A Light Shining in Darkness

by EnricoDandolo

Led out of the Fade by Andraste herself, Bethany Hawke knows she has been chosen to fix the world. But as an army of the faithful rises around her, the Inquisition's enemies arm themselves to test her principles. And in this age of digital information, full-scale thaumic war becomes likelier than ever before ...

7. L'eternità t'apre il suo regno

In the morning of 2 Pluitanis 9:42 Dragon, Bethany Hawke and Ser Cullen Rutherford set out to save the world.

Well, maybe that was putting it a bit melodramatically. They assembled their chosen teams, received final instructions while they geared up, said their goodbyes and boarded the helicopters that were to take them to their destination. Bethany looked after the other helicopter for a bit, until it appeared over the horizon. Cullen had quite the task on his hand, and lives depended on his success. You worry too much, she told herself. Cullen was more than capable; he'd get this done. Besides, he'd taken Cassandra, Varric and Vivienne with him, they'd be a great help. And anyway, what could possibly go wrong? It wasn't as if the Therinfal templars would bodily attack him.

Her own mission, on the other hand … Through the fabric of her jacket, she could feel the thin shape of Leliana's blood amulet in her inside pockets. She was still none the wiser about its purpose, and had considered leaving it behind, only to find herself grabbed by a vague sense of dread about what might happen if she didn't. Leliana was plotting something, that much was certain, and she simply had to trust that it was in the Inquisition's best interest. And that the Inquisition's best interest didn't involve her dying a gruesome death today.

"Oi," Sera said, sitting close by her side. Bethany had a surreptitious look through the helicopter's fuselage, it was rated for 20 passengers and the four of them barely took up half of it. "Stop pining."

Blushing a little, she returned her attentions to her team. For the occasion, Josephine had forced them into service uniforms – Blackwall in the same blue he'd worn to Val Royeaux; Sera, Solas and herself in Inquisition black. Of course, Sera hadn't waited two minutes before loosening her tie and by now her outfit could scarcely be considered uniform. Bethany was somewhat jealous, but thought that as the leader of the delegation it wouldn't do to look too scruffy. Magister Alexius had not seemed like the sort of man who'd be taken in by nonchalant informality. "Sorry," she said. "Just a bit nervous."

"Don't be," Blackwall told her. "We've got a good shot at this. Besides, Lady Nightingale's people will be on standby to assist."

She gave a wry smile. "I think I'd rather not have the whole thing dissolve into a massacre, thanks. I just hope Dr Pavus can help us find the grand enchanter."

"Not to rain on your parade or anything," Sera said, leaning back, "but how d'ya even know she's still alive? Not like that Alex guy's showing her off to gloat about his evil plan."

"I cannot believe I'm saying this, but Sera makes a good point," Solas agreed. "If I were Magister Alexius, I would have installed the grand enchanter as a puppet to legitimise my rule over Redcliffe. That he has not suggests he may have killed her."

"It's possible," Bethany conceded. "We haven't had any solid intel from Leliana's people, I'm afraid. Josephine believes that Alexius may consider Fiona too influential to kill, but has been unable to utilise her for his purposes."

"He's a blood mage, though, ain't that right? Always thought those people could control your mind."

Bethany shrugged. As far as she knew, that one was consistently exaggerated by the press. She was pretty sure Merrill hadn't been able to do that, anyway. "I don't think that's actually a thing," she cautiously said. "… I mean, not that I'd know."

"Oh, it can be done," Solas said, smiling thinly. "But it is easy to resist all but the strongest invaders, even for a non-mage. Someone like Grand Enchanter Fiona would not be easily-controlled."

Sera made a show of shivering. "… says crazy elfy hobo mage, further freaking the shit out of me."

Solas, piqued, announced that he would use the rest of the flight to catch up on some sleep and that they should wake him once they arrived in Redcliffe.

"So, the grand enchanter," Blackwall said after Solas had moved a bit further down the fuselage to catch some sleep. "She used to be a Grey Warden, didn't she?"

"I think so, yeah. Josephine said she's the only Warden ever to leave the order, but that can't possibly be right." She frowned. "I mean, I had a … friend who left the Wardens, but he said it never really leaves you."

Blackwall gave a sagely nod. "It is a calling. You may stop wearing the uniform, but some part of you never does."

At that, she frowned. It didn't really mesh with what little Anders had told them. "He mentioned dreams," she elaborated. "About the Archdemon."

For a moment, the warden seemed surprised. "Did he?" Then, he looked away. "We're not really supposed to talk about that, I'm afraid."

"… okay then. Anyway, shall we go over the plan one last time?"

Where the drive to Redcliffe on her first visit back had taken several hours, the Inquisition's Markopter Cougar brought them there in a mere three quarters of an hour. Sera, Blackwall and Bethany crowded around the portside windows when the helicopter came about to look for a landing site in the city's old town. From up here, they could see the increasingly devastated suburbs to the south, and the sprawling refugee camps that had sprung up around the fortifications of the old town.

"Maker's arse-cheeks, there must be tens of thousands of people down there!"

"Almost 144,000, people say. People have fled here from all over south-western Ferelden."

"It's not really safe, though, is it?" Blackwall noted. "The mages can barely feed themselves, let alone support the refugees. And without the army's protection, they couldn't possibly defend the camps against the rebel mages and templars."

Sera scoffed. "What a frigging joke. All that talk of freedom, and the moment they're in charge they start stomping on everyone else."

"I think you'd better not mention that to the grand enchanter," Bethany dryly commented. Still, Sera had a point – whoever was truly in charge up at Redcliffe Castle had not handled the issue very well, or rather, not at all.

They had not announced their arrival in advance, so that no landing space had been cleared. Their original plan had been to land on an airfield on the outskirts of the city, then requisition a vehicle to enter the old town. Luckily, however, the pilot spied a large open park in-between two rings of fortifications that had not been filled with tents, and the helicopter gently sat down on the grass. Solas had roused himself, and together the four of them stepped off the aircraft onto Redcliffe soil. In her own time in the city, the grand enchanter had attempted to set up a provisional police force of mages to supplement the royal constabulary, but considering the lack of reaction to their arrival, little appeared to have come of it. "Alright then," Bethany said, straightening out her uniform and pointedly ignoring the small audience that had gathered by the side of the green at the helicopter's approach. "Let's get up to the castle. Dr Pavus should meet us there."

"You sure we can trust that guy? 'Cause it sure sounds like he's on their side."

"He hasn't given us a reason to mistrust him. Come, let's get to the castle."

They got some odd looks on their way up to the castle, especially from mages. Bethany could hardly blame them. Many of these people had fought the templars for years, had been on the run for so long they knew no other life outside the Circle. Their uniforms must frighten them, no matter how openly Solas and Bethany displayed their staves. She tried to smile, but found it only made the people they crossed in the street quicken their steps and lower their heads.

Dr Pavus was awaiting them by the bridge leading to the castle. "Good to see you again," he greeted her, "Thought you might not make it after all."

"Perish the thought. Doctor, these are Warden-Constable Blackwall, Solas, and Sera. Everyone, meet Dr Dorian Pavus."

"How do you do. Now, I can get you inside the castle but I hope you have a plan beyond that?"

"I was thinking we might try talking to Alexius, first," Bethany suggested. "Beyond that, I'm fairly flexible." She neglected to mention that Leliana had promised them a squad of her agents as backup, should they need it – though she wasn't sure if they actually existed, or were in place. Or what their orders were, for that matter.

"That's it? Let's hope he listens."

Dr Pavus lead them across the bridge and through the checkpoint at the gate. Security was up from her last visit: at least half a dozen Northern-looking, uniformed men carrying submachine guns watched their passage through the outer bailey. That was troubling – even if Leliana's people came to their aid, there would be bloodshed. There were further guards inside the castle, all armed. She gave Dr Pavus a questioning look, he grimaced and shrugged as if to say that he had no idea what was going on.

This time, they didn't meet Magister Alexius in a laboratory. Instead, Dorian led them into the large medieval chamber that had been repurposed as a council chamber by the grand enchanter. Having asked her companions to wait outside to avoid giving the wrong impression, Bethany approached the dais.

Alexius met them dressed in a plain black velvet morning gown, standing by the massive fireplace, a large, wrought-iron staff in his hand. His son Felix stood nearby, leaning against one of the massive stone buttresses supporting the vaulted ceiling. He looked somewhat sickly, but gave them a subtle nod as they entered. "Ms Hawke," Alexius greeted her without looking up from the fire, "I had not expected to see you again. You left in a hurry last we met."

She stepped forward. "My lord magister, I am here to represent the interests of the Inquisition as regards the Free Mages of Thedas. I should like to see Grand Enchanter Fiona."

"The grand enchanter is in no position to talk to you, I'm afraid," Alexius replied without missing a beat. "She is undergoing medical treatment under my care and cannot see anyone right now."

Dr Pavus stepped up to her side. "Really? Because that's the first I've heard of that. We both know you're not a healer, Gereon. What sort of medical treatment could you possibly provide the grand enchanter with? And for that matter, what happened to First Enchanters Adrian, Astebadi, Raddick, Irving and Bruyne? What happened to them, Gereon?" He paused for effect. "What are the Venatori?"

Only now did Alexius turn to face them. In the flickering light of the fire, the lines on his face seemed to be deeper than they had been last time. "Where have you heard that word? No matter. Is this how you repay me, then, Dorian? All I've done for you?"

Felix loosed himself from the sidelines to join them. "It's not just him, father. We worry about you. You're not being yourself."

The magister's expression hardened. "Felix, what are you doing?"

"Just look at yourself! Who told you to take the project to Ferelden? Void take it, where did you even get the idea in the first place? You've even started using blood magic, despite everything you ever taught me! Everyone can see you've gotten involved in something that's way bigger than you can handle. Those Venatori fascists cannot be trusted, father!"

Alexius grimly tightened his grip on his stuff, glaring at Bethany and Dorian. "I bring you into my house," he growled, affability done with. "I have taught and supported for years. And you repay me by twisting my own flesh and blood against me."

"Felix can think for himself," Dorian objected. "He saw what was going on long before I did."

The magister ignored him, accusingly pointing his staff at Bethany. "And you, Herald of Andraste, you walk in here like a thief! You even want to steal my son from me, just like you stole that mark upon your hand from your betters!"

Bethany froze. She'd accepted that some people knew who she was, but how did he know about the mark – and what could he possibly mean? "Explain yourself," she demanded. "If you know so much about the mark, tell me what it's for. Where does it come from?"

Alexius scowled at her. "From indolence and sacrilege. Your mark is a mistake. An aberration of fate. You stole it from the Elder One, and I shall correct that mistake for him."

"What are you talking about? Who is this … Elder One? Is he the leader of your cult?"

"You could not possibly comprehend his power. He has reshaped the Fade itself, changed the very fabric of spacetime. And soon, he will be a god, and Tevinter will rise from the ashes to save this world from itself!"

Felix stomped forward and put his hand on Alexius' shoulder. "Father, listen to yourself! You're talking nonsense. You're a scientist, remember, not some sort of fanatic. Let go of the Southern mages, give the Herald what she wants and let's just go back to Minrathous …"

"No! Felix," his voice softened. "My son … all of this is for your sake, don't you understand? The Elder One has the power to cure you, and he has promised to do so as a reward. All I need to do is correct the mistake made at the Conclave."

Dorian scoffed. "I thought as much. It was too much of a coincidence for those Venatori not to be involved in the massacre at the Conclave."

Surreptitiously, Bethany put her hand on her staff. "So you and your people murdered the Divine," she concluded. This was it – what they'd been looking for all along. The path ahead was clearer now. There could be no more negotiations, and Justinia's murderers would face justice – one way or the other. All they had to do was figure out who this Elder One was. She drew her staff. "Lord Magister Gereon Alexius," she announced, "by authority of the Inquisition, I am placing you under arrest for murder most foul. Surrender, and you won't be harmed."

Alexius scoffed. "I'm no thug. I won't fight you." Bethany resisted the impulse to lower her staff, and suddenly, a thin-lipped smile appeared on the magister's face. "Luckily, I won't have to." He reached for something in his pocket. Alarmed, she lunged forward, brought up her free hand and cast –

The world turned black, her lunge turned into a stumble, and she violently crashed into something cold, metallic and ridged in front of her. Whatever it was, it made a loud clang as it hit something standing behind it. "What the …" Dr Pavus murmured, before summoning a small ball of light to appear in his palm.

Before Bethany's eyes, the roaring face of a lion appeared. She shrieked, stumbled backwards, and hit a wall that hadn't been there before. Instinctively, she summoned her magic, only to realise that the lion was a) absolutely immobile and b) made out of steel and c) a helmet. The light in Dorian's hand threw a thousand shadows in a small room packed to the brim with medieval suits of armour. Relieved, Bethany took a deep breath and tried to steady herself without overthrowing another suit.

"How did we get here?" Dr Pavus wondered. "I was in the great hall, and all of a sudden …"

"… we're here," Bethany finished. "Alexius must have cast some sort of sleep spell he had bound to that amulet."

"If so, why did he have us moved here while we were out? Why not kill us or lock us up?"

"I don't know. Maybe he wants his armour polished?"

"Hah, now that would be some… hang on. I've seen this suit before." Carefully weaving his way through the thicket of steel, Dorian moved to her side, looking up at the Orlesian armour with the lion mask she had bumped into. "I saw it outside Lab 12 just this morning."

"Maybe it's a duplicate."

"With all the same notches and dents? Maybe we were out longer than we thought."

Bethany looked at him. "You mean Alexius knocked us out, then moved us to a storage room and filled it with medieval weaponry?"

"Yes, well, clearly he's got a dastardly plan we could not possibly hope to comprehend. Let's get out of here."

Careful not to bump into any of the more vicious-looking suits of armour, Bethany and Dr Pavus made their way to the exit. Bidding him to be quiet, she tried the door. It was unlocked. She opened it just the slightest bit and glanced out into the hallway. "All clear," she noted. "Something is very off here."

"Gee, you think?" With not a soul in sight, they stepped out into the hallway. It looked nothing like the modern-built museum wing, and the rough stone walls, floor and vault were entirely bare but for some unshielded lightbulbs dangling from the ceiling. "I don't recognise this part of the castle," Dorian said. "But then, the whole place looks the same to me. Maybe if we find a window, we can orient ourselves."

When they did, however, the view out of the window raised more questions than it answered. The window went out to the city, suggesting they were somewhere within the curtain walls, but the city itself had changed. It had turned night, but scarcely a window was illuminated: instead, the buildings and fortifications were bathed in a faint red light, emanating from a line of clouds on the horizon. The land south of Redcliffe was burning. Had the rebels attacked the refugee camps? There had been no suggestion of this in the morning's intelligence briefing.

"I don't know what's going on, but it doesn't look good," Dr Pavus commented. "Come, we shouldn't dally here."

"Probably not."

They made their way down the deserted hallway, pushed open the door at the end of it – and found themselves face-to-face with an extraordinarily beautiful young woman glaring at them. "And who might you be?" she queried. "State your business."

"Uh," Bethany made, baffled. She noted the large wooden staff slung across her shoulder, but was nevertheless quite certain that she wasn't working with the Tevinter scientists: jet-black hair in a punk-ish sidecut, a large blue feather dangling from her right ear, some sort of runes tattooed on a pale left arm, and a long purple top left plenty of cleavage for a large, elaborate gold necklace to accentuate. Hardly in line with what they'd seen earlier, but she did feel vaguely familiar to Bethany. But maybe that was just her rich golden eyes, now caught in a piercing glare, which she could not help but feel she had seen before, years ago … "Uh, sorry, who are you?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "'Tis surprising you have to ask. Never have I seen a uniform such as yours, and the both of you are clearly mages. Is it too much to wonder who you might be?"

Bethany and Dr Pavus exchanged a look. Then, she shrugged. "My name is Hawke. I represent the Inquisition. This is Dr Dorian Pavus."

"That was not so hard, now was it?" She slightly inclined her head. "You may call me Morrigan. And since we've got that over with, let me warn you. The dear doctor will find no welcome here with such a name, nor will an inquisition of whatever sort. From your sudden arrival, may I presume that you are not hear to battle the 'spawn?"

"The … there are darkspawn here? On the surface?" Even as she said this, and this Morrigan gave an incredulous laugh, understanding dawned upon her.

Dr Pavus's smile widened. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed, "I didn't think it would truly be possible!" Exuberantly, he grabbed Morrigan's shoulder, who retreated, lightning crackling between her fingers. "Tell me, my dear, what year is it?"

"You must think me very stupid. Do not touch me."

"The YEAR, man, the year!" Now Dr Pavus just sounded like he was quoting from something, his eyes were sparkling with glee.

"'Tis the thirty-first year of the Dragon Age. Do not touch me."

Bethany's eyes widened. Upon seeing Morrigan, she had suspected something involving Alexius' research into time travel had occurred, but this was … wow. "That's a decade in the past. Didn't you say your time magic derives from the Breach? How is this even possible?"

"I don't know, frankly. This is far beyond our most optimistic models. And the timing is odd, too. With all of time to choose from, why now? I imagine this is the Blight, yes?"

"Yeah. The Battle of Redcliffe, by the looks of it – the horde almost broke through the Redcliffe Line, but were thrown back when the Orlesians arrived. Once the battle was over, the army received word that Denerim had been attacked, and marched to the capital's relief. There, Queen Eleanor would eventually slay the Archdemon and end the Blight."

"Thanks for the history lesson. This must have been an accident. Something must have drawn us here."

Morrigan had been listening intently. "You do claim to be time travellers, then," she concluded. Bethany and Dr Pavus shared a look, then nodded. "I see. I am inclined to believe you."

Bethany frowned. "What, just like that?" The younger woman was a mage herself, after all, surely she'd know that time travel was supposed to be physically impossible.

"There are more mysteries in the Fade than the mortal mind could ever hope to fathom. Who am I to say what can or cannot be done?"

"Are you sure?" Dorian asked, sounding disappointed. "We can show you our phones and you can marvel at how advanced our technology is, if you like."

"Do not take me for some sort of primitive. Now, I propose we move someplace less open. Your presence here will soon be detected if you continue to traipse about this carelessly."

"Right. We don't want to contaminate the … timeline …" Dr Pavus broke off. "Oh, blast it."

"You think we're changing history just by being here?" Bethany asked, catching on. If this truly was the last week of the Blight, she scarcely dared think what their meddling might effect – what if their intervention resulted in the death of Queen Eleanor, and left the Archdemon to ravage Thedas for another year, or two, or even more? What if the Blight reached all the way to Kirkwall this time?

"I'm not sure if that's possible. Most models of spacetime don't actually allow for a changeable past. I mean, there's the whole many-worlds thing, but that's really more about avoiding a wave function collapse …" Noticing her look, he cut himself short. "Haven't the faintest," he admitted. "Let's just try not to screw things up too badly and get back as quickly as possible."

"That would be wise." Morrigan led them down a series of winding corridors, all deserted at this time of night. From a point, the rooms became more warmly decorated, with tapestries and paintings on the walls and chandeliers mounted on the ceiling. Only the thick bundles of cables that criss-crossed the floors detracted from the image of genteel antiquity that presented itself. Finally, the mage led them into a fairly secluded bedroom and locked the door behind them. The fireplace had been lit, and Bethany and Dr Pavus were glad to take the opportunity to rest in the soft armchairs by the fire. Morrigan remained standing, still appearing quite unperturbed. "'Tis obvious you did not intent to come here. I wonder what might have drawn you to this time."

"That's a good question. All of our models indicated that this magic came from the …" Dr Pavus broke off and glanced at Morrigan. "From the Event."

"I think at this point there's no reason to hide anything. Either we've already changed the past, or nothing we'll do will."

"Fair point, but I'll call you on that if it turns out I accidentally murdered young me. Anyway, the Breach. We thought that it was impossible to move outside its timeline."

"But we did. The Breach won't even exist for another decade." Bethany could feel Morrigan's piercing eyes watching her as the mage tried to soak in every word, no doubt to discern useful knowledge from it. She told herself not to worry about it; the important thing was getting home.

"True. But time's a funny thing. We don't really understand it, despite what you may think. How familiar are you with special relativity?"

"Not?"

"Then I won't bore you with tales of spaceships and broken glasses. Suffice it to say that spacetime is made up of at least five discrete dimensions – the three classical dimensions of Erasthenian geometry, time, and the Fade; there are a couple more but we don't really understand them. Coordinates in this system are not fixed but relative to the observer. It is, theoretically, conceivable, that all of time takes place at once, so to speak, in both directions."

"Uh, okay." Bethany wished he'd told her about the spaceships instead.

"The Breach, of course, warped the Fade in regard to the other four dimensions, which made it possible to pass through it – or rather, along it – from one time coordinate to the other. Now I suspect it only made it easier, and it was always possible given the right approach. But it's still highly unlikely that we'd have ended up here, rather than within the Breach's timeframe."

Morrigan raised an artfully arched eyebrow. "Am I correct to assume that this Breach is, or rather, will be, a large tear in the Veil? If so, any large confluence of arcane energies would weaken the Veil and draw you towards it."

"True, but I simply cannot conceive of anything lesser than the Breach that would catapult us outside its timeline – not outside of mythological accounts, anyway."

"What about an Archdemon?" Bethany suggested. "This is a Blight, after all. And Archdemons are Old Gods."

"Or so your Chantry says, anyway. But no, I don't think so. Archdemons do exist outside of Blights, after all. That is simply when they wake and lead the horde to the surface."

Morrigan, however, had latched onto the idea. "An Archdemon's slaying does release immense quantities of arcane energy," she pointed out. "If it is true, as you say, that Eleanor is to slay Urthemiel tomorrow, that might explain what drew you to this time." Suddenly, her golden eyes went wide. "Hold. You call her 'queen'. Do you mean to imply that she will survive the battle and marry that buffoon Alistair, in spite of their falling-out?"

Bethany frowned. "The king, yeah. I think they got married a year or two after the Blight ended."

"And what about General Mac Tir – will he survive the Blight?"

"I think so. They'd have reported his death, I imagine. Actually, yeah, I think there was a bit of a fuss about him being at the royal wedding, so he must have survived."

"In our timeline, at least," Dr Pavus dryly pointed out. "Exciting as the minutiae of royal family gossip may be to you Fereldans, why does any of this matter?"

Morrigan did not reply. Instead, she rose to her feet and walked over to the fireplace, contemplating something. "I've a wonder," she finally said. "Did anyone give you something to bring with you here? Perhaps a strange old woman, with golden eyes like mine?"

Golden eyes … suddenly, Bethany remembered who Morrigan reminded her of, and where she'd heard her name before. "Flemeth!" she burst out. "The witch who saved us from the darkspawn on our escape from Lothering. Do you know of her?"

"She was my mother," Morrigan evenly admitted, yet with an odd cadence in her voice. "Or is, apparently. I appear to have underestimated her foresight. What did she give you?"

"An amulet containing … some sort of aspect of hers, but that was years ago. All I brought with me is the … the amulet Leliana gave me." She reached into her jacket to produce the necklace. In the shine of the fire, the vial of blood seemed to sparkle faintly, and understanding dawned on her. How on earth could Leliana have planned for this?

"Give that to me!" Morrigan snapped, almost yanking the amulet from her hands. She stepped to the fireplace to examine it in the light, cast a couple of quick spells Bethany couldn't identify. "Leliana," she repeated. "That would not happen to be an Orlesian redheaded lay sister?"

"How … oh, she fought in the Blight, didn't she? Do you know her?"

"One might say that. Did ... will she tell you what this is?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, I can see it's blood, but there's gotta be more to it than that."

Dr Pavus rose to join Morrigan. "May I?" He had a closer look, cast a few spells of his own. "Well, it's not like any blood I've ever seen. Although, I did flunk Introductory Blood Magic at uni, so I'm no authority."

"Well, that's comforting. Morrigan, do you have any idea what it might be?"

The mage nodded, turned around to face them and held up the amulet. "I do believe this may be the blood of Urthemiel … the fifth and current Archdemon."

Even as Bethany gasped, Dr Pavus gave a low whistle. "Volatile and dangerous. Are you sure this Leliana wasn't trying to kill you?"

"Uh, I'm not so sure now. Why on earth did Leliana want me to bring that with me to Redcliffe?"

Morrigan's features hardened. "Because I have need of it."

Bethany and Dr Pavus shared a look. The scientist shrugged, just as clueless as she was. "What could you possibly need Archdemon blood for?"

"Must you be so curious? … I have to perform a certain ritual, tonight. The blood of Urthemiel was the only missing reagent." She made a face. "Blast that witch. Whenever I think I have uncovered the last of her tricks, she astounds me anew."

"Leliana?"

That made Morrigan laugh. It was not, in fact, an unpleasant sound, clear and somewhat husky. "Only in her dreams. I know nothing of her future, but I know enough in this time to know she poses no threat. She clings overmuch to her screens and keyboards to look up and see for herself. One wonders how she will fare once this Internet fad is dead and done with."

Dr Pavus and Bethany shared a look. Should we tell her? it silently asked.

Nah, the other replied.

No matter how hard they pressed, Morrigan was clearly unwilling to explain the details of her ritual to them. All they managed to discern was that it was, in some way, connected to the Archdemon, and that the blood would form a tether of sorts in a sympathetic relationship. Whatever it was, the whole thing did not sit well with Bethany. The reagent was somewhat more exotic than usual, but this was blood magic, plain and simple. For all she knew, this witch was plotting to bind the Archdemon to her will, however foolish the enterprise. After all, her supposed mother had had a penchant for turning into dragons. "No," Bethany finally said, pressing the amulet against her chest. "If you want our help with this, you'll have to give us all the details."

Morrigan scoffed. "So you say. Consider this: that vial of blood is all that ties you to this time. The very fabric of spacetime aches to throw you back to the future. Tell me, Tevinter, is it not true that without this tether, only a small push would be required to return you?"

Dr Pavus had to think about that for a bit. "It's possible," he finally admitted. "Actually, it might just be the most likely solution to our dilemma. Remember, all of this has already happened … I think. If the two of us were to take the slow path to the future, so to speak, your spymaster would probably have found some sign of our transplanted selves in the past … future. So either we disappeared completely, or we returned to our own time."

"She might have been planning for this," Bethany objected. "Move future us into the past, so we can fix this whole mess before it even begins."

"Unlikely. As my father was wont to say, 'any clever plan that requires more than two things to happen, isn't.' Your Nightingale sounds like an extremely shrewd woman, but there are too many factors out of her control to have planned for this. In any case, Morrigan's ritual might just be our ticket home."

"I still don't like it."

"You do not have to like it," the witch coolly pointed out. "All you need do is hand over the amulet, and I shall arrange the rest."

"We don't exactly have a choice, Herald. We need to get home, stop Alexius, close the Breach and all that jazz. Besides, I suspect you've already handed it to her. You know, in the past. Present. Whatever."

Bethany scoffed. "Alright. Take it."

Taking the amulet back, Morrigan gave her a slight nod. "Preparations will take some time. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable whilst I go talk to Eleanor."

Her eyes widened. "The queen is here … of course she is. Dumb question. What do you need her for?"

A shiver of disgust seemed to run down the witch's spine as she paused by the door. "Something I might regret a couple of months from now." She steadied herself. "I will lock the door from the outside. I recommend you do not leave this room."

The witch left, and Bethany and Dr Pavus sank back into their armchairs by the fire. "I don't like this," she repeated.

"I don't either, but we're in her hands right now. I'd kill to know what she's planning."

"She did ask whether the queen and General Mac Tir would survive the battle. Maybe a powerful protection spell, or some sort of spell to weaken the Archdemon?"

"She doesn't exactly strike me as the protective type."

Bethany gave a wry smile. "True. In any case, let's hope it works."

Hours seemed to pass like that. Eventually, Dr Pavus punched the armrest of his chair. "This is ridiculous," he exclaimed. "What kind of time traveller stays cooped up in a bedroom for hours?"

"At this point? All of them."

"Well. I'm going to have a look around. It's not every day you get to experience history in the making. Care to join me?"

She bit her lip. "We should really stay put," she pointed out. "Morrigan might be back any minute. Besides, we're locked in. What are you gonna do, kick in the door?"

Dr Pavus was already on his way out. He briefly laid a finger on the door's lock, and one brief ethereal glow later there was a satisfying click. "Mage, remember? Are you coming or not?"

"We really shouldn't," she said, rising. "Let's go."

They still had to be mindful not to be noticed, however. Quite apart from the fact that Redcliffe Castle was probably crawling with military and VIPs at the moment, and they had no business being here, their presence here could only cause trouble for the future, or their younger selves, or any number of other things. Luckily, the corridors of the castle's living quarters appeared to be deserted at this time of night.

Free to wander, but with no idea of where to go, it took them a while to find anything of interest. Glancing out of a window, Bethany supposed that the city outside the castle held plenty of excitement, but she was not exactly in any mood to face the Darkspawn horde – now or ever. She was grateful she'd been spared the worst of the Blight, and couldn't even imagine the horrors the soldiers out there in the trenches were going through right now. One more day, she told herself. One more day of fighting, of suffering, and all the death and pain would mean something. Anything. Carver …

Swallowing hard, she tore herself away from the window. Dr Pavus, further down the corridor, had his ear pressed to a heavy oak door and signalled for her to join him. Fragments of a heated conversation wafted to her ear when she did so. A gravelly man's voice, laying out a point, his voice rising to drown out interruptions. "… cannot expect the Fifth Army to hold the line on its own. If we're going to defend Redcliffe, we need to leave behind an army that can do so."

"No one asked you, Mac Tir …"

The next words were inaudible as Dr Pavus softly pushed her back so he could open the door a bit. She held her breath, if they were noticed … but the people inside seemed to be occupied, and did not cease their arguing. Through the crack in the door, she could make out a brightly-lit table in a dark room, lined by laptops and people in military uniforms, although most of it was blocked by a broad-shouldered back in RFA camo. "Enough," a woman outside their narrow field of view declared, and Bethany immediately recognised the uniquely firm, preposterously posh voice of Queen Eleanor. Come to think of it … "I asked for Warden Mac Tir to be party to these proceedings. Hwy, it would be a waste not to. He has more experience in military matters than anybody else at this table, including yourself, my lord."

"And see where he's lead us! We still don't know what happened at Ostagar, but I do know that we lost a whole lot of good kids there. Their deaths are on him, Lady Cousland."

"What happened at Ostagar does not change the fact that we need to leave at least the Second and half of the Eighth Armies in place to hold back the left flank of the horde. If we recklessly divert all our forces to …" The legendary general's argument was interrupted by the sound of a side door opening.

"You're not supposed to be in here, Morrigan," Lady Cousland pointed out. "Hwat is it?"

"Pardon the intrusion. Generals, my lord, I need to borrow the Wardens for a few minutes. Both of them. If you please …"

Although unable to see her face, Bethany could make out the hesitation before Queen – Lady Cousland replied. "Very well. If you will excuse us."

If the mood in the war room hadn't been sour before, it was now. The assembled generals kept quiet until Mac Tir had closed the side door behind him. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that," someone said to general assent.

Someone sighed. "What are the chances Mac Tir is going to do his usual thing and try to micromanage the entire theatre himself?"

"It's clear we're not going to get anywhere at this rate," a woman with a heavy Orlesian accent declared. "I need to telephone to Val Royeaux. Good evening, gentlemen."

"Yes, I think I better get back to my division myself. Shall we call it quits?"

Dr Pavus tapped her shoulder. "We should leave," he whispered. "They're going to come through this door."

"Right." As quiet as they could manage, they hurried away from the door and back the way they came. Indeed, scarcely an instant after they had disappeared behind a corner, they could hear chatter and footsteps from the war room. Luckily, none of the assembled officers seemed to be headed their way. "We should head back," she pointed out. "What do you think Morrigan wanted to see the Wardens about?"

"I'm starting to believe your protection spell theory. Either that, or she's informing them of our presence. Either way, I wouldn't recommend lingering here."

They made their way back to Morrigan's room, which was just as they'd left it. "What now?" Bethany asked her companion, sinking into one of the deep, soft armchairs by the fireplace.

"We wait, I suppose. Shall we see what's on the telly?"

"Please don't. 9:31 was a dark year for Fereldan TV, believe me. Besides, it's the middle of the night, so unless you want to watch infomercials or Galaxy Quest reruns …"

"Original Series, New Adventures, Starbase K-7, Sojourner or Constitution?"

"Uh, the one with the bald dwarf captain. Also, wow, you're worse than Leliana."

Dr Pavus made a show of shuddering. "Perish the thought." He joined her by the fire.

There, they waited. Bethany's expectation that Morrigan would return soon to carry them back to the future were soon disappointed, but they passed the time chatting about this and that. Dr Pavus, it turned out, was excellent company to be stranded in the past with – he was an easy wit who did not mind that she wasn't, and regaled her with anecdotes of his exotic homeland. Soon, however, the exhaustion of their involuntary journey caught up with them and overcame their resolve to wait.

Curled up in her armchair, she slept uneasily. Perhaps owing to the confusion of their situation, her dreams were not quite as lucid as they tended to be. Only a handful of images actually touched her dreaming consciousness directly – some familiar plays on old themes, others new. Carver was among them, looking bright and happy in his new uniform, even as his skin turned an unearthly pallor and started to crack. Then, there was a giant Leliana, peering down at her over a report card and informing her that she'd failed her class on Archdemon-slaying, and how exactly she proposed to catch up on the material? After all, the rest of the class was expected to quickly move ahead to the far more advanced subject of ravenry, kriek-kriek-kriek? A voice, bathed in golden light, nodded sagely and asked in booming tones where it might find the local cheesemonger's establishment, please? Bethany opened her mouth to give directions, but found she couldn't remember. There was a drumroll, and –

Bethany was awakened by a low, faraway thundering that seemed to shake the castle in its very foundations. "What … what's hap'ning?" she murmured, trying to drag her numb legs out from under her. Why was she sleeping in a chair? A drowsy glance over her shoulder revealed Dr Pavus standing by the sink in the corner of the bedroom with his shirtsleeves rolled up, shaving with a little purple razor that she expected belonged to Morrigan. "Mornin'," she mumbled.

"And good morning to you. Slept well?"

"Ugh." Stretching, she loosened her tie and took off the belt and sash around her waist before slipping out of her wrinkled uniform jacket. Blessed Andraste, she needed a shower, and a change of clothes. Again, a low thundering noise shook the walls of the castle. "Maker, what was that?"

"Artillery from the frontlines, I would imagine. It's been going on for a bit now."

Her heart sank. "So we're still in the past. Whatever Morrigan did, it didn't work."

"On the plus side, a potentially dangerous hedge witch now has access to a vial of Archdemon blood. No idea what she'll do with it, but I expect it will be smashing good fun."

"Very funny. What are we going to do now?"

Pausing, Dr Pavus put down the razor and dried his cheeks with a towel. His luxuriant moustache somehow remained in perfect order. "I don't know," he admitted, turning to face her. "Best case scenario, I somehow manage to piece together enough of Alexius' spell to reproduce it and return us to the present. But it'd take years just to figure out how, exactly, he did it, even if I contact past me to help."

"We can't do that," she interjected. "We still don't know if what we're doing here alters the future in any way." Bethany wasn't quite sure why she said that. It was the sort of thing time travellers were expected to say to one another, she supposed, but in truth there was something quite appealing about changing the past. They'd been in Kirkwall when the Blight ended, working off their debt to Athenril. Mother had been alive, and though life had been hard for them, it looked like a golden age in retrospect. For all the material comfort and recognition her Deep Roads treasure had bought her, Marian had never smiled at her the same way again.

If she could change the past, make it just the tiniest bit better, didn't she owe it to her family to try?

Dorian shrugged and gave her a wry smile. "If that's how you feel, then there's only one other way back to the future."

"And what's that?"

"The slow way."

"That's … hardly an option."

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers. I'm feeling a bit peckish, care to scrounge up some breakfast?"

Bethany tensed. "What, you mean here in the castle? With the military all over the place?"

"Exactly," Dr Pavus confirmed, grinning. "Soldiers have to eat, you know. We find the cafeteria and slip in."

"We don't exactly look like soldiers, you know. We'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"You Southerners let mages fight during the Blight, for once, didn't you? Circle mages don't wear uniforms. Lose the tie, flaunt your staff and you'll look the part."

Hesitantly, she did as Dr Pavus had suggested. She'd already divested herself of the other parts that made her uniform a uniform, and when she looked in the mirror the figure that looked back at her was dressed in ordinary if creasy business casual: a perfectly ordinary look for a Circle mage, in her experience. Dr Pavus gave her a critical look. "Bit plain. Got anything to accessorise?"

She rolled her eyes at that. "Funny." On second thought, she retrieved her faded old neckerchief from her jacket's inside pocket and tied it around her neck. "Better?"

"Eh, it'll have to do."

"Jerk."

"I try, I try. Now, let's go find some food, shall we?"

"Hang on a second." Something had caught her eye when she searched her jacket for the neckerchief. On the mantle of the fireplace, hidden behind framed landscape prints, candles and other decorative items with more arcane purposes, stood a small grey device, about the size of a USB stick, with two black spots on the front. It took her a moment to realise that they were a tiny camera lens and a microphone respectively, of the sort one might find on a laptop. "Huh. Look at this."

Dr Pavus joined her, whistling admiringly. "Will you look at that … the room is bugged. Someone's been keeping an eye on Morrigan."

"And on us," Bethany pointed out. "I'd bet my life that the person on the other side of this is Leliana. That's how she knew we'd travelled back to the past and gave Morrigan the Archdemon blood – she had the whole thing on tape."

"The more I hear about this Leliana, the more eager I get to meet her. She sounds like great fun."

"Just never accept anything she offers you to eat and you'll probably be fine. Speaking of …"

"Yes, let's."

Finding breakfast turned out to be a bit of a challenge. Even once they walked into the more inhabited parts of the castle, which were buzzing with activity as the fighting south of the city continued, neither of them were willing to ask for directions to the mess hall. Leaving aside the fact that all of the officers walking the corridors of the castle looked incredibly busy to Bethany, she worried that having to ask for directions would expose them for the frauds they were. As for Dr Pavus, she suspected plain stubbornness played a part.

Eventually, however, the smell of food reached their noses, and they followed it until they found what probably counted for a provisional mess hall. Long folding tables and benches had been set up underneath medieval vaulting, and another table held tea, coffee and a small selection of breakfast foods – the very air felt greasy, and she felt dangerously close to a heart attack just from looking at the assorted sausages, bacon, beans, fat-fried bread and other traditional Fereldan causes of cardiac arrest. Still, Bethany thought as she reached for a tray, presumably quite a bit better fare than what the fighting forces in the trenches got. Having loaded up their plates, Dr Pavus and Bethany looked around for a place to sit where they wouldn't arouse too much attention, but even at this relatively late hour the room was packed. Finally, Dorian approached a group of junior officers. "Excuse me, mind if we join you?"

If the officers found that odd, they didn't show it. Mostly, they simply looked tired. "Sure, have a seat. Move over, Kenneth, give them some space."

"Thanks. I'm Dorian, and this is Bethany. We're from the Circle – only just arrived here the other day."

One of the officers raised an eyebrow. "Mages, huh? My cousin's a mage. Which Circle are you from?"

"Lake Calenhad," Bethany said.

"Jader," Dr Pavus said.

They shared a look. "He's from Jader," she quickly explained. "I used to be there too, but I was transferred recently."

"Uh huh. You wouldn't happen to be healers?"

"Sorry." Nervously, she ran her hand through her hair. "So, uh, you guys are with the general staff?"

"Regimental staff, actually," one of the officers, the only woman in the group, replied. The nametag on her uniform identified her as a Lieutenant Reith – at least, Bethany was pretty sure that two pips meant 'lieutenant'. "Royal Southron Fusiliers."

Her breath caught. That had been Marian and Carver's unit, hadn't it? Yes, she was sure of it. She yet remembered spending days at Lothering's train station after news from Ostagar had broken, waiting for their safe return. She'd talked to a lot of Southrons then, and what if someone recognised the family resemblance? Bethany forced herself not to jump to her feet and make for the door. Don't be stupid, she told herself; if she didn't remember their faces, they wouldn't remember hers. Besides, she was eleven years older now.

Dr Pavus didn't seem to have noticed her momentary fright. "Your regiment is helping hold the Redcliffe Line, right? I understand most of the army is to relieve Denerim."

"Yeah, hence why it's so quiet today," a red-cheeked young Ensign Willis added. "Last I heard, a battalion of Legion of the Dead rolled into the suburbs and liberated Huddersfield, Shipton and most of Dalry all on their own. At this pace, we're gonna take back the capital by the end of the week."

"You mean the fucking dwarves will," someone grumbled to general assent. "Our parents' generation threw them out, and now we invite them to the surface. You can't seriously believe they'll go back underground once all this is over. And if they won't try to stick around, the Orlesians definitely will, now that they're here too."

Dr Pavus raised an eyebrow. Careful now, Bethany tried to signal him. Growing up in Ferelden had taught her a healthy appreciation for the kind of comments not to make when people were talking about the occupation, Orzammar and the alliance with Orlais. Of course, growing up in Ferelden hadn't previously involved foresight courtesy of time travel. "And here I thought Orlais and Ferelden were such good friends. I'm surprised the Orlesians didn't send troops earlier, actually."

"Didn't you hear? After Ostagar, the Orlesians were pushing to get involved. General Mac Tir wasn't having any of that, though. Good thing, too, from what I hear. If them poncy bastards had their way, they'd thaum half our country to the Void."

"Most of Ferelden is already blighted," Lieutenant Reith pointed out. "It doesn't matter whether it's radiation or the Blight making the land uninhabitable for a couple of decades. What does matter is getting rid of the 'spawn."

Willis frowned. "Due respect, LT, but I thought thaumic weapons do weird stuff to the Veil?" He looked towards Bethany and Dr Pavus for help. "You're mages, tell me I'm right."

Dr Pavus shrugged. "Not really my field. Pretty sure you don't want to get too close to it, though."

Bethany, however, hadn't spent the last two months investigating the Conclave attack for nought. "You're right," she told the ensign. "People tend to think only about the initial blast and the lyrium fallout. But that largely dissipates after a couple of decades. The real problem is that the weapon itself and the tens of thousands of lives it would extinguish weaken the Veil – possibly even tear it. That means demons, and possessions, even of non-mages. Wounds in the Veil can linger for centuries. I'm pretty sure mages still aren't supposed to enter Vyrantium without special permission."

Only after she had finished did Bethany notice that the officers' eyes were glazing over, causing her to blush furiously and mumble something along the lines of 'or so I heard'. Dr Pavus, however, chuckled. "You never cease to surprise me, do you? I should stick around after all this is over."

"Glad someone's having fun …"

To her relief, the conversation soon turned to other matters. Neither her nor Dr Pavus could follow the officers' discussions of supply chain logistics, and were paid little to no heed by them as they finished their meals. Ignoring her skyrocketed cholesterol levels for the moment, Bethany found that breakfast had calmed her nerves. Yes, they were still stuck in the past, and there was nothing they could do about it – but there was nothing they could do about it. Story of her – well, not quite, but still.

Still, it couldn't go on like this. Sooner or later, someone would check their backstories, and then there'd be trouble. Even if, by some miracle, no one realised that they'd appeared out of nowhere, they'd be taken to the Circle – a fate she had chosen for herself once before, but hardly something to look forward to. She glanced at Dr Pavus. Competent mage and brilliant physicist he might be, but he did not look as if he'd ever had to run from something in his life, literally or figuratively. Bethany, though, had spent most of her life as an apostate on the run; chances were, she could help them avoid the authorities for quite some time if they kept a low profile.

And then, what? They didn't feature in any government records, except as their younger selves, whom they really shouldn't bring into this whole mess. Without documentation, they'd have difficulties even in the run-down hellhole that was Kirkwall, let alone somewhere with a functioning civil government.

And if they did go to Kirkwall? No, Bethany firmly repeated to herself. If she was to meet her younger self or, Maker forbid, Marian … the risk was simply too great. She couldn't, mustn't allow it to happen.

For now, however, there was only one option open to them. To get out of here – quickly, and without arousing suspicion. Naturally, walking out of the front gate wasn't an option available to them … but she'd broken out of the Gallows once. Leaving Castle Redcliffe and fleeing northwards shouldn't be too difficult by comparison, so long as Dr Pavus remained discreet.

After breakfast, an Air Force officer roped them into providing magical assistance to soldiers about to head down into the trenches. Creation spells didn't come easily to either of them, but between themselves Bethany and Dr Pavus managed to piece together the requirements of some basic spells that would hopefully protect the soldiers – Valiant Auras, Heroic Defences, the likes. After some deliberation, they even managed to work out how to imbue the thin leafs of a field Chant with a simple Haste spell that would trigger if the page was torn. It wasn't anywhere near as sophisticated as the work of professional spellbinders, but Bethany was rather proud of it regardless.

Evidently, the Air Force officer was pleased with their work, and soon they were put in a truck with some other mages and driven to a hospital in the city of Redcliffe, which had been largely converted into a field lazaret for the wounded. "I'm no healer," Bethany had tried to explain to the officer in charge, who'd simply stared at her blankly. She was a mage, was she not? Yes, but not that kind of mage. She was carrying a staff, though, so she had to be a mage. What, then, was the problem? Of course, but there were different kinds of magic – good, then she could use the kind that brought our boys back to their feet, and pretty promptly, please.

She sighed at that and resigned herself to her fate. At the hospital, they spent the better part of the day assisting those more proficient than themselves – healing the occasional superficial wound, setting up auras and summoning spell wisps to help the actual healers during operations. She noticed Dr Pavus trying to reassure his patient that everything was going to be alright, that their injuries could be healed and that the war would be over soon. Bethany couldn't bring herself to bring such lies over her lips, and largely performed her duties in silence. Most of the soldiers they brought in weren't in any condition to talk lucidly, anyway.

Every so often, people in protective gear would come in with stretchers, to fetch body bags for the pyres. Two or three times, Bethany thought she saw Carver's face – pale, veiny, and covered in black boils – but each time, she realised, her mind was playing tricks on her. Carver had died weeks ago, at Ostagar. However little else she'd said about it, that much Marian had always been consistent on.

Only late in the evening did the seemingly endless flow of the injured slow down, and Bethany used the opportunity to draw Dr Pavus outside to one of the balconies attached to most of the hospital rooms. On an adjacent balcony, a group of soldiers was crowded around a radio. Reports from Denerim, from what she could make out; a Radio Ferelden correspondent trying to make herself heard over the sounds of battle in the background. Dr Pavus raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"We need to get out of here," she told him. "We're already stuck in the past. Being stuck in a Circle would only make matters worse."

"Ah, yes, I've heard about you southerners' idea of what constitutes a proper Circle of Magi. I take it we can't just march out of here and be on our merry way? What do you propose?"

She glanced inside the hospital room through the glass balcony door. One of the nurses had turned on a TV in the corner, and none of the patients was paying them much attention. "I don't know," she admitted. "Not yet. We'll have to wait for a chance to get out without being detected. Just be ready and keep an eye out."

"I'll keep a bag packed and ready. From what I hear, the hard part isn't going to be getting out, though. It's staying out."

"Let me worry about that." Bethany firmly crossed her arms. "I've been an apostate most of my life, and I've worked with templars. I know how they operate. So long as we keep a low profile, they aren't even gonna know we exist."

"We should go to Tevinter," Dr Pavus suggested. "We'd be safe there … from your templars, anyway. And I know a couple of very powerful people who'd kill to have evidence of working time travel." He chuckled. "Some have, too."

"Not funny. Either way, what's most important is that we don't attract attention."

"Two gorgeous devils like us? That might … Maker above, what's all that ruckus about? Trying to conspire here, keep it down, please."

The soldiers on the neighbouring balcony had turned up the volume on their radio, far enough that it was beginning to drown out their conversation. "… very close to the fighting now, we can see the … the wounded Archdemon perched on top of Fort Drakon. The … I can see the Wardens again, one of them's laying down fire while the other is advancing towards the Archdemon … we – we've just been ordered to withdraw from the area by our escorts, the Warden has drawn a sword if you can believe it … Maker's breath!"

With a loud static noise, the broadcast broke off. "What was that?" Bethany wondered aloud.

"I don't know. Some kind of … Maker!"

All of a sudden, the sky was filled with an unnaturally bright light, blinding in its intensity. Instinctively, her eyes closed and her arm rose to guard against the light, yet nevertheless her eyes burned from the blinding glare – and then suddenly it was oppressively warm and humid, and the murky smell of mould lay in the air. "I can't see …" Bethany said, shaking. "What happened?"

Dr Pavus groaned. "That must have been the death of the Archdemon. I remember the reports of the giant beam of light that burst forth when it was slain."

"Right," Bethany realised. She still couldn't see a thing. "We could even see it all the way north in Kirkwall." Carefully, she reached for the railing of the balcony to steady herself – and hit a rough stone wall. "Oh, for the love of … doctor, what are the chances the death of the Archdemon moved us through time again?"

"Considering that I just hit my head on something? Pretty good. What is this, a boiler?"

Her eyes were beginning to adjust. It was dark – the only light shone through what appeared to be a gap under a door … "Looks like a utility room … rough stone walls. Damp, like we're below the lake. Are we back in the castle, do you think?"

"It's possible, I guess? I really don't know. Common sense would suggest any time travel that doesn't also include some sort of spatial movement would just strand you in space."

"Why's that?"

"You know how we have days and years because the earth rotates around the sun and its own axis?"

"Oh. I see. What do you think happened, then, doctor?"

Dr Pavus gave a cheerful shrug and moved to examine the door. "Haven't the faintest! None of this makes any sense to me. At this point, I'm really just along for the ride. Also, please call me Dorian. We've probably spent a couple of years together by now."

Laughing softly, she shook his hand. "Bethany. Now then, Dorian, shall we see if we can't get out of this room? It's like a sauna in here."

"Yes, it's wreaking havoc on my shoes. Let's have a look …" He tried the door handle, but it was locked. Dorian glanced at her. "It's a cylinder lock. Don't think my spell will work on this."

She nodded. "Stand back." Taking a deep breath, Bethany raised her hands towards the door and focused on the space immediately in front of and behind it. Doing what she was planning without tearing down the entire wall required fine control, so she took a couple of seconds to gradually lower the mass of the air in front of her and increase that of the space behind it, until the door bulged outwards under the strain of massive gravitational forces – one final push, and it burst off the hinges, fell outwards and crashed into the wall behind it as it returned to its proper density. All that remained of the doorway was a small cloud of dust. She turned to Dorian. "Shall we?"

"You know … we could just have melted the lock or something." Bethany gave the physicist a long, hard look. "Just saying."

Bethany unclipped her staff from her waistband and readied herself as she stepped out into the corridor. A bit further along, a flickering bare lightbulb dangled from a vaulted ceiling, confirming her suspicions that they were back in the castle – deep in its bowels, presumably, in the cellars carved into the rock below the water level of Lake Calenhad.

More importantly, when were they? Dorian had suggested earlier that they'd been catapulted to before the Breach by the Archdemon's innate magical energy, acting as a gravitic body of sorts upon them. Morrigan's ritual, whatever it was, would return them to their point of origin in a slingshot effect, Dorian had theorised. For now, all they could do was hope he'd been right. She wasn't too keen on spending the rest of her life during the dwarven occupation, or in some dystopian magipunk future. Leather trenchcoats and cybernetic implants just weren't her style.

What was that noise? Footsteps? There, a voice – another one. Around the next corner. She didn't recognise the words – were they speaking Tevene? A glance at Dorian confirmed it. 'Let's move,' she mouthed, pointing in the direction of the voices. The physicist nodded.

As one, they dashed around the corner, and within seconds they had overcome the two Tevinters. Bethany knelt by the side of the man she'd slammed against the ceiling (before letting the ground finish him). His sandy hair was dark and wet with blood, she doubted he'd stand up again. He wasn't a mage, that much was clear from the grey camo fatigues and the SMG he'd dropped when she killed him. "Recognise him?" she asked Dorian, perhaps a bit too snippily considering the circumstances. Still, he had been part of the Tevinter operation for the longest time.

Dorian gave him a quick glance. "Never seen that guy in my life. Interesting, though – that's not the same uniform our security contractors wear."

"Do you think we might have … you know, ended up in the wrong time again?"

"Maker, let's hope not. This whole time travel thing is getting old. New. Whatever."

They left the guards where they had fallen and moved on. Long corridors. Flicking lightbulbs. And – "Blessed Andraste!"

Around a corner, and before them a sea of red. From the walls and floor of a large cellar room, jagged red crystals jut out like bones from an open wound. A static charge danced along the crystals' sharp edges, and the Veil shimmered with excitement. "Red lyrium," Bethany murmured, a shiver running down her spine. "How did that get here?"

"I don't know. I presume whatever it is, I don't want to touch it?"

"Definitely not. Red lyrium is … it's evil stuff. Enough said."

They skirted around the crystals and made their way to the door at the end of the room. Again, they took position by the door. Dorian slammed it open with a gust of telekinetic force, Bethany charged through and …

"N-no, no, you're not real. You can't be real. You're dead, I … I friggin' saw you die …"

"Sera? Sera, is that you?" Primitive, ancient-looking cells lined the walls of the room they found themselves in, segregated by iron bars. Was that – yes, truly. Huddled into the shadows of one of the cells sat a wraith of an elf, staring at them from dull, wide eyes. From the ceiling of her cell sprouted a large, red spike. "Maker above, what happened to you?"

"Stop! Don't … don't come any closer. You're fake, just like all the others. St—stay away!"

"Hey, don't be afraid. It's me. We met when you hijacked my car's GPS, remember?"

That almost seemed to bring a brittle smile to the elf's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Heh. Yeah, I remember that day. That was fun. B-but you're still not real. You're in my mind again."

"We're not demons, Sera. It's really us."

"Heh. Not really though. Just – 's alright, innit? Just stay where you are and … stay there. Dunno when I last had anyone to talk to."

Words stuck in her throat. "Sera …"

"Oh for the love of …" Dorian rolled his eyes and stepped up to the cell bars. "Alexius' spell worked. It moved us through time. Whatever happened, we can fix it so long as we find Alexius and get us back to our original time."

Bethany gave the Tevinter a glare. "Very tactful …"

Sera looked contemplative, glanced up at them. "Are you going to let me out of here?" she asked in a voice that was half-plaintive, half-defiant.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Let me see about the lock." A quick inspection revealed that it was an old-fashioned wrought iron lock, and it quickly melted under her hand.

Haltingly, the elf rose to her feet. Only now did Bethany realise that the dirty rags of what had been her Inquisition uniform hung around a figure far too thin for it. "Then I don't care what you are."

Bethany reached out to support her, but Sera roughly brushed her hand aside. "Let's move."

With these words, she started to stride down the hallway. Bethany had trouble keeping pace. "Sera, wait – can you tell us the year?"

"Dunno," the elf murmured. "Lost track around 200 days in."

"How long ago was that?"

"Too long."

"Oh, Maker. I'm so sorry, Sera. We'll make this right; I promise we will." A strangled, bitter chuckle from the younger woman. Nothing would make this right, Bethany realised. It would only erase it. "… do you know what happened to Blackwall and Solas?"

Sera sharply nodded her chin in the direction of one of the cells. "Thom – Blackwall – used to be in there. Then they moved him. They didn't like us talking to each other. I don't know what happened to Solas. Probably dead."

There was no time for further questions as Sera strode down the hallway ahead of them and disappeared through an open doorway. There was a loud noise – Alarmed, Bethany and Dorian followed, ready to strike – they crossed a corner to find Sera holding a guard in an iron-tight stranglehold, angling for the combat knife at his hip as he struggled to breathe.

It was over before either of them could intervene. Slowly, the guard's body sank to the floor, gurgling blood. Sera picked up his rifle, checked the magazine, and grabbed another from the guard's kit.

"We need to get to Alexius," Dorian pointed out once again. "If he's here at all, he'll either be in the museum wing or in the keep. If we could get aboveground and find a window to orient ourselves …" His final words were obscured by a gunshot, echoing thunderously through the cellar room and making their ears ring with a stretched-out, high-pitched noise.

They whirled around, looking for the shooter. Sera stood over the dead man. The barrel of her gun wavered slightly in her hands. The dead guard's face had disappeared in a pulpy red mass. "Andraste's sake, Sera," Bethany exclaimed once the ringing in her ears had subsided. "What on earth was that for?"

"Everything," the elf stated, the image of tranquillity. "Let's go."

"Well, they definitely know we're here now …"

"Which means we need to hurry and get to Alexius. Let's move it, people."

They broke into a run. One dark and dank corridor followed another, and Bethany felt a strange sense of déjà vu – in far too many ways, this was like Kirkwall, like their running battle through the gallows. So far, no one had set the castle on fire, but the farther they came, the more red lyrium they found. Growing from the walls and ceiling like a malicious fungus, while glowing red shards littered the floor. Soon, Bethany gave up on the attempt to avoid stepping on them, and the lyrium cracked under each of her steps like snow.

She was out of breath when they stopped before a locked door. Age, she supposed with some annoyance. In the darkness, she could barely make out the door; the lights hadn't been working for a couple of rooms now. "This should lead up to the surface," Dorian proclaimed. "… if I'm not mistaken. Hang on a second." He summoned a small mote of light in his palm. "There should be a sign somewhere …"

Bethany was about to urge him to hurry, when a faint voice cut through the darkness. "Who … is someone there?"

Before she could react, Sera had bolted into the darkness. "Thom? Thom, is that you?" She didn't know who this Thom was, but when she followed Sera, a wisp of magelight in her palm, she found the elf with her ear pressed to a heavy door.

"S…Sera? Maker, it's good to hear your voice. Are you alright?" That was Blackwall's voice, no doubt, faint and croaky though it was. Odd, she was pretty sure his first name was Gordon.

"I'm … I'm fine. Hawke and that Tevinter, the, the scientist, are here. We'll get you out of there."

"Hawke? She's still alive? This can't be …"

"It's me. There's no time to explain, I'm afraid; suffice it to say time travel was involved. Hang on, let me see if I can get the door open …" She didn't have Dorian's marvellous little lock pick of a spell, but she did have a diploma in Advanced Primal magic. "Uh, try not to touch the door. Gonna get a bit warm in there." Laying her hand on the door's lock, she summoned her magic to heat the metal. It was a fairly simple operation, with the caveat that melting metal required higher temperatures than her fire spells usually produced. Since no mage had the necessary fine control to energise individual molecules, she attempted to heat up the metal using traditional primal magic, and channelled additional mana to insulate the lock, which soon glowed white-hot, from the door and the air around it. It was an inefficient method that quickly drained her mana reserves, but it got the job done. In fact, it turned out to be somewhat easier than she had thought – the Veil must be thin here, she idly noted without bothering to check.

Bethany expended some of her remaining mana to speed up the cooldown of the molten metal, then threw upon the cell door. A faint red glow met her, and she realised with a shiver that almost half of Blackwall's cell was filled with red lyrium, growing from walls and ceiling. Even the makeshift bed at the back of the cell was overgrown with them. The Warden himself stood by the door, looking somewhat bemused. Whereas Sera was dishevelled and ragged from her imprisonment, Blackwall had held onto whatever shreds of normality he had been able to find. His Warden uniform, while in a sorry state, was in perfect order, down to the tie, pocket square, and silverite wings on his chest. Blackwall's pristine appearance, however, could not belie the pervasive stench of a man who had gone without even the most basic sanitation for months. And – were her eyes fooling her or were Blackwall's eyes as red as the lyrium around him?

"It really is you," he murmured, eyes wide, as he stepped out of the cell. Indeed, his eyes were a bright red, and there even seemed to be a certain glow around him – a hum in the Veil, a crackle. "I don't know how you survived, but Maker knows I'm happy to see you." His eyes fell on Sera. "Sera, I …"

Before he could go any further, the elf had flung her arms around his waist. Somewhat awkwardly, the Warden patted her back. Mildly embarrassed, Bethany turned away and moved over to Dorian. He gave her a slight nod, having succeeded with the locked door. Sera and Blackwall re-joined them shortly. "We're trying to go back in time to stop this – all of it – from happening," she briefly explained. "I know it sounds weird, and we haven't much time to explain. Do you know where they took Solas?"

"Solas …?" Blackwall slowly repeated, looking rather dazzled from a tale even Bethany was forced to admit was unlikely. "I don't know. Last time I saw him was the day they captured us." He shivered. "If he's lucky, they killed him quickly."

Bethany looked around the cellar room. Even with their magelights and the faint glow of the lyrium, it was too dark to even see as far as the edge of the room. Cold, humid air smelled of mould, moss, and human excrement. Grim, but surely he was exaggerating. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss Solas. He'll turn up, you'll see. Now, we need to get to Alexius …"

"Wait." Blackwall reached for her arm. "Sister Nightingale is here somewhere."

"Leliana?" she muttered. Almost on its own, her hand went for the vial of Urthemiel's tainted blood the Nightingale had given her – but no, she had left that with Morrigan, in another time. Whatever the witch had done with it, it seemed to have worked, at least – however dire their new situation appeared, at least there weren't any darkspawn rampaging about the castle. Still, she did not trust Leliana. If she was working with the Tevinters, that would explain much and raise more questions still.

"I overheard the guards talking – I don't know when that was. Maybe a couple of months. They captured her not long after us. Chances are, they kept her alive." Huh. Not a traitor, then. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised – after all, Leliana had never given her cause to doubt her commitment to the Inquisition's mission, specifically. It was simply everything else about her recent behaviour that frightened her.

Dorian elegantly arched an eyebrow. "The way I understand it, she's the one who plotted this whole time travel mess in the first place, isn't she? Sounds like a useful person to have around. Shall we look and see if we can rescue her?"

He did have a point. Leliana always seemed to know everything and would indubitably have information useful in their own time. Besides, having a Blight veteran by one's side was never a bad thing. Hopefully. "Right. We can keep our eyes open, but we should really prioritise getting back home."

"Agreed. Let's move." The door, it turned out, did lead to a stairwell – part of the castle's medieval core, no doubt, winding and narrow and barely lit. It was a long climb – several times, they had to stop to allow one of the recent prisoners time to catch their breath. "Why didn't anyone come for you?" she asked at one of those stops.

"Don't know. Maybe they did," Blackwall replied, supporting a wheezing Sera. "Maybe that's how they got Lady Nightingale. They didn't exactly give us a daily news bulletin."

"Right, sorry." It was a concerning thought: if Leliana had indeed been captured trying to mount a rescue mission, the Inquisition must be in very dire straits indeed. How long had it been – in this timeline – since their involuntary journey to the past? A year? Two? Without her, the Inquisition – the world – had no way of closing the rifts that were still appearing all over southern Thedas. Sunder the Veil in enough places and, well … shivering, she pushed the thought aside. Before her, Dorian halted; they had reached the top of the long stairwell. Whereas the prison must have been set deep into the bedrock under the castle, it seemed to Bethany that they had now reached the surface, high above the water level of Lake Calenhad. She reached for her staff and braced herself as Dorian pushed open the door.

They found no enemies, no Tevinter mercenaries beyond it: just a hallway stretching out to their left and right sides, lined with tall, brass-set filigree windows on one side. Just in front of them, an open glass door went out to a balcony overlooking the lake – a late addition to the castle, judging by the architecture, on a side that would have proven nigh-impossible to attack without modern technology. Yet this thought could not have been farther from Bethany's mind as she and her companions stepped out on the balcony and looked up at the sky.

No sun stood in the sky, but neither did the moon and stars. Regardless, the lake and castle around them were lit as bright as a summer noon, but in sickly shades of green and grey. In the sky, clusters of pallid clouds slowly swirled around like an upside-down maelstrom with bright green at its centre. It was impossible to tell where the Breach began and where it ended – if it ever ended, it seemed to encompass the entire sky. And there, on the horizon – was that a ship floating in the air, hundreds of metres above the water level? Indeed, upon closer inspection there were a number of objects – rocks and small boats, mostly – suspended in the air.

Only now, turning inwards, did Bethany notice how thin the Veil was – threadbare, in some places, and barely there in others. For all intents and purposes, the barrier between the real and the unreal had all but disappeared, and she could feel magic crackling on her skin and hear the siren song of the Fade in her mind. "Maker have mercy upon us …" someone whispered, and it took her a moment to realise it had been her.

"He doesn't give a fuck," Sera murmured without looking at the sky. "World's done for, anyway. Might as well have Him turn off the lights and start over again."

Irritated, Bethany glanced at the elf. She was fiddling around with her gun, a hollow expression in her eyes. How could she say something like … no, Bethany told herself, she wasn't going to start thinking about that. "Not if I have anything to say about it. I don't care if I have to fight my way past every demon in the Fade to get there, but I'm going to find Alexius and make this right." Tightly gripping her staff, she turned her back on the grim spectacle in the sky and marched back inside. "Which way?" she asked Dorian.

"Let's try the Arl's Solar first. That'd be … left, I think."

Following Dorian, they made their way down the corridor and through a flight of rooms without encountering much resistance. Clearly, Alexius' men had abandoned much of the castle, and no surprise – several of the rooms were practically overgrown with massive deposits of red lyrium, which had in places pierced through the ceilings, broken through walls or shattered floor tiles. Heavy dust lay on the furniture, and – were those empty casings strewn across the floor? Upon closer inspection, one of the walls was marred by pock marks that could only have been caused by gunfire. A fight had taken place here, but there was no trace of the combatants. Still, Bethany was pretty sure she could make an educated guess.

Her suspicion was proven correct when they took a corner to a loud, wet crunching noise. "Hold on," Dorian whispered, holding them back. "You see that? Fadelost up front."

It took her a moment to realise what he meant. In the faint green gleam of the Breach outside, she could make out a hulking silhouette squatting on the floor over what appeared to be a human corpse. Only slight twitches of its grotesquely misshapen arms and shoulders and the sounds of sloppy eating. "We call them abominations down here," she whispered in response, softly extending her staff. "I'm still low on mana, so if you want to go …"

"Gladly." With a flourish, Dorian reached out. Delicate fingers shaped a quick series of gestures, and – she wasn't sure what he had cast, but the abomination let out an anguished cry. Shaking, it shambled to its feet and turned to face them. But Bethany was already pressing the attack, channelling her remaining mana through her staff to bombard the abomination with ceaseless wafts of flames. Roaring, the abomination reared, and with surprising celerity shambled towards her – well, this would be fun. Exasperated, Bethany started preparing a Mind Blast to stun the creature; Sera whipped up her SMG and –

Before the elf could fire a shot or Bethany could cast her spell, the abomination stopped in its tracks. A shiver, a boiling, went through its grotesque body – and then it exploded. Its back burst open, showering the room in gore.

She sheathed her staff and took a deep breath, through her mouth. Then, she said: "That was disgusting. Please never do that again." With a shudder, she flicked what appeared to be a chunk of bloody flesh off her shoulder.

"Uh, sorry about that. Walking Bomb – never really tried that in an actual fight before. Think I'll stick to entropy spells for now."

"Probably a good idea," Blackwall dryly commented. He stepped up to the corpse the abomination had been occupied with. "They're cannibals now? Why am I not surprised…"?

"Well, the Fadelost are really just dead bodies remote-controlled by a demon. They do have metabolisms. I suppose if the closest thing to food they had was …"

"Please stop talking now. Thanks. Shall we?" She couldn't resist glancing at the corpse as they left the room. The face had been rendered unrecognisable, but the body wore the same uniform as the security guards they'd encountered before. The abomination … well, whoever it had been, there was no longer any way to tell. That was something of a relief – she wasn't keen to find out if she recognised the creature's face. At least the whole sordid affair did have one upside in that the dead security guard's weapon lay just next to him, and Blackwall joined Sera in arming himself.

It wasn't that Bethany had expected this whole business in Redcliffe to go smoothly, she told herself as they marched on through nondescript corridors and stairways, putting down the occasional Shade. Indeed, she'd gone through most conceivable scenarios beforehand with Leliana and Josephine. Leave it to a Hawke to find the one scenario no one could have anticipated – except, perhaps, for the Nightingale. The camera in Morrigan's room, more than a decade ago – the vial of Archdemon's blood – her cryptic directions; all pointed towards her foreknowledge. Leliana knew her from Lothering, she would likely have recognised Bethany on the tape, especially after the Kirkwall Inquiry had brought her back up again. If so, and if what Dorian had said about time being static was true, then Leliana must have known about Alexius' spell, and had not warned them.

But if that's true, she realised, then nothing we do here today matters. Even if they did find a way back to their own time, this bad future they now found themselves in would still come to pass. Maybe she'd die, leaving no one to close rifts. Maybe Alexius would just send them through time over and over again. Or maybe they'd never find their way back in the first place, and were stuck here. When Bethany quietly voiced those concerns to Dorian, he merely shrugged. "Honestly? I've given up on trying to figure out how exactly this shit works. At this point, I'm just along for the ride."

"Very reassuring."

Whatever conclusions about Leliana she might have drawn, she did not have long to worry about them: as they ascended one flight of stairs after another and finally passed into the castle's main bailey. What awaited them there matched their observations from the balcony: ruined buildings, withered trees, chunks of brickwork floating high above the ground, held aloft by dark magics, ammunition casings strewn around the courtyard. The air crackled with power all around them, and though they closed both of the large rifts raging in the bailey, countless smaller ripples and fractures remained visibly even to the unattuned eye.

It was there that they heard the scream, followed by angry shouting. It came from one of the keep's windows overlooking the bailey, wide open despite the chill in the air. "That's Lady Nightingale's voice," Blackwall said, alarmed. "We need to move." Bethany didn't bother to reply as she broke into a run.

They entered the keep, found their way upstairs, and kicked in the door. Two Tevinters in a darkened room, looking over a woman's figure strangely contorted and hunched by the window. Her arms were tied high above her head; the very sight of it made Bethany's shoulders hurt in sympathy. The first Tevinter looked up to find a bolt of arcane energy flying towards him, and didn't even have time to cry out before his skin melted under the impact. His fellow uttered a curse, reached for his staff. Lightning gathered around his fists – with a muffled cry of pain and exertion, the woman behind him dragged herself up on her binds, wrapped her legs around the Tevinter's neck, and snapped –

Together, they collapsed, the one above the other. Bethany hurried to their side, checked the guard's pulse: he was dead. Groaning, haltingly, the woman tried to right herself; collapsed on tormented arms. Blackwall and Bethany took her between them, got her on her feet. It was dark: against the backlight of the Breach shining in from the bailey, the woman seemed half a spectre herself. "Leliana?"

Her mental image of Leliana had formed in the weeks immediately after the Conclave attack: always pretty and sophisticated, always treading a fine line between austere solemnity and quirky extravagance, a frequent smiler whose smiles always seemed slightly too sincere to be accidental. The face that now turned towards her had none of that. Somehow, it had been so disfigured as to be barely recognisable as human – whether by spell or by acid, she could not tell, but it almost appeared as though Leliana's face had melted. Her eyes, however, were cold and sharp as shards of ice, and glared at her with such dispassionate force that Bethany recoiled as if stung by a snake. This was not the same woman who had plotted to send her back to the past, or whatever she had indeed done. "You live," the Nightingale said, rather, snapped. It was not a question.

"It's … it's a long story. Maker, what happened to you?"

Leliana ignored the question, cast a fleeting glance through the room. "Time travel," Dorian volunteered. "It's pretty cool."

"Shut up. Do you have a plan?"

"Uh, sort of. Get to Alexius, go back in time and prevent any of this from ever happening. Are you hurt?"

Ignoring the question, Leliana shook herself loose of Bethany and Blackwall and strode over to the first of the two dead guards to pick up his gun. She had to squat down to pick it up from the floor, and held it oddly, half on her hip. "Alexius' office is just upstairs." The Nightingale moved for the exit, but Bethany reached for her arm – a bad choice, clearly, as Leliana gasped in pain at the touch.

"Wait! Uhm, sorry. Do you … do you know the date? It's important."

Leliana gave her a long, hard look from cold eyes, and she withered under it almost immediately. Finally, the Nightingale grudgingly replied: "As far as I can tell, it's Kingsway 43."

From the sides, Dorian glanced at her. "So it's been almost a year and a half. Pardon my Qunlat, but how the fuck did the world go to shit so quickly?" Leliana paid him no heed. Following her out into the corridor, Dorian hurried after her. "I mean, what happened? Was there another Breach? A war?"

"Stop talking."

"I'm just asking …"

"You're talking to fill the silence. You do not want to know."

Bethany bit her lip. Maker, this was going to be difficult. "Listen, Dorian is right. If we're going to go back in time and stop this from happening, we need to know how it happened. I know the past year has been hard on you …"

The finger was poking at her chest before she even realised Leliana had turned around. "You know nothing," the Nightingale hissed. Her glare could have made a dragon cower in fear. "You have no idea what happened. Don't even try to understand, because you never will. You don't even care, because this isn't your world. You have not had to live through it, and you will go back to your shiny happy life and never spare another thought to what we had to live through. So spare me your sympathy."

Bethany said nothing. Turning away after a long, hard glare, Leliana sighed. "Very well. Shut up, and listen carefully. After you disappeared, Empress Celene and Archon-Elect Calpernia Liberata were both assassinated in short order, leaving hardliners in charge of both Orlais and Tevinter, who ramped up the rhetoric and started sabre-rattling over the Breach. We tried to mediate, but with our only reliable method of dealing with rifts gone, the Inquisition was sidelined. Around the same time, the civil war in Orlais continued unabated despite Gaspard's ascension to the throne: a splinter faction of rebel templars empowered by red lyrium began mounting concerted attacks in the Dales, while in the west an army of demons appeared. I don't know where it came from." She swallowed, hard, and continued in a slightly higher-pitched voice. "Naturally, this led to mounting tensions with Tevinter. By the time demons crashed a passenger plane from Minrathous to Val Chevin, well … there was an exchange. A thaumic exchange."

Dorian let loose a string of curses in Tevene, but Bethany did not even manage one expletive. A thaumic exchange? She tried to conjure up what that meant: millions dead, billions? It didn't really seem to catch on in her head, could only be comprehended as an empty disembodied figure. She tried to visualise the idea, imagine a devastated city, but it felt false and abstract. A thaumic exchange? That was just a phrase to her.

Blackwall had appeared behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "She'll make this right," he told Leliana, expressing way too much faith in her. "I know she will. Let's go pay Alexius a visit."

"Wait." Taking a deep breath, Bethany turned to Leliana. "The time travel thing. You knew it would happen, didn't you? Actually, I think you may have caused it."

Without hesitating, the Nightingale nodded. She hadn't expected that: the Leliana she knew would have lied, Bethany thought. "I saw you on the footage of Morrigan's room the night before the Battle of Denerim. Didn't actually realise it was you until I saw you again at the Conclave, but that's when I started planning to make sure events would come to pass the way they did. I knew you'd travelled to the past, and then disappeared again – to the present, or so I thought. After that, connecting the dots was trivial."

"But … why? And why did you trick me? I mean, you could have told us …"

The Nightingale made an exasperated noise. "You didn't need to know, did you now? But it was important that you did go back, I thought. You'd brought Morrigan a vial of Archdemon blood, something she could not possibly have obtained before Eleanor slew Urthemiel. But somehow, I don't know how, she used it to save my friend's life – don't look at me like that. I used to have friends. Do you understand now? I thought I had to do it, make you do it because it had already happened. There was a chance you'd be stuck in the wrong time, or worse, and I took it. Everyone is expendable."

"Expendable?!" Dorian snorted. "Look where it got you. If not for you, Alexius …"

Bethany interrupted him. "… would still have sent us through time, except maybe then we wouldn't have ended up anywhere near as pleasant. I hate to say this, but I think Leliana might be right. I mean, we got some useful intel out of it, at least, assuming we can get back home."

"It's callous. I don't even want to know how many died."

"They would have died regardless, now wouldn't they?"

"Shut up, both of you." Leliana stepped between them, adjusting her gun. "Pavus, I am not omniscient. I wouldn't be here if I was, none of us would. And you, Hawke – you of all people should know better than to dismiss what happened here." She scoffed. "Follow me. Let's end this farce, once and for all."

---

By the time their helicopter set down at Bexley Air Base, it was the afternoon of 3 Pluitanis – 9:42 Dragon. Josephine and Leliana awaited them on the runway – her Leliana, the one who still knew how to smile. Bethany glanced over her shoulder. There was Dorian, looking just as exhausted as herself, followed by Sera and Blackwall, lightly mocking Solas over something or other. And there, setting down right behind them, the first of many helicopters in Inquisition livery that would make the journey back and forth between Redcliffe and Bexley over the next few weeks, carrying those mages whom the grand enchanter had volunteered to serve with the Inquisition directly. The rest –well, they'd have to be taken care of. It was a daunting task by any measure, but Bethany was nothing if not determined.

"Welcome back," Josephine greeted her with a brief hug. So did Leliana, but Bethany could scarcely bring herself to return the embrace. "I take it things went well?"

She grimaced. "Sort of. Can we debrief later? I feel like I haven't slept in, well, years."

Leliana gave her a knowing smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Now, let's welcome the Grand Enchanter."

Fiona's helicopter had set down beside its twin, and the diminutive elf was striding towards them with quick, determined steps. "Grand Enchanter," Bethany greeted, waving in the direction of the other two women, "may I introduce, Lady Josephine Montilyet and the Left Hand of Divine Justinia, Leliana."

"A pleasure."

The Grand Enchanter's expression could only be described as taxonomic. "Likewise. While we're standing here, I've got some terms …"

Flustered, Josephine smiled. "Surely we can hammer out the details tomorrow, in Haven?"

"I spent the last six months imprisoned in my own castle while my people were slaughtered and starved around me. I think I'd rather get to the point. Your emissary, Serah Hawke, wasn't all that … clear on your proposal."

"I'm sure we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement," Josephine assured her, once again all charm and servility. Leliana had already disappeared somewhere, and Bethany couldn't help but feel disgruntled that she hadn't noticed, while the rest of her party plus Dorian had been dragged off for debriefing by an officer. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became that Leliana wasn't playing the same game as them. "Our top priority is restoring order in the Dales and south-western Ferelden – I'm not sure if you've seen the five point plan we published last month. We will of course need your mages' assistance in closing the Breach, first of all, but after that we're hoping to supplement regular Inquisition forces with mages to rebuild and enforce local government in the affected areas … oh, excuse me."

Both Bethany and Fiona followed Josephine's gaze to the fenced-in perimeter of the air base. A small convoy of drab grey lorries and buses had manifested by one of the gates onto the air base. Whatever they were, they were quickly waved through and made their way to the hangars – except for one bus, which swerved out of the convoy and was headed towards them. Bethany gave Josephine a questioning glance. The diplomat reached for Fiona's arm. "Grand Enchanter, let's discuss further matters inside. It's getting rather chilly; don't you agree?"

"I think not. I'm curious what the meaning of this is."

The bus came to a halt in front of them. The windows were almost entirely clad in metal, and a small line of white lettering indicated the buses were Fereldan military property. "Are we getting reinforcements from the army, or something?" Bethany wondered.

She was proven wrong when none other than Ser Cullen stepped out of the bus. Josephine gasped at the sight of him; he was badly-battered and carried an arm in a makeshift brace. "Maker have mercy, what happened?"

Cullen's eyes flitted back and forth between Fiona and Bethany. "We had some … complications," he said, obviously trying to be evasive. "We faced heavy resistance. Lost a lot of people – I'm afraid this is everyone who made it out. We've got … um."

"Please, do continue, knight-commander," Fiona drawled. Bethany was certain the use of his old templar rank was no accident. "I think we're all quite curious just what exactly the mission you accomplished was …" Glancing over her shoulder, Bethany saw a group of mages emerge from a helicopter, joining those who had arrived with Fiona. Slightly apart from them were a handful of Inquisition soldiers, for the most part unarmed ground crew. There was little they could do, should the worst come to pass.

"Well, Grand Enchanter, uh, it's like this …"

"What the commander means to say," Josephine smoothly interrupted, "is that the Inquisition feels it is of paramount importance that all parties willing to help restore order to the world get the chance to do so. That's why we've reached out in the spirit of goodwill and reconciliation to … oh, bugger it."

A templar had stepped out of the bus after Cullen. Her scarlet uniform was just as battered and dirty as Cullen's black, and she had a rifle and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The moment she saw the robed mages, however, she dropped the latter and grabbed the former, shouted an alarm to her comrades inside the bus. "Stop!" Bethany shouted at the very same instant as Cullen loudly ordered her to "put that down before someone gets hurt." The Inquisition soldiers hurried towards them, tried to form a dividing line between the mages and templars. Furious shouting. Nervous hands on guns, crackling magic. A red-faced Fiona trying to make herself heard over the ruckus. Cullen, calling for reinforcements on his radio. Bethany turned to look at him. She wasn't sure which of them looked the worse for wear right now.

"How many?" she asked, as quietly as possible considering the noise around them.

"Too few. We were … too late. They'd already started using red lyrium, and there was an envy demon controlling them. If not for Cole …"

"Cole?"

He grimaced. "I'll explain later. What about you guys?"

Frowning, Bethany looked around the air field. No bullet had been fired, no spell cast, but the tension lay thick in the air. Both crowds, still growing by the minute as new arrivals joined their camps, were visibly near boiling point. "We managed," she said. "Got a couple things we should look into. For now, let's try to keep the peace and worry about debriefing later, okay?"

"Okay. Gotta find some peace to keep first, though."