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Bridget stood there staring blankly at the note in her hand. "It hurt to leave", he had written. He had left. Somehow she had to get that through her head, understand that in the night, while she slept, Blackwall had taken his belongings and left Skyhold—left her—and he didn't intend to come back.
Why? In the name of the Maker, why would he have done such a thing? It wasn't because he didn't love her. Even in the depth of her despair, she knew better than that. It wasn't because he didn't believe in the work of the Inquisition. She knew how deeply proud he was of facing off against the forces of Corypheus, helping to set the world right again, how it meshed with his work as a Grey Warden. So if it was neither her nor the Inquisition that he had left, what could it be?
Only one person could help her answer that question. Clutching the note, she hurried from the barn and up the stairs to the rookery.
She must have looked as frantic and lost as she felt, because the moment Leliana laid eyes on her, she took Bridget by the arm and hurried her out the door onto the walkway where they could speak in privacy.
In a few brief words, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, Bridget explained what had happened.
Leliana took the Warden badge and the note, looking down at them with an odd expression.
"What is it? You know something. You must know something! Tell me!"
"I know nothing. And what I suspect may not be true." Leliana gave a quick nod, as if deciding something. "Let me look into this, and I will get back to you when I have something to report. In the meantime, Vivienne was looking for you."
"Vivienne?" Bridget repeated blankly. "I can't go talk to Vivienne. We need to look for him, go after him!"
"Bridget, may I speak frankly?"
She wanted to shout no, but Leliana used her real name so infrequently that it was hard to ignore her sincerity when she did. Unwillingly, Bridget nodded.
"You are the Inquisitor. The calls on your time are many, and you are entitled to a life of your own. Of course you are. But … your responsibilities to the Inquisition remain, even when it is one of your companions, even when it is your closest companion, who may need you." She laid a gentle hand on Bridget's arm. "I will put my best people on this, and when we find where he has gone, I will let you know immediately, you have my word. But in the meantime, I must have your word that you will continue your duties as they need to be carried out."
Even though the voice in the back of her head still shouted no, no, no, Bridget could see Leliana's point. "I understand. You have my word. I—will go see Vivienne. And anyone else who needs me."
With a parting squeeze of Bridget's arm and an approving nod, Leliana disappeared back inside the Rookery. Bridget took a moment—just one—to look out over Skyhold and to wonder where he was, and what could have drawn him from her side. Then she turned and went back inside, ready to take on whatever needed to be done.
She made her way to Vivienne's luxuriously appointed quarters, where the other mage greeted her with an unusually hesitant smile. "Inquisitor. Thank you for coming. I have a … delicate situation, and I must—I am afraid I must ask for your help."
"I know that can't be easy for you. If it's within my capabilities, I will be happy to see what I can do."
Vivienne took a deep breath. "Thank you. It is simply an ingredient for an alchemical formula, but it is of great importance to me."
"What kind of ingredient?"
"The heart of a snowy wyvern."
Bridget stared at her. "A wyvern? Where would I even find one?"
"Not just a wyvern. A snowy wyvern. They are known to have the deadliest venom of any wyvern. Ordinary hunters would not make the attempt. The risk is too great."
"You know that I am hardly a match for even an ordinary hunter?"
"Yes, but you have your stalwart champion. If any man I have ever met could take down a snowy wyvern, Blackwall can."
Bridget fought back the tears that threatened, not wanting to seem broken or vulnerable in front of Vivienne, of all people. "He … may not be available." She clenched her jaw against the impulse to say more, to pour out her fears and worries. If she let go now, she wouldn't make it through the day.
"In that case, the Iron Bull might well enjoy the challenge."
"He might, at that," Bridget agreed, glad that Vivienne didn't ask questions, even though she was certain the other mage's sharp eyes could see how upset she was.
"I can give you this, which may be helpful." Vivienne handed her a map, carefully marked with suggested locations where such a beast might be found.
"I will do what I can."
"Thank you, Inquisitor. I—cannot tell you how much it will mean to me, if this formula works as I hope it will."
Bridget was desperately curious, but Vivienne hadn't asked about her personal affairs, and she thought she owed the other woman the same discretion. She promised to attend to the request as soon as she could, and extricated herself from Vivienne's overly perfumed rooms, which felt close and restrictive. She wondered what had happened to the shy girl who had spent a life inside a tower, that now she actually enjoyed being outside. But she knew the answer: Blackwall had happened, and the Inquisition, and she was grateful to both of them.
As she came down from Vivienne's quarters, Mother Giselle approached her. "Inquisitor! I have been searching for you. Might you have a moment to speak on a sensitive matter?"
"Of course."
They walked together out into the gardens. Softly, Mother Giselle said, "I have news regarding one of your companions." Even as Bridget's heart leaped, she added, "The Tevinter," dashing any hope that this might be a surprise source of news about Blackwall.
Given Mother Giselle's distaste for Tevinter in general, and Dorian in particular, Bridget couldn't imagine this would be good. "Go on," she said cautiously.
"As you might think, I have some reservations about the young man's presence here … but this is another matter. I have been in contact with his family."
"House Pavus, out of Qarinus? Why exactly would you be in contact with Dorian's family?"
"They sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid in arranging a meeting with him. They wish this done quietly, without alerting him, fearing that is the only way he would agree to see them."
"He wouldn't be agreeing to anything if we kept him in the dark about it," Bridget pointed out.
"I was hoping perhaps you could be prevailed upon to convince him, since you seem to be on good terms with the young man."
"They want him to come home?"
"I believe so, yes."
Bridget frowned. "Dorian's family believes the estrangement is so great he wouldn't come to meet them willingly, but they think one meeting will convince him to return home with them?"
"They are desperate, Inquisitor. Their letter implies he has cause to be unhappy with them, and they wish to make things right. Surely it is worth creating a chance for dialogue so that harmony can be restored in the family, is it not?"
"Of course," Bridget agreed, thinking of Malachy and of how Declan had brought them together, giving them common ground after so many years apart. "But the secrecy … this feels as though it must be some kind of a trap."
"That did occur to me, which is among the reasons why I am bringing this to you, Inquisitor."
"Thank you, Mother Giselle. I will take this from here."
The Revered Mother bowed to her and left her. Bridget was troubled. She knew that Dorian's relationship with his family was tense, to say the least, and from things he'd said she believed he wished he could repair the situation—but this hardly seemed the way. He would not appreciate being deceived, she decided, and so she wouldn't. She would lay the story out for Dorian when she had a chance and proceed however he felt most comfortable.
Left alone in the gardens, Bridget saw a young boy sitting alone on a bench, sketching something on a sheet of vellum balanced on his knee. She didn't remember seeing him before, and she walked over to join him.
"What are you drawing?" she asked him.
Shyly, he showed her a surprisingly good sketch of birds in a tree. "You're the Inquisitor, aren't you?" He cocked his head to the side, studying her. "Mother never told me the Inquisitor was a mage."
"How do you know I'm a mage?"
Before he could answer, Morrigan appeared behind him. "Kieran, are you bothering the Inquisitor?"
"Of course not," he said calmly. "Did you see what's on her hand, Mother?"
"I did. Now, 'tis time for you to return to your studies, little man."
With a sigh, Kieran rolled up the sheet of vellum. "It was nice to meet you, Inquisitor."
"And you." Bridget watched him go, envy filling her, dark and bitter. If only she could have her child with her so openly. "I didn't know you'd be bringing a child with you," she said to Morrigan, her jealousy making her tone sharper than she'd intended.
Surprisingly, Morrigan didn't take offense. In fact, she gave Bridget a look of such keen understanding that Bridget was sure the entire story was clear to Morrigan without Bridget having to tell her a thing. "I do not speak of him. It is … safer that way." A shadow passed over her face. "In the Imperial Court, they assume he is the heir of some distant family, there to be educated. But he goes where I go. Do not worry, Inquisitor—he is a curious boy, but seldom troublesome."
"You are very fortunate," Bridget said softly.
"I am," Morrigan agreed.
"Is … any other member of the family likely to be joining us?" In the tower, women who fell pregnant rarely spoke of the men who had impregnated them, but Morrigan was not from the tower, and she might have a partner who had designs on becoming part of the Inquisition.
"No. I have raised Kieran on my own from the start. By my own preference," Morrigan added sharply.
"I understand. He seems like a fine young man."
"And this seems like a fine place for a young man to experience the world." Morrigan looked around her. "To think, until recently this place stood decrepit, occupied only by the desperate and the lost."
"We weren't far from that description when we came here. But I like it here. I hope to stay for a long while."
"The magic in this place has seeped into the stones, protecting it from darkness. It should be a safe place for you, Inquisitor. And I think you will do it justice." Looking at Bridget much as her son had moments before, Morrigan said, "You were kind to accept my aid, even knowing as little of me as you do. I will do my best to further your cause with all the knowledge at my disposal. This I swear to you."
"I appreciate whatever help you can give us."
"Understand this, Inquisitor: What I fear, what all should fear, is not that Corypheus believes he can succeed. 'Tis that he actually may."
Bridget drew herself up, putting her shoulders back. "We intend to stop him."
"And I wish you luck." Morrigan gave her a sharp nod, and turned to follow her son.
As Bridget came through the hall, Varric caught her. "Sunflower! I have something for you."
"You do? Am I going to like it?"
"Well, all right, it's not exactly for you, but I think you'll get a kick out of it anyway." He handed her a small notebook.
Bridget opened the front cover, reading the words at the top in Varric's dashing writing. "Swords & Shields? Is this for Cassandra?"
"Just finished it, and I figured you could use some cheering up."
She looked at him, startled, finding him watching her with sympathy. So he knew. "Does everyone know?"
"No one who doesn't have my amazing spy network. So that leaves me, Nightingale, and Tiny, probably, maybe the Little Dragon, and I doubt anyone else."
Varric, Leliana, the Iron Bull, and Lace Harding. She could count on all of them to be discreet, and they were among those who were the most likely to get results. Bridget nodded. "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
"I thought as much. Come on, let's go give the Seeker the thrill of her life."
"I do hope that's not the case." She handed the notebook back to him as he got to his feet.
Varric chuckled. "I'd rather not think about that. However the Seeker gets her thrills, her secrets are safe from me."
Cassandra was training when they approached her, and she stepped back, pointing her sword down, as they came near. "Inquisitor. Varric. What can I do for you?"
"Ah, it's what we can do for you, Seeker," Varric said breezily.
With a lift of her eyebrows in question, Cassandra sheathed her sword. Bridget noticed Varric give an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "What have you done now, Varric?"
He held out the notebook. "A peace offering: the next chapter of Swords & Shields. I hear you're a fan."
Cassandra glanced at Bridget with a frown of annoyance. "I wonder where you heard that."
Bridget couldn't help but smile—her first today, and it felt good. "Yes, indeed! I wouldn't have missed this."
Varric waited, but Cassandra didn't reach for the notebook. "Well, if you're not interested …" He made a move to hide it behind his back. "Still needs editing, anyhow."
"Wait!" The eagerness in Cassandra's voice was more than worth it.
"Oh, so you're wondering what happens to the Knight-Captain after the last chapter," Varric said smoothly.
"Nothing should happen to her. She was falsely accused!"
"Well, it turns out that the guardsman—"
Cassandra snatched the notebook out of his hands. "Don't tell me!"
Bridget had to stifle a chuckle, and Varric laughed outright. "In case you're wondering, this is the part where you thank the Inquisitor. I don't normally give sneak peeks, after all."
"Thank you." Cassandra smiled shyly at Bridget. "I appreciate the thought."
"It was everything I'd hoped." She looked between them, glad for the easing of tension between these, two of her most trusted companions and friends.
Varric grinned. "I know how you feel."
Cassandra was looking down at the notebook. "I wonder if I have time to read the first part …"
"You might as well," Bridget told her. "What else were you going to do?"
"A good point." Cassandra tucked the notebook under her arm. "Thank you, Varric."
"My pleasure, Seeker." He gave her a little bow, turning halfway through so it was equally aimed at Bridget, and sauntered off, back toward the main hall.
"Where are you off to, Inquisitor?"
"I'm not sure," Bridget began, but as she spoke she looked up and saw a familiar figure over the wall of the parapet. "I believe I'll go up and check on Cullen."
"Oh?" Perhaps it was her imagination, but Cassandra's cheeks looked suddenly pinker. "He seems to be doing better. Thank you for helping him through the crisis, Inquisitor."
"It was my pleasure. Besides which, we need him."
"That we do." Cassandra nodded. "That we do."
It was pleasant up on the battlements, the breeze cool and soft against Bridget's face. For a moment, standing there enjoying the sunshine, she could almost forget about her terrible worry for Blackwall.
But it was still there, still tearing at her heart even as she tried to continue on her day without thinking of him. He had been so gentle last night, so loving—all as a way to say good-bye. What could have taken him from her that he couldn't tell her about? That there were hidden pieces of his past she knew; he was too secretive and too evasive not to be aware that there was more than he was telling her. But how bad could it be? To take him from Skyhold secretly in the dark depth of night?
With an effort, she drew her thoughts away from Blackwall and approached Cullen, who was looking up at the sky as though he, too, were enjoying the sun and the breeze.
As she came near him, he turned. "Inquisitor. I'm glad you came up. I wanted to thank you— When you came to see me, it— If there's anything …" He blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "That all sounded much better in my head."
"Are you feeling better? You look better."
"I … yes."
"Has it always been that bad?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I'm back there …" Cullen let the words trail off, shaking his head. "I should not have pushed myself so far that day."
"You know Skyhold won't fall apart if you take an hour for yourself now and then."
"Won't it?" He chuckled softly, pretending it was a joke. "It's been so long since I took time for myself I'm not even sure how to begin."
"You could start with spending time with people you like," Bridget suggested, thinking of Cassandra.
"I could." He glanced at Bridget and then looked quickly away. "I have never told anyone else what happened to me at Ferelden's Circle."
"No one will hear it from me," she assured him.
"Thank you." But that hadn't been his point, because he continued on quickly. "I was … not myself after that. I was so angry. For years, that anger blinded to me to—well, to everything but my losses and my sufferings. I am not proud of the man that made me. But now—now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It's a start."
Thinking of the innate gentleness in him, the caring heart he could never quite hide, Bridget thought he sounded too hard on himself. "You are a better person than you give yourself credit for."
He smiled. "I appreciate the thought, but I know who I am." Clearing his throat, he went on, "Anyway, I meant to thank you, not trouble you further. You've enough to worry about. How are you holding up?"
Bridget looked at him sharply, but could see no sign that he was aware of the situation with Blackwall. "Knowing all of you are with me, at my back … it helps." Tears prickled at the back of her eyes thinking of the sudden loss of her most stalwart support—what would she do if Blackwall never came back?—but she pushed them away impatiently. There was no time for that now.
Cullen smiled. "You certainly keep interesting company." He gave a little laugh. "I suppose that means I do as well."
"You're welcome."
"Hm." He shook his head. "Well, I suppose I have been away from my desk long enough. I shudder to think of the pile of dispatches awaiting me."
"I imagine Josephine has been busy filling my desk with correspondence, as well."
"Duty calls, then." He gave her a little nod. "Inquisitor."
"Commander."
Bridget sought out her desk, forcing herself to concentrate on the papers there—as suspected, Josephine had been busy this morning, and Bridget's signature was necessary on a number of documents.
It was close to sunset when Leliana came to her. "I am sorry, Inquisitor. Blackwall is gone."
Bridget held her patience in check with some difficulty. She knew Blackwall was gone. No one knew it better than she. She should have seen it coming, she thought. He had been so distant, so … it was hard to put her finger on it, but something had been off.
"You might find this interesting." Leliana held out a piece of vellum. "It had gone missing from last week's reports. We found it in a stall in the barn. I suspect he must have dropped it."
Bridget took the vellum from her, reading it over. It was a report of some kind about the capture of a man named Cyril Mornay, who had been wanted by the Orlesian government for something called the Callier Massacre of 9:37. It went on to say that this Mornay insisted that he hadn't known who he was assassinating, that he had been acting on orders from his captain, a man named Thom Rainier.
Thom. Blackwall had asked her to call him Thom. Icy fingers of fear chilled Bridget to the bone, but she tried to hide her dismay from the scout. Feiging a calm she was far from feeling, she looked up from the paper and asked, "What does it mean?"
"I don't know what Blackwall's interest in this particular matter is, Inquisitor, but it's the best place we have found yet to begin looking for him."
Glancing over the report again, Bridget read that Mornay was scheduled to be executed in Val Royeaux. Several days away, so there was time. "Tell the Iron Bull and Cassandra and Varric that we will be leaving for Val Royeaux in the morning."
"I wish you would let me send scouts, instead."
"You know I can't. If—whatever is happening, I need to be there."
"Inquisitor …"
"Spymaster."
Leliana sighed. "Very well. I will tell them. If—" She stopped, shaking her head. "Good luck, Inquisitor."
"Thank you."
As Leliana left the room, Bridget folded the vellum and tucked it away in her travel bag, methodically laying out her things. She felt numb, as though the fear and the loss were far away and the only thing that mattered was how well she packed.
Suddenly the weight of the entire day, the concerns of the others, the cares of the Inquisition, the loss of Blackwall, rushed up on her all at once, and she knelt down by her chamber pot and was violently sick. When it had passed, she leaned back against the side of the bed, closing her eyes. One hand closed on the locket around her neck, the other on the Warden badge she took from her pocket, and she surrendered to the storm of weeping she had been trying to hold back all day.