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Solas found Rosalind in the morning, as she rose from the simple—and scanty—breakfast. She had intended to tackle her advisors first, but Solas drew her slightly away from the camp before she could approach them. "This Elder One," he said abruptly. "You have now interfered with his plans several times. Once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and at Redcliffe, and again in Haven. Not to mention your closure of the Breach. A being who aspires to godhood will not take such an affront lightly. He will not leave us in peace for long."
"No. I don't imagine he will."
"And while our advisors squabble and fight for preeminence, he regroups and readies himself to come for us."
Rosalind nodded. She'd had the same thought.
"The orb Corypheus carried," Solas said. "The power he used against you. It is elven."
She remembered the green glowing orb. Thinking of it made her head hurt. "It is?"
"I am not certain how people would react if they learned that. Corypheus himself may think it originated in Tevinter. His empire's magic was built on the bones of my people," he said grimly.
"That is a concern, but I think freezing and starving are more pressing issues at the moment."
"We are agreed on that—and I may have a solution." He studied her, his eyes unreadable. "By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. And so you must lead the way."
"I don't know where I'm going."
"I will tell you. Scout to the north. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisition can build … grow … It is called Skyhold. There, we can be safe. Long enough, at least, to be prepared."
He gave her directions, and then she went and gathered the people, including the advisors, and told them they were continuing north. Something in her face, in the unaccustomed firmness she felt when speaking, must have convinced them, because no one argued.
Leliana followed the Herald, watching her with interest. Something had changed in her. She moved now with a steady purpose, where before the fall of Haven she had walked swiftly, as though she wished her feet would carry her far away.
The presence of the elf Solas at the Herald's side interested Leliana, as well. Solas was more than he seemed to be, and she wondered what his true aims were … and where he was leading them. Her sense of him was that he had something he wanted from the Inquisition, and so it was unlikely to be a trap ahead. But still—Leliana had never been one to be led blindly.
She caught up with them, and found that Solas drifted quickly to the side. If he was guiding, he did it quite subtly. Rosalind appeared sure of where she was going.
"Solas says there's a fortress in the mountains," Rosalind said, answering Leliana's unspoken question.
"An accessible fortress no one has ever heard of?"
"Who comes up this far? Only people who are so desperate they have nothing to lose."
Leliana nodded. "Possibly."
Rosalind glanced sideways at her. "Did I tell you that in Redcliffe, you sacrificed yourself so that I could return here?"
"Of course I did. One small life in exchange for a second chance at history? I always loved a bargain." Would she, again, if she had the chance? Yes, she could think of a few pieces of history she would give her life now to change. Not that she seemed likely to have the opportunity. She thought of Alistair, wondering again where he was, what he was doing, if he was safe.
"It was still a sacrifice … and still noble."
"And I would do it again. Wouldn't you do anything to protect what you love? You did so. We all saw you."
"He wanted me, not the rest of you."
"And so you went. You are more noble than you give yourself credit for." And stronger, Leliana realized. The shivering stranger had become a leader. The leader of the Inquisition—a job Leliana might have wanted for herself, under other circumstances, and she felt a brief pang that it was no longer available to be grasped.
The Iron Bull found himself walking at the Vint's side. He didn't trust the Vint. Hadn't trusted him at Redcliffe, didn't trust him now that he'd been hovering over Rosalind ever since the Iron Bull and Varric had brought her into the camp.
"Must you stare?" the Vint snapped.
"You're limping."
"Thank you. I hadn't noticed."
"What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies?"
The Vint frowned. "My footsies are freezing. I'm so glad you pointed that out." He walked a few more steps, then, without glancing up, said, "I'm not going to hurt her."
"I'll be the judge of that."
"I could say the same about you."
The Iron Bull didn't dignify that with a response. He couldn't; it was possible any day now that orders would come that would require him to hurt her, little as he wanted to. "What are you doing here?"
"Trying to save the world, naturally," the Vint said breezily. "No value in it being saved if a Tevinter wasn't part of it. And you?"
"Same."
"Yes, the Qunari are so busy saving the world, aren't they?"
The Iron Bull shrugged. "That's how some see it, at least. Not like your people were any better."
The Vint chuckled. "No, of course not. Sooner or later, everybody wants to rule the world."
"Can't see why. Seems like a big job. And boring. All things considered, I'd rather be in a tavern."
"With a nice spiced wine." The Vint sighed. "I suspect spiced wine will be in short supply wherever we're going. More's the pity."
The Iron Bull couldn't have agreed more. Maybe there was something to this Dorian after all.
Varric didn't mind bringing up the rear this once. He had a lot to think about. Red lyrium, for starters. Which wouldn't exist on the surface, wouldn't be corrupting people and turning them into monsters if he and Bartrand hadn't been so damned greedy.
And Corypheus. He wasn't wrong about this—they had killed Corypheus. He remembered that, remembered the fight and the body. So why was Corypheus covered in red lyrium attacking innocent people?
Wherever they were going, Varric knew what he had to do now. He had held off this long, wanting to protect Hawke, not wanting to drag her into this nightmare after she had escaped the one in Kirkwall, but everything happening now was his fault, and … he needed her. More than ever.