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It's cold and her aches feel like they've latched in bone deep.
Still she trudges on, one foot in front of the other, her leather breeches and leg guards providing little insulation from the seeping snow. She shivers while she tries to squint against the blur of icy gusts, trying to see for any signs of life.
Maker preserve her, she'd take a nap the moment she found where the Inquisition has retreated.
A nice, long nap, she amended when her foot plunges into a snow drift deeper than she expected, chilling halfway up her thigh.
She passes a copse of swaying trees but still sees nothing and her spirits flag. It's hopeless, she thinks. She can feel her energy dying down, any adrenaline from defying death that spurred her on earlier finally depleting itself. Perhaps if she rested, maybe make a cozy little place under one of the trees. Close her eyes for a bit.
It's so tempting that she almost does just that.
But no. She can't. Not if she wants to survive this. There's a voice in her head that strangely enough she has attributed to the Commander. Cullen. He's telling her to continue moving, to not stop because she wouldn't survive a winter night out in these mountains.
Belatedly she recalls that this was an actual conversation they had before. Before when they were safe in Haven, with rooms and warm beds. Cullen and her had ended up discussing surviving the wilderness, the bitter cold of Ferelden nights during this season and how it would be close to impossible to survive it if you weren't prepared.
Olivia was in no way prepared. She just dumped a mountain of snow on a darkspawn with ambitions of godhood and a dragon that may or may not be an archdemon, she had no time to prepare for camping out.
She stumbles, barely keeping her footing, and she wants to cry. She's so tired. She's never asked for this. The fear of facing something she's read only about, the guilt of not saving more, the consuming anger at the unfairness— they're all warring with her exhaustion. She had simply wanted to help close the Breach, not this. Survival seems to be less and less of an incentive the more she walks and sees nothing but white and more white covering brown and green.
Move, the Cullen voice in her head commands her and she narrows her eyes at it. It's the same voice she's heard him use on his soldiers but rarely with hers. She wonders if she's delusional from exhaustion, if she's actually lying somewhere on the snow, slowly freezing.
She's going to die. She fought a dragon and a darkspawn and she's going to die of cold. Her luck sometimes is just— she snorts, the air in front of her face swirling with white.
And then like a beacon of hope she sees something that's not covered in thick snow.
She hurries over to it, her breath coming in struggling gasps as she reaches out, grasps metal that's still a little warm or at the very least less cold than everything else. There's still tiny embers flickering in the ashes, a sweet promise of warmth.
There's someone close, there had to be for something like this to be left behind. Her hopes perk up a little and she tells herself she can keep at it a little more.
Move, the Cullen voice tells her again and this time she follows it more eagerly. She walks and walks; soon she turns around a bend and sees the warm glow of fire. It's far but it's there. It's there. She puts a hand against the stone surface of a looming mountain for support, she's so close.
But again her luck.
She feels her knees buckle, she trips and feels the snow pressing insistently where it touches— its so, so cold.
She hears the sound of voices as her visions blur and she hopes— hopes hard that it's not an illusion.
She feels movement around her— hands holding her up, air stirring as people moves, an arm hooking around her shoulders and then another under her knees; she feels the ground give way. Then— and then, bless the Maker, the cold slowly turns to warmth then nothing.

It had clawed at him to leave one person to face...that thing that attacked Haven. Even if it hadn't been the Herald, the guilt would've been the same, he tells himself.
He should've stayed and fought with her. He wanted to but— he looks at the people gathered around the camp, fighters and civilians alike and he knows he couldn't have stayed. Even if he wanted to. Even if it was for her. He couldn't.
He had a duty to see the people from Haven to safety. She knows it and she trusted him to do his duty, he had seen it in her eyes before they parted.
He'd asked about her escape and she hadn't answered. And he understood. It's the way of soldiers, to lay down their life for the cause. But she isn't a soldier, a part of him argues.
But she would sacrifice herself nonetheless. For them. To seal the Breach or to fight a monster, it didn't matter, she would always do what she could to help.
He squeezes his eyes tight and grabs at his hair in frustration, nails scraping against his scalp. She had to be safe. Her companions managed to catch up with their retreat and when he'd asked them about her they had looked several shades of guilty. They'd left her, just like he did.
It didn't matter that it had been her choice, her command. She was alone facing the cause of Haven's destruction. And Cullen could only hope that she survived.
So he paces and growls at people who disturbs his vigil of the horizon leading back to Haven's direction.
The rumble of the avalanche reaches all the way back to camp and after that momentary pause— of awe, of wavering safety— the people had gone back to what they were doing.
It was time.
"Men!" He calls out and about a dozen soldiers snaps to attention. "Gear up, we're going out to look for the Herald."
The soldiers had obeyed with haste and as Cullen does the same Leliana strides to him, a frown on her face. "What are you hoping to accomplish, Commander? You're soldiers need rest not an expedition."
Whatever reign on his temper snaps and he whirls around to face the spymaster. "I'm hoping to find the Herald. The one who faced that abomination until the end so we could escape."
Leliana presses her lips together, eyes narrowing in displeasure. Before she can snap back at him though, Josephine intervenes, her voice calibrated to be soothing.
"Commander, please, see reason. No one could have survived that avalanche. What we all need is to rest and recuperate. It does no one good to exhaust ourselves further with fruitless searching."
Cullen grates at her tone and words, he knows Josephine means well but she's too used to the Game, to trying to bend people to her will through words and Cullen is simply not in the mood.
"So we leave her to die?" His voice comes out in a growl, hard and rough. "What if she did survive and she needs help. What if while we're resting and recuperating, she's out there, wounded and dying? What if we could help if you pulled your heads out of your as—" Cullen cuts himself off at Josephine's horrified expression and his realization of his crude speech.
"You know very well we would lose more tonight, Commander." Leliana's voice is chilly, rivaling the weather. "Would you hasten that with your foolhardy orders?" She challenges and Cullen chokes on his response. He wants to search for the Herald— Olivia, he thinks instead— but he cannot exacerbate the plight of his men for his selfish wish. And it is selfish despite his noble justifications. The guilt wouldn't let him rest and the worry would eat him alive.
"I will go with him." Comes suddenly from Cassandra. Cullen had been so heated arguing with Leliana and Josephine that he hadn't noticed her approach.
The three of them look at the Seeker who faces them with a determined expression. "Let the soldiers rest. I do not need it and I am willing to help look for her. The others— her companions also want to help."
"After all if anyone could survive that, it's the Herald." Varric quips as he walks closer. He stands beside Cassandra and then soon her other companions assemble, all willing to search for Olivia.
Cullen stands beside them, facing Leliana and Josephine and waiting for them to give. Leliana does so with a sigh and for the first time Cullen sees the worry in her eyes. He knows she has lost too many in her line of work and she must not relish the thought of losing another.
"We will find her." Cullen says quietly, with a conviction he hopes is not misplaced.
"Then go."
They break up in groups in order to cover more ground but after several passes there's still no sign of the Herald and soon even the others had to give up and take a rest. Cullen doesn't think less of them but he doesn't stop like they do. He can't stop.
Cassandra sticks with him and with two other soldiers who volunteered they set out again after replenishing supplies to aid in their search. They're to head south of the camp, a little off ways from Haven's direction but it's worth checking out.
They walk through knee deep snow in a small cluster, armed and carrying supplies when one of the soldiers makes a noise and points to the rise of the hill heading out.
A figure.
A longer look and Cullen sees that bright hair he's come to familiarize with. His heart skips a beat and he shouts. It's her. Olivia. She's alive. He hears Cassandra thank the Maker behind him.
He runs up to Olivia, has a moment of terrified panic when he sees her drop to her knees and then he's beside her, holding her up and calling out her name frantically. She barely responds, a weak murmur and her head tilting forward, resting on his shoulder. He doesn't wait for the others to help and takes her into his arms, hoisting her up and keeping her close to him. To help warm her up, he tells himself so he doesn't have to face the other truth— the instinctive urge to hold her.
Cassandra has many questions but soon she realizes that the Herald is unconscious and stays her words. They bring her to camp and Cullen tightens his arms around her all the way back.