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When Blackwall woke in the morning, the bed was empty, the sunlight streaming in through the open balcony windows. He began to stretch, thinking with pleasure of the night before. Then the enormity of what he had done struck him, the extent to which he had cemented himself in the lie that was his life, and he sat bolt upright, heart pounding.
Bridget came in from the balcony, already fully dressed. "I wondered when you would wake up," she said, smiling at him. "I wore you out, it seems."
"I—it appears that you did, my lady." Despite the guilt, she looked so beautiful, so happy, that he couldn't help smiling back at her. "But it seems I might need to work harder to wear you out next time."
Next time? What was he saying? There couldn't be a next time. But as she sank onto the bed next to him and reached for him, he couldn't help but respond to her kiss. Of course there would be a next time, and a next, and a next.
He stroked her cheek. "You are so beautiful."
She rubbed her cheek against his hand, her eyes closing. Then she sighed and pulled away. "Duty calls, I'm afraid. I have a War Room meeting in just a few minutes. You should stay, though—there's tea hot in the kettle, and you should take a swim in the tub. It's celestially comfortable."
"Really, my lady, there's no need. I can …"
"There is every need." Looking down at him, her eyes softened. "I haven't had anyone to care for in a long time, and no means with which to care for anyone … ever. Now that I have both, I want to enjoy it. Please let me, Thom."
"If it means so much to you." He got to his feet, careless of his own state of nudity, and kissed her again.
"It does. We—we didn't talk about this, but … I want you here with me, Blackwall. Every night, and every morning."
He closed his eyes. He wanted that, too, but he had no right. "You're the Inquisitor. I can't. You can't. Not an itinerant Grey Warden with no ties. Josephine would throw a fit."
"Let her. The itinerant Grey Warden with no ties is everything I've ever wanted," Bridget said softly, "and I won't give him up, not for Josephine or anyone else." Her hand curved around the back of his neck and she lifted herself on her toes, her eyes very wide and very blue. "Please, Blackwall. Unless … unless that isn't what you want …"
He hated the clouds of doubt that dimmed the blue of her eyes. "Yes, it is. Very much so," he assured her huskily.
"Then it's settled?"
"I—yes. It's settled." In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. One of his mother's sayings. His father's equivalent was 'might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb', but that one came uncomfortably close to the truth.
"Good." She put her hands on his chest, her fingers twining themselves in his chest hair. "And do take a luxurious bath—it'll give me something happy to think about while I'm stuck in a boring meeting."
"Maybe I should wait and take it later when you can be with me." The idea of her wet and soapy in his arms was having an obvious effect on him, and Bridget hummed with pleasure.
"I like the way you think. Hold that thought until tonight, then."
"Oh, I will, my lady."
She chuckled, and left the room, her footsteps light and quick and happy on the stairs. Left alone, Blackwall groaned aloud. He had made things so much worse through his own weakness. If he could only have stayed away—but he couldn't have. He loved her; there was every indication that she loved him. At what point would the effort of staying apart have been more hurtful than the potential consequences of being together? How soon would he have had to tell her about himself to avoid breaking her heart? Because they were past that point now, and had been past it for some time.
He was in a prison of his own making—a golden prison in which pleasure was its own punishment. But it was too late to get out without harming his jailor, and he didn't want to.
Whatever the future brought, he would have to take the consequences, and do his best to keep them from landing on her too thoroughly.
Bridget practically bounced into the War Room, unable to keep the smile off her face. Last night had been … everything she had hoped for. More. She'd never even considered how much better it could be when there was time, and privacy, and the right man.
She managed to get the smile off her face for the meeting, but the looks exchanged between Josephine and Leliana, their twinkling eyes and little smirks at her, told her she hadn't covered it quite thoroughly enough. Well, let them smirk, she thought. There was nothing wrong with the Inquisitor having a personal life, and Blackwall was a perfectly respectable choice. As a mage, her romantic life was never going to have been a bargaining chip, anyway.
There had been word from Hawke—he and Stroud had arrived in the Western Approach, and preparations for the ritual were underway.
"I'll leave first thing in the morning," Bridget said, looking down at the board and calculating distance.
Leliana frowned. "I wonder, Inquisitor … would it be worth your leaving today? It's still early in the morning, and you could make good time. It seems as though time is of the essence."
"I would tend to agree. The time you make up today could make a great deal of difference, if you are to catch them before the ritual begins," Cullen said. He looked up at Bridget. "Would that alter your plans significantly?"
"I don't think so. I have nothing planned for the day that can't wait." She glanced at Josephine. "Other than the meeting with Bann Alfstanna of Ferelden. Do you think she would mind rescheduling? I don't know when I would be back."
Leliana smiled. "I know Alfstanna—I met her during the Blight. She understands the needs of war. I will explain it to her myself."
"Thank you."
Flipping a few pages on her clipboard, Josephine said, "In that case, Inquisitor, I do not believe I have anything I can't handle without you coming up. After all, the nobles are aware that you have many calls on your time that take you away from Skyhold. And if they are not, then this will be a good reminder to them."
"In that case, I will find my team and we'll be off." Bridget gave an inward sigh as she was forced to let go of her plans to ravish Blackwall in her deliciously large tub. Well, when they got back, then.
She sought out Blackwall in the stable. He put down his carving knife, the gryphon coming along nicely, and smiled at her as she approached. "My lady."
"You are real. I wondered if I dreamed you."
"I hope your dreams are better than that," he murmured as she came into his arms.
Bridget lifted her face for a kiss. "No such thing."
"You give me too much credit." But he kissed her anyway, his lips soft and warm.
"I'm afraid I have bad news," she told him as the kiss ended.
He raised his eyebrows.
"We have to leave for the Western Approach. Now, essentially."
"Ah. Well, that's not so terrible, then—we knew we'd have to go soon. I'm ready." He indicated his battered travel satchel. "I'm used to picking up and moving on at a moment's notice."
"You won't, though, will you?" she asked in a sudden flash of alarm.
"No. Not if you don't wish me to."
"I most emphatically do not wish you to."
Blackwall shook his head, smiling. "I won't pretend to understand it, my lady, but I am grateful for it."
"Good. You can show me how grateful later." She smiled at him.
His voice deepened to a growl that reverberated pleasantly through her body. "My pleasure."
Bridget's own preparations were fairly quick—an advantage to having spent her life with very few possessions, wearing functionally the same set of clothes every day.
The trip to the Approach was exhausting, but the nights with Blackwall inside her tent helped immeasurably. They were pushing themselves to get there as quickly as possible, so after the first night, they were too weary even to make love, but just lying there in his arms, feeling his chest move against her cheek, was a luxury Bridget had never imagined possible. Cassandra ignored the situation almost entirely, choosing to talk books with Bridget during what downtime they had, and Cole pestered Blackwall with questions the Warden found almost impossible to answer. It was like speaking to a child, and he was uncertain whether opening Cole's eyes to the realities of men and women was a kind thing to do or a ruin of the boy's innocence.
At last they were in the Approach. Inquisition scouts were already in place there, and Hawke had given them directions to the ruined temple where the ritual was to take place.
Arriving at the temple, Bridget found Stroud and Hawke in the midst of an argument, while Fenris watched silently, as appeared to be his way, interjecting a remark occasionally. He appeared to be on Stroud's side, which enraged Hawke.
As Bridget and her team approached, Stroud turned from the argument. "You are barely in time, Inquisitor! The ritual is already underway. We must stop it immediately!"
"Blood magic," Fenris said succinctly. He spat on the ground, as though the very phrase tainted his mouth.
Hawke drew his daggers, nodding at Bridget. "You take point. Fenris and I will guard your backs."
"Very well." Bridget looked at Stroud. "Lead the way."
He nodded briefly and turned to lead her inside the ruins.
She could smell the blood as they closed in, and as soon as they came through the door into the open area where the Wardens were congregated, she could see the bodies. They were too late, then. If she had pushed harder, could they have been here sooner? She'd gone as fast as the horses could stand, changing horses along the way, but had it been enough? Bridget glanced at Blackwall, who was looking down at the Warden bodies stony-faced.
Two Wardens stood with demons at their side, and another two were facing off in the center; one with a dagger pointed, the other unarmed. "No," he moaned, as though it were only a token resistance and he had already lost. "No." But he backed up, anyway, up a short flight of stairs.
A man who was clearly not a Warden waited for him there, watching with smug satisfaction as the young Warden surrendered. "Warden-Commander Clarel's orders were clear," the non-Warden said.
"But, please! This is wrong!"
"Remember your oath: in war, victory; in peace, vigilance; in death …"
"Sacrifice," Blackwall murmured at Bridget's side, just as the Warden with the dagger slit the throat of his comrade.
"No!" Bridget cried out.
"Stop this!" Stroud shouted, stepping forward, his voice thick with anger and outrage.
A demon burst through what looked like a rift formed of blood; a rage demon, all fire and fury. As the non-Warden said urgently, "Now bind it as I showed you!" Bridget attacked the rage demon with ice. While it was chilled and sluggish, Blackwall hacked it to death.
The Warden fell back, startled and unsure; the other Wardens on the platform were frozen, unmoving. It was almost as though they weren't aware of what was happening.
The non-Warden rolled his eyes. "You couldn't have waited just a few more moments? We were almost done."
"I'm only sorry we didn't arrive sooner."
"Indeed." His smile was not pleasant. "I take it you are the Inquisitor? Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service."
"A Tevinter?" Cassandra asked in surprise. "Why are you here?"
"And not a Warden," Stroud said with disapproval.
"But you are. The one Clarel let slip. Pity," Erimond said. "Your blood could have been quite useful." He turned his attention back to Bridget. "So you have come to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"
She looked at the Wardens. "He is lying to you," she told them. "He serves an ancient Tevinter magister who wants to unleash the Blight."
They turned their faces in her direction, but their expressions did not change. Something about their demeanor turned Bridget's stomach—it was as though they were no longer human.
"I see you have discovered the truth," Erimond said. "Wardens, hands up!" he commanded, and they raised their hands. "Hands down," and they put them down.
"Corypheus has taken their minds," Stroud whispered painfully.
"It's more like they gave them to him," Erimond corrected. "You see, they found the Calling so terrifying that they were willing to take help from anywhere." He smirked. "Even Tevinter. And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads to begin with, we in the Venatori were prepared."
"You bastards," Blackwall growled.
Erimond's smile remained, his sense of superiority almost palpable. "I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan: raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."
"I was wondering where the demon army would come into play." Bridget tried not to think of that nightmare future she had seen in Redcliffe, but she remembered the demons attacking just at the end, remembered Blackwall sacrificing himself. She shivered.
For the first time, Erimond seemed surprised. "You knew about that, did you? Well, then—here you see it. Or, part of it."
"I take it you didn't inform Clarel that the ritual had the side effect of binding the Warden mages to Corypheus's will."
"It slipped my mind."
"What do you mean, part of it?" Cassandra demanded.
Erimond raised his eyebrows. "Oh, did you think you had stopped the ritual? By no means. The rest of the Wardens are elsewhere, waiting to build the demon army with which my master will conquer Thedas."
"Why do the Wardens need to kill the Old Gods?" Bridget asked, the question directed to Stroud and Blackwall as much as to Erimond.
"A Blight occurs when darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it into an Archdemon," Stroud told her. "If you could kill them before they had a chance to be corrupted, a new Blight couldn't begin."
"The Wardens believe they are sacrificing their lives to save the world from the Blight once and for all." Blackwall closed his eyes. "As a method of manipulation, it's well chosen."
Erimond sketched a courtly bow. "Thank you. Fear is a very good motivator—and they were very afraid."
"They tried to be heroes, and this is where it got them." Blackwall shook his head. "This is …"
"A perversion of everything the Grey Wardens stand for," Stroud finished. "I will kill you for this."
"You are welcome to try."
"Release the Wardens from their binding and surrender," Bridget commanded, anger surging through her veins. "I won't ask twice."
"No. You won't." Erimond reached out his arm, magic pooling around his hand so thickly Bridget could almost see it—and then her Anchor sparked, the light engulfing her whole hand, bringing her to her knees in pain.
"Stop!" Blackwall shouted.
Erimond smiled. "The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, should you be foolish enough to interfere again."
Bridget fought to her feet, raising her hand, and she dispersed the collected energy from it as she had learned to do after the avalanche at Haven, breaking the magical link between her hand and Erimond, and sending him reeling backward. "I know a few things about my mark that your master doesn't," she said.
"Wardens, attack!" Erimond cried out weakly, clutching his hand to his chest.
They did, and by the time the Wardens and their bound demons were dead, Erimond was gone.
Hawke and Fenris came running, drawn by the sound of combat, and looked around at the carnage, dismayed. "So we were too late."
"Yes. I'm sorry." Bridget looked at Blackwall, and then at Stroud, as she spoke.
"Through this ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus—and we have no way to reach the others before the ritual can be completed." Stroud's eyes were filled with tears. He turned away, fighting to get himself under control.
"What about those Wardens who aren't mages?" Hawke asked.
"They are the sacrifice," Blackwall said bluntly.
Hawke closed his eyes and shook his head, one hand reaching out for Fenris's. The elf held his hand tightly. "Of course," Hawke said. "It isn't real blood magic until someone gets sacrificed."
"Human sacrifice, demon summoning … Who hears those things and thinks they are an answer?" Cassandra asked, looking around her with anger and disapproval.
"The fearful and the foolish," Fenris said. "Those who think only of resolving their terror and not of the cost."
"They were wrong, but they had their reasons." Stroud shook his head. "Misguided though they were."
"Blood mages always have reasons, stories they tell themselves to justify their decisions," Fenris countered.
Hawke nodded. "In the end, you are always alone with your actions."
Stroud shook his head, moving away from the two men to look through a crack in the wall out across the Approach. "I believe I may know where they are, Inquisitor. There is an abandoned Warden fortress out here, called Adamant. And it is as strong as it sounds."
"We have to get there. We can't allow Corypheus to gain an army of demons."
"More easily said than done. Adamant was built to be impregnable; it will take an army to attack it."
Bridget nodded. "Then I will return to the Inquisition camp and send a raven to Skyhold—I can have the Inquisition armies here within a week."
"Do it,"Stroud agreed. He looked at Hawke. "If you will, we can scout out Adamant and confirm my suspicions."
"I am at your service."
"Thank you."
They all left the ruins, Hawke and Stroud and Fenris heading off to the west, Bridget and her people returning to the Inquisition camp. Blackwall was silent most of the way there, Cassandra and Cole forging ahead as Bridget hung back at her lover's side, waiting until he was ready to speak.
"The Wardens …" he said at last. "It … it should never have been like that."
"They thought they were ending the Blights for good. They meant well."
"They were manipulated, and easily, too. I thought better of them."
"Fear is a powerful thing."
Blackwall nodded. "We need to get the army here as soon as possible. If there's any chance we can stop Corypheus from destroying the Wardens who remain, we can't let it slip through our fingers."
"We won't," she assured him. "Do you know anything about Adamant? I've never heard of it before."
He shook his head. "I know very little. The Wardens like their layers of secrets."
"So I'm gathering."
"I can only imagine that what we find there will be a nightmare."
"Well, I've already lived through more than one of those." Bridget smiled at him. "Largely thanks to you."
"You don't do yourself enough credit."
"You see? So between the two of us, whatever we find there, we'll get through it."
He stopped walking to look at her, his blue eyes intense. "Do you promise, my lady?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Then I'll believe you."