Chapter 18

Holli curled up, a sob escaping her as the pain hit all at once upon waking. She needed to move, but her body would hardly cooperate. She opened her eyes, nothing but stone and ice from what she could see through her blurred vision. No matter how she blinked, it wouldn't clear.

Had she died? Was this hell? It sure as shit wasn't home.

She forced herself to sit up, crying out at the pain in her arm as it gave out under her. She hit the freezing stone with a pathetic thud. Was the room spinning? Rolling onto her back, she stared up at... the roof? Icicles. Maybe she'd get lucky and one would fall down and kill her. She cradled her arm and started crying—chest heaving, body-shaking sobs.

She just wanted to go home. 

There wasn't enough energy left in her to cry for long, and when it died down, taking what little energy she had left, she just lay there, body tense and shivering. She couldn't even work up the focus or energy for the warming spell. Healing whatever was wrong with her arm was out of the question.

It took every ounce of her will to peel herself off the ground. Her vision was still blurry and tinged red. When she rubbed her eye, some of that red came away. Blood. A head wound? Like a moron, she felt around with her fingers, wincing at the pain when she found it.

Just walk.

She didn't know where she was going or if it was the right way. And she was so cold. When she stepped out of the cave and into knee-deep snow, she nearly spiralled into a panic. The snow, the streetlights, sitting and waiting for someone to come and get her.

"Mum?" It came out a croak.

No, no her mum didn't come that night, and she wasn't here now. She wasn't in London. She was in Ferelden. Or hell.

Fuck, if she wasn't dead and the others found her... They were going to be so pissed. She could vaguely recall the shock, their shouts as she sealed them in the Chantry, cutting the whole area off with a wall of fire so thick and massive even the dragon would think twice.

If she didn't feel so miserable, she would be patting herself on the back at how impressive that wall of flame was. Even better and bigger than what she had conjured at Therinfal. Way better. Way bigger. She was sure she had seen Dorian and Solas try to bring it down. They must have failed; no one came after her.

Ok, maybe she wasn't so sore and miserable she couldn't be impressed with herself.

It died quickly as she remembered how pissed the others would be. But she had done it—spoken to the Elder One, buried Haven, maybe died?

Holli looked back at the cave, wondering if maybe going back inside was the better idea, out of the blistering wind. Maybe it was the possible concussion, or the possibility she might be dead and probably couldn't die again, but she started walking away from the cave.

One foot in front of the other.

-

Solas was seething, and from the air saturating the troupe as they marched, he was not alone in his ire. Despite his and Dorian's best efforts to dissipate her flame, they had not been successful quick enough. He knew her magic was strong; he'd not realised it surpassed his own in his current state.

Dorian was obviously miffed about it as well.

Her wall of fire had not only stopped them from helping her but had also stopped enemy forces from being able to follow. Many were grateful for that. They considered her a divine figure, the Herald of Andraste. Of course she would die for them; it was expected. On many of those who hadn't known her personally, he could see relief.

Solas just could not fathom why she would run off like that to face down Corypheus when she was hardly close to his match. The man commanded a dragon! 

Not much had been said since she'd left, but they'd seen the avalanche. She had at least been successful in that. And likely in killing herself.

Did she make it home? Unlikely. But he hoped for her sake she had.

He'd not realised how fond of her he'd grown until now. Likely a realisation being struck by a fair few of them.

Even Sera was blissfully silent, lost in the mire of her sadness and anger. The two girls had been forming a friendship before this, often walking at the back of the group, their giggles reaching the rest of them.

"Do you think she survived?" Iron Bull asked softly. "It's possible, right? Her magic is strong."

He drew a few looks, but no one had an answer.

Solas was tempted to go back and pick over the area, attempt to find her. If she were buried, he wasn't sure how successful he would be. But there was a restless energy in him, the desperate need to do something. Walking away as they were felt... wrong.

"She wanted to die, right?" Sera asked. "That's why she did it? She thought dying would take her home. Like dying brought her here."

"She never died to come here," Solas corrected. "She came close, but she never died."

He'd made sure of it.

"What are you talking about?" Dorian asked.

"Holli isn't from this world," Varric said. "She came from a city called London. In a country called England. Where magic and elves don't exist, and dwarfism is considered a birth defect."

Dorian was eyeing them sceptically, looking for the joke, for the lie. Varric's tone had been flippant, a little acidic, but hardly joking. None of them were in a particularly jesting mood, and aside from Sera, none were prone to pranks.

"She thought if she died here, she might wake up back home," Sera told him. "But she was too scared to test it herself. So instead she picks probably the worst guy to do it for her."

"Is there a preferred candidate to murder her?" Dorian asked.

The little elf looked like she'd sucked on a lemon at that.

"The fire she conjured," Dorian looked at Solas. "That was rather powerful for someone who came from a magicless world."

"Yes, it was," Solas agreed. He still wasn't happy about what she'd done. 

"It's a great loss," Adan said, a couple of meters ahead of them, carrying what healing supplies he had. A few others were helping with the other crates and sacks.

"Wait a moment," Cullen muttered. "Bernhard?"

The man walking beside Adan offered an exhausted salute. "Commander."

"I thought—How are you-?"

"Walking?" He asked, and Cullen nodded. "The Herald. She regrew my legs."

"Impossible," Vivienne scoffed.

"Saw it with my own eyes," Adan said. "I asked the lass to help me move those who couldn't get there alone. To speed things up, she just started healing everyone. Six in all. Including two legs and a hand."

Solas knew it wasn't impossible. But he'd never seen it on such a scale. A finger. He'd once seen a colleague regrow another's finger. And it had taken it out of him to the point he had been debilitated for a day or two afterwards. This was also thousands of years ago, before the Veil weakened magic.

"Sweet Maker," Leliana breathed out. 

"What kind of mage is this girl?" Dorian asked.

"I'd like to examine your legs when we have a moment," Solas told the man. "If that is all right."

Bernhard nodded, reluctantly. Perhaps he was afraid Solas would undo the good Holli had created. Or it was more likely he didn't want to be poked and prodded by an elven mage.

"We should make camp," Cullen said. "Get tents and fires set up, then a small group can head back to Haven and... look for survivors."

He received no argument. Camp was made eagerly, in the shelter of the mountain protecting them from the worst of the wind. Solas and Cole were among the first ready to trek back the way they had come and search for her. It would be dangerous given the recent avalanche; they would need to do it carefully.

As they assembled to head back down, Inquisition soldiers joined them, and some of the villagers, and even a few templars. Solas had not been expecting such a large group. When they were prepared, they started back down the mountain. The wind was picking up, and Solas feared a blizzard could be headed their way.

Hours had passed before Cole's voice rang out over the wind. 

"Wait, I hear her," he said, his eyes darting around for the source.

"I hear nothing but this damnable wind," Dorian said. 

"Cole can hear minds," Solas explained.

Dorian let out a bit of a titter as he looked at the boy. "You've certainly amassed quite the group."

"She's hurt. And lost," Cole said, taking cautious steps forward. "She thinks she's home, but her mother has forgotten her, left her in the cold again."

That didn't sound good. Hallucinating? Delusional? Their eyes scanned the snow, but night had settled around them hours ago; their torchlight only reached so far, and she had been wearing that light pink coat she favoured. It certainly wasn't going to be standing out amidst the snow.

Dorian summoned magelight, sending it swooping out across the snow.

"There!" Cassandra shouted. 

They all ran towards the dark mass, realising it was her long black hair. She was lying down in the snow, her body racked with tremors, curled into a tiny ball.

Iron Bull lifted her out of the snow, holding her tiny form close to his chest. Solas cast his warming spell upon her, but with how soaked her clothes were, he doubted it would do much.

"Coryph- Coryph-ph-pheus," she stuttered out.

"Oh shit, is she trying to say Corypheus?" Varric asked.

"You're familiar with the name?" Cassandra asked.

"Maybe. Let me get back to you."

They carried her back to the camp as quickly as they could, Adan and Mother Giselle rushing to help when they saw them. They put her on one of the few cots they had, doing what they could to seal the tent against the cold. After setting her down, Iron Bull left them to it. The first thing they did was strip her of her wet clothing. 

She would likely be appalled by that—they let Mother Giselle take care of her small clothes and her redressing—but if she didn't want this to happen, she shouldn't have run off.

The first thing they needed to do was warm her slowly; they were sure she was hypothermic. She was shivering, her breathing was much too slow, her skin tinged blue. At some point on the trek back, she had passed out; he wished she hadn't. He would have liked her to drink down some warm tea or broth.

The three of them worked on assessing her other injuries—a nasty head wound, broken wrist, and various cuts and bruises littered her form.

As they worked on her, her big blue eyes slid open at one point, gaze disoriented and pupils dilated. But they fixed on him a moment, and a slight smile flickered across her lips.

What was she smiling about? He was so angry with her.

Once they had done all they could, they agreed to keep an eye on her in rotation, never leaving her alone. Adan offered to take first watch.

Solas and Mother Giselle exited the tent, finding much of the camp standing outside waiting for news. 

"We have done what we can," Mother Giselle addressed them all. "She is alive. Now, we can only wait and pray."

Solas stalked away from the tent, wanting some space, a few moments alone. His chest was heaving; his hand gripped his staff tightly. He tried to calm his temper. But her recklessness, that sting of betrayal, that surge of fear as he could do naught but watch her run off to what was likely her death.

Although she was safe and sound in the tent nearby, that panic and anger still burned in him. He'd not felt anger quite like this in a very long time. 

He heard footsteps beside him; he could already sense it was Cole.

"Tell me, Cole, what is running through her mind now?" He asked acerbically.

"She is still lost, in the dream of a memory. Her mother, and cold."

Solas would never admit it out loud, but he had been hoping for some sense of remorse or regret. It was petty and beneath him. But the girl had grown on him, and the thought of her loss hurt more than he'd have thought it would.

Behind them, from the camp, he could hear singing, a Chantry hymn. They both turned back to look, Cole's eyes softening at something Solas couldn't see.

"It's beautiful when they're like this," Cole whispered.