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After Bridget had reluctantly torn herself from Thom's side, she went for a walk in the gardens. While much remained to be done, her head was in the clouds, and she wasn't certain she wanted to come down just now.
She came upon Morrigan's young son Kieran bent seriously over a sheet of vellum at the table in the middle of the garden. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't notice her stopping to watch him. It was hard to imagine the tiny life growing inside her becoming a child like this one, studying and playing and … Bridget frowned. She had never seen Kieran play. She wondered if Morrigan simply didn't understand the concept. She had never seen Morrigan appear to enjoy herself, either.
Even as she had the thought, Morrigan appeared next to her. "You think I am too hard on the boy."
"What? No. Not entirely," Bridget admitted, as Morrigan had clearly already read her thoughts. "I was simply thinking I don't know what it's like to be a mother. And you have done a fine job. He's an impressive young man."
"He is that," Morrigan agreed, her eyes softening as they rested on her boy. "Do not concern yourself, Inquisitor. Much of being a mother is determining what the child you bear needs. Kieran is not like other children. Your child may not be, either."
Bridget sighed. "I should be used to discovering that everyone knows more than I want them to by now."
"You should. If a dozen ravens and spies have not carried the news across Thedas by now, you will be fortunate."
"These are the moments I wish I didn't have to be the Inquisitor." She clenched her fist, the Anchor sparking within it. "But I do, and there's no point in speculating otherwise."
"A wise point of view. Do you think that sparing the Grey Wardens was as wise?"
Bridget looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"The weakness Corypheus exploited was their own doing. It still exists within their ranks."
"Whether it does or not, if a true Archdemon were to rise again, they would be needed."
"So they would have us believe."
"You don't think so?"
"I believe there is more to the story than even they may know." A small smile played on Morrigan's lips.
"I understand you know much about elven lore," Bridget said, wanting to change the subject.
"The Dalish are not the only ones interested in the distant past," Morrigan agreed. "Indeed, my skills allow me access to places the Dalish dare not even dream of. The ancient elves hold secrets they have not yet given up, secrets about the foundation of Thedas itself. Thus, they are my focus."
"Corypheus clearly feels the same."
"Yes. A fact which should be of great concern to all of us." It was hard to tell whether Morrigan was indicating her disappointment with the Inquisition's current focus, or if that was simply how she always sounded.
With some relief, Bridget spied Dorian across the garden and excused herself. The daylight was waning, long shadows across the neat rows of plants.
Dorian watched her approach, studying her face intently. "You looked tired. The little passenger taking a toll on you?"
"Not too bad today. I think I even kept some food down at some point."
"Which means you clearly haven't eaten enough. Come along."
"Oh, no, isn't it lamb and pea stew night?" Bridget groaned. Fereldan cooking was unappetizing at the best of times.
"With the right company, even grey mush can be stomached." He linked his arm through hers. "I can't help but notice we aren't on our way out of Skyhold."
"No. I mean, soon." She shivered, and Dorian squeezed her arm more firmly with his own.
"I understand. The stakes are higher for you, now."
"Yes."
"They have been this high all along, you know, for many in Thedas."
"Thank you," Bridget said tartly. "I think I knew that."
"Ah, yes, but now you feel it, which is different. Still … all this has happened before, if not precisely this way. Someone shows up, tears the place apart, declares himself king? That's half of history. Just because this one's a Chantry cautionary tale who wants to be a god doesn't make him different—just delusional."
"And dangerous."
"Yes, but they always are, aren't they? And some hero always steps out of nowhere to defeat them. You will do the same. And I will be at your side, looking fabulous. As always." He grinned, and Bridget smiled along with him.
Thom had returned to his carving, whistling at his work, happier than he had felt in a very long time—possibly ever—when he suddenly felt certain someone was watching him.
He turned, chisel in hand, scanning the shadowy corners of the barn, and found no one.
"Hey. You. Up here!"
He followed the voice and looked up to see Sera perched on the upper floor, looking down at him.
"Took you long enough, eh? Too addled from tumbling the Inquizzy all afternoon?"
"Keep a civil tongue in your head," he growled, but with some amusement. He liked Sera—a daft girl, but her heart was in the right place.
Sera giggled and leaped down onto the main floor. "So what's all this?"
"Just a bit of carving. Keeps my hands busy."
She giggled again, and he waited for the double entendre, but it didn't come. She ran her hands over the finish fennec. "Can you do a nug?"
"I can. Would you like one?"
Hastily Sera turned away, never liking to be caught in a vulnerable moment.
"No, then." Thom nodded, privately resolving to make one for her anyway, and sneak it into her room so she couldn't refuse it. "Sera. When this is all done, if you ever need my help for anything, you just ask, all right?"
Her face lit up and she clapped her hands like a child. "Knew it! Knew you could be one of us."
"Us? Oh. That Red Jenny thing. I didn't mean …" He couldn't imagine anyone less suited to be one of Sera's friends. Thom Rainier had always thought his place lay with the big people, not the small.
Sera ignored him. "It'll be brilliant, right? You can flip some tables, show some nobs your arse or something."
"And that would be helpful, would it?"
"Inky-wisitor seems to find it distracting." She giggled again.
"I don't believe anyone else needs to see my arse," Thom said dryly.
"I know!" Sera elbowed him in the side and skipped out of the barn, leaving Thom to shake his head and get back to his carving.