Chapter Text
~*~
Nothing works. I have tried countless times to go back before the Conclave explosion, before Felix’s caravan was attacked by darkspawn, before the Venatori first arrived in Minrathous — without success. The Breach is the wellspring that makes this magic possible, and travel outside of its timeline is impossible. The Elder One’s demand that I change the events of the Conclave can never be fulfilled. He may kill me for failing him, but I must protect Felix from his wrath.
—From what appeared to be Alexius’ journal. This was the final entry.
*A note from the Herald of Andraste clarifies that the date is indeed correct despite being one year in the future.
~*~
Three Venatori waited just within the gates of Redcliffe Castle to greet the Inquisition’s delegation. Thenera saw the ever familiar disdain in shemlen eyes even as most of their expression lay hidden behind elaborate dragon-like masks.
Knife-ear.
Rabid rabbit.
Slave.
Unspoken words that lay heavy in the air between the two groups. One of the Venatori mages shifted to block the staircase.
An unmasked man was making his way down the stairs, his warm smile faltering at the sight of the Herald’s plus three. And one of them being a hulking Qunari, no less. While the main reason Thenera brought the Iron Bull along was simple protection, it did have the enjoyable side benefit of putting the Imperium’s folk on edge.
Thenera glowered at him, chin lifted in defiance. “Announce us.”
Recovering quickly, the human’s smile returned, but markedly colder. “My sincerest apologies, but the Magister’s invitation was for the Herald of Andraste. Alone.” His hands splayed out in a helpless gesture. “The rest will wait here.”
“Where I go, they go.” Behind her, Thenera heard the Iron Bull’s knuckles crack. Returning the shem’s smile, she mimicked that same helpless gesture of his. “Or will we have a problem, serah?”
Glittering black eyes narrowed and for a tense moment, she feared her bluff would be called. But then the man laughed airily. “No problems, my Lady Herald. Right this way.”
The Venatori blocking her path grudgingly stepped aside. As the Inquisition’s group ascended the staircase, Thenera felt the weight of those hateful Tevene eyes on their backs.
Rich tapestries depicting a series of ancient battles adorned the grandiose hall at the top of the stairs. She couldn’t help but wonder about the battles that were depicted. One of the Exalted Marches? Without looking closer, it was impossible to tell. Their ‘guide’ led them through a series of corridors lined with flickering magelight until reaching a set of intricately carved doors. With a dramatic flourish, the man pushed them open to reveal the lavish chamber beyond. While mostly empty of any save Venatori, a handful of cowering Circle mages stood off to the side of a large banquet table.
Seated in the place of honor at that table was Magister Gereon Alexius, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Felix stood at his father’s side, expression carefully neutral. The Magister calmly watched their approach and his gaze lingered on Thenera, assessing and calculating. She met that stare with an unwavering stubbornness, refusing to show any hint of weakness.
Never again shall we submit. The familiar mantra gave both comfort and added steel to her posture. She did her best to exude imperviousness and control.
To don the Mask of the Herald of Andraste.
“Ah, I see.” Alexius’ eyes narrowed and his fingers steepled on the table in front of him. “That was a clever bit of misdirection during our first meeting. The mute one was a decoy.”
“She was.” Thenera inclined her head slightly and raised her left hand. The Anchor sparked, sending a small eruption of jade light through the hall. “I’ll not apologize for the deception considering the circumstances. But I will properly reintroduce myself. I am Thenera, First of clan Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, and representative of the Inquisition.”
“Well, with proper introductions having been made, what say we get down to business?” Alexius leaned back in his ornate chair, still regarding Thenera with a mixture of amusement and barely hidden contempt. “You need help with the hole in the sky, and I happen to be in possession of a great deal of mages that could help with such a problem. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”
Thenera’s jaw tightened, but put on a serene smile just as Josephine had taught her. It didn’t take a seer to sense the tension in the room — the unspoken threats that hung heavy in the air like a storm about to break from the Venatori presence and the thick, cloying fear that radiated from the former Circle mages.
“The Inquisition gains more influence by the day,” she said smoothly. “With Orlais and Ferelden. I’m sure we can arrange some manner of compensation for the mages’ cooperation.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Alexius’ face before he smoothed it over with a mask of pomposity. “I fail to see what the Orlesian nobility can offer me that I cannot already find in Tevinter.”
Then, surprisingly, Felix interjected. “They know everything, Father.”
“Felix?” Every trace of smug satisfaction drained from the Magister’s face. All that remained was fear and shock at his own son’s betrayal. “What have you done?”
Buried beneath disgust, Thenera felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. Betrayal from family digs deepest of all.
Something she knew all too well, unfortunately.
“I did what was needful, Father.” Felix stood tall. “This obsession of yours with finding a cure will be the end of us all. I can’t sit by and watch while you drive the world closer to annihilation.”
While father and son argued, the Magister and his Venatori were none the wiser as Leliana’s forces crept closer. The secret passageways under Redcliffe Castle were just as effective as the spymaster had promised.
The group of agents sent by the Nightingale, and even the woman herself, crept into the chamber. But before they had gotten fully into position —
One of the scouts stumbled into a suit of armor and set it clattering to the ground.
In Varric’s voice, Thenera thought: Well, shit.
Then next to her, Varric said: “Well, shit.”
“It’s an ambush!” one of the Venatori shouted.
And with that, everything descended into chaos.
The Inquisition forces sprang into action. Spells crackled through the air, swords clashed, and screams echoed off the stone walls. Thenera and Dorian closed in on Alexius, with Dorian shouting and trying to talk sense into his former mentor even as the hall turned into a veritable slaughterhouse behind them.
Thenera turned to check on the others. But before she could make heads or tails of the tableau in front of her, something shoved her backwards. Then came a sickening pull behind her navel and everything spun into a blur of bedlam.
Plummeting through a vortex of swirling color, her body twisted in an attempt to right itself. There was the sensation of being ripped apart piece by piece, then painstakingly reconstructed, but out of order. And just as quickly, the world stilled and her feet found solid ground once more.
Yet something still felt…off.
Behind her, she heard muffled shouting and felt a flash of heat. Thenera’s mind buzzed, lightheaded, and disoriented. There was also the feeling that she was going to be sick.
Sick…my stomach?
Something wasn’t right.
A blur in the shape of a Tevinter altus gave a flourish of his staff. Two smoking husks of metal armor lay in front of him — remnants of soldiers?
Soldiers…? The thoughts came sluggishly, muddied and disoriented. But we’re here to gather mages, aren’t we?
“Not to worry, my dear,” Dorian said cheerfully, turning back to her. “I’ll be sure to protect you from — ” His eyes went wide, fixated on her stomach, and the color drained from his face. “Vishante kaffas.”
Thenera followed his gaze downwards.
A thin wooden shaft with black fletching protruded from her belly. She touched it as her mind struggled to make sense of the sight, shaking fingers coming away wet with blood.
That’s not…that’s not supposed to be there.
A dull throbbing radiated from where the arrow punctured her abdomen alongside a strange sensation of fullness. Pulse thundering in her ears, Thenera tried to take a step forward and stumbled. Dorian caught her, taking care to avoid the protruding shaft as he carefully steered her towards the door. The ground there was dry, and he gently lowered her down.
Thenera’s body felt wrong — there was something rigid and hard where only soft tissue was meant to be. Something that shifted and squirmed with her every breath and movement. Something that was not supposed to be there.
“Take it out,” she gasped raggedly.
“I can’t.” The altus leaned her up against a wall, tearing and pulling her tunic aside to get a better look. “I’m no healer, but I know better than to — ”
The rest of his words faded into white noise, and flashes of memory dashed through Thenera’s foggy mind.
The clan’s storyteller Adris, sitting by the campfire, whittling arrow shafts and sharpening the barbed stone arrowheads while telling the other children stories; then her mind shifted to one of the clan’s many hunts — a bellowing boar thrashing on the ground, more akin to a porcupine than porcine with its hide littered with arrow shafts, and splattering blood everywhere; then finally seeing the damage the weapons had done as the hunters worked to remove them and prepare the carcass for consumption.
In that horrible moment, Thenera felt closer to the poor boar than she ever had her own family. And now, more than ever, she became uncomfortably aware of sliced flesh, slickened blood, the pain and terror that the creature had felt in its last moments.
Is this…is this how I’m going to die? Trapped within shemlen stone walls?
But Thenera couldn’t die yet. The Breach still split the sky and the mark upon her hand was the only solution. So instead of spiraling into despair, she forced her thoughts elsewhere:
Where were the others?
Were they safe? Dead? Lost to the Void?
As the shock tapered, pain blossomed in its stead. Her hands groped at the wood, slippery with blood — oh Creators, there was so much blood — but Dorian quickly yanked them away.
“Thenera, listen to me!” The shem’s voice was iron. “If you do that, you’ll bleed out. You need to stay calm.”
Right. Stay calm.
It took everything in her to do so, but Thenera forced the bubbling hysteria into the back of her mind. Dissolving into a blind panic would only make things worse. And Creators knew she’d done enough of that as of late. Solas’ breathing technique came to mind. She just needed to focus and keep her wits about her.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
Dorian’s hands returned to her belly, gently palpating the area. Thenera bit into her palm to muffle a scream and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Do you have a blanket in your pack?” He sounded as sick as she felt.
Thenera nodded and carefully shrugged her bag off.
“Good.” She heard ripping sounds as he presumably tore her blanket into strips. “I’m going to stabilize the arrow. I need to tie it tight, so this will hurt, I’m afraid.”
Again, Thenera nodded.
In for four. Hold for —
Even with a gentle touch, searing pain lanced through her belly as he set about wrapping her torso. As he tightened the makeshift bandages, her stomach heaved, sending another wave of agony that only made the nausea worse. Leaning over, she vomited a thin stream of bloody spume. Each breath threatened to choke her with bile and a burning so fierce that black spots danced at the edge of her vision.
Dread Wolf take me. It’d be a mercy at this point.
“Well, it’s not pretty, but it should hold things in place.” Dorian wiped his brow with the back of his hand. A smear of crimson followed its path. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined a first date going.”
Thenera couldn’t help but laugh. Oh, but that hurt. “I’d hope not.” Blinking back tears, she leaned heavily against the stone. “It’s not the most romantic of settings.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” Dorian hastily strapped their staffs and Thenera’s pack onto his back. Wrapping an arm around her waist, the other draped one of hers over his broad shoulders. “Well, let’s get you up. On three. One, two, three!”
The pain was excruciating, and Thenera’s vision exploded into a sea of stars. Gritting her teeth against the agony, she fought not to vomit again as Dorian began the laborious process of half-dragging her down the dim passageway. But she was upright, and they were on the move, which was better than nothing.
“Well, from what we’ve seen so far, this looks to be some sort of prison,” Dorian said softly.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the others farther in?”
“I admire your optimism. But I’m not holding out hope for any friendly faces.”
Eventually they came to a split — one path leading to the left, another to the right, and the last straight ahead. And after much cursing and a half-hearted debate, they settled on the path straight forward. It being the path of least resistance and the fact that it had the fewest number of stairs being the deciding factors.
Thenera did her best to focus on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, but every movement sent fresh waves of torment lancing through her.
“Tell me about what you miss from home,” Dorian said abruptly. “Help keep your mind off things, hm?”
He can’t be serious.
Oh, but he was. All wide-eyed curiosity in those warm amber eyes.
Thenera grunted in pain, but replied with the slightest tinge of sarcasm, “I’m not sure we have the same definition of ‘home.’”
“Well, I do know the Dalish are nomadic. So it was a poorly worded question, I’ll admit.”
“Creators have mercy.” She let out a breathless laugh. “I don’t remember the last time someone asked me something about my life before the Conclave. It’s been ‘Herald’ this and ‘Your Worship’ that.”
“Remind me when we’re out of here to tell you all about my family’s lofty expectations. I imagine you’ll understand better than most.” Dorian hummed thoughtfully. “But I have to imagine you’ve seen quite a bit over the years.”
She nodded. “My clan has traveled the length of the Free Marches, Ferelden, and Orlais.”
“And was there ever once been a place that just…called to you? One that made you want to stay in one place?”
“Time and time again…” Thenera’s stomach twisted, and she had to stop. Sucking in a breath, she tamped down the urge to vomit. “M-My thoughts drift back to the Dales. More specifically, the Emerald Graves.”
“Never been, personally.” Dorian was patient, waiting until she nodded before continuing. “But I’ve read about its beauty.”
“It is.” This time it was raw emotion that stole her breath. “It really, really is.”
And Mythal have mercy, all Thenera wanted was to be there again. She would rather die among greenery and wilderness than be trapped and buried within stone walls.
Dorian’s grip tightened on her waist as an anchor. “Paint me a picture, then.”
She latched onto the distraction gratefully. “It was my first Arlathvhen, after my ninth name-day.”
“Arlathvhen?”
“It’s…” Thenera hesitated.
How was she to describe such a thing to a shem? And one from Tevinter, no less.
How could she explain that Elvhen existence itself was an act of rebellion to a man from the Imperium that had scavenged the skeletal remains of ancient Arlathan? Made slaves of her people? How to explain that the Arlathvhen was a sacred gathering of their diaspora — a reminder to those that would see them destroyed or subjugated that despite everything the world had thrown their way, they still survived.
We endure.
But pain, exhaustion, and a dash of distrust kept Thenera’s explanation short. “It’s a gathering of Dalish clans that happens every ten years. We share stories, arrange marriages. That sort of thing.”
“Ah, I see.” Dorian nodded, shifting his weight to help her with the upcoming stairs. “Apologies for my ignorance. Please continue.”
“As…as a child, the clan mostly kept to the Free Marches.” Thenera grit her teeth, taking the first tentative step down. The metal arrowhead shifted as muscles extended and she choked down another rush of bile. “But we received word that this gathering…” Another step, another shock of sharpness. “This gathering was to be held within the Dales.”
Her foot slipped on a mossy stone, and she hissed. Glancing back the way they had come, they had only made it at best twenty feet. And they hadn’t even made it to the second set of stairs.
Fenedhis.
Dorian’s grip tightened both around Thenera’s waist and on the arm draped across his shoulders to steady her. “Which lay in the wilderness of southern Orlais, if my memory serves?”
She nodded and took a moment to catch her breath. “It does. And until then, we’d mostly kept to the Free Marches and northern Ferelden.”
While those places were far from deserts, they held more browns and greys alongside dull greenery. But the moment clan Lavellan entered the Dales in the middle of spring…
Blessed Andruil, there was no comparison. But she did her best to paint what meager picture she could.
The Dales had been the deepest, most vibrant green she had ever seen and stretched as far as the eye could see. Rolling hills of thick forest, with moss covering the tree trunks, and their canopies cast dappled shadows that gave them respite from the midday sun. Not to mention how the grass glittered like diamonds with morning dew.
The creeks and rivers ran crystal clear and held the slightest tang of whatever minerals ran off from upstream. Even the air was…fresher, somehow. And oh, the smells. So many scents — crisp pine, rich cedar, honeysuckles, and so many more that their herbalist didn’t know what to do with. Even with dozens of Dalish clans descending upon the area, they all left with their satchels full near to bursting with extra supplies.
Fresh fruit and lemongrass. Drinking water straight from the rivers. And blessed Sylaise, what I wouldn’t give for a lemon cake or fruit tart right about now.
Thenera’s heart ached and tears welled in her eyes to think she might never see it again.
“It’s…” They reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves back on solid stone. “It’s hard to describe in short bursts…” She swayed slightly, lightheaded. “But it was like stepping into paradise.”
Dorian hummed. “Well, if we ever have to head that way, you’ll have to give me a tour.”
If we survive this.
Thenera roughly shoved that thought aside.
“But to answer your question,” she bit out between clenched teeth. “My home, as you would…would define it…” Another pause, and she all but clung to the shem to remain upright. He bore her weight with nary a complaint. “My home is with Lalen. We’ve traveled together for so long…” Breath hitching, she felt hot tears running down her cheeks. “Well. It’s hard to imagine life without her by my side.”
Next to her, Dorian was silent. But he gave her a chance to breathe before the next landing.
“By the Dread Wolf, there’s still so much I need to say to her, and I…” Thenera bit her lip, fighting back more tears. It wasn’t fair. Lalen never asked for any of this. She took another series of deep breaths and steeled her spirit. Wiping her cheeks clear and lifting her head, she forced confidence back into her voice. “I’ll clear the air with her when we get back.”
Dorian patted her hand. “That’s the spirit!”
Damn it all — more steps.
“And what of you?” Taking the first step, she swallowed a pained whimper. “What do you miss most from Tevinter?”
“Well, first and foremost, paved roads being the rule rather than the exception. Before setting foot in the South, I’d never thought to lament a lack of good masonry.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yet, here we are trudging through the mud.”
Thenera let out a mock-affronted huff. “I quite like the feeling of mud between my toes, actually.”
“You would, my dear. The ways of your people will ever be a mystery to us civilized folk.” Dorian grinned, playfully patting her hip. Then, after considering for a moment, his expression sobered. “But the thing I miss most of all are the simple pleasures of city life. The cacophony of Minrathous’ market square, merchants hawking their wares in a chaotic pidgin of nearly every language you could imagine. The salty scent of the sea and the bracing breeze that came in with the tides.”
I’ve never actually seen the open sea before. Maybe…maybe someday I’ll take Lalen.
“And sweet Maker, the fish.” Eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if escaping back into that memory, Dorian groaned. “Fresh caught every morning and ready for supper alongside herbs picked from our gardens and fresh-baked breads. And how could I forget? The simple pleasure of strolling through a ripened vineyard, ready for harvest.”
“I-It sounds beautiful.” Reaching out, Thenera laid a hand on the nearby stone.
Thank the Creators. No more stairs.
“Oh, I can assure you it is.” Dorian waited patiently while she caught her breath, but his eyes continued to scan the hallways for any potential threats. “I’ll give you a guided tour someday. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Thenera smiled weakly. “I can already imagine the strange looks we’d — wait, do you hear that?
It was faint, but she could have sworn she heard voices. Then, as they drew closer, the song became clear.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer…” the Iron Bull’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Take one down, pass it around — ”
“ — ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall,” came Sera’s bored reply.
“Andraste’s ass. Don’t either of you know any other songs?” Varric groaned, followed by a loud whump! “This is the third time today where you’ve started it from five hundred. It’s getting old.”
The Iron Bull snorted. “Well, it’s this or the creepy as shit tune from the lyrium. Take your pick.”
There was a pause. Then Varric sighed. “Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall — ”
Thenera’s heart soared. They’re alive!
In haste, she stumbled and nearly fell face first.
“Slow down!” Dorian pulled her back against him roughly. “The binding won’t hold if you — ”
“Is someone there?” That voice unmistakably belonged to Solas.
Nearly sobbing in relief, Thenera pressed forward, nearly dragging Dorian along despite the debilitating pain.
Solas will know what to do.
“It’s us!” Dorian called out. “Mostly.”
“The Herald is alive?” Solas’ shaky voice responded.
“Come off it,” Sera scoffed. “We all saw her die.” Her voice sounded…thick, slightly slurred. “Big black smear on the stone and everything.”
“Well, she still might if she doesn’t slow down,” Dorian muttered irritably. Then louder so the others could hear: “The Herald has been shot.”
“We saw the two of you die a year ago,” came Varric’s clarification.
They both froze at his words.
“A year?” Thenera repeated, voice ragged with pain.
Dorian got them moving again, but he grumbled to himself as he urged Thenera towards where Solas’ voice had come from. She breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted his thin fingers curled around the bars of one of the cells.
Lurching forward, she looked expectantly up at him through the bars.
No…no, no, no!
The sight before them destroyed any coherent thought and Thenera could only stare in abject horror.
The malevolent aura that permeated everywhere red lyrium touched thickened and crackled in the air around Solas. Once clear, ice-blue eyes were a sickeningly stark crimson, glowering out of the darkened pits of his skull. And the pallor of his skin, while always having been pale, was now nearly translucent. The visible veins swelled and pulsed angrily.
Blessed Creators, what’s going on here?!