Chapter Text
The snow clung to the Inquisitor’s lashes as she and her companions trudged up the valley through knee-deep snow. The mission to free the region of Emprise du Lion from the Red Templars had been delayed by continuing poor weather, the snowstorms whipping up the white powder and blocking her path with every few hours of progress. She could see perhaps three feet in front of her, the trees around were just darker patches of grey against the white foreground. Her left arm wrapped itself around her middle to preserve heat with little success, the mark on her hand aching and pulsing, and a thick scarf was pulled up around her head and face to keep the ice from stinging her cheeks. The tips of her ears were raw despite the relief the makeshift hood gave her.
She tried not to let her memories of escaping Haven creep in, the visions of her isolation in that frigid wasteland chilling her far more than the flurries that raged around her. Instinctively she looked back over her shoulder and could faintly make out the outlines of her companions; Dorian and Iron Bull huddled close together, the freezing weather taking its toll on the Tevinter necromancer. Solas walked behind them, both hands gripping his staff and pulling him through the deepening snow. It was a comfort to see them with her, to know that she did not have to suffer this Gods-forsaken climate alone.
Not far now, she thought, facing forward to scan the bleak view in front her, there has to be a place to camp up here somewhere.
Just as she was about to give up all hope of leaving the storm, she saw the curves of a cave mouth in a rock face. She let out a shrill whistle to the others, who looked up and saw her point in the direction of the cliffs, motivating them to press on. It came upon them quickly, and they stood under the overhang of the cave to try and establish their surroundings. Bull rounded up some half-burned logs and Dorian weakly gave life to them, sparking the smallest of fires. His teeth chattered, and she could see the stiffness in his fingers as he tried to coax the flames brighter and warmer.
“We will be lucky if that fire survives the night, vhenan,” came a familiar voice next to her. Solas stood at her side, looking out into the nothingness of the blizzard, seemingly unaffected by the fierce wind that had battered his face and left his cheeks pink and sore. The dark hood he wore was already soaking through with the melting snow, but he showed no chill. She placed a hand on his arm and turned to Bull, who was busy tending the the third mage in their party, peeling off the dampest layers of clothing and holding them over the fire to thaw out. He had given up his leather harness and placed it around Dorian’s shoulders, knowing that the residual heat would last long enough for the wool cloak to dry. Like Solas, the Qunari showed no signs of being afflicted by the wintry weather. Nyriel looked back at her elven companion, already dreading the answer to her question.
“What do you suggest, Solas? Without a fire we’ll freeze to death, but it’s not safe for anyone out in that storm.” She chewed at her lip as she weighed the decision, knowing that there was no real choice to be made. Solas held his hand over the hers, still resting on his arm. She was surprised as how warm his skin felt, considering they had barely been beside the fire for a few minutes.
“We need a fire, lethallan,” he spoke, “at the bottom of the valley I saw trees; there may be enough dry wood to carry back for the night. In the morning we can decide our next course of action.” His words echoed the thoughts already established in her mind, and she sighed. She hated the cold. Of course, Skyhold was cold but it was dry, well protected from the worst winds by its high walls. It was gentle enough to allow her garden to flourish, whereas here everything was saturated with a dampness that clung to your bones, and the winds made hard work of looking at anything for more than a moment. Nyriel turned to the rest of her party, still warming up inside the cave.
“Bull. Solas and I will look for more wood. If we can find anything to eat in this damned blizzard then it’ll be going over that fire, so make sure to keep the it alight for as long as possible. If you two can, try and get a couple of tents up - we’ll be needing every extra barrier against this gale at this rate.” She motioned towards the pack she had left by the wall of the cave, and Dorian gave a quick salute. He hadn’t the control to speak just yet, his teeth still chattering away.
“Yes, Boss.” Bull nodded his understanding, pulling his great-sword closer to his side. There would be no telling what would wander their way while they were stranded here. Nyriel tugged her scarf back up around her face, and waved, signalling her departure. Solas took off beside her, the pair heading East towards a darker field of grey that could almost be mistaken for trees.
They walked in silence, concentrating their efforts into each step that plunged deep into the snow. Already the campfire was a dim glow, and she shuddered, trying to make a mental note of a landmark that could bring her back this direction, but the shifting winds made it impossible. This would not be a long trek, if she could help it. As the hill levelled below them into a barren basin, they could see the trunks of trees punctuating the mounds of powdery snow. She pulled at Solas’ elbow and pointed, and he clasped her hand as they made their way across the open expanse. The deep snow made it impossible to find sticks on the ground, so Nyriel had to climb into the branches to find wood dry enough to use in the fire. As she gathered them, pulling herself from branch to branch in the howling wind, she threw them down and Solas bound them with a spare leather belt from his pack. Soon enough they had plenty of supplies to see out a day or so, though it seemed the worst of the weather was behind them. As she made her way back down the last tree the gales had lessened, the snow around them beginning to fall straighter and glimmers of the late evening sky peeking through the dull clouds overhead. They set a return course for the cave, its faint glow the only sign of life anywhere around them. There was only silence, the animals long since having found cover from the poor conditions.
They had made it most of the way across the flat terrain when Nyriel felt a shifting beneath her feet. There was a groan and a muffled cracking sound, and the snow slipped away beneath Nyriel’s feet, sucking her down with it. In an instant she was submerged in ice-cold water, snow pouring on top of her and blocking her view of the broken ice she had plunged into.
It had happened before Solas could register a reaction. One moment she had been beside him, ploughing through the dusty top layers of the snow, when he had felt the shifting beneath him. Before he could put an arm out to grab her she had vanished below the surface of the frozen lake, leaving only his outstretched arm and a dark, gaping abyss where her body had once been.
“Nyriel!” He shouted, but there was no one to hear it. He stared in shock at the absence of her, throwing the bundle of sticks aside and edging on his stomach towards the trickling snow. Peering into the depths revealed nothing but blackness.
It is just as likely that she cannot see me, he thought. He rolled up a sleeve and plunged his hand into the water, pain seething between his teeth at the sudden contact with the cold lake. He swayed his hand to and fro, hoping that there may be something to feel, to grab on to - he had no idea how deep this lake was, or even if she could swim - but there was no trace of her to be found. He left his arm dangling for a moment before the screaming, itching pain in his arm became unbearable and he was forced to lift it from the water. To his right he felt a bump under the layer of ice. Not too far, he surmised. He drummed his fingers against the glass-like floor, hoping not to set off another crack in the ice, and felt her scratching back weakly.
“Nyriel, this way! Isala sahlinan!” He cried again, willing her to feel how close she was to the invisible opening before it was too late. He sunk his arm in again and could feel her thin, bony fingers trying to find purchase on something, anything. Wrapping a hand around her wrist, he dragged her to the exit, heaving her onto the snowy bank. Her breathing stuttered and rasped, the air ripping into her throat, and she rolled over to cough the water from her lungs. He reached out an arm to pat her soundly on the back, making sure there was no liquid remaining, then pulled her back to her feet.
"Can you walk?" He asked, checking over her limbs and face for any immediate injuries. She nodded that she could, tucking her hands into her armpits to try and warm them.
“We must move quickly, vhenan," he continued, "we do not know where the edge of this lake is. We could fall again at any moment.” He removed his vest, throwing it over her shoulders before gathering up the discarded wood and heading in the direction of their camp. He practically pulled her towards the hillside, her shivering frame soaked and slumped forward, her hair sticking to her face. It pained him to see her lips blue and numb, nearing hypothermia, but there was little more he could do while they were still out in the cold.
They were a good way up the incline before her knees eventually buckled. She could barely summon the effort to breathe, a raking fiery pain that tore through her lungs, burning as much as it was freezing. The thought struck her that the snow wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. In fact, as her eyes closed, she wondered at the urgency of Solas’ gait. Couldn’t he see that she needed to lay down for a moment?
Solas looked back to see her body collapsed in the snow, her cheeks flushed and her fingers stiff. He needed to move faster. He slid the few paces back down the hill and lifted her into his arms, holding her body against his. He hoped against hope that he could save her from this. Although she had fought freezing temperatures at the loss of Haven it had been nothing compared to the battle she now waged within her own skin. He shifted her in his arms, managing to place a few fingers against her cheek and muttering a spell that sent warmth gliding from his fingers. For a brief second there was colour, then the pallid grey returned. His mouth formed a slim line. He needed to hurry.