A/N: This was written in response to a tumblr prompt which asked for a Solavellan story that featured them getting stuck in a snowstorm. Thank you so much for reading! :)

Frozen in Ice, Revivied by Fire

"This is your fault."

"I believe, Venara, that you are the one who suggested we take this path. Therefore the fault lies with you."

"With me?"

The incredulity in Venara's voice would have been unmistakable had it not, at that very moment, cracked with cold. Venara coughed and pulled her woollen scarf tighter around her face.

"You're the one who suggested we let the others go ahead," she said, rubbing her gloved hands together to keep the blood flowing as she stumbled through the snow. "The one who thought we should stay in Jader for a couple more nights. 'Oh, we shall only be a few days behind them,'—you said. 'It's no grave change of plan,'—you said. Liar!" She slapped him sharply on the shoulder, though he would have barely felt it through his heavy wool cloak. "We're caught in the middle of a snowstorm thanks to you! What do you think Josephine's going to say when she finds out the Herald and one of her closest companions wandered off a cliff in the Frostbacks thanks to snow blindness?"

"I'm sure Josephine will be appropriately appalled," Solas replied, his voice muffled by his scarf. He raised an arm, sheltering his face from the howling wind and blowing snow as he peered ahead into the whiteness. "This way, I think."

You think? Venara thought. You think too much.

But her teeth were chattering too much for a proper retort.

Solas strode off into the blizzard, barely sinking into heavy blanket of snow that covered the mountain path. Venara remained where she was, knee-deep in the freezing white slush as she stared at him and tried to figure out what spell he used to counteract his own weight. Then a gust of wind blasted her in the face and she huddled deeper into her fur-lined cloak and dragged herself through the heavy whiteness.

Realistically speaking, they were both at fault. Venara had been on her way back to Haven from Val Royeaux with a full retinue of Inquisition agents. Several important nobles of the Orlesian court had accompanied them—their intention was to represent the interests of both Empress Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard at the fledgling organization. But nobles were nobles, and their incessant squabbling had begun to drive Venara mad, no matter how hard they tried to disguise it with flowery language and perfect diction. If anything, the flowery language made it worse. By the time their ships at reached the port at Jader, Venara knew she was very close to saying something that would have regrettable consequences for the Inquisition's relationship to Orlais. Solas interceded on her behalf by suggesting he and she remain behind the entourage, on the premise of searching for a unique historical tome that may have found its way to the port city. Cassandra had accepted the excuse without question (the nobles were driving her mad, too) and bid them safe travels.

Venara had taken the time to relax and recuperate after her mission (Solas had studied—no matter how far they travelled, he always managed to bring at least part of his mysterious research with him), then set off into the mountains a couple of days later.

It had been just enough time for the weather to shift drastically. What would have been a pleasant trip through the mountain paths had turned into a white nightmare. They were far enough along the path when the storm hit that there was no turning back. They had already lost the horses to the storm and now they would have to drag themselves through the blizzard until they found shelter.

If they could find shelter.

Venara had attempted a locator spell, but it done little else than produce a ball of light that puffed into existence and then disintegrated in her hand. Still, she took her chances and decided to go with her gut instinct—it was better than standing there and freezing to death, after all. She had directed them down a path, so sure in her gut instinct, but instead of finding shelter, she had gotten them hopelessly lost. And there was no shelter in sight.

"Fine," Venara hollered as she trudged through the snow, trying to ignore how the ice was building up on her clothes. "It is my fault. I'm sorry I'm going to get us killed."

The sarcasm was strong with her today. Whether it was the snow, the cold, or something else, she was in a foul mood.

"You and I will be fine," Solas shouted back. "It's only snow."

"Only snow?!" Venara exclaimed. "I'm not the one practically levitating on it! How do you do that?"

"What?" Solas said, turning back to her, wind tearing at his scarf and hood.

"How are you not sinking into the snow?" Venara shouted. "What spell are you using? I'm nearly a foot shorter than you, I'm almost waist-deep in the snow, and yet you're the one who gets to walk on top of it?"

"Do you really think now is an appropriate time for a lesson in spellcasting?" Solas said. "Now, when we could very well freeze to death if we are not careful?"

"What better time to examine the limitations of magic than in the middle of a blizzard?" Venara shot back.

Solas paused. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Venara grunted. "Just cold."

"Are you sure you're fine?"

Venara snorted. "Of course I am. I can handle myself, thank you."

Solas shook his head. "Follow me," he said, and disappeared into the falling snow.

Venara sighed, her breath freezing as it puffed out into the chilled air. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?" she called, teeth chattering as she waded through the snow after him. She could barely see him. "We've been walking for hours and the weather is making me more than a little irritable. I am very, very cold—"

Solas appeared beside her and grabbed her arm. Venara could barely feel the pressure of his touch through her frozen clothes. "This way," he said.

"You don't… have to lead me," she snapped through chattering teeth.

"Forgive me, Venara, but you were walking in the wrong direction."

"Oh."

"Towards a cliff."

"Oh." Venara paused, shivering in her scarf. "Thanks."

"This way," Solas repeated, taking her gloved hand and leading her through the snow.

Venara wasn't sure how long they travelled. The cold was mind-numbing and the low visibility made the world go white. Even the unmistakable green light of the Breach had disappeared. When every rock and tree looked the same, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. She tried counting her breaths, but she could only get up to thirty or so before she lost count and had to start over. The only constants were the dull, frozen ache in the muscles and the feel of Solas' hand wrapped around hers.

Sometime later (it could have been twenty minutes or an hour or even three days, Venara couldn't tell), Solas pulled her towards a dark crevice in the mountain wall. They squeezed through the gap and felt the immediate relief of being out of the wind. Solas let go out Venara's hand and moments later, conjured veilfire in the palm of his hand. Through her frozen eyelashes, Venara could see that they had found themselves not in an cave, exactly, but in an old elven ruin buried within a cave. The delicate, sweeping architecture of the chamber was unmistakable. The room was roughly square-shaped, with arches surrounding the perimeter. The floor was sunken, several steps leading down to it on all sides. The chamber looked like it had once been used for rituals, as she could just make out the outline of some kind of pedestal in the centre of the room. It looked like it had been untouched for centuries.

What was this place used for? And how did you know it was here?

Venara opened her mouth to ask, but her voice was stuck in her throat. She watched, a smile tugging at her lips, as Solas walked to the edges of the stone chamber and lit the ancient torches that had somehow survived the test of time. Though they were both blessed with the heightened eyesight of their elven heritage, there was comfort in staying in the light.

"We made it," Venara murmured.

And then she collapsed at the edge of the steps.

Solas extinguished the veilfire. "Venara?" he exclaimed, turning around, eyes wide.

"I'm… fine," she breathed, curled into a ball on the floor, her eyes closing. "Just… frozen."

Solas swept to her side, casting another spell as he moved. Fire warm like candlelight enveloped his hand as he crouched next to her, his free hand resting carefully on her back as he brought the magic close to her to thaw out her clothing. The reddish-orange glow blazed in her eyesight, but Venara barely registered it. Her mind had gone hazy, the cold numbing all of her senses. She couldn't think, she couldn't feel, not even the panic that should have been rising in her as she realized she was slipping into unconsciousness.

"Garas mala, garas mala daro to em," Solas' voice murmured, somewhere above her. She could barely make it out. "Mala is tel'din mar melana. Garas mala daro to em."

She could make no sense of the words, but she knew their intention. Her eyelids fluttered as warmth flooded her body, reaching deep into her bones and removing the ache that had settled there since the storm had hit. Frost lifted from her as she slowly regained her senses. She felt Solas' hand on her back and accepted his help as she sat up.

The laugh bubbled up unexpectedly, as stale and cracked as her dehydrated, frozen lips.

"I fail to see what's humorous about this situation," Solas said.

"I'm… an ice mage," Venara said. "And ice... almost… got me."

Solas sighed. "You have a very strange sense of humour," he said. "Stay still. You need to be warmed up."

There was nothing in this ruin that they could burn, but Solas paid no heed to that. He conjured a second ball of flame and set it nearby on the stone to keep them both warm. He sat beside Venara on the stone steps, his hands rubbing the feeling back into hers. "Why did you not use your magic to keep yourself warm during the storm?" Solas asked severely, brow furrowed with concern.

"I'm… not… a fire… mage."

Solas raised his eyebrows. "That has nothing to do with it. You do not need to be trained in the school of inferno magic in order to control your own body temperature."

"It's… still fire magic," Venara said. She was still shivering, but at least she could now feel the tips of her fingers and toes.

"You could have died."

"But I didn't," Venara said. Solas was still rubbing her hands and wrists. It felt nice. "I had you."

Solas let go of her hands. He paused, as still as a statue. "In most cases, Venara, your headstrong audacity is remarkable and should be commended," he said. "But not now. This is the most singularly stupid thing I have ever seen you do."

"You were with me the entire time!"

"And I assumed you were taking care of yourself!" he shouted, rounding on her. "I assumed you knew—"

"Don't assume," Venara interrupted. "Don't assume anything about me."

"Very well," Solas said slowly. "I have learned my lesson."

"Good."

"Good." Solas glanced at her, his long fingers looping together in his lap. "Then perhaps you would be amenable to receiving a lesson of your own."

Venara's eyes narrowed. "I would prefer not to survive the cold and the ice only to die in a fiery implosion," she said. "I'm not casting fire magic."

"Then don't think of it as fire magic," Solas countered. "Fire is not the sole source of heat, and it is heat you must control."

Venara folded her arms. By now most of the ice had melted from her cloak and clothes. Instead of leaving her a soggy, wet mess, the warmth of Solas' conjured fire had dried her out. Venara stared at the fire and watched it burn merrily on the floor, despite the lack of fuel. Its happy yellow light mixed with the blue-green glow of veilfire, creating mesmerizing patterns across the floor. Unexpected beauty in an unexpected place.

She glanced at Solas. He sat quietly, content to wait for her response. In his haste to save her from the cold, his hood had fallen back and now rested in a clump against the back of his neck. The mixture of veilfire and natural flames illuminated his profile strangely, the colours dancing across his pale, weather-worn skin. The sharp edge of his jaw seemed even more pronounced than usual.

You strange, strange man. Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?

Venara shook her head, shutting out the intrusive thought. "Heat is what I must control?" she said. "I don't know heat. I know ice. And I know electricity. I know the energy that is carried through the sky during a storm. I know how to harness it, channel it, direct it. But I have to let it go, otherwise it will burn right through me."

"Don't think of it in terms of what you know," Solas said. "Think of it as something new. You already have all the warmth you need. Right here." He pressed a hand to his chest. "That is what you must channel."

Venara put a hand to her own chest. "Here," she echoed.

"Envision it," Solas said softly. "It is gentle, like candlelight."

Venara exhaled slowly, trying to force away any negative thoughts she may have about this impromptu lesson. She had never been able to control fire—not since a disastrous incident in her youth that had put the clan in peril. Accepting that she had failed, she had turned her back on this particular school of magic, choosing to ignore any aspect of it rather than to try again and fail at harnessing its power.

Heat is not the same thing as fire. You don't have to be afraid.

She closed her eyes, searching for her own source of power, deep within her. She ignore the spells she knew, the spells she could control, the ice and the storm, and searched for untapped potential. She imagined it slowly encompassing her, spreading from her heart to the ends of her fingers and toes, energy running through her nerves, filling her with warmth. She ignored the thought in the back of her head that said it would not work, that she was wasting her time.

You could have died today. You need to learn this.

She breathed.

And warmth flooded her body.

Venara's eyes snapped open.

"Oh," she said.

Solas smiled. "Oh?"

"I… understand what you meant," Venara said. "All I needed was right here." She touched her chest. "And right here," she added, taking Solas hand in hers. She smiled. "Thank you."

"No need," Solas said. He squeezed her hand. "You can thank me by not freezing to death the next time you are caught outside in a blizzard."

"Hopefully never again," Venara said with a laugh.

Even as she spoke, she had a sinking feeling that her words would come back to haunt her.

the end