When it was finally deemed safe enough to make camp, Solas went to sleep as quickly as he could. Being anxious didn't help, but there were ways to deal with that. He hoped to find out from spirits - if not all of them fled the area - what had happened to Haven in the end. What had happened to her. He knew that without the Anchor they didn't stand much chance of stopping Corypheus. If the ancient magister had succeeded in recovering it, - which Solas didn't really believe in, - or if he simply killed Ellana, - which he didn't want to believe in, - then he'd have to leave the Inquisition immediately and figure out an alternative plan.
The Fade was a desolate white, reflecting the blizzard in the waking world. Spirits were in no hurry to return here after the Breach had been closed. He was ready to give up, when he felt something else instead - the familiar pull of the Anchor.
"Solas!" she called out to him, making her way over the snow. "Figured you'd go to sleep sooner or later."
"You're alive!" he exclaimed, rushing to her, unable to contain the immense relief he felt at the sight of her just walking there, unharmed. "How?"
"A lot of luck," she tilted her head to the side, smiling at him. "Hoped I'd find you here. We don't have much time, I really shouldn't be sleeping out there in this weather, and I've already been looking for you for a while."
"You're a Dreamer… You continue to surprise me," he said, then fell silent, taken aback by the warmth in his own voice.
"Would you like me to stop?" Her amusement trickled over through the Fade. Who was she? How was she possible?
"Please don't," he laughed. She was alive. His relief went beyond just finding out his plans could continue as before. "The indomitable will of an arcane warrior and a Dreamer's powerful connection to the Fade… That is how you survived the Anchor and learned to use it."
"Indomitable will..?" She raised her eyebrows. Maybe he went a bit too far. But she was alive, and she was a wonderful mystery that he could continue to unravel. "Nevermind, can we get back to that small matter of me currently dying in the snow?"
"Yes. I'm sorry," he shook his head. Or he could concentrate on the actual problems that he set out to solve. It was so easy to get sidetracked in the Fade. "Are you hurt? Is there any landmark near you that would help us find you?"
"A few cracked ribs, but nothing major so far. I've found this broken cart, half-buried in the snow, so I think I'm on your trail, but not sure how far behind. The blizzard is too strong, I can't see anything ahead."
"Stay there. I will get them to send out a search party. Do you have the strength to keep yourself warm until then?"
"Can probably burn the cart if all else fails," she shrugged. "See you soon?"
And she was gone. Solas willed himself to wakefulness. Soon after, no one in what remained of the Inquisition, save for the badly wounded, slept either. They found her, half-frozen and hurt way worse than she let on in the dream, but still alive, and the news of her miraculous survival have spread through the pitiful camp like much-needed fire.
She insisted on updating the Inquisition's leadership on Corypheus before finally surrendering to the healers. He was there, of course, as the resident Fade expert. And so he had heard the confirmation that the creature he had arranged for to find his Orb and the Elder One were one and the same. By her description, Corypheus not only somehow survived the unlocking of the Orb, but came away completely unharmed. That was the most troubling thing and a grave miscalculation on his part - another one.
The news of the Anchor's permanence did not phase him. He was sure he'd be able to extract it, given enough power. But right now he had no power, not for freeing Ellana from the Anchor, and not for fighting a seemingly invulnerable ancient magister that once, long ago, entered the Fade and the prison he had carefully crafted. Throwing his lot with the Inquisition was the only viable solution, but the Inquisition in its current state was going to wander the snows until they all froze to death. Still, they had their Herald back. There were ways to grow from there.
The Herald was sleeping on one of the cots in the improvised infirmary, warm and blissfully unaware of the Inquisition - represented by Cullen, Cassandra and Leliana, - currently tearing itself apart. If they argued any louder, maybe another avalanche would come down and put them all out of their misery. In his heart he knew them. No matter the time, no matter the shape of their ears, no matter the war - there were always people like them. They could be trusted generals, spymasters, powerful shadows behind the throne, but they were by their nature followers. They needed someone at the helm, a brilliant leader shrouded in mystery, someone who could inspire them enough to temper their pride and make them follow. Someone like her, though she would surely resent it.
He could already see it in the way the whole camp went quiet as she walked towards the commotion. There was worship in their eyes. They didn't care that she was an elf, that she was a mage, to them she was a saviour and a prophet. Soon enough someone began to sing, and the song spread and grew until it engulfed the camp, almost a prayer - or perhaps it was one. All eyes were on her.
All it made him feel was sadness mixed with dull anger. In his dreams he saw the history of this world unravel. If they worshipped her now, tomorrow they may turn on her to blame all their misfortunes on. He despaired of this common tendency to bend at the knees, to put all one's hopes in heroes and gods and then blame them when they inevitably came up short. Still therein lay the opportunity.
He found her later, when the people finally went about their business and there was a chance to sneak away unnoticed. The blizzard was long gone, and away from the campfires fresh snow glistened in bright starlight.
"And I was just getting warm," she sighed and looked around. "It is beautiful here, though. You only get a sky like this up in the mountains."
"Yes. The more advanced a civilization, the more they drown out the stars. But," he conjured up a fire in concession to her still weakened state. "I shouldn't keep the fabled Herald of Andraste cold."
"You'd think being a blessed hero would come with a fur coat at least," she rolled her eyes.
"Joke as you wish, but the humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting," he said, and saw her frown at his words. "Their faith is hard-won, lethallan, worthy of pride."
"You just watch, in a couple of centuries I will turn out to have been a noble human woman, and they will have found a way to blame the whole thing on the elves," she shook her head, purposefully avoiding looking at him. Something was bothering her. Perhaps she was even more uncomfortable with the idea of leading the Inquisition than he thought. But she was not wrong.
"Yes. That is why I needed to talk to you in private. The Orb you described, the one Corypheus carried? It is ours."
"The Focus," Ellana nodded, immediately coming back from whatever melancholy she was lost in back to her typical calm and practical demeanor. "I cannot imagine how he managed to come by such a thing."
"Or unlock it and survive," he did not show that her knowledge unsettled him. He did ask her not to stop surprising him, did he not? "But however he came by it, the Orb is elven and with it he threatens the heart of human faith."
"They will find out, sooner or later."
"And so we must be beyond reproach," Solas elaborated. He had made the decision already, now he only needed to tell her of it. "Their faith in you is shaping this moment, but needs room to grow. If you lead them out of this wilderness, bring them to a place where the Inquisition can build, grow into a force that can oppose Corypheus, you will secure your place in their hearts."
"And you know of such a place, I take it?"
"Tarasyl'an Te'las," he said, and smiled at her reaction. Perhaps some places stuck in a people's collective memory despite all the centuries of erasure. Or perhaps - and he was all but sure - she was still more than she appeared. And he was gifting her a fortress that was once his. It felt right, not just because he needed the Inquisition to succeed. Humans would've built over it many times by now, of course, there was likely nothing left of the original structure - and no trace of what the hill it stood on once was to the People, before the humans, before the Veil, before even the war that installed the Evanuris as gods, there was Tarasyl'an Te'las.
"It's here? In these mountains?" she asked breathlessly.
"To the north of here, perhaps a two days journey. But finding a passage there may be challenging, especially in this snow."
"If there is a path, I can find it," she nodded with a faraway calculating expression. "Thank you, Solas."