"Nooooo!" The voice is familiar. Cassandra?

…

The world swirled green and black encroached all around. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream.

…

She recognizes the sound of a bowstring. Someone grunts. All around them, Venatori soldiers fall to the ground and Inquisition agents taking their place.

…

Zanneth's world threatened to crumble. She couldn't feel her fingers. Where were her feet?

…

"You are a mistake! You should never have received the gift you now bear instead of my master!" Alexius cries, energies swirling about the amulet hovering above his hand. "If I can but correct that mistake, all will be right!"

…

The Herald of Andraste was not prepared for the ground to suddenly reach up and smack her in the face. Her nose cracked. Her eyes watered. Muck and grime mixed with her blood as she tried to get her hands underneath her. But she still could not feel her fingers.

"Hey! Who are they!?"

…

"No! You can't!" Fiona lunges forward at the same time as Dorian and Felix. Someone runs into Zanneth, and she stumbles.

"Felix, he can save you!"

The spiraling energies surround her and she feels a tug behind her navel as her feet leave the ground.

"I'm going to die, Father! You have to accept that!"

…

Feeling returned to Zanneth's fingers, the tingling of renewed blood-flow driving away the back-forward sensation of living between divided time. She felt stable now, blinking several times to make certain that her vision no longer flashed between two separate places, two separate pains in her body, and two separate Zanneths. She felt nauseated.

She pushed herself from the ground just as she saw the glint of green light on metal, prompting her to dodge to the side. The sword struck the muck upon the floor, and Zanneth kicked with both feet, aiming for her attacker's knee. It gave with a sickening pop and he fell with a cry to the floor, where the Herald's hunting knife immediately took him in the throat. A gurgle and the warm ooze of his blood over her fingers, and then he fell still.

"Naughty boy!" Zanneth looked up to see that Dorian was on his feet, hand clamped around the throat of the second attacker, sparkling with energies as he lifted the soldier off his feet. A snap sounded that set the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up, and then Dorian was tossing the limp body of the man aside as if he weighed no more than a doll.

The mage turned, the murder in his eyes dissipating as they landed upon the elf on the ground. He rushed to her side, holding out his hand. Zanneth took it, getting to her feet and looking around.

"What happened?" she asked, seeing only the dead bodies and the filthy mud-water covering the flagstones. "Where are the others? Where are we?"

Her hand suddenly sizzled, the room sparking with green light as the mark residing within her skin flared to life. Just as quickly as it started, it stopped, the mark still glowing very bright, but the pain no longer accompanying it. The room was lit by green light, emanating from the Herald.

"Fascinating…" Dorian murmured, eyes reflecting that green light as he studied it.

"I don't understand what would make it do that," Zanneth said, studying her glowing palm. "Usually that only happens when there is a rift nearby."

"Perhaps there is one on the other side of one of these walls?" Dorian suggested.

"Perhaps…"

"As to your other questions," the mage said, eyes finally leaving Zanneth's hand and traveling the room, "I can't precisely answer them. Though I think… I think the question that must be asked is when are we, not where. We are still in Redcliffe Castle – I recognize the atrocious stonework. But Alexius was using that amulet as a focus for the time magic he's figured out how to actually use. Ergo, he has displaced us in time."

"When?" Zanneth echoed, looking around the dark, dank room with new understanding. "What? Did we go forward, or back?" We could be here during the Blight, or sometime before or after, or so far back in Ferelden's history that we'll emerge to find an Orlesian noble in the great hall.

"I think… I believe we are in the future. The past didn't have rifts for your hand to react to, for one. Secondly… I just have a feeling." He looked over to her, a smile upon his lips. "I could be wrong, of course. But I rarely am."

Zanneth knit her brows. "What about the others?" Bull and Cassandra had flanked her in the great hall, staying close to her.

"That rift Alexius created wasn't big enough to swallow the whole room. You went flying from Fiona slamming into you, and I tried to catch you. We must have been too close and got caught up in the rift as they disrupted Alexius's spellcasting. The others will be where and when we left them." He turned to fully face her. "Come here. I can fix that broken nose for you. It'll still be sore, but your nose won't be misshapen."

Zanneth studied him a moment before nodding once and approaching him. His hands came to rest on either side of her nose, his fingers gently prodding. Zanneth was struck by how gentle his hands could be. She had just witnessed him snap a grown man's neck, albeit likely with the aid of magic.

Suddenly, his grip tightened and there was a painful pressure that made her eyes immediately water so badly she had to blink the tears away. Just as suddenly there was a pop, and relief flooded through her. Blood flowed freely, but a murmured spell from Dorian made even that stop, and she could mop up the mess with the tabard she wore over her tunic.

"Good as new!" Dorian announced when he was through. "Well, nearly. You'll have two black eyes for about a week, but that's not something healing magic can fix."

"It's fine," Zanneth said, dropping the front end of her tabard and looking around. "Let's get out of here and figure out what future we've stepped into."

"Right behind you!"

The green glow that surrounded them seemed to stretch impossibly far away. Zanneth was not sure that it only emanated from her palm. But what else could produce the light? She saw no other light source. No torches were lit, nor even a single candle. They were, however, surrounded by the mucked water she had fallen into when they first appeared here. Where was that coming from? It was present even as they traveled up flights of stairs. Constantly trickling, sucking at her boots, threatening to break the watertight seal of the soft halla leather.

Dorian couldn't keep quiet. He had kept mostly to himself in camp, occasionally sniping with Bull, but in this situation it seemed he could not keep his mouth shut. He kept speaking about how this sort of magic shouldn't be possible, or complaining about the hems of his robes in the muck, or asking rhetorical questions about how this or that location in Tevinter might look under the green glow surrounding them.

"Really, Alexius has not made an improvement here," he was saying now. "The tapestries have come down, but has he put anything up in their stead? No. Just this awful red lyrium growing out of the walls. Red is so twenty years ago-"

"Why do you prattle ceaselessly?" Zanneth finally snapped at the top of the second staircase. "I cannot hear anything if you fill the room with your voice!"

"I… you're… You're listening for danger, aren't you? I never would have thought. But then you are a Dalish hunter, and I am the spoiled son of a Magister. I suppose it makes sense-"

Zanneth stopped moving, rounding instead on Dorian. "Dorian! Please! We need only speak when information must be exchanged! Stop. Talking. Muse to yourself. I can barely think for your half-formed nonsense!" Zanneth was a hunter. You did not make any noise on the hunt unless absolutely necessary. This was not a usual hunt, but they were on the lookout for information. That's mostly what hunting was: finding information from your surroundings.

Dorian looked affronted for all of a moment before grinning. "Fair. I shall try to keep my thoughts to myself unless I need an answer. All right?"

Zanneth nodded, satisfied. Turning, she leaned against the door in front of her, pressing her ear to it. Nothing. It was safe.

Inside was more muck, more dirt, and more hazy green light that Zanneth could not quite explain with the brightly-glowing mark upon her hand. At the next door, she heard a low hum, almost a chant. "What is that, I wonder?" she whispered.

"You hear something?"

"Yes. Sorry. I forget that human hearing is not as good as mine. Some kind of chanting… something about the Maker… We should proceed with caution."

Dorian nodded, bringing his hands up. Already they crackled with energy. "Interesting," he said, staring at his own palms with curiosity. "Usually that requires at least a murmured spell. But this time I only just thought it, and the power came. And it's not draining… I wonder what quality of this future makes the power so easily available?"

Zanneth stared. She knew more of the arcane than humans who did not use magic, thanks to being raised by her clan's Keeper, but still she did not know how magic worked or how its practitioners used their power. It remained a mystery to those who could not access that power.

"Should… should you keep using your magic if it's different?"

Dorian's eyes met hers. "It doesn't feel any different. Just… like the door to it was already partially open. I don't think there's anything to fear. Not from my magic, at least. Bigger demons to contend with here, yes?"

"Fair point," Zanneth said, pulling an arrow from her quiver. "Ready?"

The air crackled. "Yes."

They did not find enemies within the room. Instead, in a cell along the wall, they found a non-responsive elven man. He rocked back and forth, chanting about the Maker and Andraste over and over. He would not respond to either her own or Dorian's attempts to engage him, so they left him where he was. Setting him free would likely only alert enemies to their presence here.

Continuing through the door on the other side of the room, they met a dead end.

"Damn," Zanneth muttered, turning around. "We must find another way," she said to Dorian, starting to move past him.

"Is… is somebody there?"

Zanneth froze. She recognized that voice. Barely.

"Fiona?"

"Fiona?!" Dorian reached the cell first, gripping the iron bars with both hands as his face transformed from surprise to shock to terror. "What in the Void did they do to you?!"

"Dorian… I…"

Zanneth reached the cell as the elven mage trailed off. What the Herald saw nearly caused her to void the contents of her stomach. Fiona seemed to be fused with red lyrium. It protruded from her stomach. Her legs were nowhere to be found, her body instead disappearing and giving way to the glowing, awful material as her waist thickened out to her hips. Her arms extended above her head, her hands gone, red lyrium instead joining wrist to wall. Her eyes burned in the green light of the room. Dried blood lined every spot where lyrium touched flesh. Likely, Fiona had tried to move, as a person who was accustomed to moving would do, and had paid the price for it with pain and blood when her skin separated from the lyrium to which it was fused.

She… she was consumed by red lyrium. Only her face remained whole and unobstructed. It was cruel. She should be dead. But instead Fiona had lived through this transformation, aware of it happening…

Zanneth couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Fiona, you're…" Dorian began, but he could only stare, his mouth open, gaping like a fish. What was there to say?

"They do this," the former Grand Enchanter croaked, eyes staring out from under her arm. "They put you in a cell with the red lyrium, and it consumes you. Then they mine your corpse for more." Her eyes moved past them to the other cells, all filled with red lyrium. "I have watched all my students succumb…"

"This is… barbaric," Dorian whispered, eyes large as he took in all there was to see around to the room. Each cell was fill with red lyrium – and now they knew each to have once been a person.

"Fiona. What happened? Where are we? When are we?" Zanneth asked. They needed answers. They needed information if they were to make any sense of their predicament.

"You… we thought you died."

"The rift in the hall was only an hour ago to us, Fiona," Dorian said, finally pulling himself out of his grief so they could try to find some answers. "I believe I can undo this spell, send the Herald and I back to that point in time, but I must get to Alexius and his amulet."

"Yes. I see… Alexius resides in the castle proper. You are in the dungeons. It has been a year, I think? You must get to him. Your spymaster is here, as is the Seeker. I have heard both their screams…" Zanneth's heart kicked. She hadn't even thought that she might see some future version of her companions. What if they, too, were consumed as Fiona was? I must get to her. I must save her if I can.

"We'll make this right, Fiona," Dorian said, a steel entering his voice that Zanneth did not know the constantly-joking mage possessed. "We'll make this right, and make sure none of this happened to you."

"Please," the elven mage gasped. "Please… end it… the pain… it is terrible."

"What?!"

Zanneth eyed him. He would never be able to do it. Fiona was his mentor in lieu of Alexius. Zanneth could not blame him.

Moving to his side, she drew her sword. "You are sure, Fiona?"

The elven mage nodded.

"Wait! You can't just kill her!"

"Dorian," she said, meeting his eyes. "Look at her. Would you wish to live like that? She will die. But now… she can choose the manner of her death."

Dorian's mouth closed, his lips pursed, and he stared at Fiona. After long minutes of holding her eyes with his own, he finally nodded. Zanneth pushed her sword through the bars.

Fiona died with a sigh that could only be described as relief.

"Come," Zanneth said, wiping clean her blade. Putting a hand on Dorian's shoulder, she got his attention, her heart going out to him at the tears he blinked back. "We can undo this. You said so yourself. But we must find that bastard and his amulet first. And we will need the help of the others if they are able. We must find them."

Sniffing, Dorian nodded, saying nothing as they turned and exited Fiona's cell – now her tomb – to continue, renewed purpose in each of their hearts.

"O Maker, hear my cry:

Guide me through the blackest nights

Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked

Make me rest in the warmest places."

"That is Cassandra's voice!" Zanneth was immediately running. If Cassandra was alive, was reciting the Chant of Light, then perhaps they had gotten to her time. There was only one way to find out.

It is a prayer. For the Maker's peace, his guidance. His mercy? Fiona said she'd heard her screams. What did they do to her to make Cassandra scream? I must get to her.

Only one cell in this room had an occupant; the others were full of red lyrium. Zanneth shuddered to think of who might have been there. Was it Varric? Josephine? Sera? Would she find one very tall deposit that had been The Iron Bull? What state would Cassandra be in?

"Cassandra!" she shouted, reaching the cell. Inside, she found a blessedly whole Seeker. But how? Zanneth did not question. She was only grateful for what she found.

Cassandra sat upon the floor of her cell. The muck was kept bay by the uneven flooring, the Seeker sitting by the back wall, where the ground was higher. She wore only trousers and a breast band, her clothing and armor obviously having been taken from her. Even her feet were bare, dirty and filthy but showing no signs of frostbite. So either the dungeons didn't get too cold, or she'd had boots recently. Her hair was shorn even shorter than normal, and uneven, some hair so short it was clear that mere weeks before that spot had been bald upon her head. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth, but when her eyes snapped up to Zanneth's face, it was clear that she was not lost, that her mind was still very much her own.

"Z-Zanneth?!"

"Yes, Cassandra!"

"But… but you're dead." Her voice was flat, and her eyes wandered. "I am hallucinating. All is lost. My mind is gone…"

Zanneth's heart dropped. The poor woman. "I am very much real, Cassandra. Give me your hand," she said, reaching through the iron bars. Cassandra's skin was cold, clammy, filthy, but her grip was every bit as sure as it always had been.

"I…" Brown eyes met hers. They held a red glow that worried Zanneth, but they were still… hers. Those blessed brown eyes. The Herald never thought a human's eyes would be such a welcome sight. "The Maker has given us another chance," Cassandra whispered. "Surely Andraste has turned back to us, to bring you here, to bring the dead back to life?"

"We're not dead," Dorian finally said, stepping up next to Zanneth. "Alexius didn't kill us. He displaced us. In time. That little scuffle in the hall? It was barely more than an hour ago for us. For you, I think it's been somewhere around a year? That's what F- that's what we've learned…" Zanneth did not miss how Dorian could not say Fiona's name, and how he turned his head down at the last. The poor man was grieving.

When did I start caring about a shem's grief?

You know grief, Zanneth. You still grieve for your brother. For your lover. For the child you lost, even if you did not wish to carry it.

But to empathize with humans…

"Time?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes. And I believe I can counter the spell, or maybe recreate it. I think I can get us back to that hall and defeat Alexius there, thereby negating this entire future and all that has befallen you here."

Cassandra nearly jumped to her feet, her free hand – she still held fast to Zanneth's hand – gripping the bar so she could pull herself up. "You can stop Empress Celene's assassination? The demon army that swept across Orlais and Ferelden? You can stop the Elder One from taking power?" She regarded the gate, then looked up, eyes meeting Zanneth's. "Let me out. I would help you do this thing."

"I can do that," Dorian said, hands already crackling with energies. "Stand aside."

Cassandra released Zanneth's hand, and they both backed away from the bars. Dorian thrust his hands forward, and lightning burst from his palms, leaping to the locking mechanism of the door. It began to glow red, then white, and Dorian stopped his spell, pushing upon the door. It held fast for a moment, but then it gave way, swinging open into the cell, the locking mechanism bent and twisted.

Cassandra was a blur of movement, rushing through the door as fast as she could, foul water splashing as her feet carried her. She aimed straight for Zanneth, catching the elf completely off guard. The Seeker's hands went up to cup the Herald's cheeks, and then, before Zanneth knew what to do or say, her lips were covered by Cassandra's in a desperate kiss.

Zanneth had never been kissed like that. Cassandra's lips were rough, chapped from months in isolation, murmuring the Chant of Light to herself so that she might stay sane. Her kiss burned like fire, but it was a pleasant burn for Zanneth, one of passion, of desire, of desperation, of hopes and dreams fulfilled. There was promise in this kiss, in the way those hands cupped her cheeks, in the way Cassandra's body pressed closer to hers. It made her stomach flutter and her blood pound.

Never had she imagined a kiss could hold so much feeling.

The elf could only stand there, letting her hands find the Seeker's hips and hold the scraps of her trousers for dear life. Cassandra held on, pouring every ounce of her hope and desire into Zanneth, filling her with longing, with desire, with determination. They would succeed. Cassandra's faith was demanding it of her.

Finally, the Seeker broke the kiss, one hand falling to the elf's shoulder, the other's thumb gently stroking along the wide scar Threnn had left behind. That seems like a lifetime ago, the elf thought to herself. "I never said anything," Cassandra said, her voice low and gruff. And beloved. "I vowed that I would after. After we gained the mages' allegiance. After we closed the Breach. After we succeeded. But there was no after. You were taken from me, before my very eyes, and I could do nothing but mourn the love that I never shared with you. I do not need you to feel the same, but you were dead! Taken from me! I would not squander this chance again, Zanneth. Not when the Maker has brought you back to me, whole and healthy."

She made to release the elf, but Zanneth found her hands tightening upon Cassandra's hips, holding her in place. She said nothing. She had no words. A million revelations were coming down upon her head in this moment. Or perhaps just one: she felt the same. Somewhere along the line… a human woman had become dear to her. She thought her heart closed, that she had no more interest in love or romance, and certainly had never imagined she might be interested in a woman. But that kiss…

Zanneth wanted that. And everything passionate that was behind it. She wanted Cassandra. Perhaps she loved Cassandra. She must… she must find out.

Stepping forward, the elf pushed herself up on her toes, meeting Cassandra's lips with her own. This kiss was less ferocious, much more tentative with Zanneth initiating. But Cassandra met it in kind, opening her lips slightly, running her tongue along the elf's bottom lip, groaning into her mouth. Her arms came up, wrapping around Zanneth's neck and resting loosely upon her shoulders, her fingers buried in the elf's bright-white strands of hair.

Cassandra smelled of sweat and dirt, of leather and wood and stone and steel, but there was also something else. Something soft, sweet. Zanneth recognized it. Honeysuckle…

They parted panting. Zanneth felt giddy, despite the dirt, the muck, the bleak future they had stepped into. She was light, airy. Her heart felt like it would never settle in her chest, instead beating like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. She grinned, and Cassandra, face covered in dirt and hair uneven and wild about her head, grinned back. They breathed each other's air and all Zanneth wanted to do was kiss her again.

"If you are quite finished," Dorian said, a grin clear in his voice, "we do have business we must be about."

Cassandra released Zanneth first, but retained a hold on the Herald's hand. Looking up at the warrior, unarmed, unarmored, feet bare, covered in sweat and grime and whatever other filth she may have been exposed to, the elf's heart panged for her. Reaching up, Zanneth pulled her sword, handing it hilt-first to Cassandra. The Seeker released the Herald's hand, taking the weapon with a nod.

"Thank you," she said, moving the sword to be in a better grip for her. "It has been a long time since I held a weapon. My hand has ached for it."

"You have no armor," Zanneth said, knowing she was stating the obvious but unable to say what she was feeling in any other way. "You… please don't go throwing yourself into the fray. To lose you after that… Please. I… I don't want you hurt."

Cassandra's expression was kind, her lips quirked slight at the corners. "Zanneth, that is like asking a mouse not to squeak. I am a warrior, a Seeker, and, I hope, a lover. I protect you because I must. And because you must survive this, more than anyone else. You are our only hope, dear one. You, and Dorian."

Zanneth's heart pounded inexplicably at the diminutive name Cassandra had just used. But she had no time to swoon. They must be away. Looking from Cassandra to Dorian, she nodded. "Fine. Let's all keep each other safe then, yes?"

"Right you are," Dorian said, turning. "Follow me, you love birds. Let's go find the other one!"

Finding her hand taken up again, Zanneth allowed herself to be gently pulled from the room. She had found Cassandra. And in the process, she had realized her love for the human.

But what of present Cassandra? How do I tell her when we get back?

A/N: THIS ISN'T EVEN ALL THAT I HAVE PLANNED! But I have been looking forward to this. I hope y'all are even half as excited as me!