A/N: About the whole AU thing, the only thing that it changes specifically is the Herald's past. However, that doesn't necessarily mean that the effects of said past will not have a large impact upon the plot. 'Cus (spoiler) it definitely will, and by that I mean throwing the original plot of DA Inquisition totally off course.

So basically it goes like this: This text is used most of the time when characters are thinking, but it can also be used for putting emphasis on something someone says as well as being used for sudden flashbacks.

This text isn't really used that much expect for when the speaker is not a normal being and/or has a very distorted voice.

Both these texts used in unison can either mean that: 1. someone is thinking and there extreme emphasis on what they are thinking. 2. A abnormal being is speaking, but is only speaking to another through their head. (This second one is kinda specific.)

A horizontal line can signify several different things. It can be either a change of perspective (meaning that a different character's thoughts are heard), a time skip, or a simple way to switch from one place to another.

Also, I do not own Dragon Age. (Shocking, I know.)

"What do you see when you look at this, Nephew?" Asked a man as he placed his finger on an unrolled piece of paper that lay on the table that he and his Nephew sat at. The child that sat across from him wore a baby blue tunic fashioned from the finest silk in the Free Marches. In stark contrast, he only wore a simple black cloak with a hood that darkened out any view of his face.

"It's a map of our home: The Free Marches. Hambleton, Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Wycome, Kaiten, Hercina, Markham, Ansburg, Tantervale, and, our home, Ostwick!" The child exclaimed as he finished naming the different city states of the Free Marches. The man that sat at the table with him looked at the boy and saw his blue eyes gleam with pride.

As they should. The man thought. The boy could memorize maps, names, landmarks, and much more while only being on Thedas for seven years. Now all he had to do was to create some potential out of that big brain of his. Such a shame that he would have been treated like a normal boy, sent off to the Chantry like any other child. That is, if I were not here. Luckily for the both of us, this child will be no Chantry boy.

"Correct." The hooded man replied and shifted his finger north on the map. "What is here, to the north of your home?" The child frowned, eyes flashing with anger as he looked to where his Uncle's finger pointed to.

"Tevinter." He spoke with such venom, it disappointed his Uncle.

His father's influence no doubt. The stories that have been passed down from generation to generation of war with the Imperium do leave their mark. How ironic.

"Correct again. And what here, farther north than Tevinter?" He questioned as he slid his finger off Tevinter, off the most northern coast, passed a large island, and stopped on a landmass that was cut off by the top of the map.

His Nephew stared at the map for a moment. "I don't remember, Uncle." The boy answered, scratching his head in confusion.

"Par Vollen. That is what lays beyond the Imperium." The elder of the two spoke, his eyes in a deadlock with the sketch of the Qunari homeland.

"I'm sorry I forgot, Uncle. It will not happen again." He could hear his Nephew apologizing but his focus was unable to be moved from Par Vollen, and his mind unable to think of anything but the memories of his experiences with its inhabitants. The dark room they sat in, only lit by a candle, stayed silent for a time. "Uncle Cato?"

Cato shot up from his chair, his hood falling off and revealing a pale faced man with black hair that fell to his shoulders. There were also burn marks that ran up his neck and reached his left cheek. "Today's lesson is finished." He said as he rolled the map up and turned to the door.

"But we didn't go over Orlais! Or the Anderfels!" The child blurted out as he jumped from his chair and grabbed the back of his Uncle's robe. Cato sighed as he turned to the boy and knelt to his height.

"All of this will be yours one day, Charles. Remember that and the names of these nations will be secondary." Cato proclaimed with a chuckle as he handed the map to him.

"I will rule all of these different countries? All by myself? How am I supposed to that?" Charles asked as he gazed into his Uncle's emerald eyes, but Cato only laughed at his doubts and rubbed his Nephew's brown hair.

Such an innocent child. Cato thought as he ran his fingers through Charles' auburn locks. Doubtful of his abilities, unsure of his greatness and even fearful of the power he could weld. The smile on the his face widened.

It will be interesting to see what will remain once I've ripped that innocent heart out of his chest.

"Tell you what, Charles: from now on, instead of going to the Chantry for your education, you will meet me here again and I will teach you in a day what the Chantry takes a month to explain."

"I'm not sure my father will like that. He's kinda into the whole Chantry thing." Charles grimaced at what his devout father would think of him skipping his Chantry lessons. He had always been told that he would live a happy life, but only if he kept to the dogma of the Chanty and not to paths they had deemed heretical and sinful. Yet he could not stop a small feeling of curiosity arising within him whenever he gazed into the abyss of what lay beyond the Chantry and their Maker.

"He will agree, that I will make sure of. Now run off to your castle, I'm sure they've sent a dozen search parties after you by now." Cato finished as he stood and exited the room without another word, leaving the door open and allowing the light of day to enter.

It was just Charles in the small shack now. Him and the map. He opened it once more, looking at what he had been taught to call "Thedas". His Uncle's words echoed in his head as a gust of wind from outside blew out the room's candle.

All of this will be yours one day, Charles.

Eighteen years later:

The cell he found himself in smelt like a backwater Denerim alley. His knees felt bruised and his legs were terribly sore. The stocks that bound his hands together felt too tight and his hair greased. But the thing that shook him the most as he sat in the dim, damp room, only able to see by the torches in its four corners, was that he had no clue as to where he was. As he was currently, Charles Trevelyan was at a loss.

Thinking back, the last thing he remembered was arriving at The Conclave. The Conclave was, from what he had heard from Caro, proposed by the Divine as a peaceful meeting between the Chantry and the rebelling mages. Uncle Cato had faith that the Divine could bring peace between the Mages and the Templars, but Charles was skeptical of the success of diplomacy between two groups with such bad blood.

He and his Uncle were to attend the meeting to represent Ostwick, each of the Free Marcher cities were to send their own representatives as well. Even though the Free Marches were in a confederation of sorts, that didn't stop conflict arising between the different cities, Charles knew that better than anyone, and thus cities sent their respective representatives individually. However Charles was currently less concerned about the politics of the Free Marches and more with his situation at the present, and more specifically that he had no idea how he came to be in such a predicament.

He did not remember being put into these wooden stocks. He did not remember being forced to his knees in the middle of this dreary cell. He did not remember meeting the four gladiators that stood with their swords drawn at him, and he most certainly did not remember having his hand pulsating a stinging green aura.

The headache I have tells me that I may have gotten drunk and done some things... unworthy of me. Maker, I gave up drinking for a reason. I just hope I didn't pull another one like I did at the Montilyet's ball. He thought to himself, reminiscing one of the more fonder memories of his life as he examined his hand which, seconds before, had glowed green and shot sneering pain up his arm.

"What am I doing here? Who is holding me in this cell?" He spoke, demanding an explanation from the men who encircled him, but the attempt to get information out of the warriors was met with silence. Their helmets blocked him from seeing the faces of his captors, so he could only guess what they were thinking right now.

"Believe it or not, that wasn't a rhetorical question." Charles gibed as he continued to inspect his hand.

"Quiet, murderer!" One of his guards lashed out at him.

Murderer? It was not the first time he had been called that but it was the first time he'd been accused of such a thing when bound in stocks while on his knees at the mercy of four strangers. Not an advantageous position at all. Charles grimaced, trying to imagine what his Uncle would react like if he was brought before him like this. Only logical thing to do is get out of this position.

"Four men having to guard one, with bondage none the less. I knew you Ferelden folk were of the cheapest and lowest quality but this is just ridiculous."

Despite his cruel words, the guards stood silent and still.

Guess I'll need to dig deeper.

"But, alas, I am not surprised." He began, his tone as smooth as the softest silk yet venomous as the most poisonous serpent. "The average Ferelden man simply cannot keep up with a Free Marcher such as myself. Your kind are simply of a lower brand. There is only one Ferelden man who I could ever consider worthy of respect, and you people sent him away to serve the Wardens"

"I said quiet, brat!" The guard said breaking character and moving towards him, raising his sword to strike him

That hit the nail on the head. Charles thought, smirking as he raised his stocks to catch the blow. The sword crashed into the wooden stocks with not enough force to break them into two, but just enough that Charles could rip the wood apart with his own strength. As soon as he was able to move his arms freely he, still on his knees, grabbed the man's left arm before quickly bringing his fist, which still had the stock attached to it, across the guard's helmet, knocking him out cold and breaking some of the wood off as he did. The other three guards rushed to restrain Charles, but before they reached him he was already stood on his feet.

Two of the guards stopped in their tracks at seeing the former prisoner unarm one of his captors, but the third ran at him, thrusting his sword at Charles. Instead of allowing his chest and the blade to get well acquainted, Charles ducked and the guard's thrust only caused him to feel a rush of wind. By grabbing the blade's center with his left hand, placing his right just above that, and snatching the blade, Charles had turned the sword into a mace as he slammed the crossguard into the guard's helmet.

"You know, a wise man once said that it is a terribly bad career decision as a soldier to stand as still as a statue as your comrades are brought down before you." Charles remarked with a laugh as he began twirling the sword he had taken from one of his unconscious captors, facing the two remaining as the body of their fellow guard fell stiff to the floor.

The two guards just stood there, staggered at how in less than a minute their situation had been turned completely upside down.

Charles could only tisk and shake his head at their failed teamwork "This wasn't the only thing that this wise man said." He turned his gaze to directed pierce directly into the black eyeholes of hi foes. "He also said that standing between a dazed man who knows how to use a sword and his goal is also a terrible choice, not only for keeping your job as a guard," Slowly, Charles pointed his sword at the door behind the two guards, "but for making sure your wives don't have to turn to prostitution to feed your children because daddy decided to die early."

The two stared at him for a moment before one decided on a course of action. "Go, get the Seeker, I'll hold him off."

Charles frowned when he noticed that the other guard had ran out the door before the first could finish his sentence.

Coward.

Cassandra Pentaghast was not having a good day.

The Conclave was in ruins, literally. No one could out run the blast. It was all reduced to rumble, and then again to ash. Against the blinding burning light, there was no use to fight. The woman who brought both Mage and Templar to the peace conference, Divine Justinia, was dead. Killed in a mass explosion along with everyone else in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, all accept one man.

Having no other suspects, she and those that remained at the Conclave after the explosion decided to take the survivor prisoner. After the dust from the explosion settled, then appeared what the men had taken to calling the Breach. She did not care what they called it. What concerned her was that this "Breach" was currently spilling demons from the sky at an alarming rate, and did not seem to have any intent of stopping anytime soon.

But this man who had survived the explosion held what Solas said to be the key to closing the breach and the smaller Rifts, which also spat out demons, that had seemingly popped into existence after the explosion. So one could imagine that hearing that said man had somehow broken free did not make her day any brighter, or for Leliana.

Both Left and Right Hands of the late Divine raced towards the cell which was supposed to hold the prisoner. Cassandra kicked down the door to find the prisoner standing next to two limp bodies and one knelt with the prisoner's sword drawn across his neck.

"The door was open. No need to be aggressive." The prisoner taunted as she and Leliana entered his cell.

"Put the sword down." Cassandra snapped at the prisoner as she grinded her teeth together in anger. "Now!"

She did not like this. She did not like having the prisoner unchained, armed, and with his sword at the throat of one of her soldiers. This was not improving her day at all!

"Some questions first, if you don't mind." The prisoner asked, his voice just as sickeningly smooth as before as he shoot a glance at Leliana before returning his gaze to Cassandra.

"You are in no position to negotiate with us, now lay down your weapon!" Cassandra barked at him.

I am interrogating him, not the other way around!

The prisoner looked down at the man who he held hostage, then at Leliana, then back to her. "As a matter of fact, I am in a position to negotiate. Unless you want to be responsible for the death of a hostage and the grief of a family."

Cassandra looked at the man on his knees. He was shaking with fear at the sight of the Right Hand and Left Hand facing off with the Divine's murderer. But her anger at the man who held him hostage and her drive for vengeance overwhelmed any feeling for concern for the guard turned hostage.

"I will not be interrogated by my own prisoner!" She exploded, fuming as she began to pull her sword from her scabbard. However, as she drew her weapon, Cassandra felt a hand grab the arm which she had chosen to hold her sword.

"Let me handle this, Cassandra." Leliana proposed as she held Cassandra's arm. Her voice was assertive, but as their eyes met, Cassandra knew Leliana, her friend, was truly concerned for her. "This one is not like Varric, let me deal with him. Head to the forward camp, and I will meet you there with the prisoner."

Before Cassandra answered, She took one last look at the prisoner. The cold steel of his sword was still resting on the neck of one of his former guards as seemed to watch the two of them with what looked to be amusement. She was too upset to deal with the prisoner, and she realized that she had let her anger get the better of her again.

Maker forgive me.

"You are right, this one is not like Varric at all." Cassandra sighed, her sword returning to its scabbard. "Stay safe, my friend." She told Leliana before turning to exit the cell, looking back one more time as Leliana turned to face the man who was not so much a prisoner anymore.

Leliana had done many interrogations before. Humans, elves, dwarfs, even qunari, she had gotten them all to talk, but there was something about this one that set her off of her normal cool. When she last was in this cell the man had been incapacitated and locked in stocks, now he stood over the bodies of two of his former guards and had another on his knees with a blade on his throat. She did not know it then, but they had meet before once in a very different time.

"They aren't dead. They made need some ice for their heads, but they'll live." The only standing man in the room said to her.

Damn it! she cursed to herself. Revealing emotion was the first thing she was taught not to do during an interrogation and he had immediately recognized her worry.

"Do you know why you're here? What you've don-" Leliana was about to finish before the man raised his freehand to interrupt her.

"Don't worry, I already know the whole dramatic backstory bit." His voice then switched to a deeper tone, one that would be used when telling a dark story around a campfire. "The Conclave has been destroyed, most of its attendants dead, including Divine Justinia, but there was a survivor of the dreadful explosion, one who was found with a green glow emanating from his hand. Now every soul here believes he was responsible for the Divine and almost everyone at the Conclave being killed, and destroying the last hope of peace in the near future of Thedas. Is that a good summery?"

"Would you care to explain how you came to know that?" Leliana questioned, trying to avoid answering his question and hold onto what little authority she held in her interrogation of him.

"I'll take you ignoring my question as a yes, and you can thank this fellow here for not having to explain everything to me in some ridiculous monologue." The prisoner answered as he turned his head to the man that was on his knees next to him. "And on that note, since you've held up your end of the bargain well enough, I should honor mine." The man said as he lowered his sword from the neck of the soldier, who immediately made a sprint for the door behind Leliana as he felt the edge of the blade leave his throat.

...Is this man insane? Leliana asked herself, befuddled at what she just saw, at what she believed was a death wish.

"You... you just gave up your only point of leverage against me? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She asked in confusion, thinking there must surely be a logic to his actions. In the blink of an eye, the prisoner brought the point of his sword to press against the palm of his hand. Leliana felt her heart stop for a moment as she realized that it was the same hand that was supposed to be able to close the breach. The smug look on his face only added insult to injury as Leliana realized that the hostage was but the outer layer of his armor, and that a much thicker layer lied below.

"Well now that we have that sorted out, let me explain that me and that fellow who I had on his knees had an gentleman's agreement. He told me what in Andraste's name had happened to the Conclave, and I in return would let him go, but only after I verified that the information was true. So no, I don't randomly give up points of leverage," He explained, mocking her. "I just am an honorable man!" The prisoner finished, taking a deep breath afterward, and Leliana could swear he sounded offended. "What that man wasn't able to explain was what this green mark is or how I got it, but I do know it holds some sort of importance judging by your panic at seeing me bring this sword against it. That is where I'd hope you would come in and explain said importance."

"Fine... but I will need you to answer a couple questions of mine beforehand" Leliana requested, placing her hands behind her back. "First, what is your name?"

"Charles Trevelyan."

"...The First Champion of Ostwick, as I live and breathe." She spoke in half mock awe as she heard the name that had become the talk of Free Marcher politics.

Charles puffed out his chest slightly. "That is what they've taken to calling me, it's symbolic I suppose. Only the most powerful city-states in the Free Marches have Champions. And boy oh boy did I change the balance of power."

"Starkhaven, Tantervale, Kirkwall, and now Ostwick has one as well thanks to you. Tell me," Leliana couldn't help herself, "are the stories true? Did you really defeat an army with only-" She was interrupted by the prisoner intentionally coughing to stop her talking.

"Excuse me, but isn't this supposed to be an interrogation?"

"This counts as an interrogation! I am questioning you!" She scolded his interruption.

"I wouldn't count every time some star-struck bard asks me about the time where I crossed the Vimmarks on a black stallion with twenty-five thousand men as an interrogation."

Leliana felt her cheeks flush. Did he just call me star-struck? I am not star-struck! Leliana thought to herself as she took a moment to gather herself and regain her professionalism.

"What were you doing at the Conclave?" She asked next.

"My family has been supporting the Chantry for ages. The only reason I went to the conclave is because my family thought it would bring peace between the Templars and the Mages. Not because I wanted to kill the Divine for... for whatever reason you people have made up."

It makes sense. The Trevelyans have been close allies with the Chantry for so long that it would be a surprise to not see them at the Conclave. Would one of the most devout families in the Free Marches really murder the Divine? Leliana asked herself, furrowing her brow, but she already knew the answer.

"Look, I understand that you are mournful at the lost of Her Holiness, but I pray that you understand that I don't know who is responsible for the Conclave's destruction. All I can say is that I'm not. I know I can't prove that to you, not yet, but I promise I will do whatever it takes to find who is responsible and bring him to justice." The prisoner proclaimed as he stared intently into Leliana's eyes.

His eyes were blue like ice, transparent and cold. She had encountered many blue eyes in her life and most were captivating, not to say his weren't attractive, but when she looked into his frozen irises she felt a chill shoot down her spine. She had only felt a chill like this when looking into one other person's eyes, but this man didn't seem the type of person that would work as an "Arcane Advisor" In the Imperial Court like the other women who held eyes similar to his did. There was something, however, that made her feel intrigued by his icy eyes. There was more to this man than a simple handsome noble who had been caught up in a series of unfortunate events.

"Is... there something on my face?" Charles asked, but Leliana could tell he was just trying to get her to stop staring into his eyes.

"No, you're alright." Leliana mumbled as she released her hands, which had been held behind her back throughout their entire talk.

"Now I presume that I'll have to face a trial for the destruction of the Conclave. Correct?" Charles asked her. Leliana sighed, the guard had left the part about the giant demon spitting breach .

"No, there is something you were not told. Come, I will show you outside." She beckoned for him to follow her before turning to leave.

"Wait!" She heard Charles call out from behind her. "I don't think I ever got your name."

Leliana was about to tell this man that he was their only hope to closing a hole in the sky that shot out demons, not to mention the other smaller rifts that had begun to appear after the explosion, and she hadn't even told him her name.

"I am Leliana." She introduced herself with a mock bow, which got her a smile out of the Trevelyan. Seeing someone smile at a time like this, it was a surprise, but it also made her feel happy to know there was not only doom and gloom in the world now that Justina was gone. It made her want to smile back, but she knew any feeling of joy would be short-lived as she remembered that as soon when Charles saw what had resulted from the destruction of the Conclave, the Breach. "We should not waste anymore time." She said, grabbing a pair of cuffs off of the wall and walking over to Charles. "I need you to wear these. Without them, the people out there will feel endangered."

"I understand, Leliana, just get rid of what remains of these stocks." Charles replied, dropping his sword and placing his hands, which were still covered in the shattered wooden of the stocks, in front of her. "It's going to take days to get these splinters out."

"How did you break these anyway?" Leliana asked as she undid the broken stocks and placed the cuffs on his wrists.

"If I survive whatever I wasn't told about, I'll make sure to tell you all about it." Leliana was annoyed that he avoided her question, but she understood that they had been talking for much longer than they should have as she led him out of his cell into the snow.

Despite his young age, Charles considered himself an experienced man. He had led his city through war, dealt with the politics of Thedas, arranged trade deals and built Ostwick to be something that no one could have imagined, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he emerged from the dark confines of his short-lived cell into the snowy daylight.

Maybe letting that guard strike me wasn't that bad of an idea after all. He thought as he looked above where the Conclave was supposed to have taken place at. Above the ruins of the failed peace meeting for peace there was a literal hole in the sky, colored the same as his glowing hand.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me about?" He asked Leliana, trying to stop his jaw from dropping to the ground as he continued to look at the giant green break in the sky.

"That is part of it."

Just part of it?!

"We call it the Breach. It, along with some smaller rifts, appeared after the explosion at the Conclave and has been shooting out horde upon horde of demons. Growing larger and larger as time goes on."

"And the other part?" Charles asked as he felt a hole in his stomach while he stared into the green tear in the sky. He imagined the hundreds of demons that must have poured out from the Breach, and felt like running for his life, but knew he wouldn't get far.

"The other part is that your mark," Leliana said grabbing his wrist, "is the only thing that can close the Breach." As she released his hand, it began to feel like it was on fire as it flared with green. He felt his knees begin to buckle but Leliana caught him by his arm and held him from falling. "As the Breach grows your mark spreads. If you do not close the Breach then you will die."

"I guess we ought to hurry then." Charles replied.

Leliana nodded her head and turned to lead him towards a camp that was just ahead of his prison. As they passed through the camp Charles saw the men and women stare at him with hate-filled eyes.

"They blame you for the explosion, the Divine's death, the Breach, the Rifts, everything." Leliana spoke in a hushed tone as they walked right through the middle of the camp filled with said people.

"There weren't any Elves or Tevinters around that they could place the blame on instead?" Charles asked, trying to use humor to break some of the tension in the air.

"Well Tevinters and Elves don't usually have glowing green hands, do they?"

Charles turned his head to look at the Left Hand of the Divine. Did she just try to make a joke?

After they got a good ways away from the camp, Leliana stopped and turned to him. "If you can close the breach and come back alive, then you will have a trial. That is all I can promise for now." She explained as she freed him from the cuffs.

"I don't think freeing a prisoner before his trial is standard procedure." Charles puzzled, rubbing his sore wrists.

"Did I mention the demons have a tendency to fall from the sky? I think you'd prefer it like this if a demon decides to land on me." Leliana said to him curtly as she turned to cross the bridge they came to after leaving the camp.

Charles sighed again and rolled his eyes. Before following her, he took a look over the bridge they had come to and thought about whether a fall like that would kill him or just break his legs. He'd prefer the former at this point.

Why did I even come to this damned Conclave? He asked himself, he clenched his fists as he remembered who insisted he come. Cato.

The man had always said he had "Plans" for him, and now look where they'd gotten him!

Was this apart of your plan, Uncle? Did you want this to happen? Part of him wanted to believe that it was true that this was all part of some plan by his clever Uncle, but another part of him just saw what was in front of him. His Uncle, who had taught him almost everything he knew about the world, was dead. The Divine was dead too, and the Conclave was destroyed and any chance of peace between Mages and Templars also dead.

Yes, Charles would indeed prefer the former.

Coward. He told himself as he clenched his fists as he imagined news of the Champion of Ostwick being found guilty after he committed suicide, dooming the world with his death.

"Come on!" He heard Leliana call out to him from across the bridge.

Charles gathered his resolve, or what remained of it before looking up from the long drop that lay before him and took off across the bridge after Leliana.

Not done here yet.