Chapter Text
What the hell do I do now?
I can’t go to Orlais. His death, the betrayal will be all people talk about and Josie will make me sit in some Maker-damned salon at some point because all she can talk about are the fucking treaties.
I know Leliana wishes I would send support north into the Anderells, but I can’t—it’s too much responsibility and I fucked it all up once.
Sweet Maker, I chose that one so wrong.
The Approach.
(pushing through lines, side by side, sweat and sand and healing potions; the oasis, guards set around the bend, on duty; a moment of privacy, so quiet, trying not to moan, keep the sound from rocketing off of the stone high above: lips, limbs, coal dark eyes with empty promises and fear)
No.
I’ll send Bull; I don’t think I can ever go back to the Approach.
The Hissing Wastes.
The Venatori are still pushing in. I need to dig into the Deep Roads entrances. But if I do, Dorian will insist—demand—to go and … . Besides, sand in everything. No. Dorian will go to the Approach with Bull and the Chargers.
The Oasis.
Fuck. I don’t think I can listen to Cassandra one more time, shouting and stumbling around, her grimaces of repugnance. Damnit; besides that fucking giant is still there, stomping around someplace, lurking. I’d have to take the Seeker or Bull. No. The Oasis has to wait. Maybe Dorian and Bull could … No, just me. It has to wait.
The Emprise.
Too many Red Templars and too fucking cold. It won’t wait much longer. The bridge should be done in the summer. Maybe by then I could take Bull, maybe Cole. Cole. No, maybe not; too much a Spirit. Too many thoughts I don’t want to know are in my own head.
Not Cole.
Not Dorian, either.
Fuck.
Ferelden.
I can’t go back to the Storm Coast. But Hawke said there may be something wrong, something waiting.
Fucking Warden secrets.
I’ll ask Leliana to take someone to the Deep Road entrance. Fucking deep dwarves. Assholes never know when to leave well enough alone.
Crestwood.
Crestwood.
The Rift and that Lake still needs drained.
Maybe.
I could take Solas and Varric; Vivienne, too. Send Bull and Dorian to the Approach. Cassandra can do whatever the fuck it is she does. Maybe Leliana can find something for her to do. Or she can escort Besha to Highever, and then meet Harding at the Storm Coast.
Yes.
Maybe that.
Maybe.
A sound ratchets her head up. She looks beyond the pool of her lamp light to the entrance of the war room. A candle enters ahead of a tall man. The fur around his shoulders lets her release her breath.
“Inquisitor.” It is a simple greeting, no question.
“Commander,” she returns. “Did you need the map?”
“Nothing that won’t wait until morning, Inquisitor, if you prefer to be alone.” There, finally, is a question. She hears it and welcomes the invitation behind it, to not be here in the gloom with no aid.
“I was simply reviewing where we should be next. The passes are clear enough to travel more aggressively. I, I would welcome your input, Commander.” She holds her chin high, her spine firm with a resolve she did not know she could still feel. “I am struggling to piece it all out.”
He nods as if he knew that would be the answer all along. He joins her, sitting the candle he has lit from Josie’s office on the map table, away from her lamp. He looks down to the map and looks at the markers she has placed and is quiet for a few moments.
“It is a good choice to send Dorian west; the Venatori continue to elude us, but you will send Bull with him, too?” he asks, his fingers tracing the route from the Hissing Wastes to the Approach.
“And the Chargers; Dorian would drink all night with them, and it would be chaos on your lieutenants. Bull will keep them all productive, and drunk only when its convenient to the mission at hand,” she shrugs, and he hums appreciatively at her observations.
“You do not want Dorian with you?” It is an open question he directs to the map.
“No. It would get too complicated. I could do without complicated for a while.”
The Commander looks at the map, his eyes shifting to Ferelden, draw back to Orlais, “Emprise? The Exalted Plains?”
“In a few months; the bridge will be done, Dorian and Bull will be back from the West, and I’ll be done in Crestwood. We should send them through the Emerald Graves on the way to meet me; Leliana said there was a lead there on Samson. I agree that he seems important, especially if he survived Haven.”
He pauses, breathing. Then says: “It is a good plan, Dorothea. Crestwood should not be too complicated; it will be a reminder of simpler tasks. You will take Solas, Vivienne, and Varric?”
She hums her agreement.
“Not Cassandra?” he asks.
She doesn’t look at him, staring at the map, pointing to Highever, “I though the Seeker could accompany Lady Coelho to the port at Highever and then meet Harding at the Storm Coast on the way back. Leliana needs information, and she will trust the two of them immensely.”
“It will keep the Seeker out of Skyhold for most of early Summer.” He muses.
“Yes,” she says, simply.
He nods his acceptance; “It has been some time since I have been in camp, but I would be honored to accompany you, Inquisitor, to Crestwood; your personal party could stand a blade, I think.” His tone is warm, and there is no rancor or judgment in it.
“Thank you, but I think it will be straight forward enough, Commander; we do not need to take you away. Besides, you will be needed to coordinate the parties in the west.” She smiles at him, tiredly, grateful for his offer.
“You will need to start considering who you want in the field now that he is gone; you will need a shield arm,” he says softly, as if his tone might ease the blow of the idea.
She nods, not daring to speak. It is not offensive, what he says; it is simply true. She watches his hand reach into his pocket and pull out a white patch of folded linen. He hands the handkerchief to her; she hadn’t realized the tears had fallen until he does.