A/N: Thank you to my reviewers, Ioialoha and Kissofdeath for your continued input and support.
VIII.
In the safety of daylight, the fade had always seemed more like a dark yarn spun by the voices of bards than an actual plane of existence. She had still been able to feel him, still been able to smell him as though he had not actually chosen to push her further away. But she had always known there was nothing that she could do or say that would ever bring her closer to understanding him. He had always seemed to want her every bit as much as he hadn't.
In the myriad of days that had followed, Haven had fallen. The mages had united to close the Breach, and the forthcoming celebration had ended with the infiltration of Corypheus and a generous amount of bloodshed. It might have seemed like a victory to her council, at the time, but to her it had been a battle hard won. The same power that had given her the edge that she had needed to survive against the ancient Tavinter magister, had also been the power that she'd come to realize was still slowly killing her. It had all seemed rather counterintuitive.
And though it did inevitably gain her the leadership of the Inquisition, it had never been a position that she had ever truly wanted. Even if, as Solas had so casually pointed out, an elf had not been held in such esteem in time immemorial. Despite her own personal feelings on the matter, It had seemed that fate had had plans for her far greater than what she herself might have actually chosen to aspire to. Bleeding from the fallout of Haven, and crawling through the snow towards a ball of fade fire she had easily ascribed to the rift mage and the rest of her waiting party, she had succinctly thought that if that were indeed the case, then fate had already seriously overestimated the potential survival rate of at least one of it's chosen ones.
"She's over there."
She had recognized Dorian's cadence, even if it hadn't been his arms that had plucked her unceremoniously from her position laying facedown in a snow drift.
"Hurry. Place her by the fire. Let me tend to her."
Solas had taken her easily from Cullen's grasp, his voice thin and concise as deft hands had immediately wrapped her in woolen blankets and deposited her limp and frozen next to the heat of the flames.
"It looks like frostbite. Do you think we got to her in time?"
Cullen's pleasant voice had held genuine concern as he, and everyone with him, was told, rather pointedly, to go elsewhere.
"Healing magic requires a wide breadth," Dorian had explained, calmly. "We'll do neither of them any good standing about here."
Battle worn, and worse for wear, that had seemed liked explanation enough for the tattered masses, and with him as their impromptu ringleader, they had all been led to a much warmer destination presumably with better sources of wine.
In their absence, Solas had finally been able to undress her enough to place warm hands against her cold damp skin; his lips pressing to whisper against her ear though he had known she would not be able to fully respond. " I will have to remove all of your clothes, now, they are too wet to be of use to you. You need body heat and your temperature is already far too low. We are going to have to use mine. I hope you'll forgive me, I can try to be less forceful in the future."
As she had been stripped down in layers, she had felt as the surrounding chill had tried to gnaw straight through to the bone; his body, then also completely free of clothing, smooth and warm as he had pressed it fully behind hers, his arms bringing the blankets in tightly against them as he had formed himself to fit perfectly against her.
And though she had finally fallen asleep with the feel of his lips pressed lightly against the back of her neck, it had been thick gray fur and a muzzle that had lent her the warmth that she had needed in order to carry her through to dawn.