All Fall Down
By: SurreptitiousFox245

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Elder Scrolls. All rights go to their respective peoples. I just own my OCs and my pretty little plot.

Quick Author's Note: Sorry this took me forever. I've been trying to keep this on a steady monthly update with maybe a second one punching its way through when I can manage it, but school has killed me. Having to write four different essays for four different classes all due within days of each other is not nurturing on one's creative writing flow, believe it or not. Finals are in two weeks and then I'm on winter break for a month (YAY!). Plenty of time to write. Hopefully. Anyway, I hope I didn't butcher Sera too badly. Much as I tried, I can't write her worth a damn. It's kinda sad, I like her character. Well, enjoy!

Chapter 13

"I know you needed to dream
they wouldn't restrain you.
Pushed so hard through the crowd,
but you never made a sound.
And I always took your side.
(Even when you left me behind)
They got the best of us this year."

-One Less Reason, "Pieces of You"

~Thedas – 9:41 Dragon~

"The tavern's called 'The Gull & Lantern'?" you snorted, pulling a face behind your mask. As if to mock you, a seagull chose that precise moment to let out an ear-piercing screech from the crumbling windmill to your left, and you laughed a little. "I don't know if that name's clever or horrible."

Solas smirked from your right. "I'm sure the people who originally named it thought it quite appropriate, at the least." He seemed even more distracted than he had on the road. The elf was constantly fiddling with the hems of his sleeves as he walked, a nervous tick you'd noticed increasing in frequency the past few days of your trip. Oh, Solas impressively knew how to hide it, but you would never have made it far in Thedas (or Nirn, for that matter) had you not known how to read people.

You decided to shrug instead of pry—Solas seemed a level-headed sort and you trusted he would speak up either when he was ready or when the subject became too important to keep. "I just think they passed up a perfect opportunity to name it 'The Lake and Tower'. Sithis, even 'The Cliffs and Bay' or something would have been better than the bloody 'Gull and Lantern'. The two don't even go together!" That got a chuckle out of him, at least.

"Frig whatever the name is. They do have food there, right?" Sera whined from the back of the group. For having Fereldan origins, the tiny archer was dealing miserably with the cold. Had she not have been expending so much energy annoying you and Solas, you'd have perhaps been honestly worried about her shivering. "I'm starving."

You whipped around to face Solas with a mock expression of incredulousness he couldn't see. "Did you hear that? I could have sworn it sounded like the whining of an ignorant cur, but I could be mistaken. Maybe." He cracked a grin at Sera's shriek of indignation, but before your fellow elf could respond, Alan shot a sour look over his shoulder at the three of you.

"Enough already, you guys."

Raising your hands in mock surrender, you bowed your head in submission to the request. Sera huffed from behind you, but fell into quiet grumbles despite her obvious desire to argue her point. The Herald's attention seemed caught on Solas, however, as it appeared the elf's grin had faded far too quickly. You frowned. He was distracted again.

"Solas," Alan implored the mage, hesitant through his curiosity, "is everything okay?"

Solas was dazed for a moment when he was pulled out of his thoughts, uncharacteristic of him. "I…my apologies, Alan. It is the Fade…it is feeling odd."

That caused the Herald to start. "Odd?" His voice was pure alarm. "Odd how?" You stopped messing with your daggers to listen. If Solas of all people thought that the Fade was feeling weird… You thought back to the strange time issue with the Rift you all had closed outside the village. Maybe the Breach's power was…evolving? Or perhaps someone was trying to mess with it deliberately? While you certainly weren't an expert on Thedosian magic (far from it, in fact), you really didn't think that boded well. At least in Nirnish terms, messing with time in any way never tended to end for the better.

Your companion seemed reluctant to answer for a moment. "The Veil is weaker here than in Haven." He finally admitted with resignation in his lilted tenor. "And not merely weak, but altered in a way I've not seen before."

The words "veil" and "altered" being relevant to each other made your skin crawl. "It's been altered? That… Solas, please tell me that can be accidental?"

"To the extent that it warps time?" He asked you rhetorically. "No. I have witnessed alterations done by the presence of spirits and spells gone awry non-purposefully, and it felt nothing like this."

Immediately, Sera's incoherent grumbles turned harsher, and you swore you heard a distinct mutter of "too much mage-y shite." You all were in front of a statue now that lay in Redcliffe's square. It was a familiar hunk of marble, one of a griffon you knew to have a plaque that gave a brief, sterilized and generic overview of the Hero of Ferelden. The whole thing made you smirk when you brushed a fingertip over the smooth, weathered rock—Nerys absolutely hated the damned thing.

Alan gave another one of his heavy sighs. "We'll need to be careful, then. Lys, would you mind heading in to the tavern first? If there's a trap, I want to know about it beforehand, and you're an uncanny sneak." The flattery was obvious, but even before he'd finished speaking you knew you would do it. It was a sound strategy, and while the Trevelyan was inherently stubborn arguably to the point of ridiculousness, he wasn't stupid. He'd realized that something was wrong, and he was taking precautions. You couldn't fault him for that.

"Alright." You nodded briskly. "If I'm not back in five minutes, assume it checked out. It's probably too crowded for me to be slipping to and from to give reports without being noticed."

He crossed his arms over his imposing armor. His eyes were the hard jade of a firm decision, and you were reminded yet again that trying to sway the man from at least conversing with the mages was a moot point. It didn't matter how badly you wished you could convince him otherwise. Alan Trevelyan had made up his mind, and his mind was set on the Rebels.

Wait a minute, you thought with a frown as you trudged up the hills. Why is it always a tavern?

The Gull and Lantern had an air about it.You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it was there. Weariness, melancholy, hope, victory—those emotions permeated the atmosphere with all sorts of laughter, tears, and talk. Ale was flowing—maybe not freely, but tankards were slapped onto tables, and the stench of alcohol was barely tempered enough to be tolerable. People were…conflicted. Ordinary patrons either watched the room like hawks or slumped over their mugs and tried to pretend the world didn't exist. The folk magically inclined were various ranges of frightened and confident, and they were either immune to the few hostile stares or didn't notice them. Some were drinking. Others were not.

Invisibility spell in place, you found a shadowed corner and settled down to wait. You felt a full field of vision was better for your particular mission, and had cautiously removed your gloves. The wooden floor was gritty on your palms. It was a hazy picture, but it would do for your purposes.

The barkeeper looked like he had indulged a little too much in his own wares, you noticed with amusement as the man stumbled around behind his bar. He looked like one of the ones who just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole before the sky could be given the chance, but the coin kept him relatively placid where it failed to keep him sober. Who looked to be the man's daughter was situated behind him with a bitter look on her face that made it seem as if she had swallowed something sour. She obviously wasn't too happy with the mages in her father's tavern if the constant glower she had in Fiona's direction counted for anything.

Fiona herself was huddled with two other mages, one male and one female, both human, and you focused on them in study. While the man was ensconced in ratty leathers with a few plates of metal that barely passed as armor, the Aedric magic flowing through the place embraced him like an old friend. He wouldn't have been able to hide from a Templar if his life depended on it. Neither would have the woman, but that was more because of her obvious staff and robes than the way magic moved about her. A yell from across the room courtesy of a drunk patron broke your concentration, and the lines of energies in the tiny space became muddled to you once more.

Whispers that you couldn't hear over the tavern's din were bandied back and forth. Cross looks were abundant, as were fretful glances between each of the three parties. Fiona still managed to retain her air of superiority and control, though it was as meek as you remembered it being in Val Royeaux. The elf was the type of person to lead with a kind word and a well-thought gesture. She didn't appear sure of her choices at all, the war having no doubt made her be forced to think on her feet, and doubt was the doorway to misfortune.

And Grand Enchanter Fiona doubted something quite fiercely.

"Are you sure about this?" The quiet whimpers of the Fereldan woman speaking to Fiona filtered through the general noise of the tavern. You honed your ears. "I don't…Maker preserve us! Do you really think Tevinter will help?"

The man was the one who answered her quickly before Fiona could get a word in. "Hush, Ina. Do you really think crawling back to the Chantry and having them put us under lock and bloody key again will do us any good? Especially with that thing in the sky?" His Orlesian accent was thick with incredulity, and you almost snorted. So the mages at least were aware of the Breach – with the way they were going at the Templars with such little abandon, they certainly could have fooled you.

"Farrin," Fiona warned with a stern tone, "enough. Ina, I promise you that all will be—"

All heads turned to the tavern door and the group that had just noisily shuffled its way through. Alan held himself as was befitting of a nobleman, but his presence, though assured, was hesitant. Like with Fiona, he lacked conviction to lead. Though, unlike the mage who certainly lacked his noble upbringing, his presence still commanded attention, and that was assuredly a good thing if he intended to sway the mages.

The Grand Enchanter's address was…solid, as if her previous conversation hadn't been interrupted at all. "Welcome, agents of the Inquisition." There was a pause, though with the distance and the people crowded around him, you couldn't tell if Alan gave any sort of response. "Might I ask what brings you to Redcliffe?" Red flag, you noted. Deciding to drop your invisibility spell in increments and stuff your gloves back onto your hands, you slinked up behind Solas. To his credit, he didn't noticeably jump when you laid a hand on his arm to silently announce your that you were behind him, but he still tensed quite a bit and shot you what you could tell to be a dirty look. However, he thankfully took the gesture for what it was—a signal for caution—and inched his hand closer to his staff. A nudge to Sera had her own hand fingering one of the glass vials on her belt in an unassuming manner that appeared more as disinterested playing than reaching for a weapon.

If Alan or Fiona were any the wiser to the three of you upping your guard, they didn't acknowledge it. "Your invitation in Val Royeaux? You asked us to come to Redcliffe to speak with you." You expected Fiona to be playing coy, but if anything, Alan's admission seemed to puzzle her.

"I invited you…?" the elf shook her head quickly. "No, no, you must be mistaken. I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

"Then who did we meet?" You mused, quiet though still audible to all parties involved. "She appeared and sounded exactly as you do." And magic reacted to her in the exact same way, but you weren't about to admit that little tidbit out loud.

She darted her eyes towards you. "Exactly like me? I suppose it could be magic at work…however…why would anyone…?" A heavy sigh escaped the elf. "I'm afraid it does not matter anymore. The situation has…changed."

"This Magister we've been hearing about, I take it?"

Looking at Alan again, Fiona nodded. "Yes. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium. And as one in service to a Magister, I no longer have authority to negotiate with you." Your elbow found its way into Alan's back.

"Told you so," you coughed. He didn't pay attention to you.

"An alliance with Tevinter is a terrible mistake," Alan attempted to plead.

Fiona flitted with the belt fastened around her waist. "Is it? All hope of peace died at the Conclave with the Divine. I agree, it is not…ideal. But can ideals really be afforded at a time like this, milord? I had to save as many of my people as I could, and this was the only way to do it!"

So she was desperate, then. You shook your head. Desperation had lost you your own war those years ago—how would it have been any different with the mages?

SLAM! You hadn't felt the mage approach, but once your attention was drawn to him, you had to question how you hadn't. He was powerful, cloaked in magic as he was. The other presence with him was slightly less so, but definitely not to be trifled with. You crossed your arms around your abdomen to place your hands closer to your daggers.

"Welcome, friends!" The jaunty voice was accented in a way you'd once heard, but never very clearly. Tevinter. This was the magister. "I apologize for the delay." Smile in his tone, you wanted to stab him in the eye. From Sera's mumbled insults beside you, so did she.

Fiona announced, "Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius."

"The southern mages are under my command," Alexius said, making quick work of taking over the conversation. Though he was addressing the four of you, you couldn't help but feel like his jovialness was focused solely on Alan. You narrowed your eyes at this. "And you are the survivor, yes? From the Fade? Interesting…"

Thankfully, Alan chose the more diplomatic response. Whether it was because he recognized that escaping the situation if it turned hostile would have been difficult or because he was feeling generous that day, you didn't know. "If you're leading the mages, then let us talk. I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"Always a pleasure to meet a reasonable sort…" The two walked off towards a table. Alexius called to the person he'd entered with, apparently his son named Felix, to fetch a scribe for the ensuing talks, but you didn't pay much heed. You were more concerned with the rattling cough Felix gave on his way out the door, and the relentless stench of sickness radiating off of him as he passed you. The boy was ill, that much was certain. How ill, though, you couldn't say.

"Something seem off about Felix to you?" you whispered sideways to Solas. You and the two other elves were hanging back away from the negotiations, hoping that your presence wouldn't appear too threatening if you weren't crowding.

Solas eyed the door to the tavern for a moment like he was considering something before nodding. "Yes—though I cannot pinpoint what, exactly." Suddenly, the door opened again and the object of your conversation slipped back inside. You, Solas, and Sera shared a look of curiosity.

"Well," you muttered. "That was quick."

Felix barely made it up to the table before he began…stumbling? Alan and Alexius shot up from their chairs, though the Herald was closest and able to catch the young man before his face met the stone floor. "Felix!" Alexius' worried gasp caused any ambient conversation within the tavern to cease in its entirety.

"My lord, I'm so sorry," Felix rasped. "Please forgive me."

Alexius worried, "Are you alright, Felix?"

"I'm fine, Father," the boy tried to brush off, but it was obvious the Magister was having nothing of it.

"Come, I'll get your powders." Powders? You wrinkled your nose. Tevinter medicine was not something you were familiar with, and the healing used in the south didn't tend to use…powders… "Fiona, I'll need your assistance back at the caste. Please forgive me, friends. We will have to continue this another time!" With that, the two Tevinters and former Grand Enchanter hustled out of the tavern like the Blight itself was at their heels. You kept your head turned in their direction even after the heavy door slammed shut and you, Solas, and Sera had walked up to stand with Alan.

Sera snorted. "Load of good that did us."

"Felix slipped me something…," Alan said, though he sounded distracted. There was a rustling of paper. "'Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.'"

"Right, too-friendly Magister's son suddenly stumbles into you, giving you a note telling you you're in danger and to come to the Chantry. I think that's a perfect reason not to go to the Chantry—it's obviously a set-up."

Solas shook his head. "Perhaps it is too obvious."

"Maybe that's what they want us to think," you retorted with a shrug. "It's a brilliant mind game if it is; and a potent thing if it works."

"Trap or not," Alan shifted lightly, "it's the best chance we have at a lead. Alexius is shady, and I want to know why." Unannounced, there was a hum of agreement from behind your group, and the four of you whipped around to face the intruder.

The voice that spoke was familiarly off in tone, and your stomach lurched uncomfortably. "You are wise to be mistrustful of the Magister." You started. No…

"Daylen?!" Further shocked that it was not just your own voice that had exclaimed the Tranquil's name, you shot your head around to stare blankly in Alan's direction, much as he was to you.

"Wait," the Herald gaped. "How do you two know each other?"

"Me? How do you two know each other?"

Daylen answered, smoothly cutting off the Herald's attempt to do so in a way you probably would have considered amusing in any other situation. "Alan's aunt and my mother were good friends. We spent the majority of our childhood together before I was sent to the Circle."

You felt suitably chastised; though that had certainly been the last thing the mage had been going for. "Oh, right. Free Marches nobility tends to know each other. I'm sorry, Daylen—I had forgotten that you're an Amell. To answer your question, Alan, I…hmm…worked with a few people in Kinloch Hold's Circle Tower a few years back. Daylen was assisting one of my contacts. Speaking of, where's Dagna? I thought she'd be with you after the Circles fell."

"We were traveling together, for a time," Daylen began, his voice bringing you a small bit of comfort at knowing that he was alright. "She insisted we part ways before the Conclave—she said something about wishing to conduct some research in the Free Marches. She is still there, I believe. I contacted her advising she not join me in Redcliffe. Magister Alexius' attitude towards Tranquil are…unkind—I along with all other Tranquil who accompanied the Grand Enchanter have been asked to leave the village. I felt his stance towards her would have been worse."

Solas frowned, shifting his staff in his hands. "Why would the Magister's opinion of her be worse?" The tension coming off of the elf in waves spoke volumes, though of what was slightly more difficult to discern. You applied it to the general discomfort felt by many around Tranquil (being a mage himself would have given him even more reason to feel awkward about the subject), but with Solas, anything was possible.

"Dagna's a dwarf," you interjected quickly, "an Arcanist. She studies magical theory and can apply it in…interesting ways. But that is neither here nor there. I'm more concerned about the Tranquil being run out of the village."

Sera squeaked from where she had cowered behind Alan, "Innit you Tranquil thingies who can't go all demon-y? Doesn't make sense why he'd wanna kick you out." Daylen audibly shifted—something he had quickly gotten into the habit of doing while in your presence—and stared at Sera, who shuffled further behind the warrior in an uncharacteristic display of fear. It was probably his eyes, you mused, that had her on edge. You'd only gotten a glimpse of them once, but they had been almost soullessly set in a clear face that was unnerving, blank and void of everything save maybe consciousness. It was not a happy thing to see.

"We Tranquil cannot be possessed," Daylen admitted. "However, we also cannot access magical energies, and therefore are useless in practical applications of the arcane. A majority of Tranquil serve as researchers; less still work with lyrium as enchanters."

Alan hummed, not seeming to notice Sera all but using him as a human shield—either that or he didn't care. "Controlling the mages, kicking the Arl out and sending Tranquil packing right along with…sounds like Alexius is up to something."

"He kicked the Arl out?" you asked, completely befuddled and miffed that the Herald had been informed of it first. "There's no way Teagan would go willingly from what I've heard, and Redcliffe is the most defensible village and keep in Ferelden! He'd need an army—a very large army—to even think of pulling that off, and even then I have my reservations."

Daylen droned in response. "No one quite knows how the Magister accomplished it. Arl Teagan simply left the village a few days after the arrival of the Tevinter mages, his personal guards going with him. There are rumors that threats were exchanged, but other than the resulting announcement of the Arl's banishment, nothing is clear."

"Creepy magister is up to something: confirmed," you sighed.

Solas piped up, "How many mages did the Magister bring with him?" The Tranquil seemed to consider the elf's words carefully, and you could almost picture a look of frustration on his face when he answered.

"I would estimate somewhere around fifteen or twenty, but since he has gained control and use of the castle, I cannot discount the possibility of there being more hidden within its walls."

"How'd he manage to get that many of 'em in the village without someone getting' their knickers in a twist about it? They stick out worse than Ser Glowy-Hand in the middle of the night…," Sera grumbled around a mouthful of food she'd gotten from…somewhere, though her words were almost gleeful. You yourself snorted at Alan's moniker while the warrior in question let out a strangled noise of disagreement. Daylen just looked at the archer.

"They arrived a day after the Grand Enchanter posing as monks fleeing the Rifts. The Magister followed within the day."

Solas' grim nod was appropriate. Nothing about the situation was good, in retrospect. "They were counting on the Chantry to shelter them. It was a clever cover." Much to your amazement, the Tranquil's response was abruptly negative.

He rebuked, "No. I do not think it was necessarily meant as a ruse. They were not posing as members of the Chantry and wore strange green robes with amulets. I managed to come into possession of one shortly after the Magister took over." Rummaging through several pouches secured on his belt, Daylen finally pulled something out. Alan reached his hand out to receive the item, and you were childishly amused at how he faltered when the amulet was passed to you instead.

"Hmm, the robes were meant as distractions, maybe?" you hummed, running the uncovered pads of your fingers over the scarred metal inconspicuously. It was a dragon rearing up at some invisible foe, cast in what seemed to be some type of steel. However, the alloy was tainted orange somehow. You frowned at it, annoyed and suddenly wishing Vienelé was there. If anyone would have been able to place or otherwise figure out what the damned thing was, it was the Breton. "It's…familiar, but I can't place from where. Then again, dragons are common symbols…do you mind if I hold on to it? The Inquisition's spymaster and I can ask our contacts—between the two of us, I'm sure one of us knows someone who knows something of this."

Hearing Daylen nod in acquiescence, you quickly turned your attention back to the trinket in your hands. Perhaps too easily, you tuned out the conversation between him and the rest of the group that sparked up. A tugging in the back of your mind caused you to furrow your brow. The item almost felt enchanted, but that wasn't quite it and it irritated you more than it should have that you couldn't place the resemblance. After a few more moments of scrutiny, you finally stuffed the amulet into a pouch and shook your head. That dream had to have messed with your head—you had to be imagining things.

"I would offer my services to the Inquisition, if you would have me." You caught Daylen's voice as it was trailing off, but the gist of where the conversation had turned wasn't lost on you. "I am no longer welcome in Redcliffe, and I fear that sentiment would be reflected wherever I would go."

Alan didn't miss a beat, bless his heart. "Of course—you're welcome in Haven. We could always use researchers, and I certainly wouldn't turn you away. And…Daylen?" Silence followed what you could only guess was as encouraging look the mage could supply. "I'm sorry, about what happened to you. If I'd have known…" Your gaze softened, for all the good it did. Daylen must have relayed the story of how he had become Tranquil, then. You thought you'd heard Solas' disapproving glower simmering in the background of your thoughts.

Light brown curls were tossed about as the power-stripped man shook his head. "You could have done nothing." It was a sad platitude—a hopeful placation that had no chance of working, but he said it anyway. Sometimes…sometimes Daylen seemed more human than you knew he was anymore. And you didn't quite know why that made you sad.

"Still..." Alan's furrowed brow refused to ease, even after he sighed. "Come on. We've got a Chantry to investigate."

You delayed for a few beats and turned to your Tranquil…your Tranquil what, exactly? Associate was too impersonal. You'd gotten to know Dagna and Daylen well in the numerous times you'd conferred with them on their lyrium research, even using them as fonts of information long after your own endeavors into the subject had proven null. Maybe years ago, you would have called him a friend. But years ago, you were a different person. Years ago, you didn't have a warning ringing through your head that you couldn't piece together. Years ago, you could trust people.

Now, you could never be sure.

So you clapped the man on the shoulder, his robes rough through the glove, and made as good eye contact as you were able. "Be careful."

As you followed Alan out the door, you pretended not to hear the answering, "You as well."

"So, I'm betting mages," Alan offered smugly as you all walked down the winding path. Sera rolled her eyes through her incessant fidgeting, and you swore her stomach growled, though you couldn't fathom how. She'd literally just eaten not five minutes ago.

"That ain't friggin' fair," pouted the elf as she un-stoppered and re-stoppered a vial. She was itching to shoot something; there was no doubt in your mind. "Place is crawling with magister-thingies. How could it not be mages?"

You interjected dryly, "I'm more awed at the fact that you're even trying to make wagers on this. The note telling you to walk into this obvious trap was given to you by a mage, in a town harboring mages…did I mention that the town harboring mages was also taken over by mages? Well, it was. And you have a mage in your party with you. So I think that it goes without saying that mages are going to somehow be involved in this fool's errand."

"But Lyyyyyyys," whined the Herald in such a childish manner, you were suddenly befuddled that he'd made it to the tender age of twenty-three. "We're just meeting Felix in the Chantry. What's the worst that could happen?" Swiftly and promptly, you whacked the warrior on the back of his helmetless, chestnut head. As you'd predicted he would, he whined and clutched the back of his skull. You rolled your eyes—you'd barely tapped him, so you knew the whole scene was purely for show and definitely not from legitimate pain. At least, you hoped. He was a warrior. If the kid couldn't take a little pain, then you worried for the future of the Inquisition.

"And now you've jinxed us, Trevelyan. Thanks."

"Oh, come on! I have no—"

Everyone froze just outside the colossal wooden door of Redcliffe's Chantry. At the telltale fizzling sound of Alan's marked hand, you slowly turned your mask's ironbark scowl in his direction, hoping that the etched expression somehow managed to convey the promise of pain and murderous intent. Something also told you that your sentiments were shared by Solas and Sera.

As quickly as the moment of incredulity arrived, it was gone and a sense of urgency had taken its place. Within moments, your little group had barged your way into the house of worship (firmly barring the door behind you—no need for pesky demons to slip out unhindered and hassle the villagers), only to find something curious but not entirely unexpected. A mage (not Felix, though)…slamming the blunt end of his staff down onto the skull of a shade. You nodded in approval before you could catch yourself. Not bad…

The man seemed to notice you all after a second, and he remarked while tossing a bolt of lightning almost leisurely into a lesser terror, "Ah, there you are! Took you long enough. Now, help me close this thing, would you?" Tevinter accent? You sighed—it seemed there would be no getting around that. Glass pommels flittered easily through your fingers as you slipped just as easily into the shadows of a nearby pillar.

Fighting and hacking and slashing was cold and methodical, however the new Tevinter's magic was anything but. While you couldn't see it, it felt flashy and elaborate. It was over-the-top, and while you knew as good as nothing when it came to actually wielding Thedosian magic, you were almost positive that his spells would have been tremendously more effective if he put less effort into making them look good.

That wasn't to say he wasn't rather talented. Like most of his nationality, it seemed the man possessed the inborn gift of over-exaggerated magical ability that came with being Tevinter. He just…focused more of himself into showmanship than effectiveness. You didn't know if you found it comical or suspicious.

In the lull between waves of demons, you snarled at Alan as you stood back-to-back with him and Sera. "I hate you so much right now." A fireball sailed not two feet from your masked face and into that of a wraith before the Herald could get a chance to rebuke your comment courtesy of the Tevinter. You barely resisted trying to throw a knife at him out of reflex.

"Less talking and more killing demons would be nice, you know! I can't always be available to save the day!" Part of you wanted to laugh. The other part wanted to stab him. The rest of you wanted to sleep, but that one was neither here nor there.

The rest of the fight went over fairly quickly once both Sera and Solas this time managed find spots where time was quickened. Alan's weird mark wriggled and yanked shut the rift, much to the Tevinter's excitement. "I'd heard the stories, of course, but to see it… How does that work, exactly?" Crickets. You could hear damned crickets, you swore.

"Erm…"

Snorting, the mage gestured to Alan's hand. "You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes…"

That actually gave you a question, and your eyes narrowed in contemplation. How did Alan's mark work, exactly?

"Who are you? I'm supposed to be meeting Felix…"

The Tevinter bobbed his head. "Yes, he was supposed to meet us here after slipping you the note. He probably had trouble shaking his father. I'm sure he'll be here soon, not to worry."

You made a show of sheathing your daggers, just for the express purpose of demonstrating how quickly you'd be able to unsheathe them. "That's where Felix is, not who you are." Alan's voice was surprisingly level considering his whining moments beforehand. He'd been in the middle of training to become a Templar before being sent to the Temple of Sacred Ashes on what was meant to be a training exercise, or so you'd heard through your little grapevine. It was times like these where that training of command shone thorough.

If only it could shine through all the time, then the Inquisition would be in business, you couldn't help thinking snidely.

His response was full of pomposity and grandeur, but you thought you heard a smirk of amusement in there somewhere. "Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?" You scoffed.

"I'd be careful if I were you," you warned lowly. "It was an awful lot of trouble to get us all the way out here. I don't buy it."

Dorian scoffed at you, "Suspicious friends you have here."

"Someone has to be."

"Touché," he chuckled. "Anyway, Magister Alexius was once my mentor, you see. So I'm sure you can imagine that my assistance will prove invaluable." Assuming we let you assist at all, you thought with a sneer. Pompous was right about this mage. Or moronic—who came right out and told someone that the shady magister was once their mentor?

Alan said, "Is something wrong with Felix? That illness act had Alexius leaping out of his seat faster than if it had been on fire."

The Tevinter's hesitance was not lost on you, nor was it lost on Solas by the way he nodded slightly when you nudged him to get his attention. For not (that you could tell) being trained in subtlety, the elf was remarkably good at it.

"Felix has had a lingering illness for months now—seems to be incurable," Dorian finally admitted. "He's also an only child, and Alexius is a mother hen. I wouldn't read too much into it."

Too late, you thought. You already had. "Lingering illness" didn't sound pleasant, and it could be a slur of different things all ranging in terms of severity. But maybe…your hand twitched when a ghost of warmth that was not there tingled down your fingers. You'd never tried healing someone from Thedas. Thedosian healing magic burned you…would your magic do the same in return, you wondered?

"Stop talking like you're waiting for applause. Just tell me what's going on," groused the Herald, drawing you out of your wandering thoughts.

"What?" Dorian gasped, sounding too horrified for the emotion to have been genuine. "There's no applause? Oh, alright. The danger should go without saying, note or no note. First, let's look at Alexius claiming the rebel mages right out from under you. As if by magic, hmm?"

Eyes narrowed into slits, you wondered if the mage was suggesting what you thought he was suggesting. It wasn't possible. Time travel wasn't possib—

You stopped yourself short. You had traveled between worlds; ancient Nords had cast an evil dragon god adrift through time…in fact, how many Dragon Breaks had happened back in Nirn, again? While those things had occurred in a different world, realm, or what have you, they did serve to remind that time was more malleable than you were giving it credit for. And if anyone in Thedas could figure out how to manipulate it, it would have to be a Tevinter Magister.

"You'd be right if you guessed yes. Alexius distorted time to get to Redcliffe before the Inquisition. It wasn't a race against time, so much as playing tug of war and breaking the rope."

Could such magic cause a Dragon Break, you wondered? Did those even work in Thedas? Uneasily, you flicked your gaze upwards though the effort was futile. Even if Mnemoli could be seen whipping her way along the Aurbis, it wouldn't be by you—not anymore. And you didn't feel any sort of spiritual anguish you couldn't account for, so that was something at least. Still…

"Hey, Solas?" You whispered.

"Yes?"

"Has there been a strange blue star in the sky recently that I may have, uh…missed?"

You could practically feel the look screaming questions about your sanity boring into the side of your head. "No. No there hasn't. Why do you ask?"

"Er, no reason…"

Apparently, during you side conversation with Solas, Sera had shrieked a lament about mages messing with time, and Dorian had scoffed at her. "You saw how this rift twisted time around itself. If I'm correct, and I always am, soon there will be more like it appearing farther and farther away from the village. Oh, and it gets better. This magic is extraordinarily unstable. It's unraveling the world."

Was Solas sure there wasn't a blue star suddenly appearing in the sky? It kind of sounded like there should be, along with Mehrunes Dagon clambering out of Oblivion again or something. Maybe Sheogorath, too. This whole thing was already uncomfortably like the stories of the Oblivion Crisis—why not add a Daedric Prince to the mix of "wildly unstable" and "unraveling world"? At least maybe then you'd have some concrete idea of what was going on, however small an aspect.

Alan, however, rolled his eyes. You didn't expect him to get the gravity of the situation before, and now with your wariness of unstable time and wondering if it could cause a Dragon Break (because, honestly, that was the last thing anyone needed), his naiveté was almost welcome. "I'm going to need more to go on than 'magical time control—go with it!'"

"I know what I'm talking about," Dorian insisted gravely. "I helped develop this magic when I was still Alexius' apprentice." He was really pushing the "please trust me" envelope, wasn't he? Who admitted to helping develop the unstable time-control magic threatening to unravel the gods-forsaken world?!

"Of course, it was all just theoretical back then. We could never get it to work, but it seems as if Alexius has been doing more research since then. What I don't understand, though, is why? All this just to gain a few hundred lackeys? It's…too much."

"He didn't do it for them." The gravelly voice was familiar, as was the gait you'd heard approaching with the lingering stench of sickness. Felix. "My father's joined some kind of cult. The Venatori. They're Tevinter supremacists, and whatever he's done for them? He's done it to get to you." The kid didn't waste time on preamble or let Dorian huff out the greeting he just barely caught in his throat, directing the last part pointedly at Alan. You frowned, digging through your pouch of goodies to pull out the amulet you'd received from Daylen.

"Is this one of theirs?" you asked. Felix took the trinket and examined it curiously. "We were told that the Venatori agents entered the village as sleepers, posing as monks garbed in green robes. My contact managed to grab one of these. He said that each 'monk' was wearing one."

Pondering it a moment, the boy handed it back to you once his curiosity was suitably sated. "I knew the agents arrived in disguise, for the most part, but I couldn't tell you what they were disguised as. As for the amulet, I've seen it, but only once. My father has an advisor. He's a strange man, hooded most of the time, and I assumed he was someone from the Venatori. I only saw him one time in passing and didn't get a good look at his face, but he was wearing a symbol just like this."

"This is the first time I've heard of this advisor," Dorian frowned. "Did you catch his name?"

Felix shook his head, "It started with an O, I think. I'm sorry. Father never mentioned him, and I never saw the man again. I don't believe he's here in Redcliffe, though."

"Hmm…," you pocketed the amulet again, determined to think on the matter another time. "Moving on, why would they go through all this trouble just to get to Trevelyan. I mean, that mark on his hand is something, and he survived a blast that almost leveled an entire mountainside. But this is ridiculous."

Alan looked insulted. "Are you saying I'm not worth the effort?"

"Hardly. There are easier ways of trying to kill, capture, or talk to you than throwing time and its laws on its head."

"They're obsessed with him for some reason. Perhaps because he survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?"

Dorian suggested, "You can close the rifts. There could be a connection there. Maybe they see you as a threat."

It was a daunting prospect, the elephant in the room no one was brave enough to broach until Solas did so. "That would be logical if these Venatori were behind the Breach in the first place."

Thanks, Solas, you thought, un-amused. Thanks a lot for bringing up that ray of sunshine.

Shuddering, Felix's answer was no more reassuring than Solas' suggestion. "If the Venatori are behind this, then they're even worse than I thought…"

"Well, you know expecting the trap is the first step in shifting the odds in your favor," was Dorian's cheeky input. "Alexius doesn't know I'm in Redcliffe, and I'd rather it stay that way. Meaning, I can't stay, but whenever you decide to deal with him…I want to be there. I'll be in touch, Herald." With a flourish, the mage turned to walk away. Within a few steps, he seemed to remember an addendum he wanted to make, as he turned to walk backwards.

"Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed?"

Though his response was all-too fatalistic for someone his apparent age, you had to agree with what Felix said next. "There are worse things than dying, Dorian."

Final Words: OMG DAYLEN'S BACK! I felt like putting him in as the Tranquil you run into at the Gull and Lantern seemed appropriate. I didn't really wanna leave him behind. And I liked the added extra of him and Alan knowing each other. I figured, hey, Free Marches nobility-chances of them knowing each other are pretty good. I'll go for it. Don't like how the conversation flows, but it was resisting my attempts at rewriting by coming out worse each time I tried, so I just left it.

Also, hey, what do you know? Branching out from Inquisition! Finally! Took me long enough! I know some of you guys didn't like how Lys was sort of just acting like a DLC character (which she was, I'm not going to deny it), but I needed to get to a good spot to start really feeding in the changed plot. Took thirteen chapters, but here we are.

Well, hope you liked, and sorry again about the wait. R&R!

~SurreptitiousFox