Chapter Two: Waiting for the Dawn
Rosalie's mind roiled like a stormy sea as she trudged through the snow. Memories of fleeing Ferelden over snow-capped mountains as a girl mixing together with the words of a terrible creature who thought itself a god made it hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Or perhaps injury and exhaustion were to blame.
So be it, the voice growled in her mind. I will begin again. Find another way to bring this world the nation - and god - it requires.
She had seen the face of her enemy and lived, but the price was a painful realization; it was never going to end. The thought occurred that perhaps letting the snow bury her was her only true chance of escape. Still, her feet kept moving.
You will not fail me. Another voice came to her thoughts, one that was stern yet gentle all at once. You cannot fail me. Already when I found you, you had survived despite the odds. I have trained you, given you every tool you need to succeed. Now make me proud.
"Yes, Master," she breathed, not realizing she'd said the words aloud.
Eventually the remains of a fire came into view, embers still warm. After that it wasn't long before she found footprints that the wind hadn't yet erased. The smell of cooking stew and the sound of voices carried to her on the wind. The howl of a wolf in the distance made her pick up her pace, as did the knowledge that she didn't have the strength to carry herself much further.
"There, it's her!" she soon heard Cullen shout.
"Thank the Maker!" That was Cassandra's voice. Welcome sounds to tired ears.
Rosalie didn't even have the strength to raise her head to look at them. Her legs buckled beneath her in that moment and she sank to her knees with a sigh of relief.
From there, she could only recall brief patches of clarity. Cassandra carrying her to a hastily built camp on top of the mountain and Cullen complaining that he could have done it. Being bundled up in a bedroll with Vivienne there to warm her with magic and complain in that Vivienne sort of way that only showed she cared, not that she would admit it. And of course Cole lingering nearby, occasionally muttering words that made sense to nobody but her, words that somehow managed to make everything seem slightly less hopeless.
Mother Giselle was there more often than not. Rosalie imagined she liked to stay close to the wounded so that she could pray for them and guide them to the Maker's side when necessary. She suspected Giselle was hoping to offer Rosalie some friendly advice too, but it was hard to think what could be said considering the woman didn't know the whole truth. Nobody did. Or so she hoped...
"You know, I keep going over it in my head. I can't quite get why you were trying to run away." This time she'd opened her eyes to the sight of Iron Bull sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her bedroll. Even now he wasn't wearing a shirt.
"You do realize it's snowing out? If you're not careful, Mother Giselle's going to knit you a scarf," she teased.
"Hmm. Not really into wearing stuff someone could easily use to strangle you..." he answered, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "And no changing the subject. I'm serious here, boss."
"Boss?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"After you faced down that thing? That's going to change what a lot of people call you from now on, if I'm any judge. And don't think I didn't notice that you did it again."
Rosalie blinked, an all-too-innocent impression on her face. "Did what?"
"Mhmm. Ben-Hassrath are taught to be good at changing the subject, too." His face was mostly serious, but there was a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth that told him he was at least slightly amused.
Well fine, she could acknowledge the question, even if she was hoping not to answer it. "Why are you so sure I was running away?"
"Ben-Hass- You know, it's almost like you don't believe I'm really a spy," he said, feigning offence at the notion.
She smiled tiredly. "You don't exactly seem the type. Most spies don't like to stand out as much as a shirtless Qunari so large he has to duck down in doorways so he doesn't bash his horns on the lintels. And most don't announce themselves at the earliest opportunity."
"No. They don't," he agreed, giving her a very pointed look.
Rosalie swallowed, but didn't break his gaze. If she looked away, he'd definitely know, though she suspected he'd already reached the right conclusion on his own.
After an awkward moment of silence, Iron Bull finally sighed. "Listen… I don't know if you're really chosen by some prophet or just the person who was in the right place at the right time, but either way, whoever ended up with a mark like that on their hand wouldn't have been expecting it. However you came to be here, whatever you were before, might not matter as much as you think it does. Shit, I saw you face down some twisted, deluded Vint asshole who thinks he's a god while the rest of us ran for safety." He shrugged. "Whatever you were before, you saved us today."
Without really thinking about it, she reached out and grasped his hand. Later she would blame it on exhaustion, but in the moment she simply knew that she needed to feel warm skin against hers, needed someone to accept her, even if only for a short while.
For a moment he seemed to stiffen at the touch, and she wondered if it was out of fear of the green mark on her palm or some deeper reason. His hesitation only lasted a moment, however, and then she watched her hand disappear into his great paw as he closed his fingers and squeezed gently. He didn't comment, just bowed his head, silently acknowledging her need.
She soon grew self-conscious about the touch and tugged her hand away, and Iron Bull nodded, slowly rising to his feet. He left without a word, and Rosalie stared down at her hand until her eyelids became heavy and she had to surrender to sleep once more.
Their journey wasn't quite as miserable as it could have been given the circumstances, the Iron Bull noted, but it wasn't fun by any stretch of the imagination. People were succumbing to their injuries every day, and the cold wasn't making it any easier for anyone to rally. The people had been given hope by the Herald's return from what seemed like certain death, but they'd been following her through through the snow for days and nobody seemed to have any idea where she was taking them. The one chance the Iron Bull had had to corner her and ask, she'd said something about Solas searching the Fade to find them a path, and that sure as shit didn't fill him with confidence.
Still, his boys were faring well all things considered. He looked to each of them in turn and smiled at how lucky they'd been so far. It was nice not to have any more deaths on his conscience.
"Hey, Tiny," Varric called as he approached the group. The nickname made one corner of Bull's mouth lift with amusement. "They're saying it's just about time to move out."
Bull didn't ask after Rosalie. If there were anything worth mentioning, Varric wouldn't need to be prompted. "Horns up, Chargers," he grunted, lifting Dalish up onto his back. The elf had suffered an ankle injury in the escape from Haven, and since she barely weighed as much as Bull's sword, it had been no hassle to carry her over the mountains, though Grim, Stitches and Krem had each taken turns as well.
"Ready to move out, chief," Krem quickly reported.
"Feel like some company?" Varric offered, moving beside Iron Bull at a similar pace - which was impressive considering how much shorter his legs were. "I'm getting a little tired of hearing Vivienne and Blackwall. He brings out her ice queen side and it's cold enough out here already."
They let others pass them as they moved. Bull liked to keep his boys in the middle of the caravan. Cullen had soldiers scouting all around and a large group of them bringing up the rear in case any of Corypheus' army caught up with them. The Chargers could do the most good staying with the non-fighters, just in case of an ambush.
"You'll be pestered with questions," he warned Varric, glancing over his shoulder to see that Dalish had brightened somewhat at the prospect of the dwarf walking with them. "They've been enjoying your guard serial."
"Dalish wants Maysie and Belladonna to somehow end up together," Krem scoffed in a tone that made his feelings on the matter quite clear.
Varric raised his eyebrows, amusement there in his face as if he might be thinking of the people he'd based the characters on. "Even though they never meet?" he asked Dalish.
"Haven't met yet," Iron Bull corrected, grinning at his lieutenant, who rolled his eyes.
"Ah, so you have read my book," Varric observed, smirking at the prospect.
"We've been taking it in turns to read aloud around the campfire," Dalish explained from over Bull's shoulder. "Skinner does the best voices."
"It does read pretty well when Donnen sounds ready to murder everyone," Bull admitted, recalling how excited Skinner tended to get when reading the fight scenes. "Really lets you know he's not going to take any crap."
"I'll have to stop by and listen sometime," the dwarf laughed.
The afternoon of trudging through the snow was made a bit more pleasant by the distraction of Varric being stuck in the middle of Krem and Dalish's arguments about his book. Especially when Skinner got involved. It made the fact that they seemed to be climbing a particularly steep mountain less noticeable, at any rate.
Before long, they moved on from asking him questions about Donnen Brennokovic to asking the dwarf to start writing stories about them. They started to regale him with tales of their antics, and Bull was pretty proud to note that they really weren't exaggerating.
"You seriously won by breaking the dam?" Varric asked Bull, laughing as Krem finished telling the one about them beating Gattler's Giants.
"I was dam impressive," Iron Bull answered, winking at Krem, who groaned loudly.
"And then the Chargers swam to safety," Varric said in his storytelling voice, tapping his chin as he considered it. "I've heard worse endings."
"Well don't dam us with faint praise," Krem replied, earning a barked laugh from the Iron Bull.
There were some kind of commotion up ahead, and people seemed to be drawing to a halt. He saw Rosalie and Solas standing up ahead on a high ridge that overlooked… something. Whatever they were looking for, Bull guessed they'd found it. He resisted the urge to break into a jog, but even he picked up his pace a bit before they'd caught up to see what all the fuss was about.
Dalish was positioned on his shoulders by that point, and he heard her gasp just before it came into view. Well now. That's quite the keep…
"Huh. How's, 'And then we found a big damn castle and moved in,' for a plot twist?" Varric asked, drawing up beside them.
Bull scratched at the base of one of his horns. "Pretty good for the Inquisition, at a guess," was his reply.
In the days that followed their arrival at Skyhold, more kept arriving. There had been too much to do, too much to organize. It had taken almost a week for Leliana to figure out which of her scouts were even still alive, and far too many weren't. Jobs had to be filled left, right and centre, and for every role that hadn't been filled, more problems she should have easily been able to delegate landed in her lap. Needless to say there had been little time for rest.
Through all of that, there had been days of arguments that had simmered down to fervent debate. In the end, though, Cassandra was right. The Inquisition needed someone to look to. No matter her past, no matter all the things Leliana's spies had failed to make sense of, Rosalie Trevelyan was their best answer. Without her, they never would have healed the sky. She had faced down Corypheus and lived, and she had brought them here, to this place.
Leliana adjusted the sword in her arms, eyes watching like a hawk, almost unblinkingly, as Cassandra spoke to the Herald of Andraste and led her up the staircase. "The Inquisition needs a leader," the Seeker was saying. "The one who has already been leading it. You."
That was the truth of it, no matter the spymaster's misgivings. Already she was certain that the decision would hurt them later on, but times were desperate now. Whatever came later, Leliana knew that she and Josephine would just have to combine their expertise and bury it.
It was to be expected that Rosalie looked unsure. Anyone in their right mind would be, let alone someone with something to hide. "It's unanimous? You all have that much confidence in me?" she was asking Cassandra.
Leliana's lips twitched in slight amusement as she noted the ever so brief glance in her direction.
"I have to believe this is meant to be," Cassandra said earnestly. "There would be no Inquisition without you."
Truer words were never spoken, and as Leliana handed over the sword, she pondered their further meaning, pondered the possible consequences for all of them if Rosalie turned out to be a disaster.
"Your leader," Cullen soon roared. "Your Herald." He raised his sword to the sky. "Your Inquisitor!"
For better or worse, a cynical voice in Leliana's mind added, as furious cheering and applause erupted, echoing off Skyhold's walls. Rosalie raised her sword to the sky as well, and the cheers became so loud that they drowned out all thought. It was done, and there was no going back now.