It was a relief to be back at Skyhold once again. All that time in the Western Approach, the siege of Adamant, and the interlude in the Fade had made Bridget feel disconnected from the work, from the Inquisition, and she didn't like the feeling. She was glad to be back within the familiar stone walls, glad to be facing the pile of correspondence on her desk and the myriad calls on the Inquisitor's time.

Cullen had volunteered to help the Grey Wardens get settled. She had asked Blackwall originally, but he had shown a curious reluctance to take on the task, and she wondered what it was, whether he was upset by the loss of Stroud or by the whole mess with the sacrifices and the binding rituals, but thus far he had proven impossible to pin down on the topic. She figured he would open up eventually.

She had a long list of people to check in with now that she was back, but before she could start on it, Dorian buttonholed her soon after breakfast. "My dear Bridget, I'm told you were physically in the Fade. You must tell me all about it."

"It was dreary, and tiring, and very, very rocky and drab and grey. Not like the dream Fade at all."

His bright, expectant face fell. "What a dreadful dash to the expectations."

"Yes. Not to mention the demons trying to kill us."

"Isn't that pretty much a Tuesday around here?"

Bridget smiled. "More or less. How is your research going?" Dorian had claimed an alcove in the library, and he spent his days there surrounded by piles of books.

"You have a criminally small number of books on early Tevinter history. And what you have tends in the direction of trite propaganda."

"Why don't you speak to the librarian and get him to order something better?"

"I did. He looked at me as though I wanted him to order books on how to properly trim one's toenails."

"Oh. All right, I'll speak to him."

"Would you?" Dorian looked closely at her. "I'm sorry, I'm a dreadful dolt. What I meant to say is: You went physically into the Fade—are you all right?"

Bridget shook her head. "I mean, I am, more or less, but … it was like walking in a nightmare, but everything was real."

"I think I can imagine. Under normal circumstances, the Fade can be an ordeal. To be the only real thing there …" He let the words trail off, and squeezed her arm. "I'm glad you weren't alone."

"As was I."

"You do realize this feat hasn't been performed in over a thousand years, don't you?"

"It can be another thousand before it happens again, as far as I'm concerned."

"But will it?" His grey eyes, normally so dancing and mischievous, were deadly serious as he looked at her. "If you can walk in the Fade, others will believe they can, as well. Who knows what secrets lie out there, winking at those who walk by until they are picked up? Not everyone who tries will be as lucky as you were, and the things they could unleash … well, the possibilities are infinite."

"I know."

He sighed heavily. "There are too many idiots in the world who think that if they just use enough blood magic, their problems will vanish."

"You speak as if from experience."

For a moment, it appeared as though he was going to confide something in her, but he thought better of it. "I saw too much in Tevinter. I despise much of it—the lies, the scheming, the illusions of supremacy. Tevinter in a nutshell."

"So you don't care for it, then?"

"On the contrary, I care for my homeland a great deal. There's so much potential … and so much of it wasted. We refuse to acknowledge how far we've fallen because pretending is easier."

"What kind of pretending?" Bridget asked.

"Oh, we pretend the Qunari can be beaten, we pretend that we are superior to everyone … et cetera."

"But you don't."

"No. And there are others who feel as I do. Sadly, we are in the minority. But for all our faults, my people have virtues, too. Tevinter is where Thedas truly began, remember, and much of that history and culture still remains. We treasure our past and preserve it as best we can. You can walk down a side street and find nothing built during the modern ages." He shook his head. "If I truly believed my homeland was beyond hope, I wouldn't miss it so much."

"And your family? Do you miss them, too?"

He smiled bitterly. "Ah, yes." Holding his arms out, he turned slowly around. "Do you like what you see? The scion of House Pavus? I am the product of generations of careful breeding." At her frown of confusion, he explained, "You see, the great houses of Tevinter carefully choose each pairing to refine traits, weeding out the undesirable and promoting the rest. Particularly magical affinity. My mother was chosen for my father because magic runs strongly in her blood. Never mind that they loathe each other. They came together in a common cause—to raise a son who could become Archon, who could make House Pavus the envy of the Imperium. And they got me, a cautionary tale that you should be careful what you wish for."

"I can't imagine any parents not being thrilled to have someone as charming and intelligent as you are for a son."

His eyes softened. "Thank you."

They had reached his library alcove, and Bridget left him there among his books. She sought out Achis, the librarian, and let him know in no uncertain terms that Master Pavus was to have everything he asked for, no matter how odd it might seem.

Achis seemed uncomfortable with that, but he couldn't say no to the Inquisitor. He did inform her that the library was missing forty-eight copies of Hard in Hightown, and Bridget promised to keep her eyes open for them, although she questioned why they needed so many copies. Especially since so many people had their own already. Varric must have charmed someone into buying them all, she suspected. Which reminded her that she needed to talk to him about Swords & Shields … but not before she spoke to Leliana. The spymaster must already have heard about the spirit with Justinia's face, but Bridget wanted to speak to her about it directly.

It was plain Leliana knew what she had come to talk about. Her blue eyes shuttered themselves, growing hard and closed off, as soon as Bridget's feet hit the floor of the rookery. "Inquisitor."

"Aren't we past that by now?"

Ignoring the remark, Leliana tapped a curling sheet of parchment on her desk. "Hawke and Fenris are gone. Where they will not tell me. No doubt Fenris fears Hawke being drawn into another situation like Kirkwall that he cannot escape."

"Hawke barely escaped the Fade." Bridget swallowed and looked hastily away, trying to push back memories of those last few moments.

Leliana nodded. "The Grey Wardens have agreed to take up residence in the Approach, fighting demons and Red Templars … and steering clear of the Venatori." She looked Bridget full in the face for the first time. "You've dealt Corypheus a significant blow."

"Not just me. The others, too. And Stroud. And … the Divine."

"Yes." Leliana frowned, indicating her unwillingness to pursue the topic. Instead she said, "We must consider what comes next. You took an army from Corypheus, but that will matter little if Orlais falls into chaos. Arrangements have been made to attend the ball at Halamshiral."

"The ball?" Bridget echoed. Then she remembered that she had promised to go to the Empress's ball. Her, at the Winter Palace, at a ball. It was … not something she had ever imagined possible. She couldn't dance—she hoped they all knew that.

"The ball," Leliana repeated patiently. "The Venatori plan some kind of attack on the Imperial Court. It is not impossible that Corypheus is fueling the conflict between the Empress and her cousin, the Grand Duke Gaspard. If we can warn Celene, she could prove a most valuable ally against Corypheus."

Bridget nodded. "Of course. How long until we leave?"

"Two weeks."

"That seems both not long enough and too long."

Leliana unbent enough to smile. "My sentiments exactly." There was a silence, and then the words came from her, unwillingly. "What was she like? Divine Justinia, or the spirit that took her form. I know it isn't clear, but … I need to know."

Bridget considered how to put it. "She was … she refused to say anything outright. Personally, I could have used more direct answers and fewer journeys of self-discovery."

"Yes. She made a lot of people feel that way." Leliana was looking over Bridget's shoulder at something in her memory, her eyes softer and sadder than Bridget had ever seen them.

"She did ask me to tell you something. She said, 'I'm sorry. I failed you, too.'"

Leliana gasped as if she had been struck. "I … thank you for telling me." She looked up at Bridget. "In the Fade, the first time. After the Conclave. You remember now?"

"Yes."

"You said Justinia was with you there, but … only you emerged. Can you tell me what happened?"

Bridget didn't want to. She still felt tremendous guilt over having left the Divine in the Fade, however much the Anchor may have made that the right choice. But Leliana loved Justinia. She deserved to know everything. "Justinia saved my life. She knew that it was either her or me, and she wanted me to live." She opened her fist, displaying the Anchor's glow. "Probably because she knew the Anchor was going to be needed."

"She would have done so anyway. That was like her, always thinking of others." Leliana shook her head. "That message to me … 'I failed you, too.' I'm not sure what that means. Was there—did she say anything else, anything at all? Please, if you remember …"

"There was nothing else."

Leliana stood up, saying briskly, "We are foolish to try to find meaning there, anyway. There are no answers in the Fade, only illusions. A warped mirror." She shook her head. "I was her Left Hand, her trusted assistant, and she is dead. I failed her."

"I don't believe that. I don't believe she would have thought that."

"You didn't know her."

"No, but I know you, and I can see her in you."

Leliana's face pinched as though she was trying to hold back tears. "That is kind of you to say. Thank you."

"I mean it."

"Yes, I believe you do." Leliana nodded. She took her seat again and shuffled some papers meaningfully, and Bridget, recognizing her cue, took her leave.

Downstairs, she found Varric in his usual spot, quill in hand, but motionless. He looked up as she approached. "You know, I knew Stroud."

"Did you?"

"Not well, but we'd spoken."

"He was a brave man."

"A hero when it mattered," Varric agreed. "Is it terrible of me to say I'm glad I wasn't there, in the Fade?"

"Only if it's equally terrible of me to say I wish I hadn't been." Bridget took the seat across from him.

Varric looked down at the mostly blank page in front of him. "This story's no good for heroes. Too many of them have fallen to Corypheus … and they won't be the last."

"No." Bridget was alarmed by this doom-and-gloom filled Varric. She had never seen him like this. She smiled at him encouragingly. "At least Hawke made it through in one piece, and is well away from all this now."

"Lucky bastard." But Varric didn't crack a smile.

"I have something to tell you. Something that might just cheer you right up."

"Do you, Sunflower?"

She nodded. "Cassandra is waiting—impatiently—for the next issue of Swords & Shields."

Varric frowned at her. "I must have heard you wrong. I could have sworn you just told me that the Seeker reads my books."

"Reads? No. Try 'devours'. Passionately."

"Oh, that is a disturbing image. And priceless. Absolutely priceless." Now he did smile, Bridget was relieved to see. Then he frowned. "Wait ,you said the romance serial? Oh, she's going to be waiting a long time. I haven't finished it. Truthfully, I wasn't planning to. It's easily the worst book I've ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink."

"Well, be that as it may, Cassandra's hooked on it."

Varric shook his head, chuckling. "Just when you think the weirdest thing possible has already happened." He looked at her across the table, and his eyebrows flew up. "Wait, you want me to finish it for her."

Bridget put on an innocent look and held his gaze.

"Yeah, you're right. It's such a terrible idea, I have to do it. But only on condition that I get to be there when you give it to her."

That was likely to go very badly, Bridget reflected, but if it was the only way … "Done."

"This is going to be so much fun." He took the top sheet off the stack in front of him, crumpled it up, and threw it over his shoulder in the direction of the fire, before attacking the next sheet with a quill. He paused and grinned at Bridget. "You know, the fact that it's terrible really makes it seem more worthwhile, somehow."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Bridget told him, getting to her feet.

He was already hard at work, and didn't seem to see her go.

She went straight from Varric's table to the Undercroft, where she spent some time with Harritt going over the items they had brought back from the Western Approach and determining some upgrades and some repairs.

The new Arcanist was there, too, a red-haired dwarf who talked a mile a minute. She wanted to see the Anchor—actually, she wanted to touch the Anchor, to smell it and taste it and, it appeared, to listen to it. Bridget found it all vaguely creepy, but then, an Arcanist was often a job for … unusual people, based on what she had seen in the Circle and read in her histories. It was particularly odd to see a dwarf handling magical instruments, although on further consideration she supposed it shouldn't be. After all, dwarves had a natural affinity for lyrium, and an immunity, too.

Dagna had been assisted in leaving Orzammar to study in the Circles by the Grey Warden, Queen Una of Ferelden, a woman Bridget devoutly hoped she would one day have the chance to meet. The little dwarf went into great detail about the height and beauty of the Warden, about the Circles she'd been to … about everything that came to her mind, it seemed. She was still talking when Bridget made her escape. Harritt seemed to handle it all right, fortunately, drowning her out with his hammer on the forge when he needed a break.

She remembered that Cullen had been the one to recommend Dagna and she headed to his office to ask him about it. But he wasn't there, and the elven soldier who was there told Bridget he had last been seen looking for Cassandra. At first, Bridget thought nothing of it … but then she remembered Cullen's confession about the lyrium, and his assignment of Cassandra to the task of watching over him, and her pulse quickened. She hurried off in the direction of the blacksmith's shop, where Cassandra had her quarters.

They were deep in conversation when she pushed open the door, conversation that stopped abruptly as soon as they saw her.

With a very brief nod for Bridget, Cullen snapped at Cassandra, "We will speak of this again later," and pushed past Bridget to the door.

"Nothing will have changed," Cassandra called after him. She shook her head. "And people say I'm stubborn. He is ridiculous."

"He thinks he's not fit to command because of the lyrium?"

"Yes. He wants me to recommend a replacement for him, and I have refused. It's not necessary." Cassandra folded her arms over her chest and stared at Bridget defiantly, daring her to disagree. Then, more softly, she added, "Besides, it would destroy him. He's … come so far already, it would be a shame to lose so much progress. Cullen has a chance to break the lyrium leash that holds him, to prove to himself, and to anyone who would wish to follow suit, that it's possible."

"A laudable goal."

"And one that he can reach, with our support." There was a plea in Cassandra's gaze now. "He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall."

"I'll talk to him," Bridget told her. "If at all possible, I'll encourage him to stay strong."

"Thank you." Cassandra hesitated, then added, "I was considering writing the story of your time in the Fade."

"Really?"

"Yes. Writing does not come naturally to me, as I'm certain you can imagine, but … historians will one day ask what happened there. The accounts of those present must be recorded."

Thinking of what Dorian had said, about others who might be tempted to follow Bridget's footsteps into the Fade, she said, "Just … be careful what you write."

"Of course. I am not unaware of the weight my words might carry. I … still don't know what to say about the spirit of the Divine."

Bridget shook her head. "Nor do I."

Cassandra frowned thoughtfully. "The Chantry teaches that the souls of the dead pass through the Fade, so it could have been her. Even so …"

"You really think it might have been her?" Bridget asked, surprised.

"A ghost, a remnant of her hopes and memories, her lingering will to do good ..." Cassandra shrugged. "It is not impossible. Nobody knows for certain what happens when we die. Or a spirit could have assumed her form—but why?"

"Because we trusted it," Bridget suggested.

"Yes. Possibly. And it helped you, as Justinia herself would have."

"I don't know, Cassandra. I'm not sure I'm meant to know."

Cassandra gave a small smile. "Sadly, unanswered questions make for poor reading." She looked at Bridget, her eyes softening. "I was terrified for you, you know."

"I'm sorry I frightened you."

"And I am glad you have returned in one piece."

"As am I." They shared a smile.

Cassandra tilted her head to the side, studying Bridget with curiosity. "What do you think is the Maker's plan for the Inquisition?"

"Oh, that's a large question. I suppose … we make the world a better place?"

"Yes, because everyone agrees on what 'better' means. I know that I want a world in which people trust the Chantry and that trust is respected. To respect tradition but not fear change, to right past wrongs but not avenge them. But does my wanting those things make them right? I don't know."

"If they're not right, they're at least admirable," Bridget offered.

"Some would disagree. They would call it heresy."

"That didn't sound like the ravings of a heretic."

"Perhaps not, but it takes precious little effort to paint even an act of compassion as damaging." She gave Bridget a searching glance. "Tell me, what is it that guides you? From the first, there seems to have been a thread pulling you forward. You make decisions that shake the world, yet always seem so assured. I wish I had your confidence."

Bridget was flabbergasted. To hear those words from possibly the most confident person she'd ever met? She was torn between feeling pleased at the compliment and feeling frightened that no one knew they were being led by someone who didn't know what she was doing. Since Cassandra was clearly waiting for an answer, she shrugged, saying, "I suppose—not wanting to look like an idiot? Not wanting to fail those who have put their trust in me?"

"Do not sell yourself short. While I may not always agree with your decisions, you must know how few people could do what you have done. You were a prisoner, accused and reviled, yet you have emerged from every trial victorious. I have to wonder how you manage."

It was the answer Bridget had looked for, over and over, as to how to do this job, and she gave Cassandra the best that she had come up with. "I do what must be done. What other choice is there?"

Cassandra nodded, satisfied. "The demands of the moment. Yes." She smiled. "Think of it—once again the fate of Thedas will be determined by a woman."

Bridget returned the smile. "As it should be."

"It makes me proud to know you." She put a hand on Bridget's shoulder. "We still have a long road ahead of us, but wherever it takes us, I'm glad you're here."

"Thank you. I couldn't ask for a better friend to walk it with." They stayed like that, enjoying the moment, and then Bridget went in search of Cullen.

She found him in his office, standing behind his desk, staring down at the box of lyrium supplies. Before he saw her, he picked them up and with a mighty shout, threw the whole box as hard as he could across the room. It and its contents shattered against the doorframe, fragments of glass missing Bridget's face by inches. She could smell the acrid scent of lyrium, and she wrinkled her nose.

Cullen blanched, seeing her there. "Maker's breath! I mean, I didn't hear you enter. I mean, I'm sorry. I—"

Bridget held up a hand to stop the flow of his words.

He sighed. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. Talk to me, Cullen."

"You don't have to—" He gasped in pain, catching himself against the desk, his eyes closing against the spasm. "I—I never meant for this to interfere."

"I know."

"For whatever good it does," he said bitterly. "Promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them."

"What of your promise to yourself, to beat this thing?"

He shook his head, looking down at his clenched fist on the desk. "You asked me once what happened in Ferelden's Circle. It was taken by abominations. The Templars—my friends—were slaughtered."

Bridget could imagine the scene all too easily. The thought of it made her sick. "I'm sorry."

Cullen went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I—how can you be the same person after that? Still," he continued, softly, speaking almost to himself, "I wanted to serve. So they sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I wanted nothing more to do with that life?"

Afraid to trust her voice, afraid that he would see in her the faces of too many mages gone wrong, Bridget nodded.

But that seemed to make him even angrier. "You should be questioning what I've done. I thought—I thought this would be better, I thought I would regain some control, but these thoughts won't leave me." He growled the last few words. "How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause! I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry. I should be taking it!" He said it again, more softly, saddened by the admission but certain of it. "I should be taking it."

"Cullen. Tell me why you became a Templar."

"I—" He hadn't been prepared for the question, and he closed his eyes, thinking back, trying to give her an answer. "I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the Templars at our local Chantry to teach me." He smiled, relaxing as he recalled those days. "At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise, or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents and they agreed to send me for training. I … wanted to be the best Templar I could be."

"Remember that, then," she told him. "That desire to be the best you can be. The Inquisition can be your chance to start over, to find that drive again—if you want it to be."

"Is that even possible?"

"Of course it is."

He sighed, nodding. "All right."

Bridget reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You give enough, Cullen. No one's asking you for more."

Not wanting to prolong his discomfort, she left him there to resolve his troubles by work, which always seemed to be his best medicine.

At last the long day was over and she climbed the steps to her own quarters. She found Blackwall already there, sitting out on the balcony. He had a piece of wood and a knife in his hand, but he wasn't whittling anything, just sitting there looking out at the stars.

"Someone I knew once described Adamant to me," he said softly as she came to the door and leaned her shoulder against the frame. "'Adamant is, and always will be, the Order,' he said. So what does that mean now? We destroyed Adamant. Did we destroy the Order?"

"Of course not."

"'A guardian on the edge of the abyss, the lone soul that stares into oblivion and doesn't waver,'" he quoted. "They wavered. They wavered, and I—how can they be the same?"

She thought of Cullen asking her the same question about his experience at the hands of the demons and abominations in Ferelden's Circle. "Perhaps they push through and find new strength. After all … they tried. Warden Clarel tried to stare into oblivion and do what she thought was right. They all did. And they gave their lives willingly."

"Yes. They died for us." His fist clenched on the handle of the knife. "And Corypheus twisted their sacrifice to make it his own!"

"And that's why we're going to kill him."

He looked up at her. "You sound very sure."

"Aren't you?"

He snorted. "Very seldom." Looking back out at the stars, he shook his head. "It's not right. To want to do good, to be good, and to have that turned against you."

Bridget went to him, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. "You've never faltered, never wavered. You never will."

He winced as if something in her words caused him pain. "I wish I believed that."

"I can believe it enough for both of us."

Taking her hand in his, he kissed the backs of her fingers. His hand wrapped around hers, holding it tightly. "Before the Inquisition, before you, all I had was the Wardens, the vow I made to them. Before the vow, I had nothing. I was nothing."

"I don't believe that."

"Believe it or not, as you will, it remains the truth. It's not the armor, or the trappings of the Order. It's not the Joining. At the heart of it, all a Warden is is a promise, to protect others—even at the cost of your own life."

"They fulfilled that promise."

"Did they?"

"To the best of their ability."

He looked up at her and shook his head. "I don't know whether to admire the strength of your beliefs, or worry about your tendency to see the best in everyone."

"How about instead of either one, you come to bed and I help you take your mind off things?" she offered, tugging slightly on the hand that held hers.

"You make a tempting offer."

"Tempting enough that you'll agree to it?"

He smiled, getting to his feet. "If I must." He left the stick and the knife on the chair, and allowed her to lead him into the bedroom.

They had been sharing a bed nearly every night, but she still couldn't get enough of him. The muscular hairy chest beneath her fingers, the roughness of his beard against her skin, the heat of his breath in her ear, the way he filled her, completed her, brought her to pleasure over and over again before seeking his own. But possibly the best part was falling asleep in his arms, feeling safe and secure and certain that she was right where she belonged.