Chapter Text
It was a relief to see the shadows of their companions in the distance. The snow had worsened again during the climb towards the rocky outcrop they were hiding under, and he was starting to feel the stinging at his shoulderblades. Nyriel’s body hung almost lifeless in his arms. He could see faint whispers of vapour rise from her lips but they became fewer with every minute. As he rounded the mouth of the cave he saw the other two gentlemen seated perhaps too comfortably at the fire. Their cosy, relaxed faces dropped at the sight of their Inquisitor, frozen droplets of lakewater hanging from her coat tails. Dorian jumped to Solas’ aid, stoking the fire and piling on the sticks that the elven mage had carried with him.
“Shit, what happened?” Iron Bull cut through the silence, taking Nyriel in his arms and laying her down before the fire. Solas ignored him for the moment, focusing his attention of removing the Inquisitor’s sodden clothing. He sat beside her, tugging of her gloves and boots. There was a thick noise akin to mud that accompanied the boots, and a small river of water poured out onto the stone. Solas shuddered, reminded of her disappearing body vanishing below the water.
The layers of her shirts clung to her skin, and in some places had even begun to stiffen with frost. The fireside could not have come too soon, Solas mused. When presented with her small clothes he swallowed thickly, looking briefly at the other two.
“She does not need to know we were all present for this, agreed?” He murmured. Dorian huffed smiled meekly.
“It bears little complication for me, Solas,” he replied tartly. Solas turned to his backpack and rummaged into the bottom, pulling out a spare old woollen cloak. It needed stitching, but it would serve fine for now. In a swift motion he bundled her in the makeshift blanket and pulled at her underclothes, throwing them onto the pile of her sodden articles. Finally, he shuffled closer to the fire and pulled her into his lap, hoping that any source of heat, even his own, would benefit her now. Nyriel’s body had barely resisted during any of Solas’ assistance, which worried him. Normally she was vibrant, self-assured, stubborn at times. Now her skin was a thin sheet of milk-white, her veins visible below the surface. Her freckles could hardly be seen. Her breathing shuddered, vibrating through her small frame, but she did not wake. He looked at Bull across the light of the fire.
“At the basin of the valley a lake lay covered in snow. We were returning with our firewood when the ice broke, and it swallowed her and a good deal of our supplies with it. She was fortunate to have made it out again at all.” He turned away, wondering if perhaps the incident could have been avoided, but he could not recall. He looked back at his exhausted companions.
“I’ll take the first watch, and alert you if anything changes.” The two men nodded their understanding and headed into their tent. Solas sighed. He supposed they knew of the nature of his affections regarding their Inquisitor. She was hardly secretive, skipping about the castle the day he had visited her on her balcony. His heart swelled now at the sight of her, such a small thing even for an elf, curled up and blue with cold. Hypothermia was known to take its victims swiftly at this stage, but he gave a silent wish for her to see the dawn. He stroked her cheek, tracing the bone and sweeping a thumb across her lips.
“Fen’Harel tu’dar ma, vhenan,” he whispered; a private promise. He would tell her his truth eventually. She was owed as much, if not more. She stirred slightly, a long draw of breath filled her lungs and her eyelids fluttered. He worried for a moment that some part of her had heard him, but she made no further movement.
For hours he lay there, watching the light of the fire burning lower until the dawn rose. Nyriel had slept peacefully, her breathing gaining strength through the night, and he had relaxed somewhat after the first few hours. Bull emerged from the tent first, careful not to catch his horns as he stepped out.
“Ah, Solas, is it dawn already? You should have called one of us. Or did you just want some privacy?” His jovial nature grated on Solas, who was suffering greatly from the lack of sleep. Fatigue was not something he dealt with often, given his frequent ventures into the Fade. He allowed himself a moment for any snide remark to pass before finally answering as calmly as he could.
“You two needed the rest. We may need your strength if we are to see out our short stay here.”
“Short stay? You mean she isn’t… awake?” Few things could shatter Bull’s spirit, but the Qunari imagined the worst in that moment.
“She is stable, Iron Bull, do not worry. She still sleeps, but she is gathering strength. She may yet pull through.” As though in confirmation, Nyriel twitched from under the blanket, her skin prickling with goosebumps.
“Excellent, she is warming up. Shivering is a positive sign.” Solas smiled tiredly, and yawned. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to take a short nap. See that she doesn’t get too cold, and wake me in an hour.” Solas lay her before the fireplace, bolstering her sides with the backpacks and cloaks they had brought with them, and climbed into his own tent. Sleep came easily, and with a blink he was looking about the Fade-blurred reflection of their current dwelling. He almost missed Nyriel, naked and huddled in a corner of the cave.
“It is good to see you, vhenan. I had not expected your presence here so quickly.”
Her eyes peered at him, glassy and eggshell pale. He sat beside her, pulling her body into his to comfort her, guilt hounding his every breath.
“Everything is so cold, Solas. Even the Fade can’t bring me warmth.” She whispered, her knees bent right up to her chin, and she began to rock back and forth. Solas noted that her skin was flushed, chill even here in the Fade. Her body may be returning to health, but her mind was still very much traumatised from the shock. He stroked at her hair, matted and damp as she imagined it to be.
“Allow me to help. I could fetch you some clothes and a fire?” A wave of his hand called forth his memory of the fireplace, which burst into life before them. The false heat tickled his cheeks and she rubbed her shins, sighing with relief.
“I’ve been trying for hours, but I couldn’t call the magic. Nothing happens anymore, everything feels numb. Is that normal?” She wondered aloud. Solas turned to her.
“I’ve certainly never heard of such a thing among mages, but I suppose it’s possible. The Fade reacts to your thoughts and emotions; if you lack sufficient will it is harder to change your surroundings. As it is, you’re.. tired. I would find it difficult, were it not for practice and acuity.”
Nyriel watched as Solas got up and felt along the wall of the cave until he came to a notch in the stone. Pushing it, she saw a section of the wall crease inward as though the door had been there the entire time. She rued that she had not thought to do that sooner. Solas disappeared into the room, returning some moments with a bundle of fabric folded neatly over one arm. She recognised it as her dress robe, the red velvet sparkling from the fire light. He held out the robe and Nyriel slowly got up and slipped into it.
“Would you prefer to come somewhere more comfortable? There is a fire in here as well,” he offered, extending a hand towards her. Nyriel followed him and found herself stood beside the bed in her quarters, replicated in near-perfect detail. Solas had sat himself before the hearth of the fire, his hand picking at his own warm, clean clothes. She smirked; he was simply showing off now. She gathered pillows and blankets from the bed, and settled in next to him, falling into his embrace and sighing as the flames brought colour back to her face.
“It will do you good to rest, emma lath,” he instructed, “come back to us when you are ready; we have time enough. The Iron Bull and Dorian are waiting, but I’ll be right beside you if you need me. This dream should hold out for a while longer. Nehn’eranen, ma vhenan.” He leaned over her and kissed her lightly on the lips, the tingling of magic faint but present. In the blink of an eye he was gone, and she tucked herself into the dream-fabricated furs and watched the fire, content that she was at last feeling some kind of heat. Her attentions wandered to her hand, the Anchor sputtering and fizzing but inert for the time being. She tried to conjure a wisp of magic but nothing would come to her. She sighed, and supposed that Solas must have been correct. If she did not feel completely capable of exercising magic then it would not happen. Still, something felt… wrong.
Solas awoke to the sound of Iron Bull outside his tent, tapping against the timber frame.
“I don’t know what freaky shit you two got up to while you were out, but Boss has been smiling the whole time. Damned pretty sight too, I tell ya.” Solas merely rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He made no attempt to counter Bull’s remark, instead stepping out of the tent to check on her. Dorian was camped out next to Nyriel, having laid his bedroll out to keep her body from the cold stone floor. She was still shivering, but less so than when he had left her, and for that Solas was grateful. He knelt beside her and checked her extremities for any lasting damage. Aside from a particularly sore spot on her elbow she would come through unscathed.
“She is fine, for now," he spoke to no one in particular, "I found her in the Fade. I expect her to rouse from sleep by noon. How strong she will be when she wakes remains to be seen.”
He leant forward to help himself to the rations inside one of the packs, looking outside at the snow-covered ground. The weather was still now; the morning sun was rising from behind the cliff, illuminating the valley below them. He could faintly see the scar in the snow, the inky blackness of the lake below it barely visible at this distance, and wondered how it was that they had made it back at all through the stormy weather. His mind retraced the events of her accident, how she seemed to evaporate before his eyes, the cracking and crunching of the ice ringing in his ears even now. He felt a lump harden in his chest, muscles constricting his breathing. She really could have died. She could yet.
Solas stood up and faced Dorian and Bull once more.
"We are going to need more firewood to get through the day. If you two wish to remain here I can-" he started, but was interrupted by Bull.
"No offence, Solas, but the last time you ventured out outside you nearly killed two people and you were one of them. Of the three of us you're the better healer. Stay with her and I'll go."
Dorian added to Bull's suggestion.
"I'll go as well. Someone needs to keep a reign on the big guy or he'll go looking for trouble when we need it least. Besides, the sunshine might put me in better spirits."
With the plans for the next while settled, Dorian packed up a few small supplies for the pair of them and headed out towards a new set of trees further up the hill. Solas watched as they slowly disappeared out of sight, then returned his attention to his Inquisitor.
His thoughts swirled lazily through his mind, and he frowned when he recalled Nyriel mentioning that she could not summon magic. If he were able he would journey back to the Fade to consult with a spirit about the conundrum, though it would have provided little comfort. Solas was already keenly aware of her problem, and shook the thoughts from his mind. There was little he could do for now. Gently, he pulled a comb from her pack and began to tidy her hair. She would like that, he thought.