Carver stumbles out of the vortex, sound returning like a fist to his ears. The sight of the throne room wobbles in front of his eyes. Cassandra has her sword raised high, Merrill and Vivienne point their staffs at Alexius and everyone looks confused at Carver and Dorian. They must have been gone for just a moment, just long enough for everyone to react and now they reappeared, dirt and blood all over them. It's probably very confusing but Carver can't spare a thought for that.

"Merrill." He darts forward, not caring for anything else. He drops his sword, falls to his knees in front of her and wraps his arms around her waist. "Maker's breath, Merrill." He raises his hand and strokes over her forehead, unmarred and smooth.

"Carver?" She strokes over his hair. "Vhenan? What's wrong?"

Carver presses his cheek against her stomach and just breathes. Merrill is alive, and no sun burns on her forehead. "Andraste be blessed, you're all right." He hasn't prayed much in his life but now it's all he can do.

Merrill strokes over his head, a slight smile on her face.

Dorian, accepting that Carver won't pay attention any time soon, turns to Alexius. "You'll have to do better than that."

Alexius sighs. "Let's end this charade then."

The Inquisition guards lead Alexius away, he doesn't resist. He looks to his son, his pain visible on his face. "But you'll die," the old man says to his son.

"Everyone dies," Felix murmurs and follows his father and the guards out of the hall.

Dorian brushes his coat down, wrinkling his nose at the blood stains in the fabric. "Well, I'm glad that's over with."

Two rows of soldiers in golden armor stomp into the throne hall in perfect sync, align themselves to the sides and loudly click their heels.

"Or not?" Dorian steps down to Carver, still on his knees, holding on to Merrill, and clears his throat. "I get the feeling something important is about to happen."

Carver reluctantly lets go of Merrill and stands up but he snatches her hand and has no intention of letting go for the next few days. A redheaded man in fur-trimmed leather walks up to them. He looks so casual, that Carver only recognises him as the King when he begins to speak.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona, imagine how surprised I was to learn that you'd given Redcliffe Castle to a tevinter magister."

Fiona wrings her hand and attempts to bow at the same time as she walks towards the king, almost tripping over her feet. "King Alistair."

"Especially since I'm fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan."

"Your majesty, we never intended..." Fiona seems to shrink to a mouse as she fidgets in front of the king.

"I know what you intended and I wanted to help you," King Alistair says. He looks like he genuinely cares. "But now? Now you've made it impossible." He shakes his head and then fixes Fiona with a hard stare. His voice is louder when he announces: "You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden."

"But... but, we have hundreds," Fiona pleads. "Where will we go?"

Cassandra steps forward and scowls at Fiona. "The Inquisition is willing to conscript the mages for closing the Breach."

"No." Carver's voice is shaky but he clears his throat and projects his voice towards Cassandra. "I came here to ask the mages for help, not to force them into servitude." He glares at Cassandra until she looks away and then turns back to Fiona. "The Inquisition offers you a home with us and we ask you to work with us to close the Breach. We're looking for allies, not prisoners."

Dorian looks from the king to Carver and then to Fiona with amused interest. "Not like you have many options but I think the Inquisition sounds quite nice actually."

Fiona looks to Carver and a slow smile spreads on her face, making her look much younger. "Then we will gladly join the Inquisition and those of us who are capable, will fight with you to close the Breach."

"Welcome to the Inquisition." Carver extends his hand to Fiona and shakes it, aware of the critical glares around them. He turns to the king and bows his head. "Your Highness, please allow us time to move all these people to Haven."

The king makes a dismissive gesture. "Closing the Breach is in everyone's interest, I'm not going to throw a fuss now, take all the time you need. Just get them out of Redcliffe and out of my sight."

Carver isn't sure what he expected but it isn't this. The rebel mages are as far removed from the raging mad maleficars that everyone was warning him about, as a halla is from a nug. Very few of them look like they have actual battle experience, most of the mages look like displaced librarians and a lot of them are just children.

Fiona had not exaggerated when she spoke of 'hundreds'. Carver counts at least three hundred heads and the tail end of their procession hasn't even passed the Redcliffe city gate yet. It's not only the rebel mages, a good bunch of people from Redcliffe decided to join the Inquisition. "How are we going to feed all these people?" Carver wonders out loud.

"Josephine is already writing letters to ask for support from the Trevelyan family, and I think Cassandra is also writing home," Cullen says next to him. He shakes his head. "So many mages. This will be dangerous, we need more templars— "

"They're mages, not walking bombs." Carver points down to the cluster of children currently running around, weaving in and out of the trek. "Look at them, they're just people."

"There will be abominations, we need to be able to control— "

"No!" Carver interrupts him. "We're not going to enforce old templar law again."

"I know, but with the veil so thin..."

"No." Heat rises up Carver's neck and dark spots blink in his vision. "Call the others and Fiona too, we're having a conversation right now."

"But— "

"Right now." Carver stomps towards one of the slow rolling wagons and hides behind it. He doesn't want Cullen to see how his hands are shaking. His throat feels dry like sand and not even drinking water helps against it.

Soft steps on the grass have him take a few calming breaths before he faces Merrill.

"What's wrong, vhenan?"

Carver takes her hand in his and lets her presence calm him. "I have to tell the others about what we saw. I want you to be there too."

Merrill watches him. "It was very bad?"

Carver can just nod.

The meeting is held at a slow walking pace next to a nicer carriage, with Josphine sitting on the coach bench to take notes on her clipboard. Carver starts from when the vortex spit them out in the dungeon and keeps his tale as factual and rational as he can. The less he lets himself feel the terror and despair, the easier it is to talk about it. Dorian occasionally adds something to Carver's description and the others interrupt with questions at first. But the longer Carver speaks, the less questions they ask and a look of horror spreads on their faces.

When Carver finishes with their magical return to the throne room, everyone is silent for a while.

Josephine looks over her notes and shakes her head. "The Empress, assassinated, Orlais fallen to a demon army. It's almost impossible to imagine."

"Red lyrium growing in people," Cassandra says with a shudder.

Carver looks around. "Speaking of red lyrium, where is Varric?"

"On the way to get lyrium, the blue kind, don't you remember?" Cullen says.

"Right," Carver says. "Send a patrol after him, if he got caught in the bad future, he might run into an ambush right now."

Cullen hesitates. "We have precious few soldiers and templars as it is and with all the mages..."

"The mages will be fine." Carver glares at Cullen until he nods.

"I'll send three of my best after him."

"All right." Carver squares his shoulder and looks at his advisors one after the other. "Our problems have changed. This is not a mage-templar conflict and this is not about just the Breach either. Our problem is this Elder One. We need to know who he is and what his plans are."

Cullen clears his throat and pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket. "Knight Barris, who we met in Val Royeaux if you remember, managed to get a note to me through Leliana's agents. In it he writes that Lord Seeker Lucius has moved the loyal templars to Therinfal Redoubt and that he is concerned about the state of the order. Strange things are happening in that fortress. Towards the end of his letter, he mentions the Lord Seeker speaking of an Elder One."

"I think this is something for your agents," Carver says to Leliana. She has been very quiet as Carver told of her fate in the bad future.

"Yes," she says. Her face is hidden under her cowl but her voice is not quite steady. "I'll contact them."

"Once we're in Haven, we have to prepare for a war," Carver says. "King Alistair has allowed us to stay in Haven but we're even more of a target now. More refugees will come and with them people who don't have our best interest in mind."

"The Herald siding with the mages will cause some of our supporters to withdraw their help," Josephine says with an apologetic shrug.

"Convince them that this is about something bigger." Carver lets the mark in his Herald-hand light up and looks towards the slow spinning maw of the Breach in the sky. "We're way past a mage-templar problem."

Josephine nods. "If that is all, I have many letters to write. Leliana, I'll need your fastest ravens."

Leliana nods and then looks to Carver.

"Ehm..." Carver looks around. Everybody watches him. "Meeting adjourned?" That seems to be what they were waiting for and Carver lets out a slow breath. Sometimes it's still quiet strange to be the leader here.

Merrill walks quietly at his side, watching him with a frown.

"I'm..." Carver sees Cullen walk away. "I'll be right back," he says to Merrill and runs after him. "Cullen!"

"Yes?"

"A word..." The trek of refugees and mages flows steadily around them. Carver gestures to Cullen to follow him and climbs up a small canyon in the side of a hill. It will protect them from curious ears. Before he can open his mouth, Cullen starts as if he has been holding back for too long.

"This was a mistake, we should be getting the templars, at least they're trained soldiers."

"Oh please, what do you think templars can do? A Cleansing Wave or a Smite don't work against rifts, I know, I tried."

"And instead we have hundreds of mages? What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight?" Cullen rants. "The veil is torn open!"

"Turning mages loose? You're still on that?"

"They could do as much damage as the demons. There will be abominations among them and we must — "

"Listen to me," Carver says, keeping his voice quiet. Something must show on his face because Cullen snaps his mouth shut and swallows hard. "In the bad future, when Merrill was made tranquil, you took her there."

All color leaves Cullen's face.

Carver presses on, driving the knife in. "Only when you saw me, when you knew I was alive, did you try to stop them. Not before, not when you saw Merrill and knew what would happen to her. Another templar killed you and the last thing you said was 'I should have protected her but I didn't. I followed orders. I failed you'. That's what you said."

Cullen stares at him in horror.

"You followed orders," Carver says, a vicious bite in his voice. "Like the good little templar you are, once again, you did what they told you."

"Carver, I — "

"No, fucking listen for once! You said you wanted to change, you didn't want to be that person anymore, not like in Kirkwall. But just saying that isn't gonna do a Maker damned thing."

Cullen seems to sink in on himself, as if all air left his body. "You don't know... Kinloch..."

"I think I know enough," Carver says. "There's good mages and bad mages, just like there's good people and bad people everywhere." He sighs, putting his hand on Cullen's shoulder. "You can't go on like this. Maker's arse, we can't go on like this, with all this fear and hatred among us."

Cullen shakes his head. "What can I do? How can I forget all of that?"

"You can't just forget, you have to want to change. For real," Carver says. "I'm putting you in charge of training the mages. You and our templars, you will work with the mages, practice battle formations, strategies. Together." He fixes Cullen with a stare. "There will be no templars watching over the mages as if they're explosive cattle. We are the Inquisition now, and by Andraste's soggy knickers, we will work together, is that clear?"

Cullen nods, straightening his back. "Very clear."

"Good. And once we're in Haven, we're destroying the phylacteries in the chantry." Carver watches the emotions flicker over Cullen's face until he nods.

"I'm not going to fail you." He lets out a breath and looks at Carver. "'Herald of Andraste says: cut your shit out and work together.' I remember that." He rubs his neck and gives Carver a weak smile. "You've been trying to get that into my head for a long time now."

"I know this is hard," Carver says. "There will be resistance among our templars."

"I promise I won't fail you." Cullen straightens his back. "And I'm sorry for what happened in the bad future."

"Well, it didn't happen, thanks to Dorian. But thinking about all of that is really doing my head in." Carver presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "And I lost my shield there. Will have lost my shield. Have lost my shield that I will lose in a not happening future..."

"Please stop," Cullen pleads, "you're giving me a headache."

They rejoin the inquisition trek and Carver sets out to tackle his next task. Merrill follows him quietly as he searches among the people until he finds Clemence, the tranquil. He walks next to a cart with the sick templars he has been taking care of. They have received a dose of lyrium to help against the worst symptoms, but as Solas has predicted, the long withdrawal has taken a terrible toll on their bodies. Only the third templar looks relatively healthy and she is strong enough to help pull the cart.

After a short discussion, Clemence agrees to follow him to a wagon, where Vivienne is visible from afar with her staff held high. The only other mages Carver has ever seen who carry themselves as proudly or careless like that, are Merrill and Marian. Even Bethany was always careful to blend in and hide her mageness. The mages around Vivienne have that familiar hushed look about them, their staffs short and inconspicuous. They whisper among themselves and occasionally ask her questions.

"Lady Vivienne," Carver says. "A word."

"Certainly, Herald." She gestures to her admirers and the crowd scatters like a flock of scared birds. "What can I do for you?"

"In the bad future, seeing Merrill get turned tranquil shocked you. You told me that you did not see."

There is only a hint of reaction on Vivienne's face. "What do you mean?"

Carver looks her in the eyes. "When you left Dorian and me to defend the door you said to me that I should make sure that you see ."

Vivienne lets her gaze travel over to the Breach. "How cryptic of me."

"Oh, I don't think you were cryptic," Carver says. He takes a step to the side and gestures towards Clemence. "This is Clemence, as you can see he's one of the tranquil."

Vivienne gives a nod towards Clemence, which he returns.

"As far as I know," Carver says, "First Enchanters are asked if a mage should be made tranquil, so you should be familiar with the concept. But I don't think you quite realize what it means."

Vivienne's eyes widen but she doesn't say a word.

"There's more tranquil in Haven and they need protection and something useful to do." Carver fixes Vivienne with a stare. "I want you to take care of them, make sure they are respected and treated with kindness and that their abilities are put to use only if they agree to it."

Vivienne inclines her head. "Herald, my dear, I must respectfully— "

"I don't give a nug's shit about your 'respectfully'," Carver interrupts her. "You told me to make you see and by Andraste's teeth, I'm making you see."

There is a pause before Vivienne nods, slowly. "I understand."

"Good. You're in charge of the well being of the tranquil of the Inquisition."

"It will be my honor." She turns to Clemence. "Please tell me of your abilities."

Carver gives Vivienne one last look and then leaves her alone with Clemence. He slows his steps, aware of Merrill walking at his side as the trek of people flows around them. Her hand finds his and she gently guides him to the side, away from the ebbing and flowing of bodies.

The stream of people walking by becomes a constant murmur that his mind soon ignores in the noise around them. Occasionally a child yelling or someone laughing has him look up from the gravel and rocks and bushels of grass under his feet. The weather is on their side, sunshine and a gentle breeze making for a comfortable way of travel. The scent of wild flowers mixes with the smell of rotting ponds and dried out river beds. A weight seems to glide off Carver's shoulders the longer he walks and just breathes in the stories the air tells him. It tastes of memories, of a boy holding hands with his twin sister, running after his older sister, of chasing lightning balls and butterflies made of flicks of fire.

"Bears! Bears!"

The warning cry wakes him from his daydreams and he grabs his sword. Merrill lights up with a swirling light around her, casting a barrier far ahead of herself towards the men running from the bears. Soldiers and mages break from the trek and run towards the first bear breaking from the woods, followed by at least four more bears. Carver sees Cullen and Dorian rushing towards the commotion, sword and staff raised high.

Merrill breaks out to the side and Carver follows her, attacking another bear who silently comes for their flank. He misses his shield. Merrill keeps a barrier raised around them, as long as he stays close to her, he is relatively safe from stray attacks on his sides but he still has to dance forward and backwards to get his hits in and jump out of the way of sharp claws striking at him.

The roar of the bear drowns out the rush of blood in his ears. The animal smells of wet fur and blood, injuries covering its sides. Icicles from Merrill's spells burrow into the animal and arrows hit it from afar, but still the bear roars and jumps forward with surprising speed. A wall of air hits Carver and pushes him out of the way, the sound of claws aimed for his head cutting through empty air where he had been standing just a moment ago. Carver spins around and adjusts his grip, holding his sword like a knife, and stabs into the bear's shoulder, using his weight to push the sword deep into the animal.

The bear whines, air leaving the hole in his side in a wet gush and he falls down, narrowly missing Carver. The body still gives off heat but it's already dying. The head has crushed a bushel of lilac flowers when it fell, spreading a sweet scent like a potion under the smell of wet fur. He pulls his sword out of the flesh, listening to the last few breaths the animal takes, watching as the life disappears from its eyes.

Another life gone.

The cries of battle have died down, the trek successfully defended. Already the animals get skinned, the fur laid out over wagons and the heaps of meat are skillfully cut into pieces. Baskets and leather bags are used to store the meat with salt and vinegar for longer keeping, other pieces get wrapped in cloth with magic ice for a later meal. Someone prepares a barrel on wheels with firewood, as an oven for smoking. A mage starts the fire and soon smoke creeps out of the barrel's lid.

Scouts secure the area, looking for more predators attracted by the smell of blood and meat. These people have lived through hard times long enough, they know how to use this rare gift, that will feed this trek for a few days.

Carver still has his sword in his hand, the blood on it drying in brown streaks. The mark in his hand is hissing, reacting to something. He tries to feel for a rift but there is no hum, no feeling of electrical static. But he has to stay vigilant, he has to be prepared. Any moment, another animal could attack, or red templars or even just normal people who fear mages and the Inquisition. How safe can they ever be?

Children run passed him, using knives and magic to skin the bear he felled. They laugh, telling each other wild stories of the last time they had so much meat. Carver can't hear the forest anymore, he can't hear new danger approach, he —

"Vhenan?"

He starts walking, away from the bear carcasses, the children, the people, the trek, the smoke.

"Where are we going?" Merrill asks.

"We have to watch out, we have to be careful, we don't know what can happen, so many people, we aren't prepared, we — "

"Carver," Merrill calls after him.

"We have to be more alert," Carver says to her, "we weren't even prepared for these bears and there could be templars around, like we saw, with red lyrium." Her can't stop walking, his feet moving him in circles around Merrill. "We have no defenses, these mages aren't even trained for battle spells, and we don't know what else is in these woods..." Black spots swim in his vision. The murmur of the slow moving trek is a loud drone, it grates in his ear. He wouldn't even hear if a red templar approached, but he has to know, he has to be more alert.

"Carver, stop." Merrill grabs his arm, but he has to keep walking, he has to go, he has to watch out, he has to be alert but it's so loud, so many people, they make so much noise.

"It's too loud, they have to be quiet."

Merrill wraps her arms around him and only now he notices that he's shaking. "Too loud, so many people..."

"I know, Vhenan," Merrill says quietly, "let's sit down for a moment."

Carver collapses on a bushel of grass and presses his hands to his ears. But it's still too loud.

"Herald?" Cassandra approaches with Leliana. "What's wrong?"

"It's so loud — "

"But... it's not?" Cassandra looks confused.

"I take care of him," Merrill says. "He just needs a little break."

"But Herald," Cassandra says with a cough, attempting to step past Merrill, "Lady Josephine needs — "

"You will leave us now!" Merrill's voice is like a thunderous storm and in Carver's swimming vision, she looks like a dragon towering over the other two women. Which surely is impossible.

"But—"

"Leave!"

Carver doesn't see them leave but Merrill turns back and sits down next to him. A shimmering wall of magic rises up around them and closes over their heads. It reminds him of the circle of light in the Fade, when he met Merrill in their dream. The wall of light blocks the noise from the outside and the world outside of it looks soft and dreamlike.

Carver is still shaking. "I can't just sit here, I have to— "

"No." Merrill takes his hand and waits for him to look at her. "You're burning up. You take all the worry and all the bad memories and turn them over and over. They eat at you. You have to let go."

"But I have to—"

"No." Merrill's voice is soft but allows no protest. "You have to breathe."

"I know that ."

"Shh." Merrill puts her hands on his cheeks and forces him to look at her. Her eyes are like piercing green jewels, holding his gaze. "Breathe with me."

She takes a deep breath and holds it. Carver does the same and when she blows the air out again, he does the same. She does it again, breathing in, holding, and then blowing the air out and as Carver blows air through his lips, some tight knot in his chest seems to untangle.

"What is happening?" he whispers. He breathes in deep, taking in the scents of grass and Merrill. There's still spots dancing in front of his eyes but they slowly fade.

Merrill let's go of his face and puts her hand on his back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades. "Lean forward. You're having a panic attack, Vhenan. We're taking a little break here, we'll catch up with the others later."

His hands are still trembling. "This shouldn't happen to me, I have to be stronger."

"Carver." Merrill puts her hand under his chin and makes him look at her. "You can't be strong all the time without being weak sometimes. It's a balance."

"But — "

"Shh. None of that." Her thumb strokes the corner of his lips. "I'm here, Vhenan."

And that — finally — makes everything right again.