Chapter Text
It was silent at this end of the earth. Breathless beneath perpetual shadow, it lay desolate and jagged as a thousand shattered swords.
The massive crater was embalmed in the ashen remnant of a forgotten battle from a time before the Veil. A scar in the earth where Dreamers had clashed with primordial forces...and each other.
It was so maddeningly quiet, one could hear the blood rushing through their veins.
But if upon the ash one tread, the whispers of those who'd perished would rise in frenzy to feed upon their very essence, pulling them apart until they, too, joined in ash.
Forever famished.
Her eyes never left the colossal corpse far below them. Curving up from the earth in parallels of two for a total of thirty-four, the titanic ribcage had long since petrified into a porous black mineral shot through with the opalised magic that had been the cause of its demise.
This was no place for wolves.
But it was a reminder.
"We have kept vigilance, anticipating the turn of this tide." Yrja cast her hood down as she stepped back into the sanctuary, pressing the rune on the wall. With a resounding boom and the grating of stone on stone, the entry was sealed. "Fen'Harel holds his plans and knowledge under precious guard, as though the very wings of Dirthamen conceal them. Corypheus was worrisome--the newer whispers are no less concerning. Does grief yet still blind him? He seems to be snapping at Death's heels, practically begging it to turn back and swallow him. When the Lord of Dreams is vanquished...I am not sure how even we will fare in face of ancient foes."
Thenon, who had been waiting for her to return, stood from his crouch. "His actions have been...questionable. I cannot follow the rationale. Has he let on anything? Anything at all?"
They walked down a dimly lit hall and emerged into the study. It used to be an ancient arsenal, long since emptied. A single round table squatted in the center with a large caged lantern sitting in the middle, giving off a jaundiced light. It was always disarming to walk into the room with its walls that were riddled with chalk equations, notes, and diagrams. Names connected to places with scrawled lines or thread. Incomplete maps detailing terrain and cities. Acquiring paper had become too much of a risk--there were eyes and ears everywhere, and it was much easier to make charcoal and chalk was just as easy to find.
Behind the papers riddling its surfaces was a telling of the land’s history, woven in the delicate artistry of elvhen tile mosaics. Like all, it bore the weight of memory, crafted by the hands of an elf who had sprung from the very soil beneath their feet. Triangular mirror tiles comprised the glorious forms of native winged horses and griffons, the beasts which soared above emerald fields and forests. The wilds softened into opulent gardens, wreathing the brows of ancient Titans who stood as sentinels over the land. Their Children, depicted in gems of blue, were lovingly shown as gentle gardeners of this realm, tending every root, rock, blossom and branch that grew.
Above it all, the heavens stretched vast and unbroken in hues transitioning from the gold of dawn to mysterious twilight. Stars scattered like precious gems across the firmament, while ribbons of aurora coiled and danced, draping the sky in luminous veils that whispered of forgotten magic and the quiet breath of the Fade.
Tearing her gaze from the walls, Yrja walked to the table where her travelling supplies sat. "I have gleaned very little of his plans regarding the Evanuris. The shadow Inquisition has been in hot pursuit of every lost artefact of interest to Fen'Harel. And I fear our people have turned up very little on the trail of the more volatile ones due to avoiding suspicion or because the Wolf himself was too close." She shook her head. "I...have found nothing, but I confess my focus has turned from that path."
"Are you giving up? There must be something left. Have you not followed the old webs remaining from our former master of secrets?"
"A hope kept in vain--if Ghimyean left anything behind to aid us, it has long been lost to time," she scoffed.
"Then what is left? Do you intend to run head first into Fen'Harel himself?" her friend demanded in frustration, not at their fruitless efforts, she understood, but at her. He knew her tone too well.
"Something like that. Better this than his plan. Most of this world will perish. Forgive me if I don't put any faith in his confidence that a host of spirits will mitigate the loss! Even so, it is all for what? We paltry number of elvhen survivors live to see the world crawl from the ashes again? The very thought bores me. Do not give me that look--it is true!" Yrja chewed her lip against an ornery grin while she went over some of her notes. "Our mortal brethren deserve better than that fate."
"Things have always been interesting with them, I'll grant you that," he mused lowly.
"If we allow Fen'Harel to continue on his way, the wars that will surge in his wake will be pandemic--a tide that swallows us all. Even the Inquisitor might not be enough, for I fear he is running out of options. There are too many terrible corpses our people left behind that these ones would be ravaged by."
"You think the Inquisitor will rise against Fen'Harel? They are friends." Thenon frowned, casting a glance around the area.
"I cannot speak on the Inquisitor's behalf. I wasn't there in the Crossroads with them the first time or any time after that, but it sounds like the Inquisitor refuses to give up on him. Yet friends may still stand on opposite sides of a battlefield, you know this." She glanced over at the time candle in the corner and sighed. She wouldn't be making it to her destination before midnight. Fen'Harel's ritual was in a little over two weeks and every second counted. "I need to go. Time is short."
Thenon blinked and reached out to stop her, looking confused. "Wait--that's it, old friend? All these years..."
She retrieved her pack from beneath the table, shouldering it before meeting his gaze.
"Our friendship has lasted longer than either of us expected to survive, Thenon," she said firmly, but not without fondness. "My contacts and I have one last plan that has been in the works for some time. Fret not, Inaean and Elgalas are taking over. Peace and Hope are fitting, no?" The other elf looked as though he wanted to argue, but then he resigned himself to a solemn nod as he accompanied her to the eluvian in their hold.
"Perhaps," he allowed. "Ironic for someone who holds no love for hope. But I suppose an endeavour like stopping Fen'Harel could be seen as a hopeless one." She snorted and raised her hood again. Thenon activated the portal for her. "I'll keep my hopes for us both, Yrja."
"Ah, spitefully hopeful?" she mused drily.
Thenon quirked a tiny grin. "Only because I know it bothers you. Dareth shiral, lethallan." He reached out slowly and clasped her shoulder with a final smile that held over a thousand years of friendship. Thenon huffed a laugh and pulled her into a tight embrace that she readily returned. No words were exchanged, but it wasn't necessary. Thenon held her at arms length after a minute, hands tight about her shoulders as he took her in with a sense of finality, bright green eyes gleaming. With one last wavering smile, they shared a nod and he watched her step through the mirror.
On the other side, night had fallen. The arid coolness of a desert greeted her. Yrja turned to the Eluvian as the surface stilled and could faintly distinguish the blurred form of Thenon on the other side moving around. Ir abelas, old friend. She raised her hand and clenched it into a fist, shattering the Eluvian. Thenon would burn down the sanctuary on the other side and her job was to destroy the gateway. She could scarcely believe they were finally cutting away from Fen'Harel. Part of her was in shock. The other more hardened part of her had had a hunch since the moment her chains had been broken that the day would come when even this noble cause, the last remnants of their world, her purpose, would finally be led astray. That their noble leader would not always remain so.
Fen'Harel had barely granted his closest agents trust, and a tenuous one at that, while expecting their full dedication in return. His paranoia had increased over time, cutting many away mercilessly if they showed the slightest hesitation. Not that she had ever truly trusted him back. The cause was what she trusted--for the People and their world, always. They had followed him for many, many years in what seemed an endless rebellion against the Evanuris and their ilk. The battle had not ceased even after their sacrifices were forgotten, erased, or reviled, and their leader branded a monster.
But some were finally opening their eyes and as new followers amassed, the zealotry that flooded in was unnerving. Worse, the amount of people who were aware of what it would cost to remake the world and trusted blindly was terrifying. The People were exhausted to the pits of their sundered souls of living in the dirt and fighting for survival since the day they were forced out into the unforgiving world, kicking and screaming. She understood their fervency, for she had lived a perpetual nightmare even when the world had been saturated with dreams. She'd barely experienced the beauty of Elvhenan, for its better aspects had always been held out of reach for the lowborn or those who simply did not fit the right mold. So when Fen'Harel had offered his hand, she had taken it and followed him to war with a burning desire to see justice done for them all.
And she, better than most, knew what it took to bring about a more favourable change. She knew there would be casualties along the way--there always were--but this time there was full awareness. This time, Fen'Harel knew and made them aware that in order to help their people again it would result in wiping out most the world's population. She had silently forgiven him for the Veil--he had not known it would destroy their world or their people, and while he'd viewed it as worse than before, it had bought them time.
However, she could find no excuse or justification for this new pursuit. At least, not one he cared to share--or deigned to trust anyone with. And that was not something she could follow anymore.
Yrja travelled for several days across the terrain of Tevinter, through its lush and tangled forests, over a mountain, and along an ancient road overgrown since the fall of Arlathan. More than often she flew, keeping to the outskirts as was necessary in these times. War tore at Thedas and the roads were just as dangerous to travel as passing across a battlefield itself.
Eventually, Minrathous came into sight, with its massive stone golems that guarded its boundaries, the moonlight carved them to look like standing skeletons.
From her vantage, she could see the magically sustained towers and a thousand other magics lighting the city. The single bridge into Minrathous was daunting, but she'd seen more secluded places in the time of Elvhenan.
Sneaking across the bridge and through its gates under guise of feather was a breeze. Once in, she cast off feather for a cloak woven of magic that rendered her invisible only to those that knew what to look for. And then she followed the directions she had been given her to the safehouse.
The magical metropolis was...still incomparable to Arlathan or any cities that had existed during the Elvhen Empire, but for being human built, it was impressive. The humans had come a ways from when they had been nothing but tribes.
She did not waste time ogling the architecture. Though fascinating, Minrathous was seedy and dangerous. Besides being populated by shady mages, lots of questionable structures were literally being held stubbornly in place with layers of stabilising magic. Splinted again and again like brittle bones prone to breakages, the Imperium was simply a corpse that refused to die. A boggling mystery to even the Nevarrans, surely.
Eventually, she found her destination in a splendid estate surrounded by tall white walls. Minrathous always set her on edge, but looking upon a place this exposed, she felt uneasy. After so many years spent scheming in covert locations and going through great pains to keep their plans protected, this felt like walking into an open field during a lightning storm wearing full plate armour.
She sighed. If this was where her partner had been experimenting from, she hoped he had remained undetected. He was the farthest thing from stupid and she trusted his judgement.
Yrja slipped on through past the guards at the gate, reminding herself to tell him he needed to set wards around his place if he wanted to keep spies out. She quickly passed into the alabaster halls and immediately picked up on conversation, though it was faint and far away. She followed the voices through extravagant corridors and chambers, glad that the place was utterly dead at night. She was also relieved to see no signs of servants, which meant her tentative friend had likely heeded her warning about Fen'Harel having eyes and ears everywhere.
Finally, the elf rounded a corner to see a large open balcony whose view was to die for. The presence of both moons illuminated the marble, giving it the feeling of standing upon the surface of one. Long sheer curtains decorated the entrance of the balcony and exotic plants in expensive pots dotted every corner. At the other side of the balcony, two men stood—the source of the conversation. One she recognised as Dorian Pavus himself, dressed in finery to match the small palace, and the other was a taller, travel worn man whose face she could not see as it was obscured by a hood.
"I believe our guest has arrived safe and sound," Dorian suddenly said, voice rising. Yrja stepped through the drapes to join them in the moonlight, letting her spell unravel.
"I see you've been practicing the detection spell?" she said, casting her hood down.
"Indeed! I imagine you think me an imbecile having not placed a ward or more competent guards at the gate?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I see your point, but had I been an assassin—" she gestured from herself to him, indicating the short distance.
He waved her off. "I detected you as soon as you reached the inside. I'd plenty of time to figuratively arm myself against figurative intruders."
The man in the dark cloak made a noise in his throat and shook his head.
"Bloody cocky, this one." Dorian smiled crookedly at the other man. "You've yet to introduce us, vhenan." Yrja's eyebrows shot up into her hair.
"Judging by her expression, she needs none now," the Magister mused.
"Perhaps, but I still have no idea who she is," the Inquisitor sighed.
Dorian snapped his fingers. "This is Yrja. She's an agent of our dear Apostate-turned-God." The Inquisitor straightened to his full height and raised a hand, slowly removing his hood. He was a handsome elf, strong and broad and tall. A single raw scar stemmed from the corner of his mouth nearly up to his cheekbone and another dashed across his nose. The Inquisitor was as striking as he was fierce, but even without knowing him she could see that the race against Fen'Harel had not been kind to him.
"It is good to finally meet you, Inquisitor," she said, inclining her head.
"Funny, because until the other day, I hardly knew a name, and a fake one at that. And yet it seems you and Dorian have been in contact for quite some time," he said, not bothering to mask irritation. Dorian shuffled, looking guilty.
"She contacted me," he argued.
"How much does he know?" she asked the Tevinter.
"Who are you, really? Dorian says you're as old as Sol—Fen'Harel himself," the Inquisitor said, eyes flashing. Yrja glanced at Dorian, who she had never really explained her background to in detail. "Do you know Abelas? Are you one of the sentinels who guarded the Temple of Mythal?" Dorian tsked.
"If you keep asking questions, she will never be able to answer," he quipped. The Inquisitor glared at her, waiting. She found a pit of ice had formed in her stomach.
"I was one of few who watched over Fen'Harel as he slept." She walked over to the balustrade to mask her nervousness. "No, I was not one of the sentinels of Sorrow. Did Fen'Harel mention any of his agents, ever?"
"He mentioned spies in the Inquisition...and those involved in leading Corypheus to the orb." She nodded. Lavellan gasped.
"No. You? You're responsible for letting that monster get his hands on that relic?" Even Dorian remained silent, as this was a revelation to him as well. "Then...then..."
"If not me, someone else would have been in my place. At the time, we thought his plan must have been complicated for him to decide that Corypheus was a good idea." She looked over at the two men. "But I still could have taken the orb somewhere safe, away from him. I would have been hunted, but I could have prevented—" She broke off and when she turned to face them again, their expressions told her they understood it was pointless to keep following that train of thought. "We may be doomed in this time—or at least most of the world's population is. Fen'Harel will release the Evanuris. He has not taken into account the hundreds of elves that still wear their vallaslin—how many will flock to them without question. He may have them now, but there will be a fissure that he does not see—at least not until it's too late. There will be war driven by the vengeance of the Evanuris and blood will flow in oceans. And Fen'Harel believes he can stop them alone and face whatever else may arise with them." Lavellan's eyes had closed and hard lines had formed on his face.
"Alone. As he thinks he must do with everything," Lavellan remarked bitterly. "Oh, Solas..."
"Which is why Yrja and Varric's contacts are going to sabotage him and return to the past. Well, her, specifically," Dorian chimed in. Lavellan stared agape at them both. He stuck a finger in his ear, twisted it around, and then blinked.
"What? What good would that do? She goes back but we'll still be here! Remember that one time we time travelled in Redcliffe? Leliana said it was real for her--it will be real for us!"
Dorian looked affronted.
"I've done copious amounts of research on time travel since then. I even recovered some old notes from my time with Alexius! I have this figured out, amatus. Go on, tell me I'm the best." Lavellan swore and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yrja rolled her shoulders, turning to face them.
"What Fen'Harel plans to do regarding the Veil will weaken him," she said, "If I interfere, his spell will fail, he will be weakened, and perhaps then he will listen. But if Dorian's new time spell works correctly, this timeline will cease to exist and it will be like hitting reset on everything."
The Inquisitor looked at his lover who gave him a reassuring smile.
"And what do you plan to do once you've...gone back?"
Yrja gave him a wry grin.
"I'm going to steal Fen'Harel's orb. I will find Dorian in the other timeline, request his help, and with the orb I plan on preventing him from coming into the power that he stole. Then we will finally have his true attention. He will listen."
"Stole?" Lavellan asked.
Well, forgot about that.
"He...took on Mythal's power. Potentially also Urthemiel's, but it's possible that Mythal put the soul somewhere safe before that happened," she decided to admit. "Which is another matter I will tend to when I go back. When he wakes up, he will have nothing but his own cunning...which is dangerous on its own, but...I have plans." Lavellan nodded thoughtfully and she knew she was slowly winning him over.
"Do you know him? Solas? Were you friends, ever?" That was an odd turn in topic.
"Not like you, no," she answered slowly, "It's complicated, but you do not need to worry about recognition."
"Avoiding recognition doesn't seem possible for someone that watched over him for hundreds of years. But that's not what I meant," the Inquisitor said, reaching into his cloak near where she imagined his prosthetic would be. "Not sure what you've seen or what you know, but Solas is a good man and...family to me. Maybe I had hoped...no, nevermind. I won't make your task more difficult than it is." She considered her words carefully. Genuine friends and interpersonal relationships were not exactly her forte.
"There were followers, and then there were his friends. Fen'Harel fell unconscious after he constructed the Veil but he did not hand pick who would watch him. He trusted us."
The Inquisitor went through a cycle of looking intrigued, then perplexed before he shook his head slowly. Perhaps her answer was not what he'd been expecting?
"Then are you a spy? What purpose do you serve in his ranks?" Lavellan asked.
"I serve no purpose to anyone but myself. I joined him during the rebellion against the Evanuris because I agreed they needed to be taken down. Whoever could fight was welcome. It is no more than that," she sighed. "And now, he must be stopped." A grim silence weighed with sorrow hung in the air.
"You won't hurt him, will you?" Yrja and Dorian both looked at him. Lavellan's eyes were filled with worry, which was not what she had expected from the man whose entire life had been turned upside down. "His plans may be wrong, but Solas is my friend. My brother. He's...lost. I want to help him see, not to further drive into his head that our world is not worth saving." Yrja's face softened at the younger elf.
"I promise I won't hurt him." And that was a vow she would have kept on her own, regardless.
A little over two weeks later, Dorian emerged from his massive study bearing a smile that stretched ear to ear. After some gloating and stroking of his ego, he finally explained that he had perfected the spell and had managed to confine it to a disc the size of her hand. It was made of a strange black stone that reflected everything in it and yet made it feel as though she were looking into oblivion—which was fitting, considering its purpose.
"You, with this, will need to hold it near...let's just say wherever Solas is concentrating. The closer the better, as it needs to be super-charged by magic. The disc will do the rest," he'd told her before running off to find Lavellan. She stayed in the gardens, probing the precious artefact that would change everything. The morning after she'd arrived, others had trickled in from different corners of the world and she had not been determined to meet any of them. All were former Inquisition members. She did not trust any of them, but she did trust Dorian, so she left him to describe the plan to the others. She was not sure how much they could help, but perhaps he was simply warning their friends—preparing them for what was to come. She would not fail. Could not fail.
Come the next evening, she would journey to a temple hidden in Arlathan Forest where Fen'Harel would tear down the Veil. Until then, she had only a few hours to steel herself for the monumental task of crossing the Dread Wolf himself. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she was caught.
Her privacy was shortlived, as a servant summoned her to meet with the Inquisitor again. He and everyone else had been gathering every day to recall as much detail as they could of things that had happened during the time of the Inquisition. Varric Tethras sat nearby creating a transcript for her, pausing to exchange warm claps on the back and inside jokes, the two of them having worked a few times together over the last year. But then she noticed a new arrival--a woman, regal and dressed opulently, sitting on a chaise nearby observing her openly. When Yrja engaged her with her eyes, the woman opened her mouth.
"My dear, let us say you are successful and Dorian's magic doesn't turn you to vapour—when Solas in the past sees you, as I imagine he might, will he recognise you? Aside from your armour, your kind seems to be...distinct." Yrja remained stone-faced, surprised that the stranger knew so much.
"Physique is easily masked by proper attire, Madam de Fer," Dorian interjected without looking up from his book.
Yrja shrugged.
"I have not seen him in months, either way," she said, forcing one of the companions to stop their account of things. "But, I have rarely kept the same appearance to my hair. Last he saw me, my head and brows were shorn! Recently, I allowed it to grow back, more specifically for this purpose." She turned her attention back to Warden Rainier and nodded for him to resume his story.
She sat through hours of retellings, but it was necessary. Especially when it came time to hear out the Inquisitor's account. She hung onto every word as though Master Tethras wasn't writing it all down for her.
Something particularly interesting that she'd never heard had her holding her hand up at one point.
"—The orb. Its destruction may be why he sought out Mythal. We thought he needed her essence, but now...I wonder if it was only her power," she realised. Everyone was silent.
"Do you think that if you steal it, he will go after her anyway?" Lavellan asked, following a different line of thought.
"I...I don't know. But that is why I plan on reaching her before he does."
Varric leaned back in his chair with a groan. "Why did I ever agree to this," he mumbled. "The more you all go on about the past and what's yet to happen, the more it seems insane and impossible."
"Yet we lived through the insane and the impossible before, old friend," Lavellan said with a smile. "'Sides, if this fails, we will continue to search for a way to change Solas' mind."
"I know, your Inquisitorialness. You always find a way. But last I heard, he was bringing the Veil down tomorrow."
A heavy silence fell over them all.
"The Veil is already threadbare. He is only speeding up the inevitable because he knows there are people out to get him," Yrja said, then held up Dorian's disc. "And we have our way, Varric! We are closer than ever. Don't start with that I'm getting too old for this bullshit, I'll win that whine-off." The dwarf cracked a grin, remembering ones they'd had in the past.
"Do you think that's why he had us activate those artefacts all those years ago? To buy us more time before it all...comes crashing down?" Lavellan asked, eyes widening in realisation. Yrja didn't know what he referred to, but hedged a shrug.
"Whatever he did during your time together was likely geared toward his plans. He's been pushed into desperation now. Instead of finding a gentler way of dissolving it, it seems he wants to tear it down. I believe he wants to reach the other Evanuris before they are freed by other means," she said. The Inquisitor shook his head sorrowfully.
"When you return to the past...we must all help him see the folly of his ways," he said. Only a few of the others nodded their determination and she was not surprised.
"I will not fail," Yrja said. "There is no room for it. If it costs me my life, so be it, but I will not give up." Most of them seemed reassured, except for Vivienne, the Spymaster, and the ex-Commander of the Inquisition.
"Is there anything else?" Lavellan asked, eager to supply her with any information. He had quickly warmed up to her, which had been a surprise. She had always imagined him as a grim, humourless leader. But surrounded by his friends she could see that she had been completely wrong. The grim face was the mask he wore as the Inquisitor.
Having been reminded of masks, "Briala. She had control of the Eluvians before?" The Inquisitor nodded. "And you met her?"
"At the Winter Palace, yes," he said. "Why?"
"I'm considering all options. I'll need to reach her before Fen'Harel overrides the network. Or this Morrigan you mentioned." Yrja looked at Varric and nodded for him to add that to the transcript.
"D'ya think it'll hurt?" Everyone turned their heads to the young elf sitting perched in a chair. Sera, she recalled. "You said it'd be like closin' our eyes, Inky."
"There is nothing to fear," Dorian pitched in. "It will be like waking up from a dream and none of us will remember anything that happened. Except, you know, for Yrja."
"But...will I still be me?" There was real fear in the young girl's eyes. Just as there was weariness written in all of their features. They had been fighting hard for a long time.
"It is not only the Evanuris we must worry about--Thedas is infested with horrors. We've only seen the beginning. The Evanuris, however, would see the entire world destroyed. Fen'Harel is not our enemy. I don't believe that," Yrja said, drawing their attention. "But trust us when we say tampering with time is the better option." Sera didn't look appeased, but she fell silent, avoiding eye contact with everyone. If anything, their doubt became Yrja's strength.
And even in this small window she'd been given among the original members of the Inner Circle, she grew angry with Fen'Harel. How could he, how could any of his people continue this death march when the Inquisition was right here with a leader who wanted desperately to help the Dread Wolf find another way? She did not understand why Fen'Harel did not see that after he'd spent years in their ranks and had experienced firsthand the promising potential of this diverse group. Yin Lavellan was compassionate and intelligent and his inner circle had proved to be some of the most respectable people she had seen in all her years living in this world. She thought that a brilliant mind like Fen'Harel would have asked for their help. Was it pride that stayed his hand? Trust? Both?
It hardly mattered now. Fen'Harel had made his choice and so had she.
