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The Seeker whipped around when she heard the mountains rumble, brown eyes widening in horror as she watched the avalanche sweep over the city of Haven. The entire village gone, those who couldn’t evacuate in time taken with it. And that included the Herald.
She jerked to a stop, her blood running cold. Colder than the wind, the snow, the harsh climate of the Frostback Mountains, Cassandra could hear her heart beating loudly in her chest as disbelief struck her. The thought—the very notion—that Mariana was amongst the wreckage buried in the snow was difficult to conceive, let alone process. She was struck with an illogical urge to turn back, to dig through the snow until they could find the Herald.
“Seeker!” It was Varric’s shout that broke her out of her shock. “We have to keep moving!”
He did a better job of hiding it, but she could see that the dwarf was just as shaken, just as worried.
But he was right.
They couldn’t give into despair, couldn’t waste what precious time Mariana had bought them with her… with her actions. Cassandra refused to think of it as a sacrifice, refused to allow herself to believe for even a second that the woman was dead.
She forced herself to look away, turning back to the rest of Haven, those fleeing and injured and staggering. “We need to get distance from Haven, and then we need to find somewhere to regroup.”
“Seems to be the plan.” He shot back, shouldering his crossbow. “Getting our asses as far away from that as we can.”
‘As far away from’, wasn’t exactly as far as any of them would like. They couldn’t make much distance between the injured and the snow, and more than that… they didn’t want to get too far from Haven to create more work for the search parties.
Cullen did an admirable job of organizing the scouts and troops, breaking them off into smaller groups to cover more ground in search of possible survivors and—more importantly—to search for the Herald. “Seeker, we’re ready to head out.”
Cassandra nodded, swallowing hard as she steeled herself. She could not assume the worst, had to have faith that Mariana would have survived, and would be found. She had come to respect the rogue a great deal, would even say she cared about the woman. It was more than just that she was the only one who could close the Breach, had done nothing but fought to help end the chaos and make things better for the citizens affected by it.
It was more to it than that though; Cassandra needed to have faith that they would find her. That the Inquisition wouldn’t be bereft of Mariana’s humor, her gentle nature, her diplomatic tongue or her smile.
The Seeker jolted slightly at the last thought, frowning.
That the Inquisition wouldn’t be bereft or… that she wouldn’t be bereft?
She shook her head at that, drowning the thoughts out as her voice joined the din of many calling for the Herald. There were many versions of it; Herald, Lady Trevelyan, Mariana, but Cassandra forced herself to use the woman’s title. It was. Less personal that way. More professional.
As they spread out, getting closer to the boundary line of Haven, their searching became more desperate; rushing towards body shaped mounds in the snow, kicking up as much of the white substance as possible, praying to whoever might be listening that they would find something.
And then they did.
“Maker’s breath!” Cullen gasped, gesturing towards the area beyond the trees. “There!”
Against the snow she saw it, the flash of red that was Mariana’s armor, the tell-tale spark of green from the mark, and Cassandra was rushing ahead of the rest of the group. “Herald!”
Mariana turned towards the sound of their voices, her face bloodied and dazed just as she hit her knees and collapsed in the snow.
Cassandra was the first at her side, lifting the rogue with one arm as she pulled off her glove to press a finger against her pulse. She could have cried out in relief when she felt the first fluttering of it, when she saw Mariana shift slightly in her hold. Instead she shoved her hand back into her glove, positioning one arm under the rogue’s legs and the other bracing against her back to lift.
“Is she--?” Lelianna approached.
“She lives, but we must hurry to get her back to the camp.” Cassandra nodded, her voice miraculously coming out strong. “I worry at the amount of blood she’s lost.”
Cullen approached then, pulling his surcoat off and tucking it around her inert body. “It won’t do much, but it’ll help.”
“If it prevents any further heat loss, it’ll do enough.” She answered, tightening her hold on Mariana as they made their way back to the camp.
Though her attention remained mostly on making sure that she didn’t upset their balance in the snow, Cassandra couldn’t help but periodically flick her attention down to the woman in her arms. The Herald looked so painfully human in that moment, her otherwise vibrant skin appearing ashen and tinged with blue, that Cassandra feared they were already too late. Mariana felt too light in her arms, her body thin, and fragile and breakable. Why hadn’t Cassandra noticed it before? Why had she allowed this obviously mortal being to thrust herself into danger time and again?
Of course, she knew that it wasn’t her decision. That Mariana chose to fight for the Inquisition, chose to use the mark on her hand to help mend the Veil and push back the demons. Cassandra respected that, appreciated having the Herald at her back in a battle, knew that--current circumstances notwithstanding--the woman was more than competent on the field. It just struck her suddenly, in that moment, seeing her in such a state, that Mariana was no less mortal than the rest of them.
They’d almost lost her, and the realization of that hurt in a deeply personal way that Cassandra hadn’t felt since… since the Conclave.
“You must pull through.” She whispered fiercely, heart hammering in her chest. “I need you to pull through.”
Cassandra didn’t want to look to deeply into the emotional implications of that statement, or that she could have sworn Mariana shifted ever so slightly towards her chest in response. But when they finally made it back to the camp, it felt like an impossible task, letting the healers take the rogue from her arms. One made even worse by the knowledge that she had to put her blind trust in their abilities; she couldn’t linger and oversee the medical care. There was too much for them to do in the meantime; they needed to take stock of their surroundings, plans needed to be made… they had to work out what came next.
It was with great effort that Cassandra ripped her attention away from the makeshift medical shelter, shoving forward to locate the other Advisors.