The story might be jarring, beginning somewhere in the "middle," but if all goes well I might flesh out the start of it all.
As for this retelling of the Inquisitor Adventures, I plan to take some liberties with established canon/dialogue/events, because we've all heard the original bidness and fresh takes are half the fun of fanfic.
Meet Ashiril Narell Lavellan, elven warrior and reluctant hero of the Inquisition! Does she want to have a painful, ominous mark on her hand and crushing, serious responsibility of the fate of Thedas on her mind? Not really! Does she find brooding loners fun to befriend/tease and even more fun to flirt with? Probably! Will there be blasts from Dragon Age pasts in the form of the Hero of Ferelden or Champion of Kirkwall, along with their own friends and loved ones? We'll seeeee!
She felt strong arms lift her. Anxious voices lilted around her.
"Is she alive?"
"She looks so pale."
"Where is a healer?!"
I'm not hallucinating, she thought. They've found me. Perhaps too late. She tried to speak, but her lips were so numb they barely formed coherent words.
Canvas and wood trappings appeared above her, replacing the inky night sky, as she felt herself lowered into a soft pile of furs.
"Make room!" a familiar voice barked. She blinked slowly and focused on the face now hovering over hers. A forehead creased with uncharacteristic concern. Pale gray-blue eyes narrowed with intense focus. Cool, slender fingers stroked across her brow and smoothed her tangled hair. "It is alright, Lavellan. I have you." He had bent down to speak softly to only her, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. She drew in a shuddering breath.
"Sol…" she managed before her teeth clattered too hard to continue.
"Shh, just rest." Ash felt a strange warmth tingling through her as his hands hovered over her body. She obeyed and closed her eyes, slipping into a merciful sleep.
She slowly came awake sometime later, unexpectedly refreshed. The ache in her leg from the fall was almost gone. Ash flexed her fingers tentatively. They obeyed, no longer numb with cold. She breathed a sigh of relief. What a nightmare it would've been to make it through all that and then not be able to hold a sword.
"What would you have me tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do!"
Arguing voices echoed from close-by. Ash sat up and rubbed her head where she had hit it earlier, pleased it did not throb as before. She watched across the campfire as her four advisors bickered. Guess the celebrations of my survival were short-lived, she thought ruefully. She pulled her feet up under her and straightened, testing her muscles and joints for lingering pain.
"You should not be up so soon, Inquisitor," advised the calm voice of Mother Giselle from next to her.
"If I don't do something soon, they might drive me mad. I've been awake a minute and the first thing I hear is arguing over our next move," she smirked.
"And no small thanks to you for that," Mother Giselle smiled warmly in return. "We are safe from Corypheus for now, but the threat remains. They feel that keenly. The face of our war has merely changed faces to those around us."
Ash bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She was afraid to ask about what had transpired, but more afraid to let much time pass without preparations.
"I am not sure how far I've come or how much time has passed. Where is Corypheus?"
"To answer that, I would know where we are first," Mother Giselle shrugged helplessly. "And I do not. Perhaps it is a blessing, in that we have also lost his army. For now."
"Oddly not comforting," the elven woman snorted.
"Perhaps he thinks you dead. Or perhaps he is assured of victory now. I cannot say. None of us can," the Revered Mother's gaze drifted back to the Inquisition advisors. They had separated to their respective posts, where they continued to brood over their options.
"Well. Time to enjoy my reward for surviving and get back to the grueling task of winning this war," Ash stood. Her legs shook a little, but she felt steady enough. She had thought she was minutes from death. Solas had done an excellent job. She would have to find and thank him.
"I am not certain that is the best course," Mother Giselle called Ash's attention back to her. She sat calmly, her delicate hands folded in her lap. "Perhaps you do not appreciate what we experienced. What you showed us. We saw our defender, our chosen one, stand… and fall. And now, she returns. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained."
Ash didn't like where this was going. The whole 'prophetic hero from the Gods' bit was not her style. She barely had enough reverence for her own Dalish history. Or reverence for much of anything, come to think of it. The Revered Mother continued, waxing poetic of the elf's incredible actions and how each step they all took became heavier, more difficult, more wrought with sacrifice. Yet they all felt Andraste's guiding hand through it.
"I'm no savior," Ash protested. "I never died. I'll admit I made an impressive escape. But that's hardly god-like."
"You may say so, and it may be true. But the people know what they saw," she continued gently, "or perhaps, what they needed to see. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?"
A compelling argument, the non-zero chance of there being a divine hand in all this. Ash shook her head and turned back to the campfire. She could see some faces had turned toward her now that she was awake, curiosity in their expressions.
"Well. God or no, I'm going to need more than faith to beat the thing I met back there," she sighed. She started walking then, testing her sore muscles as she left the older woman sitting on the cot behind her.
Ash looked around. The people were quiet. Pensive. Her advisors stood nearby, sullen and contemplative. Movement caught her eye from a nearby tent, and she smiled as Blackwall appeared. His normally stern face softened as he caught sight of her up and about. A memory came back, of his voice among the many when she had been carried back to camp earlier. She remembered the strain of concern in it. She knew he must've fought to keep his distance, knowing others would need room to heal her.
He moved toward her.
A deep voice rang out, breaking the tense silence. Mother Giselle was singing.
Shadows fall, and hope has fled.
Steel your heart, the dawn will come.
The older woman walked toward her, back straight, her voice strong and crisp and carrying through the camp with ease. Goosebumps raced across Ash's skin.
The night is long, and the path is dark.
Look to the sky, for one day soon
All eyes were on them now as the Revered Mother stopped beside her.
The dawn will come.
The people were gathering now. Leliana's clear voice joined in, then another, and another. Ash swallowed hard. Blackwall had stopped when the singing began and was looking around him with a fierce awe at the display. Her eyes scanned the crowd. She was surprised at how her heart pounded harder in her chest. She could feel sweat bead on her forehead despite the cold. They had such faith in her. Sure, she had always enjoyed admiration at her prowess in battle, or the delight in enrapturing a friendly audience with a good tale. But this was different. This was entirely out of her realm of experience.
Ash caught Blackwall gazing from across the fire at her. His hooded eyes were intense, and even from here she could see his broad chest rise and fall in deep, measured breaths. Butterflies assaulted her stomach as she held his stare and felt its intensity grow. The burly warrior rivaled Solas in his penchant for solitary brooding, but she had not missed the increasing attention he'd been paying her in previous days. And now, barely hours from escaping death itself, she could practically feel him vibrating with protective energy.
Combined with the uplifting chorus, she knew her face must be turning red. She tore her eyes away and let out a deep sigh.
"Faith may have yet to find you," Mother Giselle said quietly, "but it has already found them."
She frowned. Couldn't resist getting the last word in, could she?
Ash started to turn, to escape back to her tent, when she caught another pair of steady eyes on her.
Solas was watching her from the outskirts of the singing army. His expression was not one of elation or inspiration, but of cool calculation. He moved toward her when he realized she saw him.
"A word?" he said curtly, never stopping as he walked behind her and beyond the tents. Ash felt a shiver roll through her at his tone.
They had become closer in the previous weeks. It was not because he was one of the few elves at Haven. He was pensive and thoughtful in ways that sparked her curiosity. And upon exploration, he had countless stories he was eager to share with her. She almost felt possessive of his friendship now, so rarely did he seem to bestow it on others.
She could hear their voices still, echoing quietly through the still, dark night as she followed Solas away from camp.
His slender fingers waved across a torch sticking from the snow-covered ground and it burst to blue-white life. He turned slowly toward her and caught her eyes with his once more. The light danced across his face, giving him an intimate, austere air against the cold wilderness around them.
"The humans haven't raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting," he began. "One would think this a time to celebrate. Save one detail."
"Oh?" Ash stepped close to the mage fire, not eager to be out in the cold so soon. Her shoulder brushed Solas' arm, but he made no move to put more distance between them.
"Corypheus carries an orb. You saw it, I imagine."
Ash nodded.
"It is ours. Corypheus used it to open the breach. I imagine it is what caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave," he dropped the revelation as casually as if he were discussing the weather. Ash's brow crinkled in mild shock.
"The orb is elven? How do you know this?"
"I know many things," he evaded. "That is beside the point. The point is that we must determine how he survived. And we must prepare for the reaction of those around us, when they realize the orb is of our people."
"Alright, I'll agree well enough with some of that. Though I would not jump to think so little of our companions over an unpleasant coincidence," she shrugged. Solas's mouth tightened in a disapproving line.
"If only I shared your faith in the goodwill of others," he said dryly.
"No one said anything about blind goodwill of the masses," she smirked. "We're talking about people we fight beside every day. Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra and Cullen have proven more than once their belief in us. You, me, Varric, Dorian, Iron Bull, Vivienne, Blackwall… hell, even Sera… we've all bled for this."
Solas' eyes dropped to the blue fire before them.
"As you say."
Ash frowned. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned close, squeezing gently. His face turned very slightly toward her.
"But you are not wrong… to be concerned. There is history. So, alright, Solas," she nodded. "I will heed you, and be careful."
His eyes widened a moment as if in surprise, then softened.
"Thank you," his voice was quiet. It had lost its customary edge. He turned more, almost facing her, and her hand fell from his shoulder back to her side. His arm was very slightly extended, so that his fingers brushed hers. His eyes dropped, drawn by the contact. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Ash cleared her throat and stepped back.
"If we're done here, I really should lie back down," she said. "Talented as you are, nearly dying really took the wind out of my sails."
"An exaggeration, to be sure. I have boundless faith in your long-windedness," he remarked with a knowing smirk. Her eyes widened. She snorted in protest.
"Look who's talking! If I were to notch my sword for every story you told, not even considering their length, I'd have the biggest bread knife Thedas has ever seen! Its fame would be such that empires would crumble trying to acquire it. Giants would weep for the sandwiches that could've been."
Solas' smile only widened as he watched her disbelieving tirade. She stopped mid-sentence, blew an exasperated huff, and turned back toward camp.
"Long-winded, indeed…"
His gaze trailed after her as she stomped back toward her tent. The smile wavered when a large, familiar form intercepted her. The human, Blackwall. Ever lingering close to Ash, ever the elven warrior's unnecessary protector. Solas exhaled sharply through his nose. He turned to the torch, watching the blue flames flicker a moment, before snapping his hand in a quick, impatient motion. The flames winked out.