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Dorian awoke with a terrible hangover. When he tried to sit up, the room spun. Normally, this would have prompted him to remain in bed, but he found himself in the unfortunate situation of being both excruciating thirsty and desperately needing to pee. He might—although it was too soon to be sure—also need to vomit. Again.
Decency required that he wrap his bedsheet around his waist, because his robes were in shreds; beneath the ruined cloth, his back was covered with livid scratches. When he stepped onto the floor, his foot came into contact with something wriggling and alive.
“Argh,” Inquisitor Lavellan groaned from where she was bundled on the floor with the rest of Dorian’s bedding. She looked as awful as Dorian felt.
“So it wasn’t all a dream,” croaked Dorian. “Damn.”
12 hours earlier…
The night had begun in a normal enough manner. Dorian had been sitting in the tavern with Sera, Varric, and The Iron Bull. They had been laughing about something—Cullen, probably—when Inquisitor Lavellan had entered looking utterly dejected.
“Is there something different about you, Inquisitor?” asked Varric.
“Of courst, idiot. Her elfy marks are gone,” said Sera helpfully.
“I didn’t know you could remove the vallaslin,” said Dorian, who didn’t mind taking any opportunity to show off his superior cultural knowledge. Sera made a farting noise.
“I don’t think the Dalish usually try,” said Iron Bull. “You all right, Boss?”
Lavellan didn’t reply, just shook her head and slumped into a bar stool. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying. The beauty of the Inquisitor was widely praised, but even her most ardent admirers would have had trouble finding to something to compliment at that moment.
“What happened?” asked Sera. “I thought you loved all that elfy shite. I hope this means you’re also going to stop wearing stirrup leggings.”
“Ask Solas,” murmured Lavellan, staring fixedly at the rough, unfinished wood of the bar top.
The group exchanged looks. Now was probably not the time to tally up who had won their bet on how long a romance between the Inquisitor and the elven apostate would last. Besides, Dorian was reasonably sure that he had lost.
“It sounds like you need a drink, Inquisitor,” said Varric.
"Or seven,” said Bull. He took a tankard from the collection of glasses in front of him and handed it to her. “Here, take this. It’s one of my back-up drinks.”
“I don’t know what you saw in soul-ass anyway, with his great big bald head. He looks like an egg. D’you know where eggs come from? A chicken’s arsehole. That means, on the worst day of its entire life, some chicken probably shat Solas.”
“At least you know he doesn’t have lice,” said Varric as Lavellan began to chug her drink.
The rest of the evening transformed into an extended attempt to cheer up the Inquisitor, featuring a raucous rendition of “I May be a Tiny Apostate, but I’ve got an Enormous Staff1—recited by Varric, after they tried (and failed) to inveigle a performance out of Maryden the Bard—and a game of darts that involved Sera perched precariously on The Iron Bull’s horns.
6 hours earlier…
Eventually the tavern emptied out, except for a man dozing in the corner who Dorian suspected never left. The group had grown quiet except for the occasional remark. Sera was sprawled full-length across a table, snoring gently. Lavellan clutched vaguely at her cup and returned Dorian’s gaze with a glassy-eyed look. They had managed to coax some laughter out of her earlier, but she had clearly reverted back to her former maudlin state.
“I’ve lost everything,” she whispered.
“Pretty sure I’m still here,” Dorian slurred. “Charming Tevinter, all that. Can’t go wrong there. Have you seen my mustache?”
“Everything I’ve loved is gone,” said Lavellan. “My clan, my home, my…Solas.”
“Do you want to have a punching contest? That always makes me feel better,” said Bull.
But Lavellan just shook her head. She was starting at Dorian as if his face were a complicated riddle she was trying to solve. She leaned in close. “Dorian, do you still have the amulet Alexus…Lexius…you know. Do you still have his amulet? I want to try a time travel spell.”
Dorian raised a suspicious eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m gonna fix things with me and Solas,” she said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” said Dorian.
“I’m gonna do it,” said Lavellan, and without warning, sprang out of her chair and ran outside. Dorian followed her at a slower pace. He found her in a heap at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne room; apparently the vertical incline had proved too much for her.
“I just can’t handle this right now,” Lavellan said after Dorian helped her to her feet. She began to stagger up the stairs. “Just…everything. I’m supposed to save the world, and be a Herald and run the Inquisition, and you’d think that would be stressful enough without some ass of an elf breaking my heart for no good reason. Hold on, I have to pee. Why can I never find a privy in this blighted castle?”
After a brief detour to a discreet hedge in the garden, Dorian followed Lavellan to the library, where she unveiled her plan. “I’m not gonna try and change his mind,” she explained in a low voice in case Solas, who spent most of his time in the rotunda below, overheard. “We all know what a stubborn bastard he is.” Then, throwing caution to the wind, she leaned over the railing that overlooked Solas’ chamber and yelled, “STUBBORN BASTARD.”
“Anyway,” resumed Lavellan in a loud whisper. “I just want to delay things a bit. I’m not ready to cope with this. Most people would agree I have enough on my bloody plate. I think everyone would prefer it if I go into battle still believing that there’s anything left to fight for.”
“I understand how you feel,” said Dorian. “I really do. Remember when my father tried to change my brain with blood magic? That was really sad.”
“Really sad,” Lavellan agreed. “I wanted to punch your dad in his face. With my foot.”
“But I got over it,” said Dorian, who was in fact feeling quite lighthearted, if a touch woozy. “More or less.”
“You're a better man than I am, that's why."
Dorian could hardly deny the veracity of this statement.
"It’s not like I want to go that far back, Dorian. Just a day. One little day can’t hurt.”
She started pawing through his notes, and held up a sheaf of papers. “This is the spell right?”
He squinted at it. “I think so.”
“Are you going to help me or not? Because I’m doing it with or without you.”
18 hours earlier
The Inquisitor sat in her chambers, racked with sobs. She was allowing herself to cry in that messy, loud way of people who are so overwhelmed by everything that appearances have ceased to matter. Soaked handkerchiefs surrounded her, and she was clutching another one, occasionally dabbing uselessly at her leaky eyes or nose.
A loud thud sounded in the hall outside her chamber, followed by some muffled cursing. Trying to collect herself, Lavellan made her way towards the door. As she opened it she heard someone saying, “—mad crying. We’re too late, it’s got to be earlier.”
Someone else replied, their words unintelligible but obviously irate. Lavellan didn’t have time to ponder what all this meant, however, because when she yanked open the door, she was met with the murderous, many-eyed stare and flashing fangs of a Greater Terror.
22 hours earlier…
“Why do you always seem so guilty when we kiss? It’s like you think that every time we touch, an Archdemon kills a kitten.” Lavellan accused as she and Solas stood on her balcony. He was looking at her with his usual agonized expression. She tilted her head up and stared at him searchingly, and then took a step back, her hand over her mouth.
“Creators,” she breathed. “Are you….you are, aren’t you? It all makes sense! Your secretiveness, your evasive answers about your past. I know what you’re hiding.”
Solas tensed.
“You’re married!”
“Yes, I’m Fen—wait, what? No.” He laughed, a bit too loudly.
“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
“Then what is the problem?” Lavellan demanded. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Now that you mention it…”
“Lavellan?” There was an insistent knocking at the door. “LAVELLAN. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE,” shouted a familiar-sounding female voice, although Lavellan couldn’t think who it might be.
“Inquisitor?” Dorian’s voice was unmistakable. “Could we see you for a moment, please?” The pounding on the door continued.
“Oh, for—fine.” Lavellan went over and jerked open the door. Dorian was standing there giggling. Standing beside him was a scrawny figure that was swathed in an overlarge cloak. The figure was emitting noises that sounded suspiciously like snorts of laughter.
“Come on!” said Dorian, grabbing Lavellan by the arm.
“What’s going on, Dorian?” she asked.
“I am a genius, that’s what,” said Dorian, as they made their way to the courtyard with only minimal stumbling.
“Are you drunk? Who is this?” asked Lavellan, indicating the hooded figure.
“Shhhhhhhhhh. 'S a secret.” This was followed by more giggling. By the time they finally reached a secluded shed near the garden, Lavellan’s patience was spent.
“I demand to know—ARGH! DEMON!” she cried, when Dorian’s companion threw back her hood.
“I’m not a demon,” said Future!Lavellan. “I’m you.”
“She’s telling the truth, Inquisitor,” said Dorian.
“YOU’RE A DEMON, TOO!” said Lavellan, who was by now wishing that she had brought her staff with her. She just felt so invulnerable when she was in Skyhold, she didn’t usually think to carry it with her. Still, she didn’t need a staff to cast a spell. She was about to hurl a fireball when her doppelganger tackled her.
“Don’t do it! You’ll kill us!”
“That’s the point!”
“I mean yourself too. Why am I such an idiot?”
“Get off me!”
Dorian watched with delight as the Lavellans rolled around, neither able to gain the upper hand. Future!Lavellan gave a yowl of frustration. “You once laughed so hard at one of Varric’s jokes that you peed a little!” she cried.
Lavellan stopped struggling. “How…?” she panted, red-faced from exertion and, Dorian guessed, embarrassment.
“Because I’m you. You’re me. We’re the same. I came back to warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
“Solas.”
“What about Solas?”
“You need to stay away from him for a while. He’s going to try and talk to you, and you need to avoid that conversation at all costs.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Yes, Inquisitor, why would the Inquisitor do that?” asked Dorian pointedly.
“Ah,” said Future!Lavellan. “Well, there is a very good reason. It has to do with…Corypheus.”
“But if Solas knows something about Corypheus, shouldn’t I want to know that as soon as possible?”
“Not about Corypheus per se….”
“Is it…Creators, is he going to break up with me…er, us…?”
“Ummm…”
“I knew it!” Lavellan’s eyes filled with tears.
Future!Lavellan smacked a hand to her forehead as she watched her past self curl into a fetal position and begin to sob. “This is not turning out as I planned,” she said.
“Don’t look at me,” said Dorian. “I work for you.”
“Well, now she…I…now we know, so our purpose for coming back here is entirely defeated,” said Future!Lavellan, raising her voice so she could be heard over her past self’s wails of “SOLAS, WHYYYYY.”
“Maybe if we could just go back a few minutes and intercept ourselves in the courtyard…” Future!Lavellan mused.
“Then what?”
‘Or, maybe we can go back further, and prevent me from seeing Solas at all. He can’t leave me if I’m not there!” She frowned. “Do you think it would be wrong if we just abducted him a little bit?”
“Abducted him a little bit?” echoed Dorian in disbelief. “Yes, Solas suddenly going missing for no reason would not distract you at all.”
“Or! We could kidnap me instead. That way—”
Mercifully, this line of reasoning was cut off by a resounding crash from outside, followed by loud screaming. The door to the shed began to splinter as a clawed hand shoved its way through.
“Come on, Lavellan, get ahold of yourself!” Future!Lavellan urged as she as she tried to haul herself up.
“I CAN’T,” Lavellan cried, refusing to be peeled off the floor. “JUST LET ME DIE.”
“How am I this heavy?” grunted Future!Lavellan. “Dorian, do you think I’m getting fat?”
“Do we have to discuss this now?”
“So you do think so?”
“No, you just have no strength in those chicken arms of yours.”
Future!Lavellan hurled a lightning bolt at the encroaching demon, which caused it to withdraw, but also damaged the door, facilitating the ingress of more creatures.
“Inquisitor, we can’t let them see you and the Inquisitor together. They might kill one of you.”
“ME. THEY CAN KILL ME,” said Lavellan.
“Creators, I am pathetic!” shrieked Future!Lavellan, giving herself a sharp kick in the stomach. Lavellan groaned, while Future!Lavellan winced and rubbed her sternum. “That left a bruise,” she said.
The hand was back, this time joined by a head and torso as the Terror forced its way into the small chamber. Before Dorian could intercede, the Terror grabbed Future!Lavellan by the shoulders and shook her vigorously before tossing her against the wall, where she slumped motionless. Moments later, the Terror itself was toppled by a flurry of crossbow bolts as outside, the rest of the Inquisition rallied to fight the invaders.
“Wake up, Inquisitor,” said Dorian, smacking Future!Lavellan none-too-gently on the cheeks.
“Inquisitor? Are you all right? Solas told me he saw you come this way,” came a voice.
“Uh oh,” said Dorian, recognizing the voice’s owner.
“Who are—DEMONS. EVERYBODY, I’VE FOUND MORE DEMONS,” said Past!Dorian.
“I’m not a demon! I’m you from the future!” said Dorian.
“That’s exactly what a demon would say,” replied Past!Dorian.
“No, a demon would be trying to possess you. I, on the other hand, have no interest in possessing you.”
“Now I know you’re lying; I would definitely want to possess myself. Demon.”
“They’re telling the truth,” said Lavellan. “Solas is going to leave me,” she added miserably.
“The Inquisitor was very upset after being deserted by a certain elven apostate, and convinced me to take her back in time and try and avert the whole thing, at least until after Corypheus’ defeat,” Dorian explained hurriedly. “Now please don’t kill us, we’re too pretty to die, and anyway, can you imagine how embarrassing the epitaph would be?”
“Wait, so you—I agreed to go back in time to avoid potential heartbreak?”
“If it helps, we were really drunk at the time. I still am, although I’m precariously close to becoming more sober than I’d like.”
“Assuming that you are not, in fact, demons, it seems that your little jaunt into the past has disturbed the Veil and summoned them to Skyhold,” said Past!Dorian.
“It might not be our fault,” said Future!Lavellan, who was conscious. “But if it is, I'm definitely suffering for it." She groaned. "I hurt in all the places.”
“It’s definitely your fault. How will you fix this?” demanded Past!Dorian.
“Honestly? I was thinking we should just hop back to the future and let our past selves deal with it. We’re very resourceful, and I’m sure everything will be fine,” said Dorian.
“OR, we could go back and stop you halfwits from attempting this in the first place. Damage has already been done. I saw one of these creatures rip a man’s arm off!”
“Is he still alive?” asked Dorian.
“Yes, but that’s beside the point!”
“Oh, so you think that just because he’s missing an arm, he can’t enjoy life as fully as we can? I’m disappointed to hear myself voicing such prejudice.”
“It’s your fault he doesn’t have that arm in the first place!” Past!Dorian turned to Lavellan. “One of them bit your precious Solas!”
“In the face?” asked Future!Lavellan hopefully. “All right, fine, there’s no need to look at me that way. I know this is all my fault,” she sighed.
There was silence.
“Well, don’t everyone rush to disagree all at once,” Future!Lavellan grumbled.
“What did you do?” moaned Lavellan.
“Haven’t you been listening?” snapped her future self.
“I meant, to make Solas leave us. You must have done something. Did you argue with him about the Temple of Mythal again? Or the Grey Wardens? Or those bloody mages?”
“I did no such thing!” insisted Future!Lavellan, affronted. “And you agreed with my decisions because you made them! Solas wouldn’t say why. You know how frustratingly cryptic he can be. At first I thought all the mystery was sort of adorable, but now it’s just—”
“Exasperating, I know. It’s like, Solas, I’m not an imbecile—I realize something is going on—”
“But I’m just too polite to say anything! If it’s that important to him to have his secrets, then fine.”
“Wait, you mean you don’t know what he’s hiding? Has that Anchor addled your brains?” asked Past!Dorian incredulously. “I assumed that it was a secret you higher-ups weren’t deigning to share with us peons, but I thought you at least had a clue. Clearly I overestimated you.”
“There’s been a lot going on!” said Future!Lavellan defensively.
“Yes, I think we all know what you were too busy doing,” said Dorian. Both Lavellans blushed and scowled.
“You weren’t too smart to not go along with my plan,” Future!Lavellan pointed out.
“There’s a reason I’m one of the peons.”
The fighting outside seemed to have subsided, and the group could hear shouting as the Inquisitor’s remaining friends and companions called for her.
“We’d better go,” said Future!Lavellan. “Should we go forward a few hours and help me before we go back…er, forward again?”
“You mean this isn’t even the first stop you made?” howled Past!Dorian. “I never thought anything would make my question my opinion of myself, but you’re cutting it dangerously close, Pavus.” The two men glared at themselves.
“Where are the vallaslin?” Lavellan asked herself.
“Well, Solas said—” Future!Lavellan started to say, and then vanished.
“Um…Dorians?” Lavellan asked tentatively, her voice tinged with fear. “Where did I go?” She gestured to the empty space beside her.
“Uh-oh. I think that means something happens to the Inquisitor in the future,” said Dorian.
“You mean, possibly she dies at the hands of one of the demons you idiotically summoned, thus dooming not just the Inquisition, but the entire world?” raved Past!Dorian
“What are you blaming me for? You heard the Inquisitor. This is her fault too!”
Lavellan’s eyes were still puffy from crying, but her mouth had thinned into a line of steely resolve. “I suppose we’ve got to go save me from myself.”
“I’m coming too,” said Past!Dorian. “I don’t trust my sodding drunk self not to muck things up further.”
“If I’m such a liability, won’t you coming make things twice as likely to go wrong?”
“Hah! As if I’d believe anything you said about mathematics. I know how we fared in school.”
“If you two are quite finished bickering, maybe we can go save my life? Wait, where did the other you just go?”
“Hmn. Interesting. I suppose if you die before you can convince me to take you back in time, we never make the trip in the first place.”
“But we did make the trip. Or, they did.”
“Yes, but not anymore, apparently.”
“So why didn’t they disappear at the same time?”
“I have no idea.”
“Blight it all. Fine, let’s go and practice some more magic we can neither properly comprehend nor control.”
11 hours later…
Lavellan rifled through the notes piled on Dorian’s desk. “This is the spell, right?”
Dorian squinted at it. “I think so.”
A swirling tunnel of light appeared.
“Did you do that?” asked Lavellan.
“No…”
A dark shape hurtled through the tunnel, barreling into him and knocking him off his feet.
“Got him!” cried Past!Dorian.
“Stop what you’re doing!” cried Past!Lavellan.
“Relax,” said Lavellan. “We’re not going to cast the spell. We remembered what happened and came here to meet you to avoid causing any more trouble.”
“Although you still got drunk, I see,” said Past!Lavellan disapprovingly.
“You’re just jealous that it’s not your turn yet.”
“Ugh, would it have killed us to clean off the demon gunk first?” Complained Dorian, from where he was still pinned to the floor by Past!Dorian. Both visitors from the past were drenched in blood and viscera, as if they had just taken an extremely gory bath.
“No, but it would have killed you,” said Past!Dorian crisply.
“Before you start criticizing, our plan sort of worked,” Lavellan told them. “Everyone was so distracted by fighting demons, Solas didn’t get a chance to abandon me. Us. He asked me to accompany him to Crestwood tomorrow, but at least now I’m prepared for what’s in store. I’ve been practicing different reactions. I even looked up the Elven for, ‘Your loss, asshole.’”
“They have that in a book?” asked Past!Lavellan, intrigued.
“It’s a rough translation. I wanted to find ‘sonofabitch’ too, but the best I could do was ‘child of wolf kin,’ which doesn’t sound nearly as insulting.”
“See?” Dorian clapped his past self on the back. “It was all worth it.”
Past!Dorian started to rise when Dorian stopped him.
“One more thing,” he said. Lavellan felt her eyes widen as she saw Dorian clasp himself in a passionate embrace, demon gunk and all, and bestow a lingering kiss upon his own lips.
“We’ve always wanted to do that,” the Dorians said in unison, then grinned.
“Much more satisfying than a mirror,” said Dorian.
Lavellan made a disgusted noise.
“You need to ask Cassandra for tips on expressing disdain,” observed Past!Dorian.
Lavellan was opening her mouth to reply when she was grabbed from behind.
“There’s a demon behind you,” said Dorian belatedly.
“Don’t mind me,” Lavellan grunted, as she froze the Terror with magic and started battering it with her staff. “Just continue gazing deeply into each other’s eyes while I fight this demon, you narcissist. Narcissists. Whatever. Jackasses.”
“You’re doing a smashing job on your own, Inquisitor,” called Dorian.
“Next time you’re bruised and bloodied on the battlefield, I’m going to remember you said that,” huffed Lavellan. “Aren’t you going to help me?” she asked, appealing to her past self.
“No, you’ve earned this,” said Past!Lavellan.
Swearing, Lavellan aimed another blow at the monster. Unfortunately, at that moment the ice spell wore off, and Lavellan barely ducked in time to avoid a vicious swipe. “May I remind you that I already fought the same demons you did, since I’m you?” Lavellan yelled as she sprinted around the library, the Terror in pursuit.
“That’s why I trust that you’ll do fine,” said Past!Lavellan. “We only died last time because we were ambushed.”
Lavellan managed to incinerate the Terror—and a shelfful of books—with a sheet of flame. Afterwards, she poked through the ashes, looking for anything of value.
“I hope I didn’t ruin anything too expensive,” she sighed.
“In this den of literary mediocrity?” said Dorian. “I doubt it.”
“I’m going to tell Varric you said that,” said Lavellan.
“Enjoyable as this bizarre reunion is, we’d probably better return to when we came from,” said Past!Dorian. “If my theory is correct, the longer we disrupt the Veil by displacing ourselves in time, the more demons will appear.”
After dispatching their selves back in time, Dorian and Lavellan exited the library, taking a route that bypassed Solas’ chamber. Although, judging from his lack of reaction to the shouting and demon fighting, the elf was elsewhere on this particular night. That, or he really couldn’t be bothered to leave the Fade. Outside, everything was blessedly quiet and they took that, along with their continued existence, as a good sign. A pressing thought occurred to Dorian then: he was famished. Might there be any cheese left in the kitchens? He could toast it with some bread…
“Dorian?”
“Yes, Inquisitor?”
“I’m still sad.”
Dorian slung an arm around Lavellan’s shoulders. “I know.”
“What should I do?”
“There’s only one thing that can help in these sort of situations.”
“You’re going to say, ‘time,’ and then I’m going to punch you very hard in a place you won’t like,” said Lavellan.
“With those spindly arms? Being hit by you must be like getting mauled by a butterfly. Actually, I was going to suggest a great deal more liquor, to be repeated as necessary, but your idea makes sense, too.”
Lavellan groaned. “I don’t think I want to drink anything ever again. I feel terrible. I’m so selfish. No wonder Solas stopped loving me.”
“Ah, I see we’ve reached the tearful recriminations portion of our evening. That’s usually a sign it’s time to go sleep it off. Although I really would fancy some cheese first.”
“Ooh, yes, that sounds good.”
4 hours later…
Dorian awoke with a terrible hangover.