"Mythal, preserve us," Miriana murmured in an exhaled breath, taking in her surroundings with some trepidation. Following Alexius's spell, they had been flung to some far corner of Redcliffe Castle. However, in the deep core of her being, the elf knew that something else had occurred. The strange Tevinter mage, Dorian of House Pavus, had mentioned the magister's foray into time magic and she had to wonder if the wrongness that tingled across the surface of her skin had something to do with that.

Upon entering Redcliffe, conscripting the rebel mages to the Inquisition's cause had turned out to be a stickier situation than she had first assumed. While she had been fully aware that it wasn't going to be as simple as declaring that she had chosen the mages over the Templars before gaining them as an ally, she had been fully unprepared for the interference of the Tevinter Imperium. The magister known as Alexius had apparently full ownership of the mages that had fled the Circle of Magi, even to the point that her conversation with Fiona just outside of Val Royeaux could not be remembered by the woman herself.

Looking around yet again, Miriana had to admit that her decision to recruit the rebel mages had gone horribly awry. Not only had control of the aforementioned potential allies been wrested from the Orlesian enchanter, but the one that had taken the reins of that control was part of a Tevinter supremacist group known as the Venatori and was in service to some creature known as the Elder One.

The Elder One? the elf thought to herself with a sneer. What kind of person… or thing would refer to himself as "the Elder One"?

"My dear Herald," Dorian began, "if we are to discover what Alexius has done to us, I would suggest we move beyond the confines of this room."

Miriana turned on him, her silver eyes flashing dangerously, causing the mage to take two very exact steps away from her. "I am aware of that, Dorian. Do you have a suggestion?" She rolled her shoulders, trying to dispel both her tension and the feeling that something bad was coming from her frame. "Given that even an interrupted spell did something indeterminate to us, I doubt we should face your magister friend with just the two of us."

Dorian tilted his head at her, a smile blossoming across his face. "I wasn't aware that you possessed knowledge of the arcane, Herald."

"I am not some backwater proletarian!" She sighed, calming herself by pressing the pointed tips of her ears to the sides of her head and then releasing them. "And my name is Miriana. I prefer not to be called the Herald."

"Naturally," he replied, his demeanor having reverted to unimpeachable calm. "And you are correct. I doubt the two of us could overcome Alexius merely through the wishing of it. I suppose you have assumed we have been flung through time as well?"

Miriana nodded at the assumption. "It feels wrong, like someone poured oil on my skin."

"Huh," Dorian murmured as they finally moved together to leave the room. "That's odd."

Accessing the lockpicking set on her belt, the elf began maneuvering the locked door with ease, only allowing herself a brief moment to offer Dorian an arched eyebrow in askance. "How so?"

"Well, with this kind of magic, I had assumed that only mages would be able to feel the side effects." She could feel him eyeing her even as the lock finally released under her ministrations. "I find it odd that a roguish hunter type can feel that."

She shrugged, desperate to control the disdain that flittered across her face before facing the foreign mage. "It is strange," she conceded.

Placing a firm hand on her shoulder and urging her body to face him but not in time to witness her negative expression, he attempted an encouraging smile. "Wish to tell me why you can feel it?"

"The Mark, maybe," she offered, knowing already that it was a lie. She held her hand that glowed green in the muted light that surrounded them. "Regardless, we don't have time to speculate about any abilities I may or may not have to sense magic, Dorian. We'll head to the prisons first. Hopefully, if we were thrown into the future, our friends will be imprisoned and not yet dead."

He nodded his assent but grinned broadly at her assumption. "The future, is it? How can you know we weren't thrown into the past?"

Rather than feel offended, Miriana recognized that Dorian was trying to pull her into a philosophical debate, either because it was in his nature to do so or because he needed distraction from the reality of their situation. Through her friendships with Mahonan and Solas both, she was prepared for it but felt the need to move them forward without distraction. "I'm sure you feel it, mage that you are. I do not know that the past has ever felt this foreboding."

"No," Dorian murmured, his mind suddenly far away. "I suppose you are correct."

Miriana watched in horror and vague approval when Leliana noticed her and snapped the neck of her interrogator with just the strength of her thighs. Noting the gaunt skin and exhaustion that clung to her spymaster like a disease, the elf had to assume that the strength in her had been little indeed.

Cassandra and Varric had been found immediately upon their perusal of the dungeons, the spirits raw and downcast and their bodies imbued with a strange red glow. They had been in awe of her appearance and between the two of them, Miriana was fully aware that they now believed with renewed force that she was in fact the Herald of Andraste. That thought alone made her want to gnash her teeth but she knew there were more important matters than straightening out a mess that may not matter in the long run.

Grand Enchanter Fiona, on the other hand, was not to be so easily saved. It had been horrifying to witness her predicament, something that made her equal Varric's spite for red lyrium. Half of the mage's body had been covered in the malignant lyrium stone, her efforts to convey her wonder at the Herald's sudden reappearance and disappointment in her own failure echoing a familiar pain in Miriana's chest, a pain that she had not even dared to share with Mahonan.

To fail so completely? There was nothing to match that feeling.

Now, to see Leliana in her current state? Miriana felt as if her heart would shatter, would stutter to a stop. If Leliana, her strong and cunning spymaster, had been reduced to this in her absence, what had happened to Josephine, to Cullen? To Solas and Sera and Iron Bull and Lady Vivienne and Warden Blackwell?

When had so many lives become dependent on her success?

As if no time at all had passed, the group found themselves in the throne room of Redcliffe Castle, where Magister Alexius had fortified himself in paranoia. Even as Leliana slit the magister's throat, Miriana was silent, only recognizing that her brooding silence had caused her to miss their journey from the torture chamber. Even as her spymaster ordered Cassandra and Varric to defend against the forces that would soon descend upon them and Dorian worked furiously to reverse the spell that Alexius had cast both a few hours and several months ago, Miriana drew together her shattered courage and approached Leliana.

"What happened to everyone else?"

The master spy looked back at the elf with emotionless eyes. Miriana almost flinched in the face of such a flat gaze but held her ground as well as could be expected. "Dead… or worse. The Elder One keeps Josie for his own amusement. Your companions scattered or died in the face of the Venatori. So, Sera, Bull, Blackwell, all dead." She paused and inhaled deeply. "Cullen, as well."

This time, Miriana felt something in her chest rend apart at the mention of the man with which she had been trying her hardest to fend off any and all attraction. Despite her earlier efforts at facial control, she knew now that her expression had collapsed into despair. "No," she murmured in a breathless whisper.

"I thought as much." In a rare show of gentle affection, Leliana grabbed the Herald's hand and squeezed gently. "If this works, you will have erased all of that. I may not understand the Dalish but I know well enough that wasting time is foolish, no matter your upbringing." At that, the doors burst open and a flicker of a glance revealed the fallen bodies of Cassandra and Varric. In response, Leliana pushed Miriana hard toward Dorian and his spell, causing the elf to stumble before she caught her footing. "Go! Now!"

As the bright blue light closed around them, as Leliana's pure and divine bravery was rewarded only with a bloody death, Miriana swore that she would never forget the sacrifices that her friends should never have to make.

"Hey, Boss."

Miriana tilted the angle of her head to witness the Qunari mercenary, Iron Bull, settling himself next to her. In each hand was a wooden stein, ostensibly containing some type of alcohol. The elf suddenly felt the urge for honey mead but knew that the big man's tastes ran more toward ale. She grimaced at the thought.

Ale was so bitter.

She nodded at him silently and accepted the stein, taking a small sip with no small amount of trepidation. She was pleasantly surprised at the muted sweetness that met her tongue, the familiar taste of honey mead somehow managing to calm her still-raw nerves. "How'd you know?"

The mercenary spy shrugged, a big heaving movement that rippled across his muscled frame. "Didn't, actually. Flissa apparently keeps an entire case behind the bar just for you. Said watching you drink ale was painful." He guffawed at that. "You elves and your sensitivity, huh?"

"Maybe it's because I'm Dalish," Miriana murmured in reply, her overall spirit muted and downcast. Despite the feeling of accomplishment that her final choice should have instilled in her, she was having some difficulty dragging herself out of the dark future that she had witnessed. Now, remembering the future Leliana's final words to her, she looked up at Iron Bull and all words lodged in her throat, her emotions struggling at the idea of this charismatic and devout creature dead because of her.

She knew that he didn't necessarily approve of her choice to bring the mages to Haven as free allies rather than conscripting them. She also knew that a certain blond military commander likely agreed with him, so clear could see picture Cullen's disapproval in her mind. However, she couldn't fail to accept them as free allies. Had she chosen to conscript them, it would have been like spitting on Mahonan's cold corpse, not to mention how it would have been hypocritical to her personal views on slavery.

Ignoring her response, upon which Bull would not have been able expand without coming across as extremely offensive, the large Qunari moved the conversation along on his own steam. "The dwarf told me you'd planned to kick up your heels, so to speak, before we had to face the big tear in the sky. Gotta say," he added as he gazed pointedly at their surroundings, "didn't expect you to be in the war room."

Miriana shrugged, her olive skin blushing muted pink at the accusation. "I wasn't working," she stated in an attempt to defend herself.

Iron Bull eyed the table in front of them with a significant expression. "Of course not," he replied placidly, his voice dripping with amused sarcasm. "Not the blessed Herald of Andraste."

At the unexpected jab at her title, the elf guffawed loudly, both amused and appalled at the noise that erupted from her throat. Now that she had laughed, though, she could feel that some of the tension in her chest and shoulders had lessened. "Not nice, Bull."

He nudged her very gently with the edge of his very broad shoulder and offered her a wide grin. "I'm no good with melancholy, Boss. Well, any emotion, probably. The Qun has little place for it."

Reaching up, Miriana patted the Qunari on the arm. Between the two of them, there was something of an understanding. She didn't understand the Qun; he didn't completely understand the Dalish, though he had gotten pretty close for an outsider. Even though he employed two elves in the Chargers, one of which bore the vallaslin of the Dalish, understanding those that sought to live as they felt all elves should did not come easily.

"I'm a little better now. I think. It's just…" At that, Miriana trailed off, not sure how to properly articulate the horrible knowledge that Alexius's time spell had afforded her.

"Varric told me some." While Iron Bull's expression sobered as they moved into serious conversation, she could still sense a low level of mirth in his face. "That dwarf can spin a tale on little knowledge and less experience. He would have been an asset to the Ben-Hassrath."

"He told you some crazy magister sent me and Dorian into the future, even though I'm pretty sure he was trying to erase me from time altogether." When she had first begun the sentence, it was meant to be a question, offering him her disbelief. Somehow, in the space of seconds, it had transformed into some sort of confession. "I saw Leliana tortured, starved, saw my friends nearly poisoned with red lyrium, Fiona – who I know you are not on good terms with – being swallowed up by red lyrium growing out of her." She looked up, her silver eyes sad and horrified. "Do you know what this experience told me?"

The Qunari winced slightly and Miriana could tell that whatever he had guessed might be close. "What?"

"If I fail, my friends will pay the price. You, Solas, Cullen… How could I be okay with that?"

At that question, the mirth fell away from Bull's face and she knew that this was the height of seriousness for the man in front of her. "You can't, you won't be okay with that. But you have to be." He sighed briefly and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "If you had grown up under the Qun, it might have been more bearable. The tenets of honor and duty are drilled into us from birth. Then it would be less about knowing the cost and more about knowing what had to be done."

At that, Miriana's melancholy settled again, feeling a trance-like calmness settle over her at his description. "It's about making the hard decisions," she added, agreeing with his assessment. "Seal the Breach, defeat the Elder One, return order and peace to Thedas."

Tilting back the remainder of his ale into his mouth, Bull grinned again. "Little bit at a time, Herald. Let's just focus on step one: plugging up that damned green hole in the sky."

Miriana smirked at him, retrieving her half-empty stein and making her way to the door. "You always say the nicest things," she replied sardonically.