Measures of Success

"Hey, Boss. Got word from the Chargers," Bull said without preamble as I blinked at him, not yet fully awake. "You'll want to see."

"Did they find the missing scouts?" I asked, sitting up and reaching for my robes and breeches. Stays and a fresh shift could wait until later.

"Few days ago," Bull answered, carefully backing out of the tent so I could dress in a privacy I didn't actually need. "I didn't bring it up since there was so much going on, and there was still more we needed to know about who killed 'em. 'Blades of Hessarian' ring any bells?"

"Hessarian was some magister who burned Andraste at the stake and then killed her instead of actually letting her burn to death, right?" I asked, yanking on my breeches and lacing them up.

"That covers it, yeah. The Blades are a militaristic religious sect claiming that they're wielded by Andraste herself. Asked Cassandra for some background - their leader is chosen by right of arms and has full control over them until such a time as someone else kills him - or her." I scrambled out of the tent, stomping into my boots and tying the laces only loosely, just to keep them out of the way.

"Where are we going?" I asked Bull. "Rookery?"

"Nah, word came in with one of Harding's." He jerked his head toward another area of the courtyard. "Red's debriefing him. Got a little present for you."

"A...present?" I repeated, confused, falling in beside him as we made our way to Leliana's tent.

"Yep. Krem found out how to challenge the bastard who ordered your people killed. He thought you might enjoy taking revenge while getting your hands on your own mercenary company."

I thought of the scouts who had been killed. I hadn't known them personally, but I knew Harding had. And they were - had been - ours . Two more lost, but lost senselessly. What had we ever done to threaten these Blades of Hessarian?

"Yes," I told Bull tightly. "I think I wouldn't mind vengeance, though I don't know that I want to command a group of people who would accept such orders."

"Well, that's your call," he replied with a shrug. "Just offering you the option, Boss."

"Thanks," I told him.

The option, it turned out, involved wearing a special necklace and challenging the Blades' leader and his honor guard to combat with me and my honor guard. Krem and Harding had already put together the materials and had the Crest of Mercy crafted. All I had to do was walk into their stronghold wearing it.

"It might be better to take care of it sooner than later," Leliana told me thoughtfully. "As much as there is to be done at Skyhold, we can likely spare you for a few weeks. I would hate to lose anyone else."

"Agreed," I said. "Do you think I ought to take command of the Blades, though, or destroy them?"

She looked a little surprised at the question. "Take command, naturally," she replied, and then a small smile tugged at her mouth. "I'm not certain Cassandra would agree, but if we can make a heretical sect useful, I see no reason not to. Let them shoulder some of the risks our people would otherwise bear. Besides," she added, "were you not the one who chided me for wanting to kill one of my rogue agents?"

That brought me up short - I had forgotten the incident. "Right. You're right," I said, scrubbing at my face with one hand. "All right - you should come, Bull, since we're meeting up with your Chargers. I'll work out who else to bring while I finish dressing and get my kit together."

"I suggest Cassandra," Leliana called after me, and explained when I paused to look back in her direction: "Her knowledge of Chantry history and sects may prove useful." She shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

A good one, I decided as I made my way back to my tent. Cassandra and Bull would go with me, then - who else? I didn't know how the Blades might react to a spirit - or how Compassion might react to my current lack of that emotion - so Cole was out. I didn't necessarily need another mage, so perhaps better to leave Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne behind. They were still exceptionally useful around camp, after all, even if the presence of the Chargers meant I didn't need to balance the skills of my companions as carefully as I otherwise would.

I finished dressing and began packing for the journey, still debating. It ultimately didn't matter, probably, whether I took Sera, Varric, or Blackwall. Perhaps I would let them decide amongst themselves who -

A cough outside my tent called my attention, and I recognized it instantly: Solas.

"You can come in," I told him. "I'm just organizing gear."

There was a soft thud outside as something was dropped on the ground, and then my tent flaps parted and he ducked in, somehow managing to look stern and disapproving even bent over. He settled on the ground so he could at least straighten his spine in a clear signal of his displeasure. Even at its tallest point, the tent was too short for him to stand upright. It only barely allowed for me to do so, and he was nearly a head taller. "I'm coming with you," he informed me.

I considered the statement for a moment. "You would be of more use here, but if you insist," I replied mildly. At least this way I didn't have to decide between Sera, Varric, and Blackwall.

Solas let out a long breath and nodded. "I feared you would object. The way you have been acting lately…"

Talking about that I did object to. "I'm merely...dealing with some things," I told him flatly, hoping my tone would convey how much I didn't want to talk about this.

He tried to pin me with a stare, but I refused to look at him. "I fear that is precisely the opposite of what you are doing, but perhaps…" He hesitated. "Perhaps a little more time is called for."

This time I glared at him - in Skyhold, I could do that across a tent. "You aren't the arbiter of my timelines, Solas."

"I'm not," he agreed, matching me glare for glare. "But Corypheus will be, if you permit yourself to delay too long, and so I will do all I can to prevent such an eventuality." He rose - as much as he could - before I could find a response. "Shall I see to your horse?"

"... ma serannas ," I said after a brief moment of wrestling with resentment, and he left me with another significant look.

The four of us - Solas, Bull, Cassandra, and I - met in the stable after breakfast. I had started feeling guilty by that time, and stole a moment to apologize to Solas while he checked some buckles on his saddle. " Ir abelas ," I told him. "I know I don't have everything sorted yet - I'm trying the best I can."

"I'm not angry, but concerned," he replied in an undertone. "The methods you employ don't appear to be resolving anything, and yet you are determined not to speak of it."

"Talking just makes me feel worse."

"Sometimes the path to healing lies through the pain, rather than in a direction which avoids it," he replied. He sighed at my expression, which I imagined was mulish. "After we have dealt with the Blades of Hessarian, if nothing is better, will you at least speak to me? We'll have a moment to breathe, or so it is to be hoped, and your feelings won't endanger anything."

"All right," I told him reluctantly, already certain I would regret it.

"Thank you," he sighed again, this time with relief, and briefly - furtively - brushed my cheek with his fingers.

The Storm Coast was several days nearer Skyhold than it had been Haven, even with the caveat that there were more mountain passes to negotiate and they were becoming more difficult as winter closed in. Solas and I were capable of ensuring the weather didn't overwhelm our small party, though for the sake of efficiency we crowded into a single tent for the duration of our passage through the mountains. Bull and Cassandra insisted on sleeping on either end, and Solas somehow managed to arrange things each night so I slept between himself and Bull, so I was perfectly warm, even though Cassandra would clearly have preferred to divide the tent by sex.

We went back to separate tents once we had descended below the snow level. The weather became more temperate - if wetter - as we came closer to the Waking Sea. Usually I found a certain amount of peace on the road. I supposed it reminded me of being home with my clan. This time, though, I was restless and impatient, eager to reach our destination while simultaneously dreading to learn precisely how senseless the deaths of our scouts had been. My dreams at night weren't typically enough to wake me, but they were disturbed - unsettling. Sometimes I dreamed that the Blades of Hessarian were led by Corypheus, and the Crest of Mercy was merely a means of separating me from Skyhold and the bulk of the Inquisition's forces. Other times, it turned out the Blades had been imbibing red lyrium, or had been corrupted by darkspawn and had become ghouls. Sometimes they had corrupted the Chargers, as well, or - somehow - Solas and the others, and I was alone again.

I wasn't a fool - I understood what my dreams meant. They were variations on the theme that had led me to exhaust myself before I slept every night at Skyhold. It was disheartening, though, to learn that I was still having such dreams - that the distance and weeks I thought I had put between myself and Haven hadn't, apparently, changed anything.

It seemed that Solas might be right, and I hated that - not because I minded him being right, but because I had already done so many hard, painful things. I was physically rested, and yet still so tired, somehow. I just wanted it to be easy - just once.

There was time, and I didn't want to think anyway, and so I reached back to lessons from my childhood - back when I was Second, when my magic was still unstable, when my feelings possessed a child's volatility - and I tried to recall the meditation disciplines Deshanna had drilled into me. It had been years since I had practiced, and I wasn't wildly successful as I rode on horseback through a chill rain, with Solas more often than not riding at my side - but it did give me something else to focus on.

We arrived at our forward camp in the late evening about two weeks after we had set out from Skyhold. Harding asked - haltingly - about the attack on Haven, which I let Cassandra and Bull talk about, because I couldn't. Solas sat close, his shoulder brushing mine, in what I assumed was a show of support - especially given the troubled looks he cast my way - but he clearly wasn't comfortable being any more demonstrative in the middle of our camp.

I wasn't certain I would have been comfortable with him being more demonstrative, either, but there wasn't much I was certain of at that moment, so ambivalence from me was no surprise.

Though I tried to keep my expression, at worst, impassive, afterward Harding thanked me for closing the Breach and called me a hero, so I thought I had probably failed. The Inquisition soldiers led a cheer, which the Chargers joined in on - and I wished I could just go hide somewhere.

Why had it all felt like success when I thought I would die, and why did it feel - if not like failure - at least terribly inadequate now that I had survived?

I tried to respond to their cheers with a smile, and then I went to bed.