. But it's not." He dropped her hand and stepped away from her. "We are both bound by duty—our lives aren't ours to live. Not as long as … Not with Corypheus out there, threatening the world. Please, don't make this harder than it has to be."

She wanted to argue, he could see that. She was a stubborn, willful woman when she wanted to be, when she wanted something, and he had to admit there was a deep pride in being something she wanted. But he held firm, as he had to, and at last she sighed.

"Fine. If that's the way you want it. It's time to get back to work, anyway. We leave for the Exalted Plains in the morning."

He nodded. "As you wish, my lady."

Only when she was gone and he stood alone on the battlements did he realize he had just promised to go to Orlais with her. Briefly, he considered backing out on some pretext … but he couldn't do that to her. He watched her walk across the courtyard far below and felt his chest tighten at the realization that somehow he had come to fear losing her more than he feared being found out. He wondered how long it would take for that to come back to bite him.