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Bridget was glad to be back in Skyhold, even though it meant all sorts of thorny discussions ahead of her—not least of which, the one with Blackwall. Thom Rainier. Would she never remember that the first one was gone and the other had taken his place?

It was Leliana who approached her first, however, appearing in Bridget's quarters first thing in the morning. "Inquisitor, I think we need to talk."

"You're right. I haven't had much chance since Halamshiral to ask you about Morrigan." That ought to hold her off a bit from the other topic.

Leliana looked somewhat taken aback. "Morrigan?"

"Yes. Your former Blight companion, now our liaison with Orlais. What do we do with her?"

"As little as possible," Leliana said crisply. She paused, sighing. "No, that is uncharitable of me. She's changed. She used to be … disagreeable. Cruel. She said things just to hurt people."

Bridget had no trouble imagining that.

"Now the sharp edges have worn away," Leliana continued. "Perhaps it was Kieran. I understand having children is a … transformative experience." She frowned. "He seems so normal, like any other little boy. And so polite."

"Why shouldn't he be like any other little boy?"

"What? Oh, because of Morrigan," Leliana said quickly, but Bridget had the strong impression there was more to it than she was saying. "Nonetheless, Morrigan is not what I came up here to discuss." She sank onto the couch at the top of the stairs. "I am aware of your … condition."

"I thought you might be. You probably knew before I did."

"You have been distracted. Still—it is something we need to discuss. The easiest thing to do, of course—" Leliana paused delicately.

"No. No," Bridget said firmly. She knew what Leliana was suggesting, and no doubt it would have been the wisest course under the circumstances, but— "I can't do that."

Leliana nodded, sighing. "I thought you might say that. I am aware of your arrangement with your brother."

Bridget clutched her locket. "How did you know about that?"

"I am your spymaster. And … well, he looks just like you. I'm not surprised your brother didn't wish you to remain on his estate."

"So you understand why I can't … consider what you're suggesting."

"I understand," Leliana agreed, "but are you certain you know the risks? To you, to … everyone?"

"No, not all of them. I'll talk to Solas, as soon as I've talked to—" Bridget turned, looking toward the barn.

"I do not envy you that conversation." Leliana got to her feet. "You'll need new armor, protection spells, training …"

"Under control," Bridget told her. "Or, it will be."

"Once you've spoken to Rainier."

Bridget nodded.

"Then, Inquisitor, you must talk to him quickly. We cannot afford to have you vulnerable."

"Yes. I understand. I will."

Or, at least, she would try. Later, Bridget decided once Leliana had left.

Downstairs, she took her breakfast to Varric's table. The dwarf was writing steadily, but Bridget wondered how much he was concentrating on his work and how much he was still focused on Bianca's betrayal. Bridget ate, and Varric wrote, until at last he threw his quill down in defeat. "I'm glad to have answers," he told her, answering the question she hadn't asked, "but … shit. The second she showed up here, I knew. I just … knew." He groaned. "I let this mess happen. I gave her the thaig. And I am not good at dealing with shit like this."

"You manage to talk your way through most things," Bridget observed.

"That is what I do, isn't it? If the Seeker hadn't dragged me here, I'd be in Kirkwall right now, pretending none of this was happening."

"I don't believe that. You could have left at any time, but you're still here, working as hard as any of us to stop Corypheus." She studied him curiously. "After all this, do you think you'll see Bianca again?"

"I always do." It was hard to tell from his tone whether he was looking forward to the occasion or not.

"How long have you been together?" Bridget asked.

"Shit, I don't even remember. If you want to split hairs, we're not, and never have been. Usually there's a continent between us at all times. We write letters, now and then we manage to meet up."

It sounded very lonely to Bridget, but from what she knew of Varric, she imagined it worked out for him just fine.

"It's been, what, fifteen years? Great, now I feel old. Thanks."

Bridget smiled, accepting the change in conversational tone. "Sorry."

"When I met her, she still lived in Kirkwall, and I was looking for someone with … mechanical skills." He was looking over Bridget's shoulder at the hammered copper relief on the wall, talking more to himself than to her. "Bianca is, beyond a doubt, the most brilliant smith you will ever meet." He shook his head. "Before this, I hadn't seen her since she got married and moved to Orlais."

"Married?" Bridget echoed.

He nodded. "Bianca's family are kalnas—surface dwarves so conservative they don't take a piss without asking the Ancestors first. They arranged a marriage for her with a smith caste boy. Wealthy, respected, has a great anvil collection. The perfect husband."

"An arranged marriage. Hard to believe she would put up with that."

"You have to understand, her work is her first love. Her only real love. To be left alone to do her work, she would have sacrificed … much more than that." His voice was carefully controlled, but Bridget understood—he was what had been sacrificed. It explained so much about why this man with his big, loving heart was so content to sit on the sidelines and chronicle everyone else's lives.

"I'm sorry, Varric."

Varric waved a hand to let her know he didn't want to talk about it any longer, picking up his quill to underscore the message.

Bridget took her breakfast dishes to the sideboard, wondering how Black—Rainier was making out in the scullery.

As she scrubbed off her dishes in the tubs of water kept there for the purpose, Bridget was aware of tense voices near her. Looking up, she saw Dorian and Mother Giselle in the midst of a conversation that neither of them seemed to be enjoying.

Bridget approached them. "What's going on here?"

"It seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my 'undue influence' over you." Dorian crossed his arms over his chest.

"This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone …"

"What, specifically, is wrong with him being from Tevinter?" Bridget cut in.

"I'm fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same," Mother Giselle responded uncomfortably.

Dorian snorted. "How kind of you to notice. Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses."

"It is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them?"

"The truth?"

"The truth is I don't know you, and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue."

Bridget raised her eyebrows. "Will they? And you can be so certain of that how, exactly?"

"I …"

"I see. Rest assured, Mother Giselle, that I do know Dorian, and I would not care to think that rumors about one of my companions would be spread by anyone who had at heart the best interests of the Inquisition."

Mother Giselle inclined her head in understanding. "I see. I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man's intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both."

"Apology accepted," Bridget said crisply, and Mother Giselle moved away.

"Well, that's something," Dorian said, watching her go.

"She didn't get to you, did she?"

He glanced at her, his face softening. "Yours is the good opinion I care about, not hers. Perhaps it's odd to say, but … I think of you as a friend. I have precious few friends—I didn't think to find one here."

"Well, you have," she assured him.

He held up a hand. "Let me get this out while I have the courage to be sincere. Allow me to say that I'll stand beside you—against Corypheus, my countrymen, spurious rumor, or anything else that may come up—as long as you'll have me."

Bridget smiled, blinking back the tears that sprang to her eyes. "You may regret that offer. Do—do you want to talk about what happened with your father?"

Dorian sighed. "He says we're alike. Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to be like him … now I'm not so certain. I don't know if I can forgive him. Thank you for bringing me there. It wasn't what I expected, but—I think I needed it."

"I think you're very brave," she told him.

"Brave?"

"It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path."

"Oh. Well. Thank you." Dorian bowed to her and hurried off, but not before she had seen the sheen of tears in his eyes. Her words had touched him, as his had touched her. Bridget was grateful for his friendship, and his support.

She went next to the Undercroft, to consult with Harritt and Dagna. Rainier wouldn't come here without her, and both of them could be trusted to keep her secret. Besides, this would force her to have the conversation sooner rather than later, which she needed to do.

Rainier was putting the finishing touches on a lion he'd been carving when an Inquisition servant came to the doorway of the barn.

"Uh, ser … you are required."

"Required? By whom?" But he knew. No one else would—or could—send him such a peremptory message and expect him to respond.

"The Inquisitor. In her quarters."

Her quarters? Rainer looked up at the balcony, imagining beyond it the cozy room where he had spent so many happy hours. It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse—if she wanted to see him she could bloody well come down here herself—but he had no desire to be dragged through Skyhold in chains, and she was capable of commanding that, and quite possibly angry enough to do it.

"Very well. Tell her I'll be there in an hour." Let her come after him if she was too impatient to wait.

The servant merely nodded and withdrew, leaving Rainier to finish sanding the lion, and to be glad he was done with the carving, because he would surely have cut himself had he tried to use a knife right now, he was so filled with anticipation, frustration, longing, and outright anger.