Chapter Six
Moving a herd of people through a steep mountain pass in the dead of winter was no easy feat. It was a slow process, made even more challenging when half of them were injured from the attack on Haven. Those who still had strength aided the ones who struggled to stand on their feet, but with every passing hour, even they were growing bone-weary.
The biting freeze of the mountain air didn't help matters either. No one had had time to prepare for the journey, so there were limited blankets to give out for warmth and what food that had been gathered had to be given out in rations. As a result, they'd had to stop repeatedly every few hours. The farther away from Haven they got, the safer they would be. However, with no destination to go, it felt as though they were just walking for nothing.
Time passed differently this close to the mountains. The sun had barely risen before it was falling again, shedding darkness and even lower temperatures that made traveling impossible. Scouts were sent ahead of each camp they made, only to return shortly after with no luck of finding any shelter or anything remotely close to civilization. Many had already given up hope, sure that they were all going to die lost in the mountains.
It had been two days since they'd escaped Haven. Two days of tromping through knee-deep snow with no end in sight. Two days of only taking slow bites of food that couldn't even sustain a small child, let alone an army of weary soldiers and weak pilgrims.
Two days since Evelyn Trevelyan had run off into battle to launch the final trebuchet that allowed them to flee to safety.
Cullen clenched his hands, his anger returning once more at the memory of seeing Cassandra, Solas, and the Iron Bull join them in the passage with no sign of Evelyn. They'd abandoned her. A part of him had reasoned that there was nothing they could have done without losing their own lives in the process, but he'd still lashed out at them.
If she wants to die, then let her, a cruel voice had snarled back in the chantry. He had a personal hatred for people who chose to roll over instead of fighting until the end. It was cowardly. It was selfish. He hated them.
And yet, it wasn't hatred that had fueled him to throw such callous words at her shortly before the first attack. He'd insulted and belittled her all because he'd felt betrayed by her lack of desire to live. So many people had placed blind faith in her—himself included. He'd felt betrayed by the thought that she was eager to throw it all away for nothing. At the time, he hadn't thought about why she was so eager to die, and he hadn't cared to figure it out.
Now it was too late. It would take a miracle for anyone to have survived that avalanche, Herald or no. The fact that two days had passed since she'd disappeared was proof enough that she hadn't made it out.
"I spent all this time thinking you were someone worthy of respect. I'm rarely ever wrong, but when I am, I learn from my mistakes. I won't let it happen again."
The cruel words he'd all but growled at her were taunting. Over and over again he replayed the image of seeing that wounded look on her face—grief he had unnecessarily caused by lashing out at her. As much as he wished to believe he hadn't meant them, he couldn't lie to himself. He had meant every word at the time. In those bitter moments, he'd felt nothing but disgust toward her over her actions. He'd wanted to hurt her, to get his point across that she'd let him down.
But at what cost? That hadn't been the last thing he'd said to her, but what if that was the last thing on her mind before death finally claimed her? Scornful words meant to tear her down. Even if she hadn't spared him a second thought, the knowledge that he'd spoken so lowly of her—to her—would forever be ingrained in his mind.
It left him feeling raw inside. Maker, if he'd just tried harder to gain control of his despicable emotions, perhaps he would have never said such horrible things to her. Perhaps he wouldn't be left filling so full of shame and remorse.
Well, that was just the story of his life, wasn't it? Only ever able to see his errors after the damage had already been done. The thought made him twist his lips though there was no humor in the sick smile. He'd accused her of being unworthy, yet had refused to turn that mirror on himself.
The effects of his lyrium withdrawal only caused his thoughts to scramble, making his agitation with himself and everyone else that much worse. He had to pull himself together. The Inquisition was leaderless, and so long as he and the others at the head of the organization continued arguing every moment of the day, they were never going to move forward. They needed guidance, just a beam of hope to help them get through their dire situation.
They needed Evelyn.
"I'll be back," she'd mouthed to him. He hadn't believed her, yet he'd wanted to. He'd wanted to trust her again, but he hadn't been able to. Not after what he'd seen at the temple. While he was certain she'd been buried under the mountain, there was a tiny part of him that hoped he would see her form in the distance. It was partially why he'd been set on leaving hints of their trail behind, despite Leliana's displeasure over possibly leading the enemy to them.
"I'll be back."
"Don't you dare lie to me, Evelyn," he whispered before turning his back as everyone began to gather their things to forge onward.
…
…
Lips cracked, fingers frozen, bones stiff, eyes unable to see more than a few paces ahead.
Evelyn kneeled in the snow, trying to dredge up any kind of strength to keep going. It was hard, so bloody hard that everything in her screamed to just lay down and succumb. It was what she'd wanted all along, right? To throw in the proverbial towel and let darkness claim her for good?
If that were the case, why had she stumbled forward for hours? Or had it been days? She couldn't remember. Time had been going by fast and slow at the same time. Ominous dark clouds had been shielding the sky, making it impossible to tell whether it was night or day, and the wind had been utterly merciless as it whipped the snow around. One moment she was trekking through a thick tangle of forestry, and another moment she was surrounded by nothing but an open expanse of snow. The gaps in her memory made her wonder if she'd fallen unconscious a few times, or if she'd hit her head so hard that she'd blacked out as she pushed forward.
Burying her hands in the snow to support her weight, her breath came out in weak puffs of white frost. What was she even doing there? Why was she still trying to find them when she longed to just…give up? For a moment, she let her eyes drift closed.
You made a promise.
Those soft words whispered through her mind, making her open her eyes just a fraction.
You made a promise. You can never break a promise.
That's right. She'd given Cassandra her word that she would stay to help the Inquisition. She'd given Varric her word that she would join him for a game of Wicked Grace one day. She'd given Solas her word that she wouldn't let anyone treat him poorly for being an apostate prior to the war. She'd given Blackwall, Sera, and the Iron Bull her word that they would have a drinking match.
And Cullen…she'd given her word that she would return.
She'd made so many promises, just small affirmations that most wouldn't think mattered. But they mattered to her. She may have been in a low place for a long time, but if there was one thing good in the world that she had left, it was her vows. Not once in her life had she ever gone back on her word, and she wouldn't start now.
Pain reverberated through every joint and limb, yet she pushed to her feet. The edges of her vision began to bleed gray, but she forced it back. She'd already come a long way. She was tired all the way down to her core, but if she stopped now, even for a moment, she had no doubt that she wouldn't wake up again.
She almost laughed at the irony. Not too long ago she'd been bitter and complaining that the Maker refused to let her die despite her wishes, but now that she had the opportunity, she was reluctant. There were things she had to do first, promises she had to fulfill. Until then, she would not let herself rest.
And so, with lead weighing her down, she moved forward. Everything was numb and burning all at once. She walked, and each time her legs crumbled, she pushed right through the fiery pain in her muscles.
Eventually the world grew darker, and for a frightening moment, she worried her determination was starting to be for nothing. The snow had gotten deeper, and she stumbled once more. However, as she raised herself up, she noticed something on the ground. A circular pit of coal, and as she drew near, she spotted tiny red and orange specks of light.
Embers. Recent?
She reached out to touch the charred wood, but as expected, her fingers were far too frozen to feel a thing. However, it gave her hope. It made her believe she was getting close to them—or at the very least, she was on the right path.
Trudging forward, she made it to a narrow trench that sloped slightly downward. The cold was unforgiving, she was weak, and the darkness lining her vision had returned once more. She didn't want to give up, but determination alone could only get her so far. She hadn't eaten in days, hadn't slept except in the brief bouts of unconsciousness. The force of the avalanche had launched her into an old tunnel, making her hit her head on something hard. And even before that, she'd spent hours fighting through those rebel mages, expelling every bit of mana she had in her that she wouldn't be able to conjure even the tiniest of flames, let alone a spell that might offer a bit of healing.
As she entered the path winding through the trench, she squinted, sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her as she spotted several reddish glows in the distance. Yet the longer she stared, the more hope filled her as she realized she'd finally made it. She tried to move forward, but it seemed that her body chose that exact moment to give up as she fell to her knees.
The camp was so far away that even if she had a voice, no one would have heard her calling out to them. She was close, so painfully close, yet no matter how hard she tried, she simply could not get her legs to cooperate.
Tears of frustration stung her eyes as dread sank into the pit of her stomach. Was this it? Had she come so far for absolutely nothing? Just one more cruel prank the Maker wanted to toss her way?
Just then, a cramping pain shot through her left hand, the only physical feeling she'd had in days. Her mark shined in a bright green glow, flaring with light in tune with her frantic emotions.
It will have to do. She could feel her body shutting down, so she had only one chance to get someone, anyone's attention. Just one person spotting her from their peripheral was all she needed.
With jerky movements, she pushed her arm upward, the mark illuminating the dark path. Her arm shook and the mark's light grew dim as her blinking became heavier and heavier.
Just…a little…longer.
"It's her!" someone called out. Was that…Cullen? She couldn't tell anymore. For all she knew, it was just the wind howling, making her hear things.
"Thank the Maker!" That voice was lighter, feminine even. Cassandra?
In the end, it didn't matter. She tried to fight it, but she'd been pushing her body beyond her limits for too long. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The last thing she remembered was falling forward as unconsciousness finally managed to claim her.
…
…
"Move! Everyone get out of the way!" Cullen barked when more than a dozen people began to crowd him, trying to see the woman cradled in his arms. "I need every healer over here now."
Three days and four nights. That's how long it had been since they'd escaped Haven, since he'd seen Evelyn for the last time.
It was by chance alone that he'd ventured to the outskirts of the camp to be alone in an attempt to collect his thoughts once more. The constant fighting had done nothing for his stress. His withdrawal made him feel like a caged beast, desperate to take just a tiny bit of lyrium if only to provide a touch of relief to the itch that refused to go away.
He'd refrained, but each day that passed with no signs of hope made it harder and harder to push it away.
And then, just when he'd been on the brink of snapping, he'd spotted it. A faint green light on the opposite side of the trench's entrance. A lone figure kneeling in the snow with only the glow of her mark providing just enough illumination to reveal who she was.
It was Evelyn, and before he knew what he was doing, he was dashing toward her, uncaring of how deep the snow was or how much had managed to sink into his armor. All that had mattered was that he got to her.
He'd called out, though it hadn't seemed like she'd heard him. That didn't matter. His prayers had been answered and a huge weight had been lifted from his chest.
She'd kept her promise. She'd come back.
It was all he could think about as he closed in on her. Then, as though no longer able to support herself, she fell, landing face-first into the deep snow. His relief had been short-lived as worry took its place. He'd wasted no time in scooping her smaller frame into his arms. Her body had been as cold as the snow, and even in the darkness he'd been able to tell that she was paler than she should have been.
Panic had gripped him as he rushed back toward the encampment, coming across Cassandra and two soldiers. "Commander, allow us—"
"Move," he growled, sounding animalistic to his own ears when the two men reached out to take her from him. They jumped back and he pushed past them. Later, he would once again regret speaking to them in such a manner, but not now. All that mattered was that he got Evelyn help as soon as possible.
Of course, allowing the two men to carry her would have made the trip back to the camp much faster, but he just couldn't let her go. Not when he feared that the moment she was no longer in his arms, she would simply vanish.
Pushing through the crowd, Cullen aimed for his personal tent and gentler than he thought himself capable of in that moment, he laid her on his bedroll. In the soft firelight, his chest constricted at the sight of her body looking little more than a fresh corpse. Her lips were blue, and her skin was so pale that he could see her veins beneath the skin. Frozen blood matted her hair in some places, and when he placed his fingertips to her jugular, he could barely feel a pulse.
"Where are the bloody healers?" he snapped, the urgency of the situation damn near making his voice crack.
Solas, Adan, and a woman he'd never met rushed inside the tent, the elf's usual calm expression twisting with worry upon seeing Evelyn. "We need herbs, blankets, and warm water. Quickly." He kneeled on the other side of her, picking up her limp hand to inspect her frostbitten fingers. His frown deepened. "Her condition is bad."
"Save her," Cullen growled, glowering at the man.
Instead of cowering in fear, Solas only fixed him with a dark glare. "I will do all that I can, but you need to leave."
Baring his teeth, Cullen reached over Evelyn's lifeless form and grabbed Solas by the collar. "If she dies, so do you, elf."
A strong hand landed on Cullen's shoulder and jerked him away. "Pull yourself together, Commander," Cassandra snapped. "Let them work in private."
Cullen's upper lip twitched into a curl of anger at everyone. He didn't want to leave Evelyn. He wanted, no needed, to see with his own eyes that she would be okay. That they didn't fail in helping her recover. She'd come back to them, yet if she didn't make it…
With a snarl, he shook off Cassandra's hand and rose. With one more glance at Evelyn, he stormed out of the tent.
…
…
Like a corpse having life breathed into them for the first time, Evelyn bolted upright with a loud gasp, sucking in a deep gulp of air as she blindly reached out for something, anything to keep from falling under. Her fingertips were met with something akin to wool, and she latched onto it, curling her fingers into the soft material.
The sudden movement came with consequences as a bolt of pain shot through her skull, causing an explosion of stars to burst in her eyes. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea rolled through her.
Skin soft as a newborn's smoothed over her own, tender fingers stroking her knuckles until she was able to loosen her grip. "Rest easy. You are safe now, Herald."
She knew who those suave vocals belonged to. His polite manner of speech always possessed a sort of docile tranquility that never changed in tune, not even when in the midst of battle.
When the pain in her head subsided to a dull throb, she peeled her eyes open to be met with the beige tunic Solas preferred. He was sitting next to her, one leather-clad leg bent at an angle while the other was stretched out alongside hers. His hands were still resting over hers, gently prying her fingers from the fabric.
She blew out long breath and released him. "I'm sorry. I thought…" When her hands began to shake and she couldn't finish her sentence, she gave up and dropped them in her lap.
As usual, Solas was able to read her as he nodded. "Another nightmare, I presume. How is your head?"
Evelyn made to reach up, but he stopped her by grabbing her wrists in a light hold. "Careful. Your wound has closed, but you have concussion."
That explained the pounding. "How long have I been out?"
"We found you last night. Or the commander found you, I should say. It is now nearing midnight."
"Oh," she mouthed. So, it had been Cullen she'd heard after all, not the wind. For some reason, she couldn't stop the wave of relief rolling through her at the knowledge that he'd survived. "How is everyone else? Do they have blankets?"
Solas tilted his head slightly, a contemplating look in his eyes. "You suffered alarming levels of frostbite, a concussion, blood loss, dehydration, and hunger, yet your concern is whether or not the others are warm?"
She made a face at him. "I want to make sure they're okay. What's wrong with that?"
His lips twitched ever so slightly. He rarely ever smiled, and she found the sight…comforting. "Nothing at all. I am just surprised, is all. The others are faring as well as they can, but we are safe for now. We have you to thank for that."
Evelyn's shoulders relaxed on a small sigh. She peered at him, taking note of the shadows beneath his eyes and the exhaustion that turned his skin a shade lighter. She didn't doubt for one moment that he hadn't been by her side the entire time, using his magic to heal her. Without thinking, she placed her knuckles against his cheek, then frowned when she realized he had a slight fever. "You need to sleep."
He stiffened at her touch and she quickly removed her hand. However, he didn't reprimand her or show any other sign of his displeasure. "Those are the words I should be telling you. You pushed your body beyond its limits to get here. I have done all I can to speed up the healing, but slumber will aid in finalizing your recovery."
That was something he was good at. Casually diverting any situation or conversation to take the focus off himself. However, she wasn't falling for it. Reasoning with him required logic rather than sentiment. "Neglecting your own body's need to rest is as irresponsible as it is dangerous." At that, his eyebrows drew together in a slight frown, and so she continued. "You can feel it crying out for help, yet you continue to ignore it. Is that wise on your end?"
Evelyn kept her expression serene so as to show him she was being serious instead of challenging, but seeing the wheels turning in his head as he calculated her angle almost made her lose her composure.
He must have figured it out when he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I know what you are doing."
She raised her eyebrows in feigned innocence. "Is it working?"
"Unfortunately, and I am not proud of it." He shook his head. "You continue to surprise me, Herald."
"I'm beginning to suspect none of you even know my real name."
Once again, he cracked a tiny ghost of a smile. "An exhibit of formality, I assure you."
"Then I would like for you to use my given name."
When he fell silent again, she took that as hesitation. He was exceptionally good at hiding behind a mask of impassivity, but she spent enough time in his presence—as a patient, mostly—that she was beginning to pick up on a few of his habits. He was still as big a mystery to her as he was the first day at the breach, but she was learning.
"I will take it into consideration," he said calmly, giving nothing away.
She pursed her lips at his answer. "If you keep calling me by my title, I will give you one as well. Somniari." It wasn't easy translating the foreign word for dreamer into a hand motion, so she had to spell it out.
Surprise briefly flickered in his eyes. "Absolutely not. Solas is acceptable." When she arched a brow in challenge, he grunted. "Very well. Evelyn it is."
Evelyn smirked in triumph and slowly leaned back on her elbows. "Sleep," she mouthed.
He heaved a sigh of defeat and pushed to his feet. "I will yield this time, but be warned that I will be better prepared when I return." With his amused threat delivered, he nodded and left her to her own devices.
Evelyn yawned and rolled over onto her side. Sleep didn't usually come easy to her, but she was still far too exhausted to stay awake much longer. And so, she closed her eyes.
…
…
Night had fallen once more and the bickering between the three members of the Inquisition's council had been raging since dawn. Everyone was tense and afraid, yet the constant arguing over who was in charge, what should be done, and where to go didn't help matters one bit.
Evelyn was fed up, but she didn't interfere. She could understand the fear and uncertainty of what was to come. Instead of joining, she watched from afar on a cot next to Mother Giselle. She'd healed in the past hours thanks to Solas' magic and his strong mix of herbs, but a headache was still lingering. That had more to do with the clash of heated voices than her concussion.
Despite the calming conversation she'd had with Solas the previous night, the reality of their devastating situation had sunk in, making her withdraw into herself as she struggled to cope in her own way. Until the revered mother had come along, speaking words of wisdom and talk of the Maker shining his favor on her.
It was a conversation she had no desire to have. The Elder One had attacked Haven and killed so many innocents because of her. Because of the mark—no, the anchor—on her hand. Destruction always followed her wherever she went. Always. She couldn't help but to blame herself for all the lives that had been lost.
That was not the work of divine intervention.
As she spoke with the revered mother via a quill and paper, she sighed and stood. She flashed one final note at the woman. "The struggle ahead is mine alone."
Dropping the quill, she turned away with her head lowered. She braced an arm on a nearby wooden post.
It was hopeless. She'd promised to help, and she would, but how could she in good conscience upon discovering that a creature so powerful as the Elder One was willing to destroy any and everything because of her? How many more around her would die if she stayed? It already hurt her more than anything that people she didn't even know the names of had been killed. What if it had been Cassandra or Cullen or Solas or anyone else she'd started to care about? How could she live with herself if they were made to suffer because they were close to her?
"Shadows fall and hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come."
Evelyn turned at the sound of singing, spotting Mother Giselle slowly approaching. "The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come."
It was an old song that had been passed down through the ages, one Evelyn knew word-for-word, yet she hadn't heard it since she was a young girl. When Giselle began singing, several heads lifted, questioning eyes upon both of them.
Leliana raised her head from her seat on the ground next to Josephine. When she opened her mouth, her voice was light and lilting compared to Mother Giselle's as she sang along. "The shepherd's lost and his home is far."
Slowly, one by one many more voices began to join in. "Keep to the stars. The dawn will come."
All Evelyn could do was watch as the people, soldiers and refugees alike walked toward her. "The night is long—"
She looked across the distance, past one soldier and saw Cullen leaning against a tent. He closed his eyes and raised his head to join in. "—and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come."
Her heart began racing with emotion as she realized they weren't just singing aloud. They were singing to her. Despite the gloom that weighed in everyone's hearts, despite how much she blamed herself for their situation, she was able to see signs of hope as they looked to her.
"Bare your blade and raise it high." Everyone who approached her either went on their knees to kneel before her or folded their hands and bowed their heads. "Stand your ground, the dawn will come."
She peered over every single face, taking in the trust they were giving her. The faith they were placing in her once again.
"The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come."
It was inspiring, their reaction to her. They'd all lost so much and so many, yet they still had hope when she'd lost hers.
Closing her eyes, she merely stood there, choked with emotion and unable to do anything but fight back tears. When she felt as though she could manage without crumbling into a pile of sobs, she turned to Mother Giselle.
The aged woman smiled. "Faith may have yet to find you, but it has already found them."
Evelyn watched her walk away and she decided right then and there that there was no turning back for her.
The Inquisition was where she needed to be. She would work through her own insecurities and doubts, in due time. However, these people before her, strangers and acquaintances, humans and non-humans, mages, citizens and templars, had shown her with their song that whatever was to come, she needed to keep fighting. For them, and for herself.
The dawn will come.