A/N: I am completely unaffiliated with Bioware. This is just a NaNoWriMo project so that I would actually write this down!

Hello, everyone! Happy Saturday!

So, as previous readers have probably realized, you guys are all reading this COMPLETELY UNEDITED! YAY! Or, not so much, as I went back and read the last chapter to edit it for myself and was horrified. Completely. This is mostly being typed on my cellphone in google docs and my autocorrect is terrifying. I'm so sorry!

For my fellow grammar snobs, let me know if you would like me to start using my lovely beta before posting these chapters!

I read this chapter before I posted it, but, I only read it very quickly and I didn't see any massive errors that impair reading (Unlike chapter one. Seriously, how did you guys WANT to keep reading after that? _). But, I also know what I was trying to say as this is from my own head...So, again, please tell me if you want me to make use of my beta! I'm sure she wouldn't mind!

Chapter Two

Cullen felt completely useless. He was more than capable of commanding an army and taking charge of a situation was second nature to him. He had even watched his fellow Templars die in battle next to him and had never thought much of it. But, watching as mages and Chantry took charge of Aveline Trevelyan, he felt a strange kind of anxiety. He had scarce made it back to the camp when she was ripped from his arms by a far too helpful Tevinter mage who rushed her to the makeshift surgery where he had scarce found a cot for the Herald of Andraste before he began stripping Aveline's slight form of her leather armor. He tied her long, deep brown hair away from her face with a skill that would have made Aveline jealous.

For a moment, Cullen could see the Herald's bare form and he felt himself blush a deep crimson. Even in the brief glance, he could see her right side was a mix of deep purple and green, bruised in patterns that would have made even the most hardened men cringe. The deep gash in her right leg had resumed bleeding and was soaking through the cot, though Cullen couldn't tell if it was from the movement of carrying her here or if it meant she was finally starting to return to a normal temperature. Though that appeared to be the worst of her injuries, Cullen noted that there didn't seem to be an inch of flesh that wasn't marred by a shallow scratch or bruise.

The elven mage Solas began work on his companion immediately, his hands glowing brightly with the magic that coursed through them. "She's bleeding internally," he said, clinically before he began to bark orders at Dorian Pavus in the same, nonchalant tone. Cullen didn't understand half of what was being said. He could only watch as Aveline lay unconscious, her body now wrapped in a bear skin that someone had found.

The entire process was chaos, if Cullen was being honest. Solas was banishing everyone from the tent except Dorian. The elf began to try and seal the wound on her leg, all while arguing with Dorian that it was unnecessary for him to strip of his robes and climb into the cot with her, despite the Tevinter's rather convincing -and correct- argument that it was the proper way to bring a person's temperature back to normal when they were hypothermic. Neither seemed to notice his presence during their work, or, if they did, they didn't seem to care. He was a shadow on the wall. In truth, he felt awkward, watching Aveline being lorded over in her sick bed.

This was not his place.

And, yet, her bright blue eyes had pleaded for him to stay with her. He remembered how small she had felt in his arms, clutching to his chest, her hands buried in the fur of his cloak. She was afraid. And he knew how she felt. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be at Death's doorstep and to feel that fear. It had been the first time he had ever seen her appear vulnerable. Even in chains, held in the dungeons of Haven, she had always had a ferocity to her gaze that simply garnered respect. But, there were so many facets to Aveline Trevelyan that he had only witnessed from afar. Her laugh as she and Josephine discussed her life in Ostwick's Circle, the smile she bestowed upon him when she would watch the army train from the steps of the Chantry, the way Lady Trevelyan would run her fingers over the scar just under her left cheekbone when she was embarrassed...aside from being the Herald of Andraste, Lady Trevelyan was special because she was just like everyone else.

She couldn't die like this…

"Your presence is not required here, Commander," Solas said, no hint of emotion daring to show through his voice. He didn't look up from wrapping her upper thigh in a thick bandage. There was something about the way he had spoken that made Cullen suspect that the elf did not care for his watching. As if it were any more inappropriate for him to be here than it was for the other two mages.

It was only then that Cullen noticed Dorian was gone. How long been daydreaming?

Cullen shook his head. "I made a promise that I would look after her. If you are finished…"

He was cut off. "Aveline needs to be looked after by someone who can actually keep her from dying if something should go wrong in the night, Commander Cullen. She is in a safe place in the Fade. I will let her advisors know the moment she awakes and is well enough to be disturbed."

There was a note of finality to the sentence that the former Templar wasn't sure he approved of. It wasn't that Solas was a mage, it was his attitude toward anyone who wasn't of the elven. He had a strange respect for Aveline and he knew he could trust him with her care, but his general disdain for everyone in the Inquisition didn't seem to agree with his insistence that he remain with them. He frightened most of the Inquisition, despite how readily he assisted the healers in the care of all of the soldiers and pilgrims. The elf was a paradox, one he was not sure he would ever understand.

He knew Solas was right, despite the draw he felt to stay with her. He would do her no good standing by her bedside, staring at her. He would do more good helping Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra plan their next move. They at least needed an update on her condition. As much as he hated to leave Aveline, helplessly floating in the Fade, his skill set was simply not as a healer. If he had been asked to slay a demon on her behalf, he may have been better off.

Cullen bowed his head. "I will inform the others of the Heralds condition, then. Please, inform us at the first sign of any change."

Solas nodded, never looking at the Commander. He was staring into the distance, perhaps checking on the woman before him in the Fade. Perhaps he was just trying to get Cullen to take his leave. Either way, Cullen excused himself from the surgery...and walked straight into the arguing voices of the other advisors.

He rubbed his temples. Maker's bride, this would be a long evening.

Aveline wasn't sure how long she had slept. Her body was stiff, which made her certain it had been quite some time since she had fainted on one of the Frostback Mountain trails. Her legs were both throbbing, though she wasn't sure if it was injury or exhaustion. But, her breaths were coming easier now. Solas must have been able to reverse most of the damage.

She opened her eyes, tentatively, noting the surrounding darkness of the makeshift surgery. Her head was throbbing. And, she couldn't help but wonder if it was caused by the argument that was becoming ever more heated just a few feet from her bed. She sighed, before carefully sitting up, ready to stop the quartet from going at each other's throats. They were supposed to be a war counsel, not a troop of children.

Aveline felt a gently hand on her shoulder. "Shh," Mother Giselle's calming voice reached her ears. She looked over at the Chantry Mother, who had seemingly been nursing her during her recovery. "You need rest, Aveline,"she said, helping her to sit up comfortably.

Aveline watched at Cassandra threw up her hands in frustration and stormed away. "They've been at it for hours. I could hear them in the Fade…"

Mother Giselle smiled at her gently. "They have that luxury, thanks to you." Mother Giselle turned it watch the crumbling argument defuse and Aveline followed her gaze. "The enemy could not follow and, with time to doubt, we turn to blame…" Aveline watched Cullen stalk away from the group as Leliana and Josephine distanced themselves. The Inner Circle was falling apart. "Infighting may threaten as much as Corypheus."

Aveline swung her legs over the edge of a cot and struggled to stand, only a fall back into the canvas. She groaned in frustration. "If they're arguing about what we do next, I need to be there," she said, feeling defeated by her injuries, yet again.

Mother Giselle shook her head. "Another heated voice won't help. Even yours. Perhaps, especially yours."

Aveline shook her head. With the heads of the Inquisition fighting as loudly as they were, Aveline was certain the faith of many of their followers had been shaken. At least they had stopped now...but they all looked...defeated. Leliana and Josephine sat secluded from the rest of the group, Leliana's pose defensive, as if she were going to strike out if anyone came near. Cassandra was pouring over maps, though the look on her face seemed more like she her head was a million miles away, stewing over the argument of a moment ago. The Commander didn't seem to quite know what to do with himself and was pacing around the fire, like a caged beast. Usually, he was the one leaning over maps. Had the situation been different, Aveline might have smiled. As it was, she had to frown.

She noticed that she wasn't wearing her normal armor, then, but, instead, had been reduced to a warm, woolen undershirt and breeches. She wondered if her armor had been irreparable. She knew she had knicks and tears in it. Maybe Harritt had decided it wasn't useful to her anymore and would fix it when he could.

She supposed a secluded mountain pass wouldn't exactly have a forge, though…

Aveline was disgusted with their situation. Corypheus had dealt them a massive blow. He destroyed Haven and, with it, their morale. The Inquisition couldn't easily be repaired. Aveline felt her heart sink. This was ridiculous.

Mother Giselle took the opportunity to try to explain to the young mage why she shouldn't be disheartened, but, Aveline knew that wouldn't be an easy thing to overcome. "Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand...and fall. And, now, we have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear...and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure; what we, perhaps, must come to believe.

Aveline sighed. They were hailing her as some savior now? There was no point to that. They were only spreading more rumors about her that would, inevitably, reach their enemies. She wasn't a god, yet, she was being painted as one. "I escaped the avalanche. Barely, perhaps, but, I didn't die." She tried to defend herself, as if their assumption that she had risen from the dead was something to offended by in the first place.

The Mother smiled gently. "Of course. And the dead cannot return from across the veil. But the people know what they saw, or, perhaps, what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know that the heavens are not with us?" Mother Giselle patted her hand, a sign Aveline supposed should have been comforting, but, it simply felt as if she were being patronized.

Aveline raised her gaze and looked over the encampment in the snow. How could they even think that this is what Andraste or the Maker would want for them? She took a deep breath, steeling herself, before she told the Chantry Mother the truth. "I know, in my heart...that I was meant for this. But, that didn't help at Haven." She shook her head, feeling the bitterness that she had felt when Corypheus had defeated her. "I want to believe Andraste is with me. But, doubt is everywhere."

Aveline roughly struggled to her feet, ready to storm upon the top members of the Inquisition and tell them all about how childish they were being. She knew it was childish herself to expect them to feel her wrath. She hadn't taken more than a couple steps when she heard the soft singing behind her.

She turned to Mother Giselle. The Chantry Mother had begun the hymn The Dawn Will Come, a song that Aveline remembered from her days spent in the Chantry and from the services she had been forced to attend in the Circle. It had been one of her favorite hymns, but, to hear it now simply seemed ironic.

Aveline was surprised when she began to hear other voices join with Mother Giselle's, all singing the same hymn. It was both awesome and frightening to behold. Somehow, in the song, the people were united. Several of them came to bow before her, as if in prayer, as if she were an idol. The entire camp suddenly seemed to be in front of her.

And, with that, Aveline understood. Mother Giselle had been trying to tell her that these people needed her. That, even if she was not a savior, they saw her as one. She could still do something about Corypheus, about the Rifts. Even if she failed, she had to try.

"Faith is made stronger by facing doubt," the voice echoed beside her as Mother Giselle brushed past. "Untested, it is nothing."

A/N: Thanks for reading this so far! I can't wait to read your comments! Again! Let me know it you want me to use my beta!