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Lissa hesitated as she passed a demon caught in mid-strike, about to connect with a Venatori sorcerer. "What happened here?" she questioned, an uneasy roil churning in her gut. Across the expanse, figures were stopped, frozen by some sort of very powerful magic.
"There is a strong magic at work here," Solas commented on the obvious. But that it concerned him worried her more. "I have never seen anything like this."
Dorian groaned wearily. "I may have an idea about what this is, actually. It hadn't crossed my mind until now..."
Lissa scowled. "What are you talking about, Dorian? Have you seen magic like this before?"
He carefully stepped over a chunk of fallen debris and skirted around a hunk of rock suspended in mid air. "Not exactly like this, no. But if they continued working on what I think they have, we may be witnessing time magic."
"Time magic?" she mocked. "Is such a thing possible?" She turned to Solas, her trusted hah'ren, searching his eyes for some answer. But he simply shook his head and peered at their surroundings as shocked as she.
"It was something Alexius and I were working on before I left here to warn you, a rather brave act on my part. Alexius had focused the energy around a single amulet, using the power of the Breach to open a portal. Perhaps this has something to do with it?"
"Perhaps . . ." This was an odd situation indeed. "Be on your guard, everyone. They might be frozen now, but I'd hate to be caught off guard when they wake up."
As they explored the area, they found scattered notes confirming Dorian's suspicions. Corypheus had them here working on Alexius’ research. This obviously was not what they had planned. But then, what was?
At the rearmost portion of the old fortress was a strange surge of magic, calling out to her like a whisper in the night.
"Lissa," Solas called out sharply, eyes focused on the strange staff surrounded by the only points of moving energy in the entire place. "I would be careful."
She nodded, and reached out.
--
Liadan’s movements were silent as she made her way toward the light sparking and spitting from the staff. Behind her, her teammates watched with tentative frustration. Cassandra had insisted on joining her, but the elf had been adamant, especially after seeing all the obvious time magic here in the Western Approach. Something kept telling her that they should just turn around and leave, but how could they? "I am just going to look," she murmured now as she drew close. "We all know what a simple touch can do."
Bull grunted as a creak came from one of the hallways. "More Venatori!" he warned, sounding far too excited as he charged toward the men.
"Herald!" Cassandra cast a glance over her shoulder as she joined the Qunari. "Leave it for now! We'll—"
Liadan leapt back as she saw a subtle shift in the lighting before her. A ripple crossed the flickering glow of the staff, and she twisted away as an assassin revealed himself, his daggers narrowly missing her stomach.
"Go!" she ordered, knocking aside the next strike with her own dagger, drawing blood from the Venatori agent before dancing farther back along the platform. As they traded blows, she realized the assassin was intent on keeping the staff to her back, hoping, she knew, to use it against her the moment she forgot it was there. She gritted her teeth, weighing her options as she heard Dorian call out to her, and flung one arm back, intent on knocking the staff away.
--
A strange pulse throbbed in one giant surge the moment Lissa’s fingers touched the shaft. Her mark suddenly flared, raging flashes of green spitting out virulently. She screamed in pain, her fingers unable to let go of the staff, and her left hand shaking uncontrollably with power.
In one nauseating boom, the initial pulse of power rushed back, pulling at her navel as if dragging her entire self toward a single point. Her ears popped, her head lurched backward, and everything went black.
It was the wet that woke her. She stirred, startled to find herself surrounded by knee deep water. Her long braid, now doubled in weight, hung heavily between her shoulder blade.
"Where are we?" she asked, stunned to hear no answer. "Dorian?" she queried, scanning the room from left to right, her heart racing a frantic beat. "Cole? Solas?" she whispered.
Rising up onto shaking knees, she steadied the dizziness of her head and only just in time. Two guards, Venatori by their appearance, rushed after her. She fought them off, twirling her staff skillfully between her two hands, end over end, until they dropped, dead from various wounds, both physical and magical. She flicked the hair out of her face and huffed.
Somehow she was inside a cell. But why would guards be inside? Were they standing watch over her for some reason? Studying her maybe? They obviously hadn't expected her to wake up. What did she last remember?
Touching the staff . . .
Something must have gone wrong. Perhaps they had been overtaken, and now she was in some Venatori cell? What of her friends? The air was oddly charged with magic. But it wasn't free and clean; it was heavy, dark, and stank of demons. A sharp chill darted down her spine. What did that mean?
She dropped to her hands and knees, searching the bodies beneath the murky water until her fingers clasped around a metal ring. Keys! She twisted the key in the lock, and it opened with a stiff click. The gate shrieked as she pushed it open, carefully stepping out, staff at the ready.
Where is everyone?
--
The moment the back of her hand touched the crackling staff, Liadan knew she had been right. "No!" she shouted as the vibrant, sickly green light washed over her, drowning her in color and pain. As she was drawn backward, though she knew she had not moved, her Anchor gave answering pulses of power, drawing her deeper and deeper and tighter and tighter until darkness covered her vision.
She awoke quickly to the stench of long-standing water and dark magic. Red light flickered along the ceiling and atop the water, bright and insistent. Pushing herself to her knees, she quickly checked herself for injuries, but she found nothing more than a small bump on the back of her head.
As she moved to stand, a soldier shifted across the room—a cell, she noted now—and eyed her warily. Damned staff, she thought briefly as she reached for her daggers. But they were gone.
Wrinkling her nose against the stench, she reached for the hidden dagger beneath her armor, rising to her feet as the soldier gave a warning shout. But she was far faster, and a moment later, she was pulling the blade from his throat, wiping the blood on his cloak as she moved for the cell door. Her lockpick clicked softly in the silence, and the door creaked far too loudly for her tastes.
She found her daggers on a nearby box and slid them into their respective sheaths even as she heard the sound of booted footsteps outside the hall door. Slipping into shadow, she backed away, watching as two soldiers checked each cell, crying out in surprise as they found their dead comrade. She slammed and locked the door behind them, invisible to their eyes, and left the hall, intent on finding her party.
Wandering for a few minutes, Liadan remained in the darkness whenever she heard the Venatori drawing near. But as she moved up a set of crumbling stairs, she heard more footsteps, though these were different, softer and hesitant. She paused and peered through the dim lighting, taking note of a damp and rumpled mage that was certainly not Venatori. As she debated whether or not to talk to the woman, she saw the Inquisition mark upon her robes, and she smiled briefly.
Perhaps one of our scouts?
But even as she moved to call out to the mage, she saw the glint of an arrowhead, and she called out a warning even as she threw her dagger at the hidden archer. Violet streaks followed the dagger and she was there a moment later to cover his mouth as she yanked the blade from his back. "You are not one of them, are you?" she asked softly as she slit the archer's throat.
--
Lissa carefully padded down the halls, desperate not to make a sound. Each squelch of her wet boots made her cringe, and each passing shadow set her heart to racing. Her hands gripped tightly around her staff, her mana tingling with readiness.
She caught her breath at the sound of a knife whispering through the air, the sickening sound of the blade finding flesh, then, the muted gurgle as his life was wrenched by skilled hands. A woman stepped forward, Elvhen. Dalish and a worshipper of Mythal by her markings. She was lithe of build, and a bit shorter than Lissa, as was standard of Elves. A familiar symbol flashed on a metal dome—the Inquisition!
"You are not one of them, are you?" the elf repeated.
Lissa's eyes narrowed as she considered the odd question. Lissa was the Inquisitor. Ah, but she suddenly remembered that her face mattered very little, as Bull reminded her often. It was her position that gave people hope. Her position and her unfortunate marking.
"No. It's me." She smiled, hoping to comfort the woman as she raised her signature green hand.
Liadan’s eyes narrowed, flashing in the dim light as she cocked her head. The mage lifted her left hand, and she heard her blood pounding as her lips parted. “That cannot . . .”
Leaping down from the ledge, she moved quickly toward the mage, reaching out to grab her flickering hand, but stopping short just inches from the mage’s wrist. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice equal parts shocked and authoritative.
Lissa's eyes flared in surprise, then, narrowed to flash a warning as her hand crackled with magic. "Stand down, soldier," she said calmly. "It's me, Lissa Trevelyan. Herald of Andraste?" No, that wouldn't have much weight with this one being Dalish. "I'm your Inquisitor, am I not? You have our heraldry . . ."
“You are not my Inquisitor,” the elf was quick to answer. “And if this is one of Corypheus’ plans, he is even more twisted than I thought.” She yanked off her glove with rough and hurried movements, revealing her own glowing hand. As her Anchor was revealed, both marks flashed and snapped.
Lifting her gaze from their hands, she met the mage’s eyes, her brow furrowed as she studied the round, soft features of the human woman. “I am the Inquisitor, Liadan Lavellan.”
Lissa’s lips parted in shock and it took several heartbeats before her mouth could form a reply. "How is—what is—" She shook her head, confusion rattling her thoughts as they crashed into one another.
"Wait," she said breathless, holding up a hand as if to still the harried thoughts. "There can't be two Inquisitors. It's not possible. And unless there are two orbs, there cannot be two marks." Her amber eyes lifted to meet the gleaming eyes of the elf. "Can there?"
She shifted her weight back and forth as her mind sifted through the questions. As much as she wanted to understand what was going on here, she needed to find her friends. "I really need to know what is happening, but first I have to find my friends. You haven't seen them have you? One, an elf by the name of Solas—"
“Stop,” Liadan whispered harshly, reaching out and grabbing Lissa’s other hand. Footsteps echoed further away in the darkness and the elf was quick to tug the mage toward the deepest shadows. “Hide that,” she hissed as she tugged her glove back on. “And follow me.”
Bristling at her sharpness, but assuming that she was just as confused as she was, Lissa slipped her hand beneath her robes. "I really tend to use this to light my way . . ." she admitted in a whisper, stumbling over a rock. It was harder to access her mana in this strange environment, like opening a small hole in a dam. Each time she tried, far too much power wanted to surge through, and so she was without the help of her magic to see. So now she was blind, following a stranger who also bore a mark, like hers. And apparently knew of Solas.
Liadan led the mage back to one of the side rooms she had found earlier, quietly closing the door behind them. “You are here with Solas?” she asked as she turned to face the mage.
"Yes,” Lissa answered. “And a few others." Perhaps she should share less information until she was certain was going on here. "How did you get here?"
With a shrug, Liadan cleaned the blood from her blade before sliding it back into its sheath, her pale green gaze rising to the mage’s face again. “I do not know. I am not even sure where here is, do you?”
The comment gave Lissa pause. "No, I don't. I assumed the Venatori captured us in the Western Approach. I would assume we couldn't be too far."
“I think I would remember being captured,” Liadan answered, rubbing her fingers over her mark. “The last thing I remember was the—”
"The staff."
Liadan’s eyes widened slightly. “You saw it, too? Did you touch it?”
Lissa nodded, her mark itching in her palm. "Yes, against Solas' warning. I reached out for it, and then found myself . . . wherever we are."
“That staff—ugh, this is why I dislike . . .” the elf’s voice faded as her gaze slid to Lissa’s staff. “Magical items. This is just like Alexius all over again.”
Lissa's brows furrowed. "Alexius? Dorian said he suspected this to be something based on his research, and we found notes confirming that. Are you saying you've dealt with Alexius before?"
“Yes. He tried to kill me at Redcliffe, but the Anchor sent me into the future instead.” Clenching her fist, Liadan slowly circled the room, telling Lissa a very familiar story. As she spoke, she silently sized up the mage, taking in the sight of her water-logged robes and mussed red hair that was only partially held back in a thick braid. She was a fair woman, with strong, capable hands, but a soft and curvy form. If Liadan had to guess, Lissa was likely older than her, if only by a few years. And she had to be at least somewhat competent mage and Inquisitor if they had allowed her to leave Skyhold—if that was where Solas had led her. At last, she stopped, standing in front of Lissa once more, meeting the bright amber gaze of the human mage. “Sound familiar?"
The story the Elvhen woman told was intriguing, and begged many more questions. But that would require time they did not have. Lissa shook her head. "Not at all. I had planned on going to Redcliffe after I talked to the Templars, for Cullen's sake. Plus, I didn't want anyone to have more cause to distrust me..." She scratched at her palm, absently studying this other Inquisitor. The woman was lithe and intimidating, gleaming eyes watching her every move. Her pale hair shone, even in this dismal dark and intricate tattoos framed her flashing eyes. A small scar broke over the smooth curve of her upper lip. "Before I could set out to ask for the Mages' help, Corypheus' had worked with the Venatori to ensnare them and set them on us at Haven."
“The Templars?” Liadan shook her head. “But—no.” She shook her head. “We do not have time for this. If this is like what happened last time with Alexius, I—we have to find the others.”
On that, Lissa heartily agreed. "We can find them faster if we split up, but it's riskier."
“But what if both our groups came through?” Liadan was shaking her head again. “What would they do to you when they saw the Anchor?”
Lissa's brows cinched in thought. "If they're anything like my friends, they'll be confused but should understand. I was with Cole, Dorian, and Solas at the time I touched the staff. Of course, no telling who or what it brought with us. If anyone," she added with an empty tone. If none of her friends were here, would she be happy they weren't captured or would she feel alone? If nothing else, at least this Dalish woman was here. "I'll go right and meet back here with any news.”
With a slow exhale, Liadan wrinkled her nose, but nodded firmly. Her mindset was similar to the mage’s, but she was wound too tight to worry overmuch of her party. If she were lucky, they had been far enough from the staff’s magic to have been dragged along with her. “I came with Cassandra, Dorian, and Bull. But even if we do not find anyone, we meet back here in 20 minutes. We need to figure out where we are, and if possible, find that staff again. It might be our only way back.”
"Right. Ma serannas, Liadan." And with that, she scuttled out into dark.
With the rogue gone, Lissa was free to use her mark to illuminate her path, though it made precious little difference. Oddly, there was little resistance most of the way. What sort of prison had no guards?
As she rounded a bend, she found another row of cells and gasped. Giant bits of red lyrium protruded from the floor, blocking off one of the cells completely. Inside, the lyrium was shaped oddly, like the form of a—man . . . Oh, Maker . . .
One of the cells was full, its occupant huddled into a tight ball in the corner. "No!” a familiar voice muttered fiercely. “You will not take me. I don't believe you. I see through your lies."
"Cullen?"
He raised his head, eyes sunken from lyrium withdrawal and whatever burdens this place added.
"I . . . don't know your face." His eyes quickly noticed the Inquisition symbol on her robes. "I've never seen this shape. Who is this shape you have now, demon?"
She went to work jangling the keys in the lock. "I am no demon, Commander." Her heart wrenched at the sight. How long had he been here? The door swung wide but he did not move. "Cullen! Come! We have to move!"
He sighed, shaking his head. "If you are a demon, you're very good. Fine. I'll follow."
Kicking aside a long dead skeleton from its perch, she picked up his sword and handed it to the former Templar. "You may need this."
--
“Ma serranas,” Liadan replied, watching as the mage disappeared into the darkness before turning and heading in the opposite direction. She took her time, checking each door, even using her lock picks on those that were locked, and eventually, she made her way down into what appeared to be another dungeon.
The red lyrium in the cells gleamed, reminding her far too much of her last trip into a lyrium-infused keep, and she felt her heart sink just a little deeper each time she passed a cell, empty, or holding yet another dead prisoner. At last, she heard a familiar voice from the cell at the end of the hall, and she called out tentatively.
“Solas?”
The apostate elf continued to speak to himself, lowly, mournfully, and even as she unlocked his cell door and pushed it open with a creak. She called his name again as she drew closer, but he did not respond. As she came to his side, she made out some of his words. “. . . an abomination. Not how it should have happened . . . the orb . . . the mark. Da'len, I failed you.”
“Solas?” Liadan reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “Solas, are you alright?”
Slowly, he lifted his eyes to hers, crimson floating in his normally soft grey gaze. He had aged what seemed a decade, his eyes sunken, his cheeks hollow, and his lips, dry and chapped. “Who . . .” He paused, his gaze falling to her hands as she pulled her glove off once more. His eyes widened, flashed with red sparks. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice stronger, his eyes now firmly focused on her face.
She explained as best she could, helping him to his feet and leading him to the door of his cell as she spoke. The elf mage nodded and followed, his first steps tentative, but growing stronger.
“Lissa is here,” she said as she concluded her explanation.
His eyes lit up, the crimson briefly fleeing behind a look of wonder and disbelief. “She is here? Alive and well?”
“Yes.” Liadan offered him a brief smile. “Come, I will take you to her.”
--
Cullen's pace quickened the further they got from his cell, vigor returning with adrenaline. Their first fight was dodgy, and he was almost more of a burden than an aid. But once his muscles warmed, once he got a taste of being in control of his destiny again, there was strength returning to his steps.
"I think it's this way," Lissa whispered, waving him to follow. "Liadan said she'd be waiting for us."
The Commander froze, disbelief etched across his rugged, worn features. "Liadan?" he breathed, and something akin to fear gripped his chest.
Lissa had not time to explain. "Commander, we need to move," she insisted in her most authoritative tone. "Now."
Finally, they rounded the corner, skirting across in the shadows awaiting their rendezvous.
--
Solas was weaker than Liadan had first assumed, and as they took the stairs, she quickly slipped her arm beneath his shoulder, bolstering the tired mage as they took the steps one at a time. He used his staff as much as he could, but most of his weight rested against her side, and she remained careful with him. As they came to the main floor again, she had them pause, the sound of footsteps too close to ignore. With no time to hide, she turned to Solas as she slid one of her daggers free.
“I am able,” he insisted, tightening his grip on his staff, pulling his weight away from her.
She slid away into the shadows, watching as Solas lifted his staff and placed a chill-blue glyph just before the coming soldier’s feet. As they froze in place, she was quick to come behind them, slicing a hamstring here, finding the heart of the other. A moment later, they were both dead, their blood sluggishly flowing as she made her way back to Solas’ side.
“We are almost there,” she murmured, offering her help again, but he lifted his hand and shook his head.
“Lead the way.”
She could hear the soft sound of movement inside the room where she had told Lissa to meet her, and the sound of another familiar voice had her moving faster without realizing it. Forcing herself to wait at the door, she turned, motioning for Solas to join her.
The moment Liadan walked through the door, Cullen turned ashen, leaving only the dark crescents beneath his eyes. "It . . . it can't be you. Liadan?" he barely managed to ask, the sword falling from his hands with a clatter. He made took step forward, then two, but hesitated, staring her down with caution. "But you—you're dead. How?"
Liadan’s eyes widened and she walked the rest of the way to him, horror in her pale eyes. “What did they do to you?” She searched his face, her own paling slightly at his words, but then her brow fell and she slowly reached out to touch the back of his hands, her touch light, cautious. “I’m not dead, Cullen. I got pulled into that same time magic I found at Redcliffe. You remember?”
She continued moving slowly, guiding his hands upward until his fingertips brushed her cheeks. “I’m here, Cullen. I swear it.”
Lissa could barely see in the dark, but the exchange between the two was intimate and touching. It was also heartbreaking.
And, were she honest, very odd. The Cullen from her time had always seemed aloof in the romance department. But knowing that somewhere he was happy was an unusual salve in this dark place.
The moment Solas had entered the room and saw Lissa, the red fled from his eyes and his strength seemed to return. “Fenor?” he murmured.
It was not Solas' endearment that alerted her to his presence. In the fact, the word was forgotten in the desperate need to know only that he lived.
"Hah'ren?" she squeaked in disbelief. She abandoned her staff and it bounced on the floor, crackling and fizzling at the impact. Without thinking, she was instantly at his side, having used the Fade to step next to him. That it was so easy, even without her staff, was lost as she cared only that he was here.
“[Solas, what happened to you?]” she asked in perfect Elvhen, her voice shaky with emotion as she dared to slip an arm under his shoulder to support him.
“[It does not matter.]” Solas accepted her touch gratefully, his gaze never leaving her face as she held him. He looked as though he were drinking in the sight of her. One of his hands came to brush against her shoulder. “[You are here and you are safe. I could ask for nothing else.]”
The sight of Solas twisted her gut. She wanted to grip him tightly, hold him in an embrace just to know that he was well. But she refrained. "I see you've met Liadan Lavellan. She . . . well . . . she has a mark as well. I can't make sense of it. But there is very powerful, very strange magic at work here. What can you tell me, hah'ren?" The term was said with too much affection for a teacher.
“I wish I had answers to give you.” He allowed himself to rest against her, to depend on her. “She showed me her mark, but it should be impossible. The orb . . .” Shaking his head, he turned his hand against her shoulder, clasping her upper arm, stroking his thumb over loose strands of her hair as he allowed himself to believe she was here. With him. “The orb could not have had given two marks,” he said at last, his voice grave. “She was not there with you at its making; the fact that she is here now must be due to the magic of that staff you touched.”
Lissa was only too ready to aid him, wishing it hadn't been such dire circumstances that drove him to her side. She blushed at their embrace and felt a sudden pang of envy. But then . . . was it really something to want, to see the one who loves you in such pain? No, she decided, she didn't envy her after all. She turned to check on the others, and quickly averted her eyes from their embrace, lashes fluttering against her blushing cheeks.
The human mage’s use of her language meant little to Liadan at the time; her whole being was focused on the man looking at her as though he could hardly believe his own eyes. His hands were shaking against her skin, and she did her best to offer him an encouraging smile, though the sight of him looking so worn and tired threatened to steal the breath from her lungs. “Cullen?”
He cleared his throat, his eyes too dry to tear. His thumbs trembled where they rested on her cheekbones. "I'm fine. I . . . Maker's breath, I missed you." His lips found hers, wanting, desperate, seeking comfort in her touch.
Liadan’s touch on Cullen’s hands wavered as he leaned toward her, and as he kissed her, she slid her arms around his neck, rising up onto her tiptoes as she pressed her mouth more firmly to his. She could taste that sickly-sweet magic in the air around them, but Cullen still tasted like Cullen, and he was alive and warm in her arms, and she in his. As he shuddered, whispering her name brokenly, she gentled her touch, her fingers stroking the back of his neck as she slowly pulled away, pressing her brow to his and remaining close. She whispered soft things to him that she had often said before, on nights when lyrium-dreams plagued him and he could not shake the demons of his past. “I am here,” she murmured time and again, punctuating her sentences with gentle kisses.
Lissa cleared her throat (for her own sake, not to interrupt) and turned to Solas, bending to peek under his hanging head. "Since we are dealing with time magic, I thought I should ask: when is it?" She took a few discreet breaths, taking in the scent of him, allowing her mana to reach out to his, feel his energies.
“Nine forty-three,” he answered softly, relishing the feel of her mana flowing over his own, the familiarity, the warmth, the emotions it brought back. He lifted his head high enough to meet her gaze. “We . . . I thought I lost you.”
"Nine forty-three?" she repeated in disbelief. "We've lost more than a year." How was this possible? All from a staff? Or was it something different?
The tenderness in his voice was a vice on her heart, twisting it till it almost stopped beating.
"I'm sorry," she replied through a pained breath. "But I'm here now." She smiled. "And I'm going to figure this out. Only . . . I'm afraid I'll need your help again, my friend." Her expression twisted. "Before I found myself here, we were in the Western Approach. Everything was frozen. I found a staff, you warned me about it, and I reached out anyways," she said through gritted teeth. "I should have listened. This is all my fault."
"I should have been more insistent," he said as he shook his head. "We could not have known, though I suspected . . ." He cleared his throat and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "We are still in the Western Approach. The Venatori have used this as a base of operation since you di—” His brow furrowed. “Disappeared."
Cullen slowly drew back from Liadan, but he never let a hand leave her in some way, sometimes barely brushing the stretch of arm between her shoulder and elbow, or resting on the small of her back, as if reminding himself she was there, she was real.
"I know that if we're out, someone will have gotten word," Cullen insisted, ever the soldier. "We need to figure out how to get you back to where you're supposed to be."
"When we're supposed to be." Lissa's eyes rested insistently on Liadan. "It's dragon nine forty-three!"
“A year . . .” the elf rogue murmured. “Again?” She clutched Cullen’s sleeve like it was a lifeline. “Why is it always a year?” Her jaw set and she straightened beneath their gazes. “If this is anything like the last time, we will need that staff.”
"That's . . . that's actually a good question.” Lissa considered the rogue’s words for a moment. “If you experienced time travel at about the same interval, there's a good reason why they're the same. It could be random chance, but I doubt it. Maybe if we knew the answer, we could figure out how to get back."
Cullen scoffed. "I don't care half as much about why. Just so long as whatever it is you're doing, it gets done quickly. The experiments they work here—" He shuddered. "I can still hear the screams. If you are caught," his voice broke, and he spared a glance at Liadan. "It would be better that you were dead."
She slid her hand into his, squeezing gently, offering him another wavering smile. Stepping closer, she pressed her side against his, bolstering him.
“A year.” Solas shifted his grip on Lissa’s arm, his finger closing around her wrist now. “That is important. And with the fact that it drew you both here, two marks, two heralds . . .” He shook his head, brow furrowed as he worked to think past the pain and weakness in his bones.
Lissa took up the theoretical discussion of magic with her hah'ren with ease, not able to appreciate the fact that he had been a year without her to bounce theories off.
"So then two orbs. And two Corypheus'—that can only mean that there are two . . . of this." She gestured to the area. "There must be another plane. Perhaps it is separated from us, like the Fade is separate but equally real?"
Cullen shifted. "This staff you mentioned, if it were the focus of their experiments, I might know where they've taken it. But I doubt they'll make it easy for us to get to. And my sword arm is not what it used to be."
"Then lead us, Commander," Lissa urged softly before turning to her hah'ren, asking in a near whisper, "[Are you able to walk, Solas? You must be careful.]"
Slowly pulling away, but still holding Cullen’s hand, Liadan bent and lifted Lissa’s staff from the floor, moving forward to offer it to the other Inquisitor. “No time like the present.”
Lissa blinked once, then twice before giggling in bubbly fashion. She accepted the staff with her free hand, her marked hand, and felt a strange electricity as she neared Liadan's mark. The closer she got, the hotter her hand felt until green sparks jumped from her palm.
"That . . . is curious."
Liadan watched in morbid curiosity as well, head tilted, eyes gleaming like a cat. As Lissa’s fingers closed around the staff, an arc of electricity stretched between their palms, and she quickly pulled away, fingertips tingling. “Yes,” she answered. “Curious.”
Solas worked to stand on his own, gathering his strength, drawing what he could from Lissa’s mana without depleting her reserves. “[I am well enough for this. We have to get you back.]”
Cullen watched the two curiously. The Solas he knew did not have many friends. In fact, not any close that he could recall, aside from Liadan. But whoever this other "Herald" was, they seemed close. Odd that she should speak his language. There was Free Marcher in her mannerisms. When would she have learned Elvhen?
His tactician's brain became tired and he took a deep breath, letting the oxygen spread to his slightly thinned muscles. "There is a place where everything that has run its course gets left to die,” he supplied at last. “People, experiments . . . it doesn't matter. Were I to hazard a guess, I'd say it is on the west wing. Can you vouch for that, Solas?"
The apostate nodded slowly, closing his eyes for just a moment. “Yes. Yes, that is correct.”
“Then, we should get going.” Liadan gave Cullen’s hand another squeeze before bending down to pick up his weapon as well. She pressed the hilt into his hand, touching his knuckles tenderly. “I will be watching your backs.”
Cullen accepted the sword, his eyes watching her until he could not see her for the dark. Lissa stepped forward.
"I'll take vanguard, Commander. Just tell me where to go." Lissa spared a blind glance toward where Liadan had disappeared into the dark, uttering a silent prayer that she could watch her hah’ren as well. Maker, keep him safe.
Stepping forward carefully, she used her mana to reach ahead of her to alert her to oncoming enemies. The mana here was odd and thick like swimming through mud. Her ears alerted her before her magic did.
"Ahead!" she whispered sharply, readying a spell to control the area with a paralyzing shock, violet and electric blue sparks whirling around the head of her staff.
The first soldier fell with a dagger in his eye, dead before he struck the ground.
As the dagger whipped past Lissa’s head, she cast her spell, a crackling bolt that arced between the group of soldiers. But before the spell could leave her hands, a familiar tingle spread across her skin, enshrining her in blue.
Solas, she thought fondly.
As she cast simple elemental magic from her staff, waiting for her mana to regenerate for a more powerful spell, Cullen surged ahead, sword gripped between his palms.
But suddenly, Liadan was there, smoke exploding at her feet as she slammed both of her daggers hilt-deep into the man's back. She followed him to the floor before pulling her weapons out with a jerk. Standing, she nodded to Lissa before backing away and disappearing once more.
In somewhat amusing fashion, all the assailants were dead before Cullen had made his first stroke. He shot a crooked grin that tugged at his scar as he watch Liadan with admiration and affection as she shrunk into the shadows. "It's not much farther now."
A few empty corridors, and a few right hand turns led them to a large albeit unguarded door. The scent from behind it was nauseating and Lissa hid a lurch behind her palm. No, not just the scent. It was a strange pulse of magic that set her stomach to churning. She tried the handle, but it was locked.
Appearing again just a few steps away, Liadan moved for the door. "Allow me," she murmured, slipping her tools from her belt and coming before the locked door. She cast a glance in both mage's directions, and sent a comforting smile to her commander, before turning her attention to the lock.
The stench from behind the door made her stomach clench and though she could not feel magic like a mage, she could feel something that made her skin crawl. She slipped her tools into the lock, humming beneath her breath, her tone changing as she worked through the tumblers, and as the last slid out of the way, she tucked her tools away and looked over her shoulder.
"Are you ready?"
Lissa shifted her grip on her staff, mana at the ready. Cullen, too, shifted his weight and tightened his grip on his borrowed sword. Solas gave silent affirmation, his grip on his staff strong.
With a small smile, Liadan turned the handle and pushed open the door, disappearing in the blink of an eye as the room was revealed.
A warm, wet draft of dank air, ripe with decay, assaulted them first. Bodies long dead and many mutilated abominations, littered the corners. Some were frozen, like the time magic Lissa had encountered in the Western Approach, a look of pained terror still etched on their decaying faces. Scattered throughout were odd trinkets, each buzzing with magic. It was almost too much, an assault on Lissa's senses, but she gathered her composure little by little.
Amid the turgid muck was a sensation she knew, a magic she had encountered before. Was it the staff? As they all carefully prowled around the room, she made it to the back where stood a familiar sight.
The staff.
"Here it is!" she whispered sharply.
Down the hall, shouting and muffled warnings were heard. Cullen drew his sword. "They're onto us. Be ready!"
Solas was placing wards already, just outside the door, his own mana crackling around him. "Find a way to brace the door, Commander. We must give them time."
As they worked to shut the door, the sound of fragile glass could barely be heard as a small bottle rolled down the hall, but as the first soldier stepped down, breaking through the glass, a cloud of smoke and poison filled the air, drawn into unwitting lungs and blinding their eyes. Liadan appeared just outside the door, slipping inside before the men closed it, and began working with them to fortify the meager barrier.
Necessity urging her forward, Lissa reached for the staff, anticipating the same surge as before. But nothing happened. "Liadan, it's not working!"
Stupid, she berated herself. If I could just have more time, I could figure it out.
"Maybe we both need to touch it!" she shouted as she lifted the staff from its half-broken pedestal.
The rogue elf paused in gathering weapons to help bolster the door shut, but at Cullen's reassuring nod, she set them down and moved to join Lissa. "It does not look the same," she said as she drew nearer. "It is not crackling like it did before."
Lissa cursed herself. If she were smarter, if she had studied harder— A year. Two orbs. Two marks . . . what is the key? A memory sparked to life in her mind, a recollection of a comment Dagna had made. The Anchor was a key. A key that be able to open everything. Maybe with two of them . . .
Cullen grunted as the door shuddered, bracing himself against the wood. But he was not as strong as he had been a year ago. Solas gave a word of warning a moment later.
As the rattling of the door became louder, Liadan stiffened, pausing as she reached out for the staff. Her mark sparked and burned as she quickly tore off her glove, watching as Lissa's mark responded to hers. With hers.
"Use the Anchor!" Solas shouted, slamming his staff into the ground, his wards flaring to life and shocking those just on the other side of the door, giving them a short reprieve.
A very short reprieve.
There came a whistle, then, a thunk as an arrow split the door, throwing splinters down on the men.
"Archers!" Cullen called, jutting his shoulder into the door. Another whistle, and another thunk, followed by a low growl. The arrow had broken through the door, landing a shallow blow on the Commander. A third arrow missed Solas' head by mere inches.
"No!" Lissa growled, leaving the staff with Liadan and waving her hand. The air parted and she slipped through seamlessly, stepping out next to the archer. She struck him with her staff, calling on her mana to harden to a physical blade and struck him down. But there were too many. Before she was trapped, she slipped back, appearing back in the room, putting her attention to the door.
As Lissa disappeared, Liadan took the staff and dashed toward the door, pressing her slight weight against the wood between the two men. She waited until Lissa returned before tossing another glass phial out through the growing hole in the door. The angry sound of bees buzzing was soon followed by shouts of surprise and pain.
"There's too many!” Lissa warned. “Twenty as a guess!"
While Liadan skillfully chucked out all manor of bottled havoc, Lissa sent them gifts of her own, balls of flame, shards of ice. But they had mages of their own.
She cried out in pain, looking down at a gash in her arm. Her robes ruined, blood already started to show even through the frosty gash.
"We have to go," Liadan said as the soldiers struggled to regroup. Her gaze shifted to Cullen and her expression wavered. "I will not let this happen in our timeline." She briefly touched his cheek. "I am sorry I have to leave you again."
Cullen blocked an arrow with his sword, deflecting it with more dumb luck than skill before it struck Liadan. "If you must leave me, it will need to be soon!" he insisted, using his bulk against the slowly crumbling door.
Solas had felt his breath leave him as Lissa disappeared, and when she returned, it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her in his arms and begging her to never leave again. The sight of her blood spurred him into action. "The staff, vhenan," he said as a thud came from the other side of the door. "You both must use your mark upon the staff."
Amid the sounds of chaos around her and the freezing pain spreading along her arm, Lissa heard only one thing. "[What did you say?]" She trembled.
"[I was a fool, Lissa,]" he answered vehemently. "[Content to simply watch you, guide you. It was not until I lost you that I . . .]" his voice failed him and he shook his head.
Liadan watched the pair with growing understanding. She could see the desperation on their faces and against her better judgment, she turned to the door again. She threw her last potion right in the face of the soldier nearest the door, the force of her throw knocking him back. He barely had time to scream and try to remove the glass shards from his forehead and cheeks before the chemicals combusted, engulfing him in flames and knocking several others off their feet, screaming as they tried to bat out the flames.
Pulling free the last of her throwing knives from her belt, she began to take out the soldiers that had not been wounded, aiming for vitals and ignoring Cullen's hissed, "Get down!" She jerked aside as a spear came for her face, fire following the spear tip as it caught her cheek and strands of snow-white hair. With one hand, she shoved the spear haft upward and with the other hand, she slammed the cross guard of her knife into the soldier’s nose, grinning fiercely as he stumbled back, unable to see through the veil of tears in his eyes.
Cullen snarled, a savage sound that ripped from his throat as he hacked at another reaching arm that dared to reach through the splintered hole. Together, they worked to hold the enemy back, even if only for a few more seconds.
Solas saw the elf and understood her choice and the opportunity they both were granting him, and without thought of repercussion, he pulled Lissa close, tangling the fingers of one hand in her red tresses. "[Forgive me,]" he murmured as he bent and kissed her fiercely, a year of regret and passion fueling him.
Lissa’s gasp was lost in his mouth, and as her surprise faded, she clung to him, her fingers pressed firmly to the back of his neck as she returned every desperate kiss he gave her.
He tasted of sweat and blood and the hot tint of red lyrium, but he was still her hah’ren, still her Solas, and as he tightened his grip, pressed her more insistently against him, she molded herself to him, tightening her grip on him. As his breath broke over her lips, she made a soft sound and gentled the kiss, her hand sliding to his chest where she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her palm. Slowly, his fingers slid through her hair, gentle where they once had been desperate.
Lissa eventually pulled from Solas with a shuddering inhale, her hand slipping from him reluctantly. "Ir'abelas, Solas."
"Ir'abelas," he replied, watching with dark eyes as she slipped from his fingers once again, this time for good.
"There's no time," Cullen insisted, indulging himself with one last deep gaze into Liadan's pale eyes. "You both must go, or we all die."
The elf shook her head, furious that she was being made to leave him, again. Leaning forward, she pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” she whispered, and pulled back.
The human mage whirled to face Liadan, desperation driving her. She grabbed the staff and held it between them, clutching it with her marked hand. "With me?"
Touching Cullen’s cheek one last time, her thumb tracing his scar, Liadan turned and met Lissa's golden gaze. She grasped the staff just above the mage's hand and said with a tight-lipped smile, "Andraste light your path, Inquisitor."
Lissa grinned. "Mythal give you wisdom."
Both Anchors cracked and sputtered, drowning out the sounds of the chaos. The strange pulsing returned as the energy kicked back and forth between the two marks. Lissa struggled to keep her hold on the staff, but slowly the black swallowed her, spitting her out violently.
What felt like an eternity later, Lissa slowly rose to her feet, clutching her head as waves of dizziness assaulted her.
"Lissa?" a familiar voice questioned in concern.
"Solas," she gasped, nearly grasping him.
He eyed her curiously, grey eyes narrowing. "Are you alright?"
She grinned warmly, his confession burning in her heart, and the taste of his kiss still on her lips. "I am now."
--
Liadan closed her eyes against the brilliant flashes of viridian that arced between their anchors, growing brighter and stronger with each pass. The Anchor in her palm hissed and spat green sparks, burning and itching like a dozen hornet stings. And as black fringed her vision, she felt that gut-wrenching tug before she knew no more.
"Boss?"
Liadan frowned and slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead as she worked to open her eyes. "What year is it?" she mumbled.
"Nine forty-two," Dorian answered dryly. "Hit your head that hard, did you?"
"Enough, Dorian," Cassandra warned, and a moment later, the Seeker's warm hand was on Liadan's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
Glancing down at the mark in her hand before looking up at her friends, the rogue smiled and laughed. "I am now."