Living in Haven, Bridget had thought she understood what an army camp was like, but now she realized she'd had no idea at all. Faster than she could have believed possible, Cullen got the army to the Western Approach, along with the rest of Bridget's companions, and they set up, preparing for a siege of Adamant fortress.

The Wardens had retreated inside the stronghold, and Bridget and the other mages could feel the tears in the Veil that were occurring nightly. Bridget's stomach lurched sickeningly with each new rip—each was one more mage lost. It appeared that the Wardens, and Erimond, assuming he was there, which he must be, were taking their time, unhurried, getting it right, and she was grateful for that. Maybe there would be someone left to save after all.

Leliana's scouts had found no breaches in the walls, but they said the defenses on the battlements were weak, so Cullen determined that the best course of action was a frontal assault. Trebuchets, ladders to scale the walls and storm the battlements, and Bridget and her people in through the front door.

He looked over the desert in the direction of the fortress, just out of sight over a rise, and sighed. "Adamant fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight." There was a wistfulness in his tone; an excellent scholar, Cullen enjoyed history and had a certain reverence for artifacts. He brightened, then, Cullen the Commander taking over from Cullen the historian. "On the other hand, that means that it was built before the age of modern siege equipment." He glanced affectionately at the trebuchets. "Those should be quite effective."

"There's still going to be an army of demons inside where the Wardens should be," Blackwall growled. He stood on Bridget's other side, a dark cloud in the midst of the sunny day. He was increasingly withdrawn as the time ticked by, and Bridget couldn't blame him for it. These were his comrades in arms being destroyed as the army assembled; the time dragged by for him. For her, too, Nightmares in which she couldn't escape the red lyrium future she'd witnessed in Redcliffe, in which she failed here and allowed that demon army she remembered all too vividly loose in Thedas, plagued her sleep. Even Blackwall's presence in her tent hadn't helped, especially since his own nightmares kept him tossing and turning as well.

Cullen nodded. There was evidence in his face that he wasn't sleeping any too well himself. She wondered if this was particularly hard for him, being out in the field without lyrium, but Cullen was too proud, too private a man to ask that question, especially in front of others, and he and she were both constantly surrounded by people asking them questions. "The Inquisition forces can breach the gate," he said now to Blackwall, "but against a demon army …"

"That's my job," Bridget said stoutly. In many ways, she would rather face demons than people. Demons deserved to be killed, sent back to the Fade. They didn't belong here. And they didn't scare her. Unlike many mages, her sleep had never been troubled by demons trying to find a way into this world through her. A little when she was pregnant, and more after, when she was vulnerable from the loss of Declan, but in general her magic had been weak enough, and of a harmless enough type, that demons had rarely hungered for her. She wondered with a sense of disquiet if demons were part of what was disrupting her sleep now. With the Veil thinning more with every tear, with her Anchor and her newfound sense of her own abilities, was she a more tempting morsel now? Well, all the more reason to take down that demon army once and for all, she told herself. "If you can get me to the Warden Commander, that's all I ask."

"We should be able to, Inquisitor. It'll be hard-fought, no way around that, but we'll get that gate open."

"What of the Wardens we find inside?" Blackwall asked. "What will we do with them?"

Bridget put a hand on his arm. "We'll hope that they will listen to reason."

"They won't turn against their Commander."

"We won't ask them to. We'll ask them to stand down; that's all."

Blackwall looked doubtful, and Cullen frowned. "The mages are likely to be slaves to Corypheus," he said. "I doubt you'll be able to recover them."

"Probably not," Bridget agreed, "but I'm going to try. The Grey Wardens are a symbol of hope to all of Thedas. I won't allow their honor to be lost here if I can help it."

"Thank you." Blackwall put his arm around her, squeezing lightly, and then let go, turning away from the fortress.

Bridget let him go, knowing he needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts.

"Will he be all right?" Cullen asked quietly.

"I think so. I hope so."

"Will you take him with you?"

Bridget nodded. "I have to. Can you imagine what it would be like for him if I left him behind on this particular mission?"

"You're not concerned about divided loyalties? Or the effects of Corypheus on him?" It was the closest Cullen, or any of the advisors, had come to commenting on Bridget's open affair with Blackwall, and to his credit, Cullen sounded concerned more for Blackwall's welfare than anything else.

"No. And if anything goes wrong, I'll have Cole and the Iron Bull to help me."

Cullen's face darkened a bit at the mention of the spirit, but Bridget trusted the boy; and if the Veil was thin, having someone along who could safely cross between seemed like a good idea to her. "Very well, Inquisitor," he said. "We will be ready to move out just before dusk tonight."

"I'll be with you," she assured him.

She spied Varric sitting with Hawke and Fenris in front of a tent and walked over to join them. "Sunflower!" the dwarf said, smiling as he saw her coming. "Pull up some sand."

"If it's all the same to you, Varric, I'll leave it where it is, thanks." She found a spot in the shade of the tent. "Shouldn't you all be resting?"

"Varric's telling stories. That is restful," Hawke said.

"For him," Fenris added.

Hawke rolled his eyes at his lover, leaning his head against Fenris's shoulder. He smiled at Bridget; Fenris gave her an unsmiling nod. She had learned that the elf distrusted all mages, and with good reason, and while she was saddened for him, she also understood, and didn't take his coldness personally. He also seemed to be a very withdrawn person, very self-contained, in general … but occasionally you could catch him looking at Hawke with an openness and a vulnerability in his remarkable green eyes that told of an entirely different person inside, and Bridget was glad that he had found someone who made him feel that way. As she had found Blackwall, she thought, turning her face up toward the sun and trying not to think about tonight's assault on an ancient fortress.

Silence fell on the little group, and Bridget felt badly for having disrupted their conversation. Bringing herself back to the moment, she said to Hawke, "Thank you both for being here. Whatever we find in there, we're going to need as much help as we can get."

"Thank you for standing out in the front," Hawke replied. "The Inquisition is just what Thedas needed, and you are doing remarkably well at the helm." Seeing that Bridget was uncomfortable with the praise, he looked up at Varric, grinning. "You did well."

"Not me," Varric protested. "I wanted to get out of here, to go home. You know, we have murderous Wardens and Archdemon attacks and plenty of blood mages and crazy Templars there, too."

"Don't listen to him," Bridget said. "He insisted on staying. I was there, remember?" she added when Varric tried to protest.

"And I don't remember an Archdemon attacking Kirkwall," Hawke added.

"You must have missed it," Varric told him. He gave Bridget a mock glare that made her laugh. "And don't listen to this one—she was out of her head that day, didn't know which end was up."

"I knew you were the first person to treat me with kindness, and that hasn't changed." She reached out, patting him on the knee. "But I know how much you miss Kirkwall, and I appreciate all the time you've given to the Inquisition."

"You should," he sniffed. "Do you know they eat snails in Orlais?" He shook his head. "This is the ass end of Thedas."

Hawke chuckled. "That's not exactly the popular view of Orlais."

"Few who extol the virtues of Orlais have been past Val Royeaux," Fenris pointed out. He gestured to the vast expanse of sand around them. "This is hardly what they imagine." He looked up at Varric. "Still, you are not leaving, are you?"

Varric couldn't meet the elf's eyes, or Hawke's. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "I … feel responsible for this. I need to finish it out. If it weren't for me and Bartrand, none of this would ever have happened. We wanted to change our lives," he muttered, "I guess we got what we wished for."

"I suppose that's what happens when you try to change things," Hawke said. "They change." He leaned harder against Fenris, whose slim lyrium-marked arm went fiercely around his lover, holding him tight.

"It was not your fault," he growled.

"Wasn't it?"

"No."

"I wish I had your certainty."

Bridget looked away, not wanting to intrude on an intimate moment.

"I think Sunflower came over here to get cheered up," Varric said. "And we're all doom and gloom. I blame you, elf."

"It was not I who brought up the past," Fenris reminded him.

Varric didn't have a good answer to that, but he clearly wished he did as he sat glaring at Fenris.

Bridget shook her head, looking out across the sands. "Everyone's doom and gloom right now. I wonder if it's always like this before battle."

"Ostagar wasn't. We were so confident, so sure of ourselves," Hawke said. "And look what happened. Let people brood, Inquisitor. They'll get it out of their systems and be ready to fight later."

She got to her feet, brushing sand off her pants, so glad she no longer had to wear heavy, cumbersome robes. "I hope you're right."

Eventually, she sought the peace and privacy of the inside of her tent, and at some point fell asleep. She woke only briefly when Blackwall joined her, feeling those strong arms closing around her and that warm body pressed against her.

They woke late in the afternoon, together. Bridget rolled over to look at him. "Are you all right?"

"Better. Sleep is good before a battle, want to go into it rested."

"I'm glad you'll be with me."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else, my lady."

She stroked the side of his face, noting again the contrast between his skin, tanned from years outdoors, and hers, pale from a life spent largely indoors, grateful that someone of his skill and strength and heart had come into her life just when she needed him most. Then she kissed him, telling him without words just what he meant to her. His response was sweet, and hot, and tender, by turns, as he pressed her back against the blankets, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.

"Nothing will harm you today. I swear it," he said at last, huskily.

"I trust you."

There was a flash of pain in his eyes, she assumed because his fellow Wardens had fallen so easily, and then he pulled away. "We should get ready. Cullen will want everyone assembled."

It turned out he was right. Cullen was walking between the lines of soldiers, offering comfort here and encouragement there and the hard voice of command where it was needed. Bridget glimpsed Sera among the archers, a bit surprised to see her there in formation. But when it came to arrows, Sera was one of the best. She was glad to have her there.

Varric had already gone forward with Hawke and Fenris, "just like old times", as he had said it would be. Dorian was with the mages, rallying them with his cheery voice. Vivienne was there, too, offering support by her awesome presence. Most of the mages were terrified of her, so they would follow her implicitly.

Cassandra was with the troops, indomitable and strong and scowling, just a bit. They would follow her because they were frightened not to, as well. Two such strong women—Bridget could only wish to be as strong herself. Maybe not as frightening, but certainly as strong. She thought she glimpsed Solas among the mages, also, but he was less of a joiner, less of a leader, and more content to hang back, so no doubt that was what he was doing.

The Iron Bull was bellowing orders to his Chargers, but he came to Bridget's side immediately, Cole walking with him. "You ready, boss? Should be a damned fine scrap."

"Damned fine," Bridget echoed weakly. "Of course."

The Qunari laughed uproariously at her response. "We'll get you there," he said. He clapped Blackwall on the back. "What do you say? Even odds, or do I give you a handicap, three skulls and a pelvis?"

Blackwall rolled his eyes, but Bridget was glad to see a glimmer of a smile hidden in his beard. "Just try to keep up."

"I'll do my best."

Cullen had raised his sword and was brandishing it, yelling, and all around Bridget the soldiers did the same. The mages raised their staffs, the archers their bows, and everyone yelled. It should have been deafening, frightening … but these were her people, they were fighting with her, for the future of all of Thedas, and Bridget found herself screaming with them, her pulse racing. It was time; she felt it.

Then the trebuchets launched, fireball after fireball flying toward the battlements. Above the noise of her army, Bridget could dimly hear the cries of those behind the walls, the screams of the injured and the dying. Those were Grey Wardens over there. They were attacking Grey Wardens, the defenders of Thedas. How had it come to this?

Corypheus. Looking at Blackwall, his mouth set grimly, a deep sadness in his eyes, Bridget vowed that she would make Corypheus pay for this indignity, this perversion of the Wardens from their Maker-granted purpose.

But for now, they needed to get in there. The ladders were being raised, landing against the battlements. Arrows and even rocks came down from the defenders, Inquisition people beginning to fall. Now Bridget saw Solas, darting in and out, lifting the wounded and carrying them from the field to the makeshift hospital tent the surgeon had set up. How naïve was she not to have thought of that? She was grateful all over again for the team of advisors behind her, who knew the details she would never have thought of.

A team of soldiers was drawing the battering ram up to the doors, pulling it back and ramming it forward again and again, despite the attacks from above, until the doors burst.

At last, Bridget thought. She wanted to get in there, to finish it as quickly as she could, to save as many as she could from the killing that was going on. Soldiers were pouring through the broken gates, taking care of the defenders there, and Bridget nodded to her people. "Let's go."

The Iron Bull called out, "Yeah!" and led the way, Blackwall and Cole behind him. Cullen caught Bridget's sleeve, raising his voice to be heard above the sounds of battle.

"You have your way in. Make the best use of it you can. We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

From behind him came the scream of someone in mortal agony. Bridget shuddered at the sound, hating the necessity for people to die in this senseless clash when the person responsible wasn't even here. "Just keep the men safe," she shouted.

"We'll do what we have to, Inquisitor! Warden Stroud had planned to sneak in—you should find him there. Hawke and Varric are on the battlements with our soldiers. They will find you when you arrive. Maker go with you!"

"And with you," Bridget shouted back.

With a nod of acknowledgement, he was gone, answering a summons from someone farther back with the trebuchets, and Bridget had to begin her part of the battle. She turned to her people, who had taken care of everyone in the courtyard. "Ready?"

Cole nodded, the Iron Bull shouted, and Blackwall shifted his grip on his sword and turned toward the door that led to the interior of the keep.

It wasn't so bad in the outer edges and up the stairs. Inquisition soldiers were on the battlements and the stairs, deeply embroiled fighting demons and Wardens, and Bridget and her team gave them assistance wherever it seemed needed, while moving steadily upward and toward the stairs that would lead them down into the central areas of the keep.

They heard Bianca before they found Varric and the others. Her distinctive ratchet and twang were audible even above the other noises of combat.

"Hey, Sunflower," Varric called. He swung Bianca in her direction and pulled the trigger, and behind Bridget a demon howled and fell back, where it was quickly finished off. "Exciting stuff."

Hawke appeared next to them. "Do you need me with you, Inquisitor?"

"Not as much as they do," she called back above the din. "Stay with these people and see that as many of them survive as possible."

"I'll do my best."

Bridget didn't see Fenris at first, and then she realized that she had taken him for a demon, with the lines of lyrium glowing all along his skin. She had to admit he was a rather beautiful sight, leaping from one opponent to the next. His blade was nearly as long as he was tall, but he wielded it well.

"Show off," Varric muttered, and proceeded to take out three demons in a row with Bianca.

"Lot of that going around," Bridget told him. She signaled her team to keep moving, and they took the stairs down into the center of the keep. Stroud was awaiting them at the bottom. He looked broken by all of this, as of course he would. These Wardens were his brothers and sisters; no doubt he knew many of them personally.

A group of Wardens awaited them just inside the doors that led into the central portion of the keep. Stroud went first, his arms up, picking out individual Wardens from the crowd. "Warden Chernoff, we are not enemies. Warden Bosch, we went through the Joining together! Warden Silva, I recruited you myself, off the streets of Antiva City! Please! Brothers and sisters—we do not have to fight one another."

"Why should we trust you, Stroud?" asked a gruff voice from the center of the group.

A more feminine voice, husky and lightly accented, added, "You are a traitor to the Wardens. Clarel called for your death!"

Bridget added her voice to Stroud's. "Please! The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel, to stop the ritual and save your fellow Wardens, not to harm you. If you fall back, you will be safe."

There was confusion on some of the faces—was Corypheus's hold on them slipping? Were they returning to their own sane minds? Bridget could only hope so. Two, a burly man with a greatsword and a slender woman with a pair of daggers, conferred, and at last the woman spoke up, the same husky voice that had called Stroud a traitor a moment ago. "Very well," she said, much to Bridget's surprise. "We will fall back. We want no part of this—the ritual was not our idea."

"Thank the Maker," Blackwall said softly behind Bridget, and she nodded her agreement.

The Wardens put down their arms and filed past, although several of them gave Stroud dirty looks in the process. The fear bred in them by Corypheus would not be banished so easily, it seemed.

The woman with the daggers stopped in front of Bridget. "Deal with Clarel as you must, but … be kind. She thought she was doing her best for us."

When they were gone, Stroud breathed a sigh of relief. "I had hoped some of my brothers and sisters could be prevailed on to listen to reason. Thank you, Inquisitor."

"I didn't want to have to kill them if I could avoid it," she told him. "Now, let's go find Clarel."

"Right behind you," Stroud said with a brief bow.

If only someone went in front of her, she thought with a sigh. But she was the Inquisitor, and that was what she did. And Blackwall and the Iron Bull's blades were at her service should anything threaten her.

They made their way through the keep, moving ever closer to the central courtyard. Bridget could feel the rift there in the increasing itching and burning of the Anchor in her palm. She clenched and unclenched her fist, as though that would help. Looking up, she caught Blackwall watching her, and gave him a smile, although he didn't seem any more reassured by it than she was.

In the central courtyard, a woman was pacing back and forth on a high wall above the heads of the assembled Wardens. In a heavily Orlesian-accented voice, she was saying, "We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect! We must do whatever we can to stand firm against them!"

Erimond came forward, scowling at her. "Clarel, the Inquisition is inside. We have no time for ceremony!"

Clarel snapped at him, "These men and women are giving their lives, Magister. That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty."

"Good," Stroud said softly. "She has not entirely lost her head." Raising his voice, he shouted, "No one need give their lives, Clarel! The Calling you feel is false!"

Erimond's head snapped around and he swore viciously. Pushing Clarel out of the way, he grasped the arm of a girl behind her and pulled her forward, a thin elf Warden who looked terrified but met Erimond's gaze without shrinking.

"I came to save lives. If I have to lose mine to do so, so be it."

Bridget started to dash forward, raising her staff, but it was too late. The knife in Erimond's hand flashed and the girl crumpled at his feet in a cloud of red blood that swirled around her body.

"Fucking blood magic," growled the Iron Bull.

"It is always blood magic," came a voice from the other side of Bridget, and she glanced over to see that Hawke and Fenris and Varric had joined them.

"Varric, go back and check on the Wardens we met earlier. They had laid down their arms; I want to see them safe."

He started to argue, then thought better of it, nodded, and hurried off.

The rift was rippling as the elf's blood flowed into it. The assembled Wardens stood and stared at it, fascinated. Only a few mages had demons by their sides, Bridget was relieved to see.

"Please, you must stop this!" Bridget cried. "Erimond works for Corypheus. He is manipulating you. Clarel, stop this!"

"We are fighting the Blight, Inquisitor. Keeping the world safe from darkspawn. As Wardens do. You are interrupting our work." Erimond smiled at her unpleasantly. "Hate the ritual for its use of blood sacrifice if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty." The patent insincerity in his voice said he knew perfectly well he already had the Wardens under control. He was enjoying spouting these lines, pretending to be on the Wardens' side.

"Yes." Clarel moved to his side. "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!" Stroud shouted. "Surely you must see what is happening here!"

"Corypheus is dead," Clarel responded.

"No, he isn't! He attacked the Inquisition camp at Haven—I saw him myself."

"How would she know Corypheus if she saw him?" Erimond scoffed, glaring at Bridget. "Ignore her. These people will say anything to shake your confidence."

Clarel rubbed a hand over her face, confused. Then she opened her eyes, her face set. "Bring it through."

"No!" Bridget threw herself at the rift, trying to close it with the Anchor, but it was too late. Again. Too late, too late, the words repeated themselves with every beat of her heart as the rift stretched even further.

Behind her, Hawke cried out, "Please, all of you, listen to me! I have seen more than my share of blood magic. It is never worth the cost!"

Stroud added his voice, as well. "I trained half of you myself. Do not force me to kill you to stop this madness!"

The Wardens had ranged themselves between Bridget's team and the rift. She raised her staff, but half-heartedly. She didn't want to fight them if she didn't have to. "Blackwall? Can you—can you say something to them, talk some sense into them?"

He hesitated, and she wondered if he thought the Wardens were already lost. How heart-breaking that would be for him. Then he stepped past her, raising his voice. "You don't know me, but you may have heard the name of Blackwall. Like you, I've given my life to the Grey Wardens. The first time I put on this armor, I felt like I belonged, like I was part of something honorable, something with a purpose, for the first time in my life. I know how good that feels; how safe. But fighting and dying here today won't stop the Blight! If you want to stop the Blight …" He pointed up at Erimond, who took a startled step back. "Kill that bastard up there. His master is the living embodiment of the Blight's corruption."

The Wardens turned their heads, following Blackwall's pointing finger up to where Erimond stood, half trying to hide himself behind Clarel. Slowly, the Warden Commander turned to face the Magister.

Erimond shrank back. "Clarel, don't fall victim to your doubts now. We have come so far. You are the only one strong enough to do this!"

She looked at him for a long time, while the rift snapped and stretched and Bridget's hand burned with its nearness. "Perhaps," Clarel said at last, in a voice that seemed to be awakening, "we could test the truth of these charges before there must be any further bloodshed."

"Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally." Erimond stretched his staff up toward the skies, calling out words Bridget couldn't quite catch.

Almost immediately, he was answered by a shriek Bridget still heard in her nightmares, and Corypheus's dragon wheeled above them.

Erimond's voice rose above the dragon's cries. "My master thought you might interfere, Inquisitor. He sent me this to welcome you!"

Corrupted fire belched from the dragon's mouth, spraying the courtyard as everyone dove for cover. While they were distracted, Clarel struck Erimond from behind. He staggered, falling forward, and then Clarel attacked the dragon, her magic crackling in the air between them. The dragon retaliated, swooping down toward Clarel's position. Erimond took one look at it and ran, his steps taking him up into the central tower of the keep.

Over her shoulder, Clarel gave one last command to her Wardens, "Help the Inquisitor!", before she followed Erimond, and Bridget, on her feet again at last and seeing the dragon flying up in the same direction, followed Clarel. She didn't even have to look behind her to know that her people were with her.

The tower seemed to consist of nothing but stairs, and Bridget was winded all too soon. Hawke and Fenris both passed her, and Cole, and she tried to make her legs go faster. She was in better condition than she'd ever been before, but it still wasn't quite enough to catch Clarel, much less Erimond.

When she finally found them, Erimond was stranded at the end of a half-ruined wall, Clarel facing him, and the dragon swirling above their heads. At last, unable to continue running, Erimond was standing and fighting, Clarel meeting him strike after strike.

"You have destroyed the Grey Wardens," she bit out between clenched teeth.

"You did that to yourself," he spat back. "All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes, and you couldn't wait to get your hands bloody."

Clarel had gone past him now, her strikes pushing him back and back, closer to where Bridget and the others stood. Bridget held her people back—Clarel deserved to finish this.

But she had reckoned without the dragon, which landed heavily on the stone wall behind Clarel and plucked the Warden Commander up in its mighty jaws, tossing her across the stones like a rag doll.

Clarel landed hard, and the dragon pulled itself across the stones toward her, stalking her. Bridget and the others had run toward her, and now found that the dragon was between them and the main keep. Bridget held up a hand, warning the others not to strike—the dragon could push them all right off the wall, in its current position.

Clarel was dragging herself along the stones. "In war, victory," she said weakly.

"In peace, vigilance," Blackwall said.

And then Stroud finished the litany, as Clarel rolled over and struck her magic straight into the dragon's mouth. "In death, sacrifice."

The dragon rolled over, screaming, the rock wall splintering underneath it. Bridget felt the rocks she stood on coming apart under her feet, and she cried out in fear. Above the other sounds, she heard Hawke calling for Fenris, and, dimly, Blackwall's voice calling her own name. But there was nothing she could do for any of them. All she could do is tumble through the sky.

The Anchor was spitting and burning in her hand, and she put it out in front of her, opening her hand instinctively as though she was attempting to close a rift. Instead, one opened beneath her and she tumbled through it into blackness.