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Chapter Text

It's an increasingly frustrating topic for discussion at Skyhold’s war table these days: Magisterium Disciplina. Trevelyan wishes he could forget about it and never hear about it again, but if being the Inquisitor has taught him nothing else, it’s that sometimes a single object could make everything else—battle stratagem, spy movement, the future of the Inquisition—fall into place.

And Magisterium Disciplina, it’s become clear, is such an object. The book, Trevelyan recalls, is an account of the methods, practices, and weaknesses of the ancient Imperial Magisters. If Corypheus was truly an ancient Magister, knowing this information would be invaluable when it came time to face him.

“I bought a copy of it when I was the librarian at Ostwick,” Trevelyan tells his advisors after yet another report comes back about the book’s absence from another Circle’s library. “I even cataloged it myself before it went into the library’s collection. But the Ostwick Circle copy was destroyed, and it’s not in any Marcher, Ferelden, or Orlesian Circles. It’s not even at any Imperial library.”

“From what I can gather, it’s an exceedingly rare book,” Josephine says. “Since it had secrets that could disarm the Magisters of Tevinter, many of the copies were destroyed to protect the Imperium. It’s possible that the Ostwick copy was the last one.”

“How is it that the Ostwick Circle had such a rare tome, anyway?” Dorian asks. As Skywall’s resident Tevinter expert, he’s joined the war council to discuss the book. “I’d be surprised to see it in a Minrathous library, much less in a Southern Circle.”

“Because Ostwick’s librarian had Trevelyan family money to waste and a desire for the best Circle library in the Free Marches,” Trevelyan replies with a grin. His smile falters. “Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d never gotten my hands on it; it wouldn’t have been destroyed with the other restricted books in the collection at the beginning of the mage rebellion.” He crosses and uncrosses his arms. “If only I’d read all the way through it at the time…I wish I could reach back into time and grab it from myself.”

He catches a glimpse of Dorian’s face as he says this and realizes he’s made a mistake.

“Actually…”

“Absolutely not. That would be foolish,” Trevelyan says quickly, before Dorian has a chance to finish his thought.

“This could turn the tide of our fight, amatus. We could be far more prepared to face Corypheus than we were in Haven.”

“I agree with the Inquisitor,” Cullen pitches in, “time travel is an enormous risk to undertake for a book.”

“Surely there are better ways of obtaining information than such an endeavor,” Josephine says.

“Actually, if there were a way to retrieve the book without disrupting the past, it might be worth it,” Leliana says. “We need that information, and it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting it in this year anytime soon.”

“Funny you should mention it, Sister, but I think I have a way of retrieving the information from Magisterium Disciplina without making any changes to the past. A near-foolproof way, I might add,” Dorian says.

Trevelyan sighs. “If it were anyone else, I’d accuse you over foolish overconfidence, but you did miraculously return us back to the present from the future, and you do know more about time magic than anyone who’s not in Skyhold’s dungeon.” He knocks his head from side-to-side a few times. “I’ll hear your plan out.”

“Excellent. Let’s work out the details over dinner.”

---

“It’s tremendously risky,” Trevelyan says over braised pork and stewed vegetables. “And deeply unwise.”

“Sure,” Dorian agrees. “But imagine: if I pull this off, we’ll have an enormous advantage over Corypheus.”

“Wait, if you pull this off? Do you think I’d let you time travel without me?”

“You’ll have to, I think,” Dorian says. “I can nullify any affects of my interference with the past—I feel confident about that—and also get my hands on the book. But I’m not certain what would happen if you came along and encountered your past self. It might, ah, be sort of like taking a shearing knife to the fabric of time. Maybe.”

“Maybe? I thought you were confident about this plan.”

“Oh, I’m quite confident about the part where I travel back in time, retrieve the information from Magisterium Disciplina, and come back, and the part where I also prevent the past from getting muddled. That’s the part I have experience with.”

“Did you do this when you worked with Alexius? I thought your work with him was theoretical until Redcliffe.”

“Not exactly with Alexius, no. We’d spoken about how to travel to the past without affecting the present—time is a dangerous, fiddly thing, as you’re aware, and it’s dangerous to change the past. What if some fool went back in time and made it impossible for him to ever travel back in time in the first place?”

“A paradox,” Trevelyan says.

“Exactly,” Dorian says. “Back when he had his head on straight, Alexius worked on a spell for travelling to the past that, when undone, would bring the traveler back to their own time, but not by moving them forward in time; the spell would just…undo itself. Whoop, you blink back to your own time like you hadn’t even been gone, and no one is the wiser. And only the one doing the travelling in time has any memory of what they experienced. For everyone else, nothing happened.”

“Okay, that’s very clever,” Trevelyan says. “But is this a hypothetical? You’ve never actually done it?”

“Oh, I’ve done it!” Dorian grins, savoring the chance to brag. “How do you think I got us back to the present when we were on our little jaunt to the future in Redcliffe?”

“Maker’s fucking breath,” Trevelyan says. “So when you sent us back from the future, you weren’t moving us back in time, you were just…”

“Undoing the spell that sent us there in the first place, yes,” Dorian says. “Though, to be clear, I can absolutely do the time-travel spell itself as well. Presumably, it’ll be easier this time, since I’ll have time to prepare an amulet that will both do and undo the spell before I even head back. Once I’m done in the past, I can activate the amulet and be back here with you, and it’ll be like I was never gone.” He takes a sip of wine. “The only hiccup I can think of is that I can’t bring anything back with me from the past, because undoing the spell will send me back just as I was when I started, so the book would stay in the past. So I’ll need to be able to memorize the relevant information in Magisterium Disciplina to bring it back. Fortunately for us, I have an excellent memory.”

“Okay, I’m beginning to warm up to the idea,” Trevelyan says. “But I can think of more hiccups than your memorization problem.”

“Oh?”

“Firstly, the Ostwick Circle, when it had Magisterium Disciplina safely on its shelves, was a Circle of magi fully staffed with Templars watching for suspicious happenings and misbehaving mages. And a strange Tevinter mage asking after a restricted tome is going to get some invasive questions, at the very least.”

“I can handle a few Templars, amatus.”

“You don’t know the Circle is like,” Trevelyan says, his voice rising. It’s late, and the dining hall is nearly empty, but a few heads turn towards them. He lowers his voice. “The Templars have full control over mages, Dorian, and not all of them care about mages’ wellbeing. If one of them takes your amulet away, or decides to imprison you and suppress your magic, you’ll be stuck in the past.” He shakes his head. “This plan will only work if you’re willing to put aside your pride. It’s not like anything you’ve experienced in Tevinter.”

A flicker of surprise appears on Dorian’s face, and when he collects himself, he looks more serious. “Understood. I will be careful, amatus. Perhaps a convenient backstory to explain my presence in the Circle will come in handy.”

“Yes, that may help.” Trevelyan pauses. “Then there’s your second hurdle.”

“What’s that?”

“The Ostwick Circle’s librarian is—or, was—an awful rule-follower. He’s not going to agree to let you peruse a restricted book without some persuasion.” He coughs. “Uh, try not to judge him too harshly.”

Dorian laughs. “Wait, your past self is the one who I’ll be dealing with to get to the book? They gave you that power?”

Trevelyan is starting to look miserable. “I told you I was loyal to the Circle until a few years ago,” he says. “Loyal mages make for good gatekeepers on knowledge, if your goal is to prevent anyone from reading the interesting books. Even I didn’t read most of those restricted books, and I was the one procuring them.”

“Most of them? So you did read some of them?”

Trevelyan looks embarrassed. “I was interested in shapeshifting! Not that I ever had the chance to try it out.”

“You did have a rebellious streak in you, after all! I can’t wait to meet this younger version of you,” Dorian says. “So, what, should I charm your younger self into giving me access? That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I think it will be.” Trevelyan leans back. “Actually, I think the only way you’ll convince him—er, me?—to help us is to tell him everything and convince him you’re really from the future. If you can get me—past me—that you’re working with future me—present me—”

“Just tell him everything? Prove to him that I know things only your lover from the future would know? And he’ll let me get to Magisterium Disciplina?”

“Right. Maybe.” He puts his forehead in his hands. “Maker, this plan is ridiculous.”

“It’s going to be spectacular,” Dorian says. “I’ll get to work tonight.”

---

It takes Dorian several weeks to work on the amulet. In the meantime, he and Trevelyan fine-tune their plan. Reports continue to come in about Magisterium Disciplina: no one in Thedas has a copy. No one in the present day, that is.

Dorian and Trevelyan travel to the Free Marches so Dorian can be in the correct geographic location when he ventures into the past. It’s a quick trip, accompanied by a small group of soldiers and scouts. Trevelyan doesn’t keep his worries to himself.

“You’re supposed to come back to this time just a moment after you leave, right?” he asks as they make their way to Ostwick. “What happens if you don’t return right away? Maybe you should have made another amulet for me to go after you if you don’t return.”

“I’ll return. Stop fretting, amatus.”

“You’ll activate the amulet the moment anything goes wrong, won’t you? The second a Templar looks at you sideways. Even if you haven’t memorized the book.”

“I will, Trevelyan.” They’re approaching the field just a half a league away from the Ostwick Circle that Trevelyan is certain was empty eight years ago. “I’m a stunningly capable man.”

“Blast. Don’t let that pride get you hurt.”

“It won’t.” Dorian embraces Trevelyan as the scouts get set up in the field. “I’ll be back, amatus. Like no time has passed.”

Trevelyan stands back as Dorian prepares to activate the amulet. He has his eyes on Dorian when the man blinks out of existence.

Chapter Text

Just as his luck would have it, this particular field on this day in 9:33 Dragon is dreadfully cold and rainy. Dorian curses as he pulls his coat tighter around his shoulders. Expecting to spend this journey indoors, Dorian has packed light: he has a few changes of clothes and some provisions tucked away in a small pack. He also has a few papers he’s prepared.

The Circle, an imposing stone tower set apart from the rest of the city, is easy enough to locate. The gloomy day does not make the tower any less imposing, and the shiver that runs through Dorian isn’t just from the cold.

It’s comforting to know that it would be easy to undo all this, to activate the amulet and go back to the present in an instant and erase any blunders. Dorian knows, however, that his time spent on this endeavor has already taken up plenty of his and Trevelyan’s time, and he doesn’t have another amulet at the ready. He ought to get this right on his first attempt.

That’s why he rehearses his ruse as he approaches the tower. As Trevelyan had described to him, the building’s ground are surrounded by a stone wall. The gate at the wall is attended by Templars who merely nod at him as he passes. The doors to the tower itself, however, are attended by a pair of templars who stop him as he approaches.

Dorian greets them cheerfully and hands them his forged papers. “Your First Enchanter should be expecting me, if she’s already received notice from the Minrathous Circle of my visit,” he bluffs.

One of the templars looks over the papers. “You’re here from Minrathous?”

“Indeed! I’m here to study your local methods of training mages as a part of an academic enquiry.”

“What use could you have for that?” the other Templar asks. “Don’t you have those in Tevinter?”

“While my homeland’s methods are undoubtably superior, it’s beneficial for all magical instruction to share information and methods,” Dorian says. He keeps his voice smooth and even.

The first Templar hands his papers back to him. “Fine, but no forbidden magics like they have in Tevinter while you’re here, mage. And report to the Knight-Captain and First Enchanter as soon as possible.”

Dorian gives a little bow before stepping though the doors to the Circle.

---

Dorian asks the first mage he sees to point him toward the library. He finds it easily; somehow, navigating the first floor of the tower is rather linear, with each room having an entrance that leads back toward the front entrance and another that leads further into the building.

The library’s tall shelves form different alcoves in the cavernous main room of the library. Among them are tables where mages and apprentices work, and where Templars stand and watch. At the far end of the room, he can see the next room of the library, a round room with more shelves.

And in its middle, a redheaded librarian.

It’s Trevelyan, and he’s twenty-four and an enchanter and a librarian at the Ostwick Circle of Magi. Dorian knows all this about the past version of his lover before they meet, but it’s still fascinating to see him here.

He’s wearing Circle robes, and although they look as awful on the man as they do on everyone else, Dorian appreciates how the fabric hugs his shoulders and waist. His hair, arranged in a neat braid in the future, is here scarcely to his shoulders and is pulled out of his face with a simple tie at the back of head. He’s caught up in something to the point of distraction, tapping his face with a pencil while he scans a bookshelf.

This will be fun, Dorian thinks as he approaches.

“Enchanter Trevelyan! Just the man I need to speak to,” he says. Trevelyan startles and turns toward him. He looks so young, even just less than a decade younger than the version of him Dorian knows—his forehead wrinkles are fainter, even with his brow raised in surprise, and his expression is more unguarded than Dorian has ever seen. Something tugs at his chest.

“Ah, forgive me,” Trevelyan says after a moment of studying Dorian’s face, “but have we met? Usually I’m better at recalling acquaintances.”

“You haven’t met me before, no,” Dorian says, motioning them away from a table of apprentices who are gawking at the stranger in the library, “but I have business I need your help with. Is there anywhere we can speak privately?”

Trevelyan tilts his head inquisitively, but leads him to the rotunda area of the library. Along one wall lie doors that appear to lead into offices. Trevelyan shows him into one of the small rooms, its door labeled Librarian, and below, Enchanter Trevelyan. Inside, there’s a crowded desk stacked with books and papers. Trevelyan moves to sit behind the desk, and Dorian tries to close the behind him, but Trevelyan reaches out to stop him.

“Better not,” he says. “We’ll likely get questions from the templars if we do that.”

“The circle’s librarian doesn’t even get privacy in his own office?” Dorian asks.

“He does when he’s not conferencing with strangers,” Trevelyan says. “Regardless, we’ll have privacy enough, if you require it. Sound doesn’t carry far in here.”

Dorian wants to make a comment on that, but he’s too busy wondering at the strangeness of meeting Trevelyan here as a stranger, in the place where Trevelyan spent so many of his years. No wonder he’s astounded at the size of his chambers in Skyhold, he thinks, this office is barely large enough for all his papers.

He shakes off his musings and returns to the conversation. “Allow me to introduce myself, and to explain my presence,” Dorian says. He watches Trevelyan lean back; the man is studying him openly. “My name is Dorian Pavus of Qarinus, and more recently of…the Frostbacks in Ferelden. I have some rather, ah, unbelievable things to tell you, and I hope you’ll entertain me long enough to hear what I have to say.”

Trevelyan motions for him to continue, so he forges on to the next part. “Imagine, if you will, that time travel were possible and that you could visit the past to retrieve, say, some information in a book that has since been destroyed. And imagine that you could visit a point in the past using time magic, retrieve that information, and then undo the spell that sent you in the past, undoing any alterations you might have done to the past.”

“It’s all very nice hearing you talk in riddles, but I’d appreciate it if you said directly what you’re here for, messere Pavus.”

“I’m here from the year 9:41 Dragon to examine your copy of Magisterium Disciplina. Furthermore, I’m here with your express permission to do so. The future you, that is. The future—that is, both my future and yours—hangs in the balance.”

Trevelyan presses his fingertips to his eyelids for a moment before laughing.

“This is, truly, the most outrageous claim I have ever heard, messere Pavus.”

“Do call me Dorian. The future version of you said you’d say that.”

Trevelyan spreads his hands out over his desk. “Do you really expect me to believe such a tale? What are you aiming at, here? Don’t you have plenty of rare magical tomes to peruse in Tevinter? Did you come all this way to ask a Circle librarian to look at one of the few restricted books in his library?”

“You must know how rare Magisterium Disciplina is, since you procured it yourself. As a matter of fact, your copy gets destroyed shortly before my own time, and any other copies have been impossible to locate.”

“How would you know that I bought it?”

“I told you,” Dorian says, smiling devilishly, “we know each other in the future.”

Trevelyan sighs and leans back. “What, so you, apparently, come to the Ostwick Circle…”

“Oh, I never come to this Circle between now and 9:41 Dragon. This is the first time I’ve been here. Both, ah, chronologically and in practice.”

Trevelyan looks even more skeptical. “Are you saying I leave the Circle, then?”

“You do! It’s quite the tale, if you’d like to hear it.”

“Give me the short version of your tale, if you would.”

“All right, the short version.” Dorian leans forward. “In about seven years, the College of Enchanters will vote to separate from the Chantry, led by rebel mages. War will break out between mages and templars across Southern Thedas. In the following year, you will travel to the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the Frostback Mountains to represent the Ostwick Circle in a conclave meant to bring peace to the warring factions. The conclave will be destroyed with you as its sole survivor…”

“The sole survivor?!”

“…and you’ll emerge to find the sky torn open and a strange artifact embedded into your hand that allows you to close tears in the veil, including the great breach in the sky. You’ll be named the Herald of Andraste, and, after you learn of the creature who tore the sky apart and his plans to walk into the Black City, your heroism and efforts to close the breach will lead you to be named the Inquisitor, the leader of the newly-formed Inquisition.”

“You only sound more and more ridiculous, messere Pavus.”

“Dorian.”

“All right, Dorian,” Trevelyan says, leaning over the desk. “I am willing to entertain your deeply outlandish claims if you can prove that you are, in fact, visiting from the future.”

“A reasonable concession,” Dorian says.

“Do you know anything about me? Something a stranger from Tevinter wouldn’t know?”

“Oh, do I,” Dorian says. “You’re named for your great-uncle, Seamus Trevelyan, and you came to the Ostwick Circle when you were ten after setting your mother’s curtains on fire. You were appointed Ostwick Circle librarian at the young age of twenty-three, a position you attained because you had an aptitude for it and because it allowed you to take on fewer apprentices than other enchanters, giving you more time for your studies. You were the youngest in your class of apprentices to pass your Harrowing. During your Harrowing, you were approached by a demon that disguised itself as your younger sister…”

Trevelyan looks stunned. “No one knows that about my Harrowing,” he says quietly.

“I do! You told it to me.”

“How do I know you’re not just using blood magic to pull all this from my head?” Trevelyan asks. His voice lowers when he speaks the words blood magic, and his eyes glace through the open door into the rotunda.

“You’re an intelligent mage. You’d notice if I were practicing blood magic right now. Besides, I personally loathe blood magic. But you’ll have to take my word for that, I suppose.”

Trevelyan rubs his temples. “I can’t believe any of this, and yet I almost do. How can it be possible to travel through time?”

“It’s bloody difficult enough. We actually met because I helped you stop my former mentor from using time magic to help our foe destroy the world.”

“And you claim that you’ve done time travel again, here? You would fool around with time magic after that? To get your hands on a book?” Trevelyan asks.

“Ah, but I told you already: the spell I’m using will be undone in a moment when I return to my time. When I return, my presence here will be erased from history, as if it never happened.” Dorian shifts in his seat. “And I’m doing this because I think the contents of Magisterium Disciplina can help save us all. It could help give Trevelyan—ha, you—a better chance of surviving his encounter with our foe.”

“I suppose wanting to save the world and a friend are not entirely outrageous endeavors, if true.”

“We—the future Trevelyan and I—are more than friends,” Dorian says gently.

Trevelyan makes a small surprised sound and avoids meeting Dorian’s eyes for a moment. Then he shakes his head. “Against…against my better judgement, I’m the tiniest bit inclined to believe you. I think…I need some time to take this all in. Would you mind giving me an hour or two before we speak again?”

“That’s understandable.”

“I’ll tell the Knight-Captain that you’re here to…wait, what did you tell the templars at the gates to get them to let you in?”

“I told them I was a visiting scholar here with instruction from the Minrathous Circle of Magi to obtain information about local magical training, for academic purposes.” Dorian pulls out his forged papers.

“Ah, a decent lie. It’ll be easy to volunteer myself to help you.” Trevelyan looks over the papers. “I think I can get you a guest room to stay in for at least a day or two. Stay here and I’ll talk to the Knight-Captain and the First Enchanter and give them your story.”

“Splendid.” Dorian leans back in his seat. He watches as Trevelyan leaves the room, a bewildered expression on the poor man’s face.

Chapter Text

After Dorian is briefly questioned by the Knight-Captain, a man who seems more interested in making sure he’s not a blood mage than hearing about his made-up scholarly activities, he’s shown to the guest chamber where he settles in. Trevelyan arrives at his door after an hour or so.

“They seem to trust that you’re a scholar here to record Ostwick magi training practices, so you shouldn’t get too much scrutiny,” he tells Dorian. “I’d like to ask some questions about you, though. Before I let you read Magisterium Disciplina.” He seems more collected now than when he’d left Dorian in his office.

“Ask away,” Dorian tells him.

Trevelyan shows him around the first three floors of the tower as they talk, lowering his voice whenever they pass Templars. Trevelyan asks about the future, the Inquisition, time travel, and Dorian. No reason to hide any of it, Dorian answers every question as they make their way through the halls of the tower. Occasionally, Trevelyan tells him a few things about each room and floor of the building, and Dorian finds himself with his own questions.

“Do they really keep so many apprentices in in one room?” Dorian asks as they leave a large room with dozens of bunk beds arranged on the floor. “It seems like it can’t be comfortable to be packed in like tinned fish.”

Trevelyan looks surprised by the question. “Yes, the apprentices are the largest group of people here,” he says. “It wasn’t too terrible to sleep in the apprentice quarters, but I was glad to get my own room after my Harrowing.”

Trevelyan is especially excited to show Dorian around the library; apparently, since becoming the librarian the previous year, he’s made a number of improvements to the book classification system and increased cataloging efficiencies, and has convinced the Trevelyans to donate some money to improve the library’s collection of foreign texts. It’s adorable to hear him talk about this with such enthusiasm, Dorian thinks.

After their tour, Trevelyan brings them to the hallway leading to the Circle’s dining hall.

“It’s nearly dinnertime; want to join me? I’ll show you Magisterium Disciplina afterwards.”

“You know how to show a man a good time, Trevelyan,” Dorian says. He catches a glimpse of Trevelyan’s blushing face as the man turns away.

---

In the evening, the library is emptier than it was before; the apprentices are gone, and now only a few older mages work at tables. Trevelyan ushers Dorian to a corner of the room where the shelves curl around on themselves, creating a small alcove.

“Here’s the restricted section,” he says as they approach. He glances around before stepping into the alcove. “Careful, it’s enchanted to not let most people pass.”

“What?” Dorian says, stopping short of the alcove. He reaches out and feels an invisible magical barrier in front of him. “Oh, clever. But it’s not a very useful collection of books if nobody can get to them, is it?”

“It’s better this way. We only need these in case we need to counteract a spell made by a rogue mage or…” he drops his voice, “…maleficarum.”

“But you can enter?”

“I’m the librarian!” He grabs a book before darting back out of the alcove. “I’m technically not allowed to read most of these, though.”

“Even the ones you bought with your parents’ money? A real bastion of academic freedom, this is.”

Trevelyan looks briefly irritated, then shakes his head. “Look, do you want to read it or not? This is risky for me.” He hands Dorian Magisterium Disciplina.

“Right. My apologies. I am grateful,” Dorian says, looking over Magisterium Disciplina. It’s a relief to have the book in his hands. It’s thinner than he imagined, but as he cracks it open, he sees its pages are densely lined with words and figures.

Trevelyan gives him an expectant look. “It’s been fascinating meeting you,” he says.

“Oh, this isn’t goodbye,” Dorian says, looking up from the book. “Didn’t I mention? I can’t take the book back with me when I undo the time-travel spell. It’ll be left here when I go—” he taps his head, “—so I can only take back what I can fit in here. I need enough time to memorize the important parts.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Trevelyan thinks for a moment. “I’ll talk to the First Enchanter about getting you a few more days in the guest quarters, if that will be enough.”

“It should be.” Dorian says. “Thank you, Trevelyan.”

“Let me get a paper cover for it so no one will see what you’re reading, and I’ll leave you too it,” Trevelyan says. “Don’t stay up too late. The templars get antsy if they have to stay up all night watching someone study.”

“You’re leaving me down here? Where I could get at all your heretical books?”

“What? The restricted section is already restricted.” He wraps the book’s cover and spine in a smooth piece of opaque vellum paper. “You could study in the guest quarters if you’d like. But I have a lot of thinking to do about the future you told me about. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Dorian bids him good night and takes a seat. He cracks open Magisterium Disciplina and almost cheers as he starts examining its contents. Future Trevelyan had been right: the contents of the book will be uniquely useful for facing Corypheus. There’s an entire chapter on dispelling the spellcasting methods used by the ancient Magisters. Trevelyan will be pleased, he thinks as he starts to mark the pages with the most important material. Future Trevelyan, anyway.

After a candle-mark’s time, he’s pulled from his work by the sight of the other mages making their way out of the library. Dorian takes the book and heads for his own room.

---

When he makes his way down to the library in the morning, Trevelyan is talking with some other young enchanters outside his office. Dorian watches him from afar for a few minutes. Finally, Trevelyan notices him and comes over to greet him. He seems to be in a good mood this morning.

“How’s the book?” he asks. “What you were looking for?”

“It’s exactly what we need,” Dorian says.

“That’s me: librarian to the future,” Trevelyan says. “I have work to do, but feel free to study in the library.”

Dorian gets to work, eagerly committing the book to memory. Occasionally, he watches Trevelyan field questions and locate books for apprentices and enchanters. Some of the mages and templars glance curiously over at Dorian as they come through the room, but none approach him. Others greet Trevelyan and chat for a few minutes before fetching books or settling down to work.

Some of the apprentices are practicing spells with Senior Enchanters at tables in the library, and Trevelyan grabs pertinent books and leaves them with the students and their mentors while asking questions about their activities. When he has a few moments, he returns to his office briefly, but returns each time with several books to file away.

He’s so fascinating, this man: a past echo of the man he loves, so like him, but in a setting Dorian never imagined he would see him in. The temptation to watch him is almost enough to pull him away from his important work.

The morning wears on. Eventually, Trevelyan comes over to the table where he’s working and sits down.

“Want to take a break?” he asks. “I could stand a walk around the grounds.”

“They let you out of this tower?” Dorian asks.

“When I behave,” Trevelyan says lightly. “Grab a jacket.”

---

After he’s returned to his quarters and has exchanged the book for his coat, Dorian joins Trevelyan on the Circle grounds. Within the walled area outside the tower, a few mages practice spells, and a few other exercise or walk. The stationed Templars here seem even more stoic than the ones inside the tower, standing perfectly still while the mages around them move. It’s unnerving.

Trevelyan speaks once they’ve put some distance between themselves and the others in the yard. “I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around the future you spoke of,” he says.

“Which part? The Inquisition? The part where we’re lovers?” He mostly mentions the second part to enjoy how easy it is to get this version of Trevelyan to blush.

“Both fascinating concepts,” Trevelyan says, blushing as expected. “But I want to know about the mage rebellion you spoke of. What happens to the Ostwick Circle in this rebellion?”

“From what I understand, mages in many Southern Circles will revolt against the Templars and the Chantry after the College of Enchanters puts the issue to a vote, leaving many of them in disarray. Ostwick won’t be as affected as other Circles; in my future, there are still mages living here much as they were before.”

“Is it the rebellion that will destroy our copy of Magisterium Disciplina? What will happen to the rest of the collection?”

“Not all of it will be destroyed. Future Trevelyan told me that it mostly was—or will be—saved. Apparently, the parts that were destroyed were deemed heretical by the Templars were burned. Your restricted section, perhaps?”

“Damn.” Trevelyan stops and turns toward the tower. “And then I’ll go to this Conclave to represent the mages of Ostwick who are loyal to the Chantry, is that it?”

“You’ll be surprised to hear that by the time the rebellion happens, you will not, in fact, be loyal to the Chantry.”

Trevelyan scoffs. “Of course I will be.”

“You go with the hopes of helping to end the fighting between mages and Templars, but you weren’t exactly trying to make things go back to the way they were before the rebellion.”

“This is the least believable thing you’ve told me so far.”

“You won’t even entertain the idea? Listen, Trevelyan, your future self told me about the event that turned you against the Chantry and the Circle. Do you want to hear about it?”

Trevelyan glances around. “Fine. Yes.”

“In two years, rumors of blood magic will lead to several enchanters being made Tranquil. The anger over this from your fellow mages causes the Templars to lock down the Circle and impose new restrictions. That’s what changes your mind about the Circle. That’s why I travelled to this particular point in time; you’re the librarian now and have already acquired a copy of Magisterium Disciplina, but too much later and the Circle will start to crack down on its rules. I may not even be let into the building, then.”

“Impossible,” Trevelyan says. “They don’t use the Rite of Tranquility on harrowed mages. Especially not based on rumors.”

“Unless the Templars break Chantry law out of fear and foolishness, which is what will happen,” Dorian says.

“No, that won’t happen. They don’t just…break Chantry law…”

“You’re clearly afraid of upsetting the templars! Are you telling me you’ve never questioned if all their rules and constraints are reasonable?” Dorian feels himself getting heated. This Trevelyan doesn’t need to be convinced; it’ll happen in time. But he still feels the need to make him see what’s around him.

“Just because I obey the rules doesn’t mean I’m afraid…” Trevelyan shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe you about this. You’ve got to be mistaken. They wouldn’t do that.”

“Are you going to start disbelieving me now? Do you believe the other things I’ve told you?” Dorian asks.

“I do, I just can’t…” Trevelyan shivers. They’ve made their way to the back of the tower’s base. The land here slopes down; the wall surrounding the yard is below them, so Dorian can see the land surrounding them. The day is warmer and more clear than yesterday, and Dorian thinks he can make out the field he had time-travelled in. “I do still believe you. I find myself trusting you quite a bit, however naïve that makes me. I’m just having trouble wrapping my mind around it all.”

“You’re learning in a few days what you would otherwise experience over nearly a decade. It’s a lot.” Dorian starts to shiver, too: on this side of the tower, they’re not protected from the wind that has started to pick up.

“When you go back to the future, your time here will all be undone, right? Why even bother to answer my questions?”

“Because I care about you,” Dorian says. “And it seems cruel to barge in and memorize your book and leave, even if I could erase that cruelty in a moment. Besides, I’m curious about your life here and the kind of man you are now.”

“Fair enough.” Trevelyan pushes his hands deep into his pockets. “Let’s go inside, yes? This weather has taken a turn.”

“Please.”

Chapter Text

Several days roll by in the Circle. Dorian makes progress on his memorization of Magisterium Disciplina, the pertinent information from the most useful chapters easily committing itself to his memory. Young Trevelyan remains friendly, introducing Dorian to his friends and mentors, who react to the outsider with respectful curiosity. In most of their interactions, however, Trevelyan is more distant. He’s taciturn about the Circle and reluctant to discuss the future further. Dorian uses the distance between them as reason to double down on his studies, rapidly approaching the end of his task.

One night after he’s spent nearly a week at the Ostwick Circle, nearly finished with his memorization, Dorian makes the decision to spend a night late in the library, where the lighting is better than in the guest chambers. What are the Templars going to do, insist on tucking him into bed? He pretends not to notice the Templars stationed in the library looking restless at the edge of the room as he studies into the night.

While repeating a series of spell incantations to himself in his head to commit them to memory, Dorian notices someone approaching. He looks up and sees a nervous-looking Trevelyan.

“Dorian,” Trevelyan says, voice low. “I was hoping we could talk, and you weren’t in the guest quarters. Want to come to my room?”

Dorian thinks about flirting in response to this invitation, but he remembers Trevelyan’s concerns about being seen in Trevelyan’s closed office together. “Oh? Are they letting you conspire with me in private now?”

“If we’re sneaky,” Trevelyan replies, eyeing the Templars as they make their way out of the library.

“Right, let’s go up.” Dorian takes Magisterium Disciplina as they head to the Senior Enchanters’ rooms.

Trevelyan’s quarters are smaller than the guest quarters, and contain only a bed, a wardrobe, a chest, and a small table pretending to be a desk. The room is windowless and dimly lit by a few candles. Abysmal, Dorian thinks.

“You may want to know that I’m nearly done with my task,” Dorian says after Trevelyan closes the door behind them. “If there’s anything you want to do before I go…”

“I know this will end when you go,” Trevelyan says. “Is it silly of me to ask my questions of the future, even if I won’t remember this?”

“I’ll remember it,” Dorian says.

“Right.” Trevelyan turns away from him. “This future where I’m the Inquisitor…” Trevelyan begin, but hesitates before continuing.

“You want to know more?”

“I think so,” Trevelyan says. “I’ve been avoiding asking you about it because it makes me nervous. I don’t think I’ll be good at it. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to it.”

“Ah.” Dorian has an urge to reach for him. “Don’t be nervous. You’re going to be brilliant.”

“Why are you comforting me? If you’re right, all of this will be undone. I won’t remember this.”

“This may be rather forward of me, since you hardly know me, but I love…the future Trevelyan. And I suppose I have the urge to smooth over all the versions of him that aren’t as confident as he is on his best days.” Dorian doesn’t try to disguise the gentleness he feels towards this man in the fragile way his words come out.

Trevelyan shivers. “Did he tell you? The older me. About how I wanted them to make me Tranquil before my Harrowing.”

Dorian’s breath catches. “He didn’t, no.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to resist the demons, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone by getting possessed. I thought it better to undergo the rite.” His voice has a practiced steadiness to it. “Enchanter Lydia talked me out of it, and I chose to do the Harrowing as early as they’d let me, to get it over with. That’s why I was the youngest in my class to become a harrowed mage. I’ve never been particularly skilled, just a coward.”

“I didn’t know, amatus, I…” Dorian stops, feeling strange about using the term of endearment for this man who doesn’t even know what it means.

Trevelyan turns toward him now, and Dorian sees that his face is wet. “How can someone like me lead an Inquisition?” He almost seems angry.

“Someone like you? You don’t even know how astoundingly capable you are,” Dorian says.

The surprise on Trevelyan’s unguarded expression almost hurts. He’s quiet for a moment as he wraps his arms around himself.

“I look forward to meeting you,” Trevelyan says finally. “He’s very lucky to have you.”

Dorian lets out a little laugh. “You know, future Trevelyan told me that I probably wouldn’t be able to charm you into helping me. He’ll be disappointed to be wrong.”

Trevelyan rolls his eyes, then leans forward and cups his hand around Dorian’s face before kissing him on the cheek. “I’m all right with being wrong, I think.”

They talk a little while longer, then. Trevelyan’s mood has shifted, and he tells Dorian tales of Circle life and of his childhood in Ostwick; they’re mostly stories Dorian has heard before, but he doesn’t mind hearing them from this version of Trevelyan.

The candles lighting the room grow shorter. Remembering Magisterium Disciplina, Dorian decides to excuse himself to finish his memorization and leave past Trevelyan to his life, but before he can suggest getting back to the guest quarters, there’s a knock at the door.

“Enchanter Trevelyan,” a voice calls from the other side. “Is Lord Pavus in your quarters?”

Trevelyan looks petrified for a moment, than motions toward the wardrobe. “Templars. Hide. I’ll talk to them.”

“Really? How do you know they’re not here to read me a bedtime story?”

“They don’t.” Trevelyan’s jaw is clenched. “Hide.”

Dorian climbs into the wardrobe to find a row of identical terrible Circle robes. He pushes them aside to crouch among them, and Trevelyan pushes the doors closed behind him. Dorian listens as he opens the door for the Templars.

“Pardon me,” Trevelyan says, feigning sleepiness, “I’ve been saying my prayers before bed. It’s just me here.”

“The Knight-Captain received reports of suspicious behavior from the visitor from Tevinter,” a voice responds, “and you were seen exiting the library with him earlier tonight.”

“Oh?”

“We have instructions to bring him to the Knight-Captain for questioning, but he’s not in the guest quarters.” This is another voice this time. How many Templars does it take to fetch one mage? Dorian wonders.

“Maybe he finished his studies and left,” Trevelyan says. “He did say he was nearly done when I saw him this evening.”

“There are no reports of him leaving the tower.”

Trevelyan is silent for a moment. “That is strange,” he says finally, “but I’m afraid I don’t know anything about his whereabouts.”

The Templars leave, and Trevelyan lets Dorian out of the wardrobe.

“‘Suspicious behavior?’” Dorian asks as he straightens himself out.

“That’s code for ‘we want to lock him in a room for a few days.’”

“That shouldn’t be too bad, so long as I can finish my studies.”

“Dorian, no,” Trevelyan says, his voice urgent. “You need to reverse the spell and leave now. It’s just a matter of time before they come back and search more carefully, and when they do, they’ll prevent you from using magic. You won’t be able to cast your spell to go back to your time.”

“All right, that would be bad,” Dorian says. “But I need a little more time to finish my memorization. Just another hour.”

“I can hold them off for an hour.”

“Hold them off?” Dorian asks. “Are you going to fight them?”

“I’ll be ready to fight them.” Trevelyan rummages around in his chest and pulls out a bottle of lyrium. “Glyphs should keep them away from the room for a little while, at least.”

“Kaffas. All right.” Dorian opens Magisterium Disciplina to its final chapter and gets to work as Trevelyan hurries around the room.

“You know, even if this will all be reversed, I’d rather not see you cut down, Trevelyan.”

“So go before then.” Trevelyan glances up from where he’s casting a glyph of paralysis at the door.

“You’re rather eager to defend me.”

“If I’m to be a rebel mage, I may as well start now,” he says. “In this strange little pocket of time.”

Strange indeed, Dorian thinks, willing himself to focus on the book. Just before his attention turns back toward his task, he takes another look at this version of Trevelyan. He’s less sure of himself than the Trevelyan he knows, sure. He’s unanchored and unguarded in a guileless way. But as he’s preparing his spells, he has a fire in his eyes that Dorian has seen a hundred times.

The Templars come back, as Trevelyan predicted. Dorian repeats the last few lines of the book over to himself as their angry voices echo outside the door.

“Go,” Trevelyan says.

Dorian closes Magisterium Disciplina and lets it fall to the floor. He pulls the amulet from where he’s hidden it under his robes. As he activates it, Trevelyan is poised to defend himself.

---

Trevelyan is at his side immediately upon his return to 9:41 Dragon. “Are you all right?” he asks.

“Perfect,” Dorian says, “and successful.”

Before they leave, both of them turn to look at the Ostwick Circle tower in the distance, partially obscured by clouds.

They stop at a tavern just a few miles south of their time-travel point so Dorian can jot down as much of Magisterium Disciplina as he can. Trevelyan looks on the papers he produces with approval.

“I knew it would be useful,” he says. “I did a lot of silly things back then, but ordering those restricted books wasn’t one of them.”

Dorian stops working long enough to massage his writing hand. “It was interesting to see what you were like in your Circle days.”

“I was foolish then, I know,” Trevelyan says.

“You were brave,” Dorian says. “I’ll tell you about it soon.”