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Blackwall landed hard on something unyielding, his head smashing into it in the process, the breath being driven from his body. Frankly, given how far there had been to fall from the keep's crumbling wall, he was a little surprised he had a body left to contain breath, or consciousness, for that matter.
Whatever was beneath him was solid enough to push up on, and his body seemed to not only be in one piece, but also uninjured, which was odd enough that for a moment he wondered if he had died and this was the Fade.
Opening his eyes didn't dispel the idea. The air was … green, and there were dull rock formations all around him, with strange ruins and random pools of water. Yes, if this was the Fade, it was just the punishment he deserved.
As he heard sounds all around him, indicating he wasn't the only one here, he wondered, though. Surely Hawke didn't deserve to be tormented in the Fade; or Stroud; or Cole. Cole was a spirit already—why did he still have form in the Fade?
Blackwall frowned, his head hurting.
"Where are we?" Stroud asked, as they all came together in a little knot.
"Never mind where," Hawke snapped. "Fenris! Fenris?"
"Over here." It was Bridget's voice, and that put paid to any idea Blackwall had of this being death. If anyone was going straight to the Maker's side when she died, it was Bridget Trevelyan. So why was he so pleased to see her here in the Void with the rest of them?
She was helping Fenris along; he appeared to have injured his leg. He looked less than pleased at being touched by a mage.
Bridget delivered the elf to his lover. "I offered to heal that, but he refused."
"He does that," Hawke said, clinging to the elf fondly. "Now, let the lady heal you, or you'll have me to deal with, you beautiful stubborn bastard."
Fenris looked up at Bridget and shrugged eloquently, making it clear that he would do willingly for Hawke what he would never consent to for himself.
Bridget knelt and sent a cool wash of healing through the leg, to Fenris's evident discomfort, but she didn't touch him.
"We were falling," he observed. "And then we were not."
"Well, if this is the afterlife, I think the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom," Hawke said.
Cole was shivering. "No. No no no no. This is the Fade, but … I'm stuck. I can't … Why can't I?" He held his fingers up in front of his face, waving his hands as though he thought they might disappear.
"Crap." The Iron Bull came from behind a rock formation.
"This place is wrong," Cole told them all earnestly. "I mean, I made myself forget when I made myself real, but … I know it wasn't like this."
Hawke frowned, looking around him. "It isn't how I remember the Fade, either."
"You've been to the Fade?" asked Stroud in astonishment.
"Do not remind me," growled Fenris.
"It was a ritual. Dalish," Hawke explained.
"I believe …" Bridget looked around, frowning. "I believe we are here physically—we're not just dreaming. That would explain the strangeness." She lifted her hand, staring at the Anchor. "I … opened a rift, and we fell through it."
"Thanks for saving my life, boss, really, but did you really have to drag me through the ass end of demon town to do it?" the Iron Bull snarled. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and was looking around with what Blackwall could only describe as fear. The Iron Bull, afraid of the Fade? Of all things. Blackwall hoped his beard hid the smile he couldn't quite wipe off his face.
Hawke looked curiously at Bridget. "I've heard you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I can't remember what happened the last time I did this. If I did at all, which I'm still not sure I believe." She reached out a hand for Blackwall, who took it in his, feeling better for the contact.
"Whatever happened at Haven, we cannot assume we are safe now," Fenris pointed out. "Who knows what lurks here?"
"That huge demon Erimond wanted to bind to Clarel was on the other side of that rift in the center, and there are probably more," the Iron Bull agreed. "Oh, this is shitty."
"Trouble with demons, big guy?" Hawke asked.
The Iron Bull bristled. "I'll fight whatever you give me."
"Then you should love it here."
Blackwall wondered how much more the Iron Bull was going to take before he decked Hawke. Fenris apparently wondered that, too, because he caught his lover's eye and shook his head.
Stroud had been studying the sky. "If the rift the demons came through was nearby, in the center of the keep, can we escape the same way?"
Bridget followed the line of his gaze to a swirling green rift in the sky, much like the Breach. "Let's find out. What better have we got to do with our time?"
"Now you're talking." Hawke slung an arm over her shoulder. "Every day a new adventure."
She smiled. "That's not exactly how I would put it."
"You have to," he told her, serious for once, "or all this will drive you batty. Or you find someone strong who can help you stand up to it."
Blackwall filled with pride when she looked back at him.
"That one sounds better," she said.
"Let's go, then," Cole said, looking around him uneasily, and he took off in the direction of the thing that looked like the Breach, the Iron Bull close on his heels. Blackwall walked next to the Qunari, figuring they two could handle anything that jumped out at them. Ahead of them, Cole walked with his arms crossed over his chest, his hands tucked into his armpits, muttering. "Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Wringing me out. Wrought right and rigid. Can't relax. Can't release."
"Calm down, kid. You'll send yourself barking mad if you don't watch out," the Iron Bull said, not unkindly, adding under his breath, "if you're not mad already, that is."
From behind them, Bridget called, "Stay with us, Cole. It's all right. We'll get you out of here soon, I promise."
"Thank you," Cole said. He straightened up a little, not so hunched over now. "It's not right, this. It should be like home, but it's not. This isn't me, not this part."
"There are different parts?" Fenris asked.
"Oh, yes. This is a scary part."
"You can say that again," Hawke muttered.
"What happened to every day an adventure?" Bridget asked him.
"Yeah, I talk a good game."
"But really you're terrified? Thank the Maker. I thought it was just me," she said.
"Whoa." Next to Blackwall, the Iron Bull stopped short. "Hey, boss? Something you ought to see here," he called. He put a hand on Cole's shoulder to stop the spirit in his tracks.
Bridget and Stroud caught up to them at the same time, seeing the same figure the Iron Bull had seen. Stroud shook his head, as if to clear it. "By the Maker, could that be—?"
"Divine Justinia," Bridget whispered.
They all stood and looked at the spirit of the Divine, who looked back at them calmly, as though they had met in Val Royeaux instead of the Fade.
Bridget frowned. "From the little I remember of what happened at Haven, I thought you were dead."
"I fear the Divine is dead," Stroud said. "It is more likely that we face a spirit … or a demon."
"Yet here you stand in the Fade yourselves," the Divine pointed out gently.
"Jury's still out on whether we're dead," growled the Iron Bull. "Ma'am."
The Divine cast him a gentle smile, and continued, "In truth, proving or disproving my existence would require time we do not have."
"Really?" Hawke asked. "Seems like a simple question to me. I'm human, and you are—?"
Disregarding Hawke, the Divine moved toward Bridget. "I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes."
"How do you know that?"
"Because the memories you have lost were taken by a demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking, feeding on memories of fear and darkness, growing fat on the terror."
Next to Blackwall, the Iron Bull breathed a string of filthy curses that seemed to make him feel somewhat better.
"The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes?" The Divine shook her head sadly. "Its work."
Stroud laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren."
They weren't Blackwall's brethren, not really, although no one knew that, but he echoed Stroud's sentiments wholeheartedly anyway.
The Divine nodded. "You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair."
"So how do we hurt it?" Bridget asked, her voice harder than Blackwall had ever heard it.
"I said adventure, not blind optimism, Inquisitor," Hawke said.
"We have to get out of here. If the way leads through this demon, that's the way we take." Bridget squared her shoulders.
"Now you're talking, boss," the Iron Bull agreed.
"You hurt it by escaping the Fade and leading your people against Corypheus," the Divine told them all.
"So how do we get out?"
"When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. In order to escape the Fade, you must recover it, regain the memory you have lost."
"Oh, is that all?" But Bridget's shoulders, so square a moment ago, slumped. Blackwall reached out, wanting to give her comfort, but the Iron Bull shook his head. And he was right—she had to fight this on her own, find her own strength. Blackwall let his hand fall again.
The Divine pointed at several demons rapidly closing in. "Your memories, Inquisitor."
And then she was gone.
All of them were glad to have something tangible to fight, and they threw themselves into the fray with a positive glee. The demons never stood a chance.
Bridget was distracted early on, because when the first demon died, they all heard a voice saying, "Bring forth the sacrifice."
"That's Corypheus," she said, her head snapping up as if she was listening for more. "Kill another one!"
"My fucking pleasure, boss." The Iron Bull decapitated another of the demons with a single swing of his blade.
The next voice was the Divine's, frightened but trying to be strong. "Why are you doing this? You of all people?"
It was Stroud's turn next, running through a demon with his sword, and then drawing the blade back out and hacking it to pieces.
Bridget's own voice followed. "What's going on here?" Calm, but curious, and a little alarmed.
When the last demon was down, Bridget fell to her knees, the Anchor flashing in her hand. "I see it now," she said, gritting her teeth against the pain. "The Divine, held in some kind of … magical prison by … Grey Wardens? Maker, no. Corypheus … 'Now is the hour of our victory.' The Divine is asking the Wardens for help, asking them why they're doing this to her. Corypheus has an orb, like the one he had at Haven. But it's green." She looked at her hand in surprise. "He says to keep the sacrifice still, he's raising the orb … What's he doing? He's pulling something from her, some essence … She's calling for help. Then the door opens … I'm there. Why am I there? I was looking for a privy, and I opened the wrong door. The Divine—she reaches out and strikes the orb while Corypheus is distracted. It rolls across the floor and I pick it up. Maker, the pain. It hurts! Make it stop!" She clenched her fist, feeling the pain all over again in memory. "Corypheus comes after me … he reaches for me …" Bridget put a hand over her eyes, her face contorting with the effort of trying to get the memory back. "No, that's all there is."
Stroud frowned down at her. "So your mark did not come from Andraste at all. It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual."
Blackwall knelt next to Bridget. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I think so." As he helped her to her feet, she looked at Stroud. "I never claimed to be the Herald of Andraste. Other people gave me that name."
The Divine was standing behind them again. She said, "Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City."
"Poppycock," the Iron Bull bellowed, but he looked far from certain.
Ignoring him, the Divine looked steadily at Bridget. "When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead."
Bridget shook her head. "What difference does that make? Who cares how I got it or why or what pissed Corypheus off? We know he's angry at me over the Anchor—this doesn't help at all! It doesn't tell me about Corypheus or give me a weakness in the demon to exploit, or even get us a way out of here! All it tells me is that I should break his damned orb the next time it starts glowing!"
"Perhaps that information will be of use to you one day," the Divine suggested. "You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you."
"My memories."
"Yes. You have recovered some of yourself … but now it knows you are here. It will not be so easy from here on out."
"Oh, good. Because that's what was really missing here—a bigger challenge." Hawke threw his hands up in the air, walking away from them all.
"You must make haste!" the Divine said.
The Iron Bull looked around uneasily. "I hear that."
And the Divine was gone. Bridget led them off toward the rift again, Hawke and Stroud walking in back with Blackwall between them.
Hawke kept giving the two Wardens—or what he perceived to be two Wardens—angry looks, until at last Stroud said, "Out with it, Hawke. What's on your mind?"
"I just wondered if either of you might be concerned about the Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision."
"What would you like me to do about it from here?" Stroud asked.
"Well, since their actions led to her death, I thought perhaps you might be upset."
"I assumed that he had taken their minds, as we have seen him do." Stroud put his hands on his hips, waiting for Hawke to respond, poised for a fight.
Between them, Blackwall cleared his throat. "This seems like the kind of discussion best reserved for after we escape this dark place."
They looked at him, then at each other, then resolutely ahead. "Fine."
He shook his head at both of them and quickened his pace to catch up with Bridget and Cole. They walked along in silence, Bridget lost in her own thoughts and Cole still suffering from the wrongness of this portion of the Fade. At last, Blackwall's curiosity got the better of him. "Do you think that was truly the Divine?"
Bridget looked startled, drawn from her reverie. "We've survived in here this far. Perhaps she did as well."
"She wants to help. Our path is sharp and she wants to show us the soft places," Cole said.
"Yeah, that's great, but what's she doing with that Nightmare thing waiting up there and scaring the shit out of me?" the Iron Bull asked.
Cole said earnestly, "I'm not like that, The Iron Bull. I make people forget in order to help them; it eats their fears." He shivered. "I don't know if I could do that, but I don't want to try. That's not me."
"That's … something."
Everything around them looked the same; if it wasn't for the rift in the sky, Blackwall would have had no idea if they were going in circles or not—and his years in the wilderness had left him with a fairly good directional sense. It was almost routine, after a while. No one spoke. They all just continued to put one foot in front of the other.
But then a voice spoke in the sky. A cultured voice, smooth and sure of itself. "Ah," it said, "we have a visitor. Some silly little girl come to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders."
Blackwall's heart hurt for Bridget. The Nightmare had known just where to strike at her—he knew that despite the brave face she put on so well she still thought of herself as incompetent, too inexperienced for the role she had been given.
"You should have thanked me, Inquisitor, and left your fear where it lay, forgotten." The contempt the voice put into the single word "Inquisitor" made Blackwall's fist clench. It went on: "You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me. But you are a guest in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten."
Suddenly darkspawn were swarming from the walls, dripping with taint, or so it seemed to Blackwall. He drew his sword with a shout. Around him, the others were doing the same, although they were looking in directions that didn't make sense to him—some down around their feet, others up at the sky.
Bridget was backing away from something, tears in her eyes. She seemed almost reluctant as she drew her staff.
But Blackwall couldn't pay attention to her any longer. The darkspawn were closing in on him, and he hacked and slashed while trying to keep his mouth closed and his nose clear of their taint.
At last they were gone, the bodies disappearing as they fell. The Iron Bull sheathed his sword, looking about him in satisfaction. "Guess this Nightmare wasn't such hot shit after all."
"These foes were likely but servants of the true demon," Stroud told him.
"Yeah, I know, all right. Can't you let me have one moment to hope?" the Qunari snarled.
Stroud shrugged. "I see little value in refusing to face reality."
"I've seen plenty of reality, you smarmy little—" The Iron Bull had his fist clenched and ready to swing, but Bridget clung to his arm.
"Nightmare wants us fighting amongst ourselves. Don't let him get in your head, Bull."
For a moment, it seemed the Qunari was about to strike her, and then Blackwall would have had to step in, but then the massive fist relaxed. "Right, boss. Of course. Stupid of me. Sorry," he muttered at Stroud, who inclined his head in acceptance of the apology.
They kept going, the voice sounding again, as though it were in front of them and above them and behind them, using sarcasm like a sword. "Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition. Like Blackwall."
And Blackwall did feel fear, largely that Nightmare would tell them all, right here, right now. He could almost see Bridget's hurt and angry face.
"Ah, there's nothing like a Grey Warden, is there?" the voice said. "And you are nothing like a Grey Warden."
Stroud was looking at him oddly. Stroud must know. Up to now, he hadn't cared, it appeared, but with Nightmare bringing his attention to it … Blackwall ducked his head, muttering, "I'll show you a Warden's strength."
Bridget squeezed his arm. "Don't let him get to you. You don't have to be at Weisshaupt to be a Warden."
She thought Nightmare meant he didn't feel like a real Warden because he was detached. Blackwall felt a flood of relief … and then a stab of guilt. He should tell her. Not now, but soon. He must.
Nightmare was done with him now, moving on to the Iron Bull. "Hissrad, you would make a lovely host for one of my minions. Or maybe I will ride your body myself."
The Qunari's throat worked with revulsion. "I'd like to see you try."
Cole was still huddled into himself, and hadn't said anything strange—or at all—in quite some time. Nightmare spoke to him next. "Are you afraid? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We're so very alike, you and I."
The spirit looked up at the sky, his face a picture of misery. "No."
The voice laughed. It wasn't done with them yet. "Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your mother. How could you expect to strike down a god?"
"You leave her out of this!" Hawke shouted.
Fenris laid a hand on his arm. "Don't let it get to you."
"Easy for you to say. Nothing ever gets to you." Hawke yanked his hand away, glaring at his lover venomously.
"Fenris is going to die, Hawke, just like your family, and like everyone you ever cared about."
That Hawke devoutly believed that was evident in the stricken look he gave the elf.
"Leave him alone!" Fenris shouted.
"Like he will leave you alone? Abandon you when he gets bored with your exotic tattoos?"
"That will never happen." There was absolute confidence in the elf's tone.
"No. It won't," Hawke assured him, and the two men clung to each other.
"Can we keep going, please?" Stroud snapped at them.
"Warden Stroud," the Nightmare intoned, as if it had just noticed he was there. "How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or, worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?"
"With the Maker's blessing, we will end this wretched beast," Stroud swore.
The darkspawn were back again, the others hacking and slashing about their feet or in the air.
"These are small fears, too small to shape the Fade themselves," Stroud shouted, stabbing at something next to his foot. "Clinging to the Nightmare, feeding on the bits it leaves behind."
"And of course it has to be spiders," Hawke groaned.
Spiders? Blackwall turned to stare at him. So did the Iron Bull. Then the Qunari groaned, realization striking him. "We all see our own worst fears. Man, I wish I could see some spiders. That would be a massive improvement on what I saw."
"Me, too," Blackwall agreed.
Bridget nodded fervently, and Blackwall put his arm around her, pulling her close against him.
"They want your fear, so they look how you feel," Cole said. He was still shivering, looking paler and paler the longer they spent in the Fade. Ironic, that, Blackwall thought.
"Well, now I feel better," the Iron Bull said sarcastically, but he patted Cole on the back reasonably gently for all that, and it seemed to make Cole feel better.
Around a corner, they found the Divine waiting for them again. Blackwall frowned, not certain he was ready for more of her bad news. But Bridget approached her fearlessly. "What is it?"
"The Nightmare is closer now; it knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger. We cannot tarry long."
"Tell me what really happened at the Temple," Bridget begged. "You must know."
"As must you. Only regaining your lost memories will aid you now."
"Or you could just tell me."
"Would you trust my words?" the Divine asked. "Trust what you have seen."
"I see you, but I don't know if I can trust you. Who—what are you?"
"I have told you that I am helping you."
"Yes, but are you really her, or some kind of Fade-remnant of her, or a spirit imitating her?" Bridget asked impatiently.
"Our world is never that simple. What if the answer is none of those things? Or all of them?" The Divine sighed. "I am what the Maker made me. The question is: Are you what the Maker made you?"
Blackwall was getting a bit tired of this crypticness, but Bridget seemed to follow it. "If I was chosen, I don't understand why. Why me? Why this?"
"You are not the first to ask such questions. Did Andraste not question when the Maker charged her with an impossible task? Did she not feel unworthy? Her questions did not lessen her heroism."
"No," Bridget snapped. "No. Not this again. Stop comparing me to Andraste! I don't want to be Andraste! I don't even want to be a hero."
"No true hero ever does," Fenris said softly, his eyes on Hawke.
"The choice is yours, of course," the Divine said, but there was disappointment in her tone, as if Bridget had failed some test.
"You still haven't answered my question. What are you?"
"I am what you see. All other answers rest in you."
Stroud growled in irritation. "Stop wasting time talking to this thing! We must get to the rift."
More demons clustered around them, like the ones they had first fought, and like those, when Fenris cleaved one in two with a single stroke of his blade, a scream resounded above their head that was not made by any of them, but rather appeared to be part of Bridget's memory.
Cole's daggers made short work of another demon, and they all heard the Divine's voice, saying, "Go," in a firm, calm tone.
Blackwall and Hawke took down a third demon, which melted into the ground while above their head Bridget's panicked voice sounded. "Keep running."
Bridget put a hand to her head, covering her eyes. "Spiders. Those nightmare things. They're chasing me, and I'm climbing … It's the Breach, back in Haven. This is how I escaped. The Divine is waiting for me. Why doesn't she go through? The spiders are almost on top of me, and I'm so tired. I've never climbed like this before. She reaches for me, her hand is so strong for such an old woman. And we run for the Breach, or … I do. I tell her to keep running, but she … falls behind. The demons have her! She tells me to go. Oh, Maker." She was sobbing now, both hands over her face. "The Divine gave her life for me. And I ran. I let her. Oh, Maker, I am so sorry."
Blackwall held her, feeling her body shake as she wept. "She knew you had a destiny. She knew about the mark on your hand, that you would be needed. She saved us all."
The Divine's spirit form was there again, now, smiling gently at Bridget. "He is right."
"So this creature is simply a spirit, as I have been saying all along. Let us go!" Stroud said.
"I am sorry if I disappoint you," she said to him. And then she no longer looked like the Divine, but was a creature of light, burning brightly before them. Warm light, like a candle.
Bridget looked up as the spirit rose into the air, shielding her eyes from the light. "The Nightmare watched Corypheus and grew powerful with the fear. Did you watch the Divine and become inspired by her faith?"
"If that is the way you wish the story to be, it is not a bad one."
"So we know now that the Divine perished at the Temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens," Hawke said, his voice hard.
Stroud whirled on him. "As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus."
"You can't know that!"
"Neither can you," Bridget said. "And we can discuss this further, if you must, when we are out of the Fade."
"Assuming the Grey Wardens and their demon army didn't destroy the Inquisition while we were gone." Hawke caught himself, paling as he realized what he had said. "I'm sorry," he said to Bridget. "Sometimes my mouth … gets away from me."
"Try to keep a better hold on it until we get out of the Fade. Who knows what trouble we still have before us."
"How dare you judge us? You killed almost every mage in Kirkwall!" Stroud bellowed, trying to get around Bridget to attack Hawke. The Iron Bull grasped the back of his armor and held him there, appearing to exert little to no effort in the process.
"Because too many of them were practicing blood magic, just like your precious Wardens," Fenris spat.
Blackwall felt himself bristling, and tried not to. There was no time for this.
"Stop," Cole said desperately. "Stop! We—we have to go. We can't stay here."
Bridget looked at Hawke and Stroud in irritation. "Sweet Maker, could both of you please shut up? Does this look like the time for this? We have to get out of here!"
They both looked at her, contrite, muttering apologies, as did Fenris.
Above their heads, the Nightmare spoke. "Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command them. They are bound all through me."
"So we kill this big loudmouth, we cut the cords that bind the demons? Good to know," the Iron Bull said.
Nightmare roared in anger, and sent more if its minions after them. The spirit shouted above the din, "You must get through the rift, Inquisitor! Get through it and slam the door closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons … and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade."
"By all means, let's do that!" Hawke called out.
And then it was there, in front of them: the rift, and Nightmare, who looked very much like a demon version of Corypheus … and behind Nightmare, the biggest demon Blackwall had ever seen. It looked like a spider, dripping venom from multiple fangs, and it crouched there between them and the rift.
The spirit floated above them. She—it—turned in the air to look down at Bridget. "If you would, please tell Leliana, 'I am sorry. I failed you, too.'"
And then it was gone, flying into the face of the massive spider demon, driving it back and back and back until the rift was clear. The spirit with the Divine's face had sacrificed herself for them. Blackwall was grimly determined that would not be in vain. Next to him, so were the Iron Bull and Fenris, and the three of them attacked Nightmare vehemently.
It wasn't easy. But between them, they three, with Bridget and Cole and Hawke and Stroud, had fought many a demon, and they had the power of desperation on their side. None of them wanted anything in the world as much as they wanted to kill this thing and get out of the Fade.
At last Nightmare was dead, nothing but a pile of tentacles and shreds of clothing on the ground. "Take Cole and get out of here," Bridget told the Iron Bull, and for once the Qunari didn't argue.
The rift wasn't very wide, and all the Iron Bull's battering at it as he squeezed through didn't make it any bigger.
"Fenris, go," Hawke said. He was looking at something beyond the rift. Blackwall followed the line of his gaze and saw the spider. It was coming back, and it would be here before they all had time to get through. Fenris must have recognized that, too, because with a last clutch at Hawke's arm, he hurried into the rift.
"Blackwall," Bridget said. She could see in his face that he didn't want to go, but she looked at him with those blue eyes and said, "Please, Thom," and he went.
No one was ever to know what happened on the wrong side of that rift, but eventually Hawke pushed his way out, to Fenris's vast relief, and behind him came Bridget, rolling along the ground and coming up on her feet. Without hesitation, she aimed the Anchor at the rift, and she made sure it closed. When it was gone, the demons had all gone with it, the echo of their shrieks the only thing left of them in the courtyard. The spirit had been right. Without Nightmare to control them, the Warden mages were free again, and Corypheus had lost his demon army for good.
The remaining Wardens put down their weapons before her.
An Inquisition scout came running up to her. "Inquisitor! What a relief to see you safe."
"It's a relief to be safe," she told him. "The Archdemon?"
"Gone. As soon as you disappeared."
"And the army?"
"In good shape … comparatively. The Commander has the Venatori magister under lock and key; he thought you might wish to deal with him yourself."
"Tell the Commander he thought right, and he has my thanks."
Blackwall listened to the strength in her voice, the sureness, with pride. The woman he had met in the Hinterlands couldn't have spoken like this at the end of a hard-fought battle. She was truly the Inquisitor now, sure of herself and her own power, and he was as proud of her as he could be.
"And the Wardens?" Bridget asked the Scout.
"Those who weren't corrupted fought next to us against the demons."
A Warden in full armor came up next to the scout. "If I may, Inquisitor." He crossed his arm over his chest and bowed to her. "We stand ready to help make up for our … tragic mistakes." He frowned past her. "But where is Warden Stroud?"
"Lost," she said. "He remained behind in the Fade to protect us all. For the Wardens, he said. He was true to his brothers and sisters to the last."
The armored Warden looked ashamed, no doubt remembering how they had treated Stroud. At last he collected himself. "Inquisitor … we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?"
Bridget glanced at Blackwall, who shook his head firmly. Even if he were a real Warden, his allegiance right now was to her, and to the Inquisition. He was not taking on the remnants of the Grey; he didn't even deserve the task, although he couldn't tell her that.
She must have understood what he meant, because she turned back to the Warden. "Then stay with the Inquisition and do what you can to help. We need every hand, every piece of expertise, we can get. And as Corypheus was kept for so long by the Wardens, the Wardens should have a hand in his defeat. Stroud died for the ideals of the Wardens. 'In war, victory.' And we are still at war."
"Oh, you're not going to make friends with this one, boss," the Iron Bull said, shaking his head.
"I'm not going to throw away a resource just to make friends, Bull."
"Well. All right, then." His eye rested on her admiringly, and with a renewed interest that made Blackwall uncomfortable. There was far more to the Iron Bull than met the eye, and it was always hard to tell what went on in his mind behind that carefully schooled face.
Bridget looked at the armored Warden, and then past him to his fellows. "Do you believe the Wardens can still help?"
"I do, Your Worship."
"Good. You may still be vulnerable to Corypheus, or to his Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing."
"Thank you, Your Worship. We will not fail you." The Warden returned to the rest of his ranks, getting them ready to return with the Inquisition.
"Hawke, what will you do? There's a place for you and Fenris with the Inquisition."
He shook his head. "I've had enough, Bridget. The Nightmare wasn't wrong—Kirkwall took everyone I cared about, except for one, and I never accomplished anything. I think you're doing a fine job, and I don't want to get in your way, or worse, louse things up for you. If you need me, Varric will know where to find me."
"If you're sure?"
"He is absolutely certain," Fenris cut in. He was looking at Hawke with the first smile Blackwall had ever seen on his face.
"Take care of Varric for me," Hawke said.
"I will."
And then they were gone, and she was left standing there in the middle of the courtyard. She turned to Blackwall and held out her hand. "Let's go home."