Chapter Text
Solas helped gather wood and set the fires. The people - exhausted and scared - gravitated at once toward the amber glow, drawn in by the comfort more than the heat. He watched their faces as they settled, taking in the strain etched into them, the uncertainty that lingered now that their Herald was gone. There was a moment where sympathy stirred for them. It passed quickly. His concern turned inward; if she was not found - if she had died - then everything he intended would unravel with her.
Raised voices cut through the camp, loud enough to draw his attention. He turned toward a poorly pitched tent, hastily secured like the others scattered across the slope, remnants of a flight from Haven after Corypheus’ assault. They had fled into the mountains, searching for survivors after the avalanche. Searching for her.
He moved closer with stealth, keeping to the edges of firelight so as to remain unseen, angling himself near enough to listen. The voices carried clearly - one the Seeker’s, the other the Commander’s - locked in disagreement over whether to send out another search party, and how long they could justify continuing. The storm showed no sign of easing. They had already lost people to the cold and supplies were stretched thin.
He paused, considering their position. The terrain was unfamiliar in detail, yet something beneath it was not. He could feel it - faint, a place that answered to him, not far from where they stood. Tarasyl'an Te'las. Its presence seemed to pull at him, a quiet, magical pull, as though it recognised him as much as he recognised it. He could guide these people there with ease. Offer them refuge, a defensible stronghold and a place safe as any to carry out his plans and be of service until he could once again obtain his orb from Corypheus. He was uncertain on the thought though. Not just for the questions it would raise, but that land, that place where now eroding walls stood built by clumsy, unimaginative humans, was where he made the greatest mistake of his life, and he wasn’t certain he wanted that reminder. Nor if Tarasyl’an Te’las wanted him there. The place was living, hallowed ground, saturated with magic.
He stared at the arguing leaders, thinking. If he were to offer to lead them there, the questions that would inevitably come to him were not ones he was willing to entertain. They had already begun to overlook him, to let him fade into the margins of their concern with the Herald missing and he preferred it that way. Drawing their notice now, offering knowledge he should not possess, even if he did hide it behind his adventures in the Fade, would invite scrutiny he had no desire to deal with.
He listened a while longer, irritation stirring at their indecision, at the hesitation that kept them circling the same question without any resolve. His thoughts moved forward rapidly, tracing the consequences if the Herald was indeed gone. There would come a point when they no longer required his presence, when eyes that had once been turned on him in suspicion, would turn to him again and he would be taken into custody. He had nowhere near the strength and power he once held and with the attack of a Dalish clan still fresh in his mind, he would prefer not to invite repetition. And should this fledgling Inquisition actually succeed without this Herald, which he very much doubted so, and should the orb be attained; once its nature was understood - once it was recognised as elven - attention would likely follow back to him anyway, and not the kind he was certain he could deflect. With Seeker Pentaghast and the spymaster Leliana guiding what remained of the Inquisition, he held no illusions about how and where that scrutiny would unfold.
Corypheus would have to be confronted. That much was certain. And the anchor - his anchor - was now beyond his reach, bound to a Dalish elven woman who might be lost beneath the mountain of snow. Without it, a critical part of his design was gone. He watched the argument among the advisors continue, then let his gaze drift back across the camp, over the people gathered close to the fires and considered.
They had found no body. The avalanche could have buried her beyond recovery, left no trace for them to claim or mourn her. Even so, he could not accept it. If she had died, he is certain the Anchor would have failed with her and he would know. He could not foresee how its power would be able to remain contained within a lifeless form. He suspected it would have torn at the Veil left in a lifeless body, with nothing to control it’s power, without him to subdue it as he had during those three nights he was alone with the Herald, trying to figure out the mystery of how this weak mortal could hold within her his own vast power. No, the absence of any such rupture in the Veil, allowed only one conclusion.
She lived.
And whether he welcomed it or not, he needed her.
Solas turned from the tent, the decision settling into place. He would find her.
He moved away from the tent silently, putting distance between himself and the voices until the camp noise dimmed behind him. He continued on until he found a sparse stand of trees, their branches bowed with snow, offering a measure of cover and privacy.
The cold had worked its way through him as he found himself shivering - a reminder of how weak he actually was. He paused, deciding against a fire and drew on his magic instead, guiding a controlled warmth through the fabric of his clothing. His clothing began to warm him, enough to take the edge from the cold. He lowered himself into the snow, resting against the rough trunk of a tree, and pulled his cloak close around him.
For a moment, he remained as he was. His head came to rest against the bark, eyes closing as he slowed his breathing, each breath drawn deeper, more even, until the rhythm held steady under his control and his mind was clear. The world around him receded as his attention turned inward, his awareness of the physical world narrowing.
Solas slipped into the Fade.