Chapter Text
Misyl shivered, squinting against the gray light streaming in through the windows. Something was off, she could tell immediately, but it was probably only the renewed novelty of waking up with someone in her bed.
She burrowed deeper into the blankets and turned to look at Ameridan. His face was smooth in sleep, soft and serene, and she couldn’t help reaching out to touch his cheek.
“What time is it?” he murmured, pulling her close against his chest.
She was half tempted to bury her face in the hollow of his neck and allow sleep to claim her again, but she doubted that would last for long. No matter how hungover the rest of Skyhold was, Josephine, at least, was surely at her desk already. Which meant that any moment now, the Inquiaitor would be needed.
“I dunno,” she said, resting her head against his chest. “Early,” she added, yawning widely.
“The fire must’ve gone out,” he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see to it.”
There was brief blast of wintry air as he slipped out from under the covers, and Misyl curled in on herself with a shudder.
Less than a heartbeat later, he spoke again, his voice stilted with false calm. “There is something strange going on here.”
Misyl sat up, reaching automatically for the dagger on her nightstand, but it fell from her nerveless fingers when she saw what he was looking at.
Right around the bed, everything was just how they’d left it the night before, the pile of books on the settee by the stairs, candles in a pool of melted wax on the table, their fine clothes strewn in careless heaps. But it was a bubble of normalcy in a sea of ruin. The rest of the tower looked abandoned, drifts of dead leaves and other debris rustling in the wind that whistled through pane-less windows. No wonder it was so cold.
“What in the fuck…?”
“Indeed,” Ameridan said, crouching in front of the fireplace. “It looks like the hearth hasn’t been lit in decades. But I sense no active spells at work.”
“What does that mean?” Misyl asked, gathering the blankets around her to still her shivers, and groping around on the floor for a shirt.
He frowned and swept his fingers toward the hearth, and a gust of wind carried a pile of dead leaves into the grate, which he ignited with a practiced gesture. “I suppose it means we’d better dress as warmly as we can so we can investigate further. At least it seems most of our clothes are here.”
They dressed in a mixture of the previous night’s finery and whatever armor and warm clothes they could find, including wearing some of her bedclothes as makeshift cloaks. Her best set of daggers had disappeared, but she still had the imported Antivan knife she’d concealed in her sleeve the night before. That was as good as it was going to get.
“Are you ready to go down?” Ameridan asked.
Misyl could only nod. None of the possibilities she could imagine were hopeful, and she had a feeling that what was actually going on was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine.
They moved cautiously down the stairs, their breath steaming in the freezing air. The door to her chamber was gone, and the wooden stairs that had accessed the tower had been replaced with rubble. “Well, this is inconvenient,” Misyl said, squinting into the dim light to see if there was any way to get down safely.
Ameridan eyed the stairwell critically for a moment before reaching his hands out and releasing a net of spring green magic that wrapped around the broken stones. He flexed his arms and the rubble soared into the air, arranging itself into a ragged sort of stair. “This should hold long enough for us to get down. I know you’re agile enough.”
“I’d say magic was cheating, but I’m just relieved we won’t have to tie the bedsheets together.” Misyl replied, leaping lightly to the closest floating rock and making her way downward. They had to move some more rubble to access the Great Hall, which was empty save for snowdrifts and the remains of a long dead campfire.
“It’s like everyone left ages ago,” she said, finding herself whispering. The stillness reminded her of a graveyard, like the one in the Fade at Adamant, Any moment now, she expected to find her own tombstone, despite the fact that the Dalish did not honor their dead that way. Her heart was pounding, her body tensed for a battle she was sure was about to erupt.
“Or you never arrived,” Ameridan said. “To have so few remnants of the Inquisition, centuries would have had to pass.”
Misyl chewed her lip in thought. “Let’s check the rotunda.”
Somehow, she knew it would be in better shape than everything else. Indeed, the roof was intact, the floor looked to be freshly swept; there were hardly any cobwebs. But the thing she was looking for, hoping for, was the mural.
The one they’d seen before defeating Corypheus was still there; Solas living amount the Dalish, teaching their children. But all the others, the Breach, the beginning of the Inquisition, the rise of Corypheus, the siege of Adamant, were all gone.
There was, however, something new. It showed two elves silhouetted on the balcony of Skyhold, waves of magic around them. Below, a wolf made a path through the Frostbacks, leading to Stone-Bear Hold, where this had all begun. Misyl remembered the fall of Haven, how the howl of wolves had somehow led her through the snow.
“I think we’re supposed to go there, to the Avvar,” she said uncertainly.
Ameridan’s brow furrowed as he ran his fingers lightly over the plaster. “But how is this here? You can see from the other mural that this one is much newer, maybe only a few months old, and I would swear this is this same artist. The first mural looks just as ancient as it did last week. Yet we found fairly solid proof that your Solas was sent back in my place. That would make him almost a thousand years old. Even if we’ve been sent back in time as well, there must be centuries between these two works.”
Misyl opened her mouth and shut it again. “Maybe he had children?” She said, which hurt more than it should have.
Ameridan shook his head in disbelief. “That does make the most logical sense, but this is such a distinctive style, even within the Elvhen tradition. The color choices, even this repeated wolf motif. You would expect after six or seven generations, even the descendants of a famous artist would have their own style.”
“But what would that even mean?” Misyl said helplessly. Something in her gut told her he was right, they were both Solas’s work, but that was impossible.
“I don’t know,” Ameridan admitted. “But the more I learn about Solas, the more I am certain he was hiding even more secrets than you guessed. In that one moment I felt his magic, it was strange… powerful, but unlike anything I’d seen before, or since, among your modern mages. Leiliana told me he claimed to be self-taught, an elven apostate growing up in a small village in the Frostbacks, but there was no village, no records. He was incredibly learned, yet how would an elf become so, in a world where the People are treated little better than dogs? He may have learned history and magic from spirits, but how would he learn to read, to write, to paint as he does? You may not have much experience with the Fade, but I can tell you that spirits can usually only make twisted copies of the world. It would be rare to find a readable book, or a spirit who could describe the alphabet. They are all about the feeling of a task, or the meaning of if. A concrete process like reading or writing would be lost on them.”
“The Dalish certainly don’t read, except maybe the Keepers. And he had no vallaslin. If he was expelled from a clan that would explain his bitterness.” Misyl said. “Though that doesn’t explain the murals.”
Ameridan sighed. “I suppose it hardly matters. We need help and supplies more urgently than we need answers and Stone -Bear Hold is closer than anywhere else. Hopefully, whatever time we find ourself in, the clan remains friendly.”
It was a slow, miserable journey. Going downhill was certainly easier than going uphill, but the wind was freezing, the snow sometimes drifting as high as their waists. With no supplies but empty water skins and a few trail rations, Misyl doubted they would have made it at all, except that someone had gone ahead of them and left stacks of dried wood, often covering a lightly buried cache of dried meat and fruit. The first campsite they came to actually had a full camp, a tent, two bedrolls, cooking implements. Even a bow of Dalish make and a quiver of arrows.
“Clearly someone is expecting us,” Ameridan said, when they reached the foothills and found another camp, this one with two sets of Dalish leathers and a new set of daggers for Misyl.
“I can’t say I’m not grateful,” Misyl replied, examining the blades. “But it is a little unnerving. What if it’s us?”
“Like a past set of us? What would happen if we met ourselves? Would we cancel each other out like competing spells and vanish into thin air?” Amneridan replied, only half-jokingly.
Misyl shuddered and poked him in the chest. “Maybe I’d kill the other me, and have two of you all to myself.”
His eyes gleamed playfully. “So bloodthirsty. Whatever would you do with two of me?”
She could feel her ears getting hot as a number of scenarios came to mind, and his smile deepened. He trailed a long finger down her neck. “I think I can keep you occupied all by myself.”
Warmth bloomed in her belly, and she leaned in, breathing against his ear. “Show me.”
Later, they lay in their small tent together, freshly rinsed in the river, and Misyl rested her head against Ameridan’s chest with a sigh. After a week struggling through the cold, she had needed this reminder of warmth and life. Shit was weird, as Varric would say, but Ameridan was here, solid and real, and whatever was going on, they would have each other.
He moved his arm around her shoulders, stroking his thumb down her back. “How long until we reach the Hold, do you think?”
“A couple of days, I’d guess, as long as they haven’t moved,” she said, letting her eyes drift closed. They hadn’t yet eaten, and she knew that skipping meals wasn’t advised, especially when you were walking all day in the cod. But his shoulder was really very comfortable.
“It would be just our luck that the clan that stayed put for 800 years would sudden;y decide to relocate when we needed them most,” he said, which made Misyl laugh. She did sometimes feel like she must’ve have angered some really powerful witch. Surely the events of the last year had to be a curse. No one’s luck was that bad.
But that made her think of her friends, and she was no longer sleepy. “I keep thinking we should try to find the rest of the Inquisition, but what if they don’t know me? Worse… what if…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Ameridan turned and kissed her forehead. “Well, I did notice something when we were outside just now that may be… somewhat a good sign? The sky isn’t scarred.”
Misyl scrambled out of the tent before he could say anything else, only slightly regretting her decision when the icy air hit her bare skin. But she hardly felt the chill when she looked up at the first clear sky she had seen in nearly a week. It was blue. Just blue, with a few wisps of cloud on the horizon. “The Breach hasn’t happened,” she said, awe and fear fighting for dominance.
“Perhaps that means we can stop it,” he said, following her out of the tent and dropping the blanket over her shoulders.
“Maybe,” Misyl said. “I have a feeling it isn’t that simple.” She retreated back into the tent and began to dress, mind whirling.
“Only you would call preventing a worldwide disaster simple,” Ameridan said, chuckling as he picked up his own clothes.
Her answering smile was thin, mostly due to the way her guts were twisting with unease. “I just mean, it doesn’t make sense. Not that anything about this makes sense, but if we had just gone back in time, back before the Breach happened, maybe we could find Corypheus and stop him before he blew up the Conclave. But I can’t help thinking about what Mythal said. Twice she has hinted that you and Solas switching places has done something to time itself. And the researcher we had in the Frostbacks mentioned that if you had lived, you might have prevented the Exalted March on the Dales, or at least, postponed it, because you advocated for the Dalish to help the humans with the Blight. Solas was clearly doing something in the Dales. What if he tried to do the things you could not? How much change would it take to alter history completely?”
Ameridan sat down heavily, his eyes wide. “We might be entering a world where elves are equal to humans. Or any number of equally inconceivable but less pleasant futures. “
Misyl chewed her lip. “Whatever timeline it is, it’s a future without the Inquisition, which means it a future where we don’t - cannot- exist.”
“But also, one that could not exist without you and the Anchor,” Ameridan said. “A paradox. I remember Dorian talking about such thongs, in reference to some time magic you had encountered before I arrived. He said an unresolved paradox would make reality unstable. Which sounds less than ideal.”
Misyl sighed. “Here I thought the world-saving stuff was finally winding down. But it doesn’t change our next steps. Let’s make some dinner. I bet the last of the dried fish would go well with that Orlesion grain and some of that spring onion you found earlier.”
*********
As luck would have it, in this reality, Stone-Bear Hold was much closer to Skyhold. Just as they were beginning to think about looking for a place to camp that evening, they spotted a group of Avvar in the distance. Misyl knew they were a people who valued confidence and hospitality, so she forced herself not to automatically reach for her daggers, but to wave a friendly greeting.
The distant group did not hesitate before waving, back, and as a further show of friendliness, many of them sat down around the campfire to make preparations for a meal. “It seems we’re welcome,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Maybe the time….. thing hasn’t reached them yet.”
“Perhaps,” Ameridan said, “But if my magical senses are any guide, I would say that the border of this.. whatever this is… extends at least twenty miles further. Now that I know what to look for, the traces in the Veil are very clear. It’s moving slowly, for now. If we don’t spend too much time here, we may even outpace it. Though, I’m not sure I would want to,” he added with a shudder, perhaps imagining what traveling to a different reality would feel like. “Anyway, if I had to guess, I would say that someone knew we would be heading this way and told them to meet us. Perhaps the same person or persons that provisioned our descent from the mountains.”
Misyl’s thoughts immediately turned to Solas, to the new mural in Skyhold. A wolf leading the way to the Avvar. There was no way he could still be alive, obviously. That was what logic demanded. But something else, something that might be called intuition, the sense her Keeper always called the guidance of the Creators, disagreed.
And why a wolf? This internal voice sounded a bit like Dorian. As Ameridan had pointed out, all of Solas’s murals had wolves in them. He seemed to have a special fondness for the creatures, going back to some of their first skirmishes in the Hinterlands. Was it a coincidence that the only figure in Elvhen history who was associated with wolves was the only one of the Elvhen ‘creators’ Solas hadn’t ventured an opinion of? She felt like she was on the cusp of something huge, but also, it was completely ridiculous, and she shook her head to dismiss it. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
The Avvar that rose to meet them at the edge of the camp was familiar to Misyl, a shaman sometimes called Sky-watcher, though that wasn’t his name. He had joined the Inquisition after she rescued soldiers from his boastful leader. “Stone-Bear Hold offers you greetings, Lady Lavellan. The gods - spirits as you call them - tell us of shockwaves in the Beyond that have changed the story of the Clan, but they also say that you are a friend to us, and someone that can help with all that is coming.”
Misyl blinked. “So the spirits understand what’s going on?”
Sky-Watcher nodded gravely. “They speak of a great knot in the web of Fate as it unravels from the edges. You and the light in your hand are the key. In the past that was, you used it to mend holes in the sky. Now you must use it to re-weave time.”
Misyl opened her mouth to let out of string of curses before thinking better of it. Josephine would be so proud. “I don’t think I know how to do that,” she finally said as calmly as she could manage.
Sky-Watcher did not display the shock and dismay she expected at this declaration, but only nodded in grave understanding. “Spirits will come to show you the way. But first, you and the other time-touched Inquisitor must eat and drink and tell us of the place you came from. We know that your journey has been hard, and also, we would like to hear the tale from another mortal. Spirits are wise, but see all times at once. Their stories can be strange to untangle.”
The mere mention of their hard journey and the knowledge of the new task stretching in front of them sent a wave of weariness crashing over Misyl, so much that she swayed on her feet a little.
She was doubly grateful for Ameridan then, putting his arm around her shoulder to steady her as he answered the Avvar. “We would be glad to share your fire and tell our stories in return for your gracious hospitality.”
“That is well, as Lady Lavellan looks to be in sore need of rest. If you will leave us your tents and bedrolls, we would be glad to set your camp inside ours while you take a seat.”
Even after a little less than a year with the Inquisition, Misyl realized that life in Skyhold had spoiled her. Clan Lavellan had spent weeks, sometimes months at a time on the road, and in the winter having a full belly and a warm bath were often rare luxuries. She remembered weeks where her parents had gone hungry to feed her and her brothers, nights huddled together shivering when it was too wet for fire. Most winters as a child, she had suffered from a cough that even magic could only ease for an hour or two, and from Haring to Cloudreach she would be miserable with a combination of aching ribs, sore throat and lack of sleep.
Now, just two weeks of winter camping had left her completely drained. Though it was true that a bedroll and a tent were much less comfortable than an aravel, and most Dalish clans did not typically travel during the worst of winter weather, she felt shamed by the weakness of her own body, though in many ways she had never been more fit.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Ameridan said as she sagged into a hide chair. “Traveling in the mountains, especially in freezing weather and heavy snowfall, is incredibly taxing.”
“Reading my thoughts now?” she said over the rim of the warm mug of broth she’d just been handed.
“There’s hardly a need. Your expression says it all. Besides, you’d be a much less effective Inquisitor if you didn’t expect so much from yourself. I’m merely speaking from experience.”
“You seem fine,” she retorted, a bit sourly. She had always been terrible at keeping her feelings from showing on her face, and it never ceased to irritate her.
“Years of practice hiding it,” he replied with a playful grin. “Also, as a mage, I can siphon a bit of energy from the Fade, especially near Skyhold where the Veil is so thin. I don’t have to have quite as exacting expectations of myself anymore. Not that it’s any easy habitat to break, but not having a whole castle of people bowing to me all the time was a great help.”
“Mages have all the fun,” Misyl grumbled.
The Avvar built up the fire until Misyl was sweating in the warmth, and she scooted her chair back to get relief, leaning her head back to watch as the sky deepened to the purple hues of twilight and the first stars appeared.
More and more of the tribe arrived to assist, young men in war paint and hide breeches setting up benches and trestle tables, rosy-cheeked children laying out mugs and bowls for a least twenty people, and even a few mages, shamans, she thought they called themselves, coaxing light into rough-cut crystals and hanging them like lanterns. Then came the hunters and the bakers, with whole smoked fish, round loaves of brown bread, and several joints of roasted meat. Cooks carried in steaming earthenware vessels and covered wooden bowls of various sizes, multiple barrels of drink were rolled in, and the mingled scents of food and drink made Misyl's stomach growl.
All this was accomplished in a chaotic whirl of song and laughter, with none of the barking orders and frightened servants Misyl had seen in the noble houses of Thedas, yet it had taken no longer, and the feast was just as sumptuous. The biggest difference, she supposed, was that unlike a noble house, this was a special occasion that would only happen a few times a year. No doubt Empress Celene and the other notables of Thedas dined at such a table every night. So much misery caused to produce so much waste, in the name of pageantry and politics.
No doubt the Avvar had their own troubles, their own injustices, but Misyl couldn’t help thinking that Thedas could learn a great deal from their way of life. Josephine had no doubt been right when she had insisted that the Inquisition copy the habits of the nobility. They needed to meet all those dukes and Arls on their own terms in order to be taken seriously.
But now that the Breach had been sealed and Corypheus was gone, maybe it was time the roles were reversed. Plans and ideas swirled in Misyl’s head, ways to pressure the powerful and wealthy into sharing their prosperity. If, of course, she could ever get back to that… world, that place and time where she had, for the first time in her life, the power to really change things for her People, and so many others.
A nudge from Ameridan made her start awake- she had fallen into a light doze at some point, and of course, there was a line of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth onto her forearm.
“The meal is ready. Thane Sun-hair is waiting to greet you, I believe,’ he said, a slight twinkle in his eye the only indication that he noticed her discomfiture.
“Great,” she said. “If I look half as bad as I feel, maybe she’ll be moved by pity,” Misyl replied, groaning as he pulled her to her feet. It was never a good idea to fall asleep in a chair, especially after a great deal of exercise. Her muscles were so stiff she had to stifle a cry as her legs and back pulled painfully when she straightened.
“Considering what you’ve spent the last two weeks doing, you’re looking rather fantastic,” he said. “And from what I know of the Avvar, they will be far more impressed with this evidence of how tough and capable you are than they ever would have been by a high-society lady.”
“Inquisitor Ameridan is correct. The fact that you are standing at all, after two weeks in Korth’s domain, is a testament to your fortitude,” said Thane Sun-Hair, her husky voice, tinged with humor but resolute, was so unmistakeable that Misyl didn’t even have to squint into the lantern light to be certain the approaching figure was her. “Even our own hunters have lost their lives in such conditions. The gods tell the shamans that you are a friend to our tribe, and that you have a heavy destiny to carry. So we will aid you in whatever way we can, spittle and all.”
A bark of surprised laughter escaped Misyl’s mouth, and then another. Mirth bubbled up like a spring, and she couldn’t seem to stop. It was all so ridiculous, and this kindness from someone who was essentially a stranger was a catastrophic breach in the dam Misyl had been keeping on her emotions for the past two weeks, maybe even the past year. Her stomach ached from laughing, but she felt like she was crying, the exhaustion and frustration and fear flowing down her face in hot waves.
Someone pressed a drink into her hands, and the jolt of spiced liquor burning down her throat seemed to anchor her. She took several gulping breaths, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Sorry about that,” she said, once she was capable of speaking. “Things have been… strange.”
To her surprise, it was Thane Sun-hair standing next to her, patting her back. “I can see your tale is even more complicated than I first thought, but there is no shame in what you are feeling.” She took in Misyl’s expression and smiled gently. “Sometimes, it is helpful to have the ear of another woman, especially one with no connection to the things that trouble our hearts. I sent Inquisitor Ameridan to wash so that I could say, if you would find comfort in such conversation, I shall invite you to a private conference tomorrow morning. It would be my honor for you to lay your burden down at my hearth, and my solemn oath that it will go no farther.”
Misyl’s first instinct was to politely decline. Baring your personal struggles to the leader of another Clan, no matter how strong the alliance, was surely a terrible idea. But it had been so long since she could truly confide in someone. Cassandra, Josephine, and Dorian had been dear friends, but at the same time, they also believed in her, as the Inquisitor, the hero who would be a beacon of hope to the world. It felt wrong . . . selfish to tell them her fears and doubts, when they looked to her for strength. Even Solas and Ameridan had shared that belief, though they had more proof than anyone that she was just another mortal. And she couldn’t exactly ask them for advice about themselves.
Thane Sun-Hair couldn’t be older than forty, but somehow she reminded Misyl of Clan Lavellan’s Hearthkeeper. Aniselan had been a hunter in her youth, but she had always had a passion for stories, and by the time she was a grandmother twice over, she preferred tending fires and swaddling babies to stalking game. Every Clan needed at least one person to watch the younger children while their parents were working, to teach them the stories of their people, and the earliest lessons of what it meant to be Dalish. She sang the name of every baby, blessed every marriage, and led all the rites of remembrance, but even with all this to occupy her, what Misyl most remembered about Aniselan was that she always had the time to listen. She must have heard every tale of youthful heartbreak, every squabble between siblings, every time a child chafed against the rules and expectations adults put upon them. She even advised adults with marital problems. She must have known more about the Clan than anyone, all their hopes and fear, their shameful secrets and wildest dreams. But she never divulged what anyone told her, never took sides in a conflict. She had a way of asking questions that could make you consider events in an entirely new way, or admit to a lie you had been telling yourself, or see an answer that had always been there.
Misyl could see that Thane Sun-Hair was the same. The Avvar valued her courage and strength, but in time, she would be most known for her wisdom. “I think I would like that,” she said finally. “Thank you.”
The Thane’s smile brightened. “Then i will look forward to our talk,” she said, taking a step back. “Please take a moment to refresh yourself, and then come to the table. Some of what you may tell should be heard by all, and I have no doubt you could use a hearty meal. Or several,” she added with a chuckle.
Misyl had not failed to notice how much more loosely her leathers had fit in the morning. “You aren’t wrong.”
****************
“And now here we are. Something is wrong with time. I can’t tell if I’m in the past, the future, or something else altogether, and I haven’t the foggiest idea of how I’m supposed to fix it, ” Misyl finished. The meal in her belly filled her with lazy contentment which was somewhat at odds with the carefree giddiness inspired by the combination of relief at having the story out and two mugs of sweet Frostbacks ice wine.
The rest of the table, at least the part that had been listening to her tale, sat in thoughtful, or perhaps somewhat stunned, silence.
One of the shamans was first to speak. Their sparkling outfit of glass beads and iridescent blue feathers rendered both their age and gender a complete mystery to Misyl, and their voice, a somewhat lilting tenor, was no more illuminating. They had leaned back in their chair as if searching the sky for answers, and maybe that was true. “This matches what the gods tell us,” they said, as if half in a trance. “Even I feel as if I have had dreams of these events. The dragon Hakkon loose, the sky burst open. Yet, when I try to search for answers, the images slip through my fingers like smoke.”
Thane Sun-Hair nodded. “This resonates with me as well, like a long-forgotten memory of childhood. But the war between the Chantry Mages and the Templars, that is no fantasy. A Conclave was called, the Divine did try to make peace. But the results were uninspiring. Some of the combatants were willing to find common ground, but most were too entrenched in their anger. The ones you call the Seeker and Lady Nightingale have invited those minded to cooperate to Haven, no doubt to try to form the Inquisition as the Divine wishes, but there seems little hope for success. At best, they will become a third faction, harried on both sides.”
“Odd as it seems, the explosion at the Conclave may have brought people together in shared grief more than the Conclave itself ever could have,” Ameridan said, sighing. “And from what I’ve seen, the Chantry, even in its current state of precariousness, is the scaffolding that holds up the status quo. People, those who are not either mages or templars themselves, do not want to change when they still believe that things can return to normal. To them, normal is safe. So it was that only after the Chantry was all but destroyed that people were willing to take a chance on a new direction.”
It was a grim thought, but Misyl’s had no doubt he was correct. “I don’t blame people for being frightened,” she said. “In most of the villages we passed through, the Chantry was the only group helping the common folk. They feed the hungry and heal the sick, they take in orphans. Of course people believe them when they say mages are dangerous. And now the war is destroying their homes, in some cases taking their lives. The Chantry must seem like the only point of safety and sanity, even with most of the Templars gone.” At least Cassandra and Leliana had survived. That probably meant that Josephine, Cullen and Varric were in Haven as well. It was one possibility that she stored in her heart like a banked ember.
Ameridan nodded. “Even those that aren’t religious would likely have frequent contact with Chantry sisters. Meanwhile, if a commoner encounters a mage, it can only mean trouble. In Southern Thedas, mages who are taken by the Circle never go home again. People have no experience of what mage freedom could look like, except war.” He shook his head before continuing. “In any case, it seems our suspicion was correct: this is a different present from the one we know. But what does that mean? I can sense a disturbance in the Fade, moving like a wave away from Skyhold, and I guess that it marks the boundary between this reality and the one we just left. I cannot guess how fast it is traveling, or what the consequences might be.”
“The shamans tell me that the gods will give you guidance,” Thane Sun-Hair replied. “We have met you here because there is a sacred place nearby. If you sleep in the sanctuary, your dreams will bring answers. I am not a shaman myself, so I know little else. But I know the gods are anxious. This new path that Fate has made seems a smoother one, but I fear we are nearing a storm that may prove worse than any you have survived ed thus far. I cannot see why else the gods would be so insistent.”
Misyl glanced at Ameridan, and he caught her eye, tilting his head in assent. “We will go there tonight if you will lead us,” she said. “I don’t think we have the luxury of waiting around for a better plan to reveal itself.”