6 MONTHS LATER

Solas willed himself to be hopeful as he looked out through the dense blizzard on the edge of the haphazard camp. He could hear Cullen and Cassandra arguing in the background. They had given up Neria for dead. He knew better. The orb that the magister had wielded had been his. The anchor that had attached itself to her hand was of the same matter as his ancient reserves of power.

Surely, If Neria was dead Solas would have felt it echoed in a deep part of himself.

He had been so close to reclaiming the artifact. Even though he knew that it was an unrealistic to wish that Neria would defeat the overzealous magister, he thought there was a chance. What he hadn't expected was Neria to selflessly sacrifice herself to save the people of Haven. He was continuously impressed with her. She had a wild spirit unlike anything he had expected from a Dalish. Nor had he expected the archdemon.

Now all he could do was wait. Squinting through the swirling clouds of snow he wondered what had become of the missing elf. Was she buried somewhere, never to escape? Was she struggling to walk through the storm? How would she ever find them? Would he see her again?

…

The night wore on. Several times Solas thought he had seen the outline of Neria's familiar figure, only to have it reveal itself as a shadow. The darkness covering the camp was one of death and terror.

Was that her? Looking at the distant movement nervously, Solas gripped his staff tightly…it could be a wild beast…or perhaps even Corypheus…The figure was coming closer and closer.

It was unmistakably Neria!

"Cullen! The Inquisitor! She is Alive," He shouted behind him. Cullen quickly got to his feet, both men ran to her, their bodies struggling to part the high banks of snow.

Solas was the first to reach her, grabbing her shivering form in his arms, wrapping them both tightly in his fur lined cloak. He gasped to see Neria was wearing nothing but thin leather armor…he could sense her mana reserves had been depleted when he warmed her with small bursts of his own. She must have been keeping herself warm with it.

Neria fell into him, burying her face into his chest. "Solas," she whispered weakly before collapsing. He picked her up in his strong arms to carry her back to camp. He would never let her go again.

…

"We need to stop meeting this way da'len." He joked at Neria when she woke up, his eyes sparkling despite the grim circumstances.

He was glad to see a small smile appear on her face. "Da'len I was able to revive you, but your injuries…are serious. I need a few days to sort them out. I need you to tell me…"

She was not listening. Suddenly she remembered where she was, in a flash she was trying to sit up even though she was barely able to speak.

"Solas…Solas…Hahren it is you…Corypheus…he…he flew off with a dragon," she would not stop until Solas was able to gently pushed her down and wrap her up in a layer of lambswool.

He began to "shh" her like a hearth mother. "Neria, please, I need you to rest. We saw everything, we know, the Inquisition is already at work. You need to rest…or I'm afraid. I'm afraid you will…"

"…die." He thought to himself. He couldn't help but leave his statement unfinished. She needed to live…or there was no chance of any other's survival.

Neria's recovery would not be without work. He had been able to revive her from the grip of hypothermia, but he dared not do more to address her other injuries until she was able to regain some strength. Solas suspected several broken ribs, a few gashes that needed stitching, and a possible concussion.

Reaching down he began to stroke her hair. She closed her eyes.

—

A FEW DAYS LATER

Neria woke up. She had been feeling stronger, more like herself. She even had been able to make her way around camp earlier in the day. It had been both a blessing and a curse. Words could not express how happy she was to be reunited with her companions and friends, but there had been heavy losses. Everyone was missing a loved one.

She was glad to have recruited the mages, it had meant an ample population of healers for the many wounded. If she had chosen differently, many more would have perished.

By the lack of sound coming from the camp, Neria knew it must be the middle of the night when only the last patrols stood watch. It was a relief to have a few more hours of sleep before the difficult business of deciding what came next was upon her.

Rolling over in her tiny tent she gasped as she felt her body slam into someone else. Turning she was not surprised to face Solas, now woken up by her movements. He had been so worried about her and been checking on her in preternatural amounts. This evening alone, he had checked her vitals no less than seven times.

She had only distracted him by asking her to lull her to sleep with tales of the Fade.

Honestly, she had just listened to the sound of his voice. She had trouble following his story due to her rampant fatigue and quickly fell asleep. Apparently he had nodded off as well.

"Neria…I'm sorry…I must have fallen asleep." He whispered to her, a sheepish look spreading across his face.

"Don't worry," she reassured him.

He was starting to sit up when she tugged him back down towards the ground. "Hahren," she implored, "please stay, I don't like these shem traditions of sleeping alone….the nightmares."

She could tell he seemed uncomfortable, but she selfishly wanted him to stay. Every time she shut her eyes she could replay the townspeople of Haven burning.

"Solas," she continued, "it's cold, there are no extra tents. Don't go."

He didn't respond except to lay back down besides her. Neria could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, smelling his distinct scent of cedar and earth. They had never been this close before, except for her one embrace in the tent when he had alleviated the pain of the anchor.

"Neria, this…" Solas whispered, "will start so many rumors."

"Is that all you're worried about."

"No," he sighed, "I'm worried about you. You almost died."

For the first time Neria saw worry cross Solas' face. She reached out to him in the dark, touching the side of his face softly. She knew this was crossing the line, but she couldn't help herself. Nor could Solas, with one swift movement he gathered her into his arms. Wrapping them again in the warmth of his sheep wool lined cloak he wore in the treacherous cold of the mountain pass. She could feel Solas' hot breath as he smelled in the perfume of her hair. His arms wrapped around her reassuringly.

…

When Neria woke, she was alone in the tent. Looking next to her she saw a scarp of paper with an outline of a mountain pass. A small drawing of a castle at the end of the meticulously drawn path was labeled in careful handwriting as "Skyhold."

She smiled to herself. Solas did care about her.