Bonus chapter today, because Christmas, among other reasons! Many thanks to all of you for reading - knowing you're enjoying this as much as I am is a gift every day. Special thanks and warm Christmas wishes to Oleander's One for suggestions, advice, hand-holding, and all-around support.

30 Solace, 9:41

Antonia shifted restlessly in the blankets. She was still cold and weakened from her long ordeal in the snow, despite Dorian's fire spells and the hot soup Josephine had brought her and the warm blankets Varric had parted with. Sleeping in bedrolls in the open air wasn't helping her—or any of them. She knew the Inquisition was looking to her to lead them, to tell them what to do and where to go, but she didn't know any better than they did. And her advisors—

She winced, listening to the raised voices. They were at it again.

"What would you have me tell them?" Cullen was saying. "This isn't what we asked them to do."

Cassandra snapped back at him. "We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way."

"And who put you in charge?" he asked. "We need a consensus, or we have nothing."

Antonia put a hand to her head. No one was getting any sleep at this rate.

"Please, we must use reason," Josephine pleaded. "Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled!"

"That can't come from nowhere!" Cullen shouted.

Antonia had never heard him so angry, and she wondered why. They were all in the same boat, after all—the soldiers weren't suffering any more than anyone else. Possibly they were in better shape for being more used to living outdoors. But she hadn't had a chance to talk to him at all, so perhaps there was more to his anger than that.

He had come by once or twice in the last few days while she had been recovering, but only to offer a courteous wish for her continued well-being. She hadn't even had the chance to thank him for leading the rescue party—if he hadn't, she might very well have frozen to death there in the snow.

"She didn't say it could!" Leliana snapped back at Cullen. Antonia rubbed her forehead, wishing she could yell at them all to just shut up.

Cassandra shouted, "Enough! This is getting us nowhere!"

"Well, we're agreed on that much," Cullen said bitingly.

Antonia sat up, prepared to charge into the middle of them, but just the movement made her dizzy.

Next to her, Mother Giselle said, "Sh. You need rest. And food." She put a warm piece of skillet bread into Antonia's hands. "You have to rebuild your strength."

"Who can rest?" Antonia said, devouring the bread. "They've been at it for hours. Is there any more?"

Mother Giselle chuckled and gave her an apple. "They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow ... and with time to doubt, we turn to blame."

"That's not productive."

"No. Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus."

Antonia rubbed her temples. It was all so hazy; she could dimly remember Corypheus flying off on his corrupted dragon. "Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are now?"

Mother Giselle smiled a little. "We are not sure where we are. Which may be why despite the numbers he still commands, there has been no sign of him. That, or he believes you dead. Or, without Haven, we are believed helpless. Or he readies for another attack."

"None of those are exactly comforting," Antonia said.

From across the camp, Cullen could see her deep in conversation with Mother Giselle. He was glad to note that she was sitting up, and there appeared to be some color in her face again. Since he had brought her back to camp, he hadn't been able to bring himself to go near her other than for the few minutes courtesy demanded; seeing her white, wan face and hearing her voice, so feeble, brought home to him exactly how close it had been. And that had been his fault, because he hadn't been prepared for Corypheus.

"Cullen, I do not know what you expect us to do," Leliana said, calling him back to the argument at hand.

"We can't just sit here!"

"We know that," Cassandra snapped. "Yelling at us that the situation is untenable does not make it more tenable." She was looking at him with measuring eyes, and he wondered if she could tell that the effects of the lyrium withdrawal had been worse recently. He was feverish, which was always a bad sign.

On the other side of the fire, Mother Giselle looked kindly at Antonia. "Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand ... and fall. And now we have seen her return."

Antonia sighed heavily. She had had just about enough of this.

"The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained." Mother Giselle must have seen the immediate negation that rose to Antonia's lips, because she smiled and raised a hand. "That is hard to accept, no? What 'we' have been called to endure? What 'we', perhaps, must come to believe?"

"Mother Giselle, I am not touched by Andraste, and we were not meant to be here. Our own actions brought us here—Chancellor Roderick's path, and Cole's ability to hear his thoughts, and Commander Cullen's leadership."

"It is hard for others to view it that way—they want to see protection where you see none, to see ordination where you see free will. And the people know what they saw." She lifted her head and looked at Cullen across the camp.

Cullen saw Mother Giselle's eyes on him, and he turned around so that he wouldn't be tempted to look again. Until the attack on Haven, he had thought of Antonia as a beautiful woman, yes, and a strong and intelligent and courageous one, but he hadn't realized how important she had become to him personally until he had had to leave her; until he had gone back to find her and been unable to contemplate what he would do if she were truly lost somewhere beneath the snow.

Now he was caught somewhere between duty and inclination, between the oaths he had sworn to the Inquisition and what he owed to her. He wanted to go to her and apologize, to assure himself that she was recovering from her ordeal, to ... to touch her and feel that she was truly real.

But the Inquisition needed him more, and they needed her recovered, so he had kept his distance, renewing to himself the vow he had made to serve the Inquisition to the best of his ability—and further dedicating himself to ensuring that what had happened in Haven would never be allowed to happen again. Which meant somewhere more secure than this tent city, somewhere they could defend.

Cullen had known a fair number of women in the course of his life—other Templars, mages, citizens of Kirkwall, and now, of course, he was the only man in the leadership of the Inquisition. So he had had to get used to spending time around women, but he had never felt as comfortable with a woman as he was with Antonia, never enjoyed talking to someone as much. She was very well-read, interested in learning new things, quick to pick up on new concepts, and her warmth and humor set her apart from all the other women he had ever known.

If he had needed one final thing to cement his opinion of her, she had chosen to sacrifice herself for the good of them all—chosen without hesitation or doubt. His feelings ever since made it impossible for him to deny that what he felt for her went beyond friendship. He had no illusions about how poorly timed or how unlikely to be reciprocated those feelings were, but he could no longer pretend to himself not to have them.

He drew his attention back to the camp, realizing that he was now standing alone. Josephine and Leliana had wearied of the argument, sitting together. He had never seen Leliana look so defeated. She sat with her knees drawn up, her face buried in her folded arms. Josephine, next to her, looked so out of place here in her shiny satin blouse—she must be freezing, Cullen thought.

Cassandra was standing over his maps, looking desperately for answers. And he? What would he do now? Surely there was something he could do of value—but he couldn't seem to think properly, the familiar headache tightening at his temples. The whispers would come next, the shadows of his past coming back to haunt him, and he thought of the box hidden among his things. Did he owe it to the Inquisition to take the lyrium right now, to be working at his peak capabilities?

He heard movement behind him, and looked around to see Antonia on her feet, for the first time since the avalanche. His heart lifted; despite the look of weariness in her face, it was good to see her up and about.

Mother Giselle's voice came from behind Antonia, raised in song. An old song, one Cullen had not heard in years, but it was familiar, and it caught the attention of everyone in camp.

Leliana lifted her head, looking at Mother Giselle as she came to stand next to Antonia; Josephine and Cassandra looked up as well.

And then Leliana's clear, pure voice joined in the second verse, and around Cullen the people came gathering, voice after voice joining in the song. Across the space between them he looked at Antonia—she had survived, he reminded himself. Whatever had happened, she had survived, the Inquisition had survived, and there was time to rebuild better than what Haven had had to offer. He, too, lifted up his voice and joined in the song, and the shadows that had been gathering around him receded for now.

Antonia could hear Cullen's voice, mellow and deep and smooth, above everyone else's, and she focused on it, feeling it soothe the aching of her head and warm her all through. People were gathering from all around them, coming into the small clearing of tents. And all around her they were kneeling ... to her, she realized with some dismay.

She wanted to tell them to get up; she was no one to kneel to. She was only a woman, just like them, she thought, get up, get up! But next to her, Mother Giselle gestured to her to look around her, to see the difference. They were singing; they had hope and new strength, and if kneeling to her, looking on her as some kind of leader was the way to get there, perhaps she had to let them. Clinging to her own stubborn belief in who she was mattered to her, but it didn't help the Inquisition, not today.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the one person, other than herself, who wasn't singing. Solas stood, watching them all. It made sense that he might not know the song ... but the look on his face was more than that. It sent a shiver down Antonia's back, although she couldn't have said why, and she wanted to enfold the rest of the Inquisition and pull them to her, to protect them.

In that moment, she accepted her role; whatever it cost her, she would be the leader they needed her to be.