Introduction/Author's Note: First things first, thank you so much for checking out my fanfic, I'm on my second play through of DA:I and I am completely in love. I haven't been involved in fandom for years but Dragon Age has somehow managed to reel me back. I actually originally thought I would just dump this first chapter just to get it out of my system, but after sitting on it for a few days I felt like there was a lot of story still for me to tell.

One thing that I noticed after playing Origins (DA:2 is in the works) was that the Inquisitor didn't have as much of a back story as the Warden, of course you get some dialogue options but the protagonist is definitely more of a blank slate. The inspiration for this story was that I always felt like it was really weird that this noblewoman from a respected family in Free Marches knew how to pick locks and do all this rogue stuff. It's a skillset that makes sense for Varric, Sera and Cole because he's a creeper, but it doesn't make very much sense at all for the generic Trevelyan. So this my attempt at giving boring white-bread noble Trevelyan more of a character and backstory.

NOTICE: This fic as of 1/30/15 will now update every Friday

Chapter 1: Deep Shit

Luca woke up pinned firmly by a tidal wave of pain. As she blinked the stars out from her eyes she realized that not only was it confidently the worst pain she had ever been in but that she was also in a jail cell. She wanted to laugh, it was so ironic that years since she had managed to move past the thieving and petty criminality that she would be living what once was the inevitable. However as soon as the first chuckle tried to escape her lips, a pain that seemed to travel through her very marrow and veins bloomed from her hand. And then, she realized, so did a freakish green light. The panic set in.

The idea of magic was something deeply unsettling for Luca. She had fought enough and seen enough to know that having your blood boiled in your veins was no way to die. She had seen companions frozen and then shattered like crystals and consequently had had to bury friends that were more mincemeat than corpse. These days she had begun to take a special gamely pleasure in sniping down mages mid-spell with an arrow through the eye or slitting their throats while they hung back unaware.

Now she had a fucking green magical wound! The metallic smell and feel of so much magic on her body made her feel like vomiting. She retched pathetically and tried hard to not mess on herself.

A guard graciously interrupted as the last of the bile dribbled down from her mouth. He unceremoniously dragged her out of the cell and onto the cold stone at the center of the prison. Cold light glinted off the swords that surrounded her at all sides.

"She's awake Seeker Cassandra!"

"Thank you Soldier." a voice with a Nevarran accent said. Luca looked up to see a strong angular woman looking down at her with undisguised suspicion and disgust. Another, hooded, stood behind her silently like a shadow. It was clear to Luca before this Cassandra woman even spoke that her unknown crime was far more severe than anticipated. This was no fat city guard that had caught her pickpocketing an idiot merchant's son.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead" she turned to look Luca with malice in the eyes, "Except for you."

Luca immediately felt just as sick as before she vomited, the green wound on her hand flashed sharply. This was some serious, deep shit. She shouldn't have been the one to survive, she wasn't a mage and she certainly wasn't a templar. As a mercenary rogue, she was really one of the worst choices possible.

Besides it was so hard to imagine what she could possibly have done to kill what must have been thousands. Trying to think back on it all she could remember after the initial memories of arriving at the temple was what must have been a very real and very bad dream. Chased by spiders, saved by a glowing lady and all that. It didn't even seem relevant. She met Cassandra's gaze evenly.

"I don't even know what I could have even done to 'Destroy the Conclave'. Who do you think I am, the Maker?"

Cassandra's eyes flashed with anger, she unsheathed her sword and looked about to cut Luca's head off. "Do NOT use the Maker's name in vain, you insolent…"

For a moment Luca cursed herself for finally letting her dumb mouth get her killed, but the hooded one intervened, stepping in between them.

"We need her Cassandra."

Luca lay shell-shocked on her bunk at Haven. First on her list of absurdities was that she had met Varric Tethras. The dwarf who had written all those true crime books (and trashy bodice-ripper romances but she wasn't about to mention those casually) and instead of being some writer type he was actually a consummate adventurer.

Honestly that alone would have really topped out her weirdness chart for a lifetime. Who would think that a man who wrote such contrived plots would actually be living an interesting life?

The list just went on and on though. Bald apostate elf helping the Chantry out? Check. Gigantic demon with a lightning whip that had practically singed her eyebrows and skin off? Check. Hearing the disembodied ghost-voice of the Divine call out to her? Check. Closing a massive green hole in the sky leading to the beyond? Really why not at this point?

The last and most wholly surreal item on her list was that people were calling her the "Herald of Andraste". She didn't know if she could even joke about that.

It held too much responsibility, and that responsibility hinted at a thousand things she had run away from a long time ago. She thought about the ripping, burning pain of closing the rifts, thought about sheer scale of what depended on her now. Then she closed her eyes and thought about running.

Could she even run? She felt both hero and prisoner. Besides that the more she thought about her weird dream, the more she realized that it had not been a dream. She had physically been in the Fade. The spirit that had held her hand…

Though Luca remembered many things about the Chantry all of them seemed locked away in a neverland of fine velvets and expensive incense. For the first time in a long time she thought of her pious older sisters and her baby brother playing at templar with his wooden swords. It was a lifetime ago, the images in her head as distant and flat as a mummer's paper puppets.

They must all be grown-up now, at least Luca hoped. A Templar trainee in the case of her brother, married with babes in arms in the case of her sisters. She hadn't bothered with Andraste or the Maker in a long time but for some reason she said a short prayer for them. She felt quite peaceful afterwards and did not mind much the nervous elf that burst in and asked her to go to the Chantry.

She was significantly less relaxed when she had to wade through the throngs of people practically bowing at her feet on her way to the Chantry.

"That's her, the Herald of Andraste" a voice whispered to her left.

"She came out of the Fade, she actually walked through the Fade itself" a wizened mage said as she passed.

"Mummy! Mummy! Is that the hero?" a child asked as he tugged on her mother's skirts. Luca smiled weakly at him.

Instead of feeling powerful, she felt more naked than she had ever felt in her entire life. Who was she even to deserve this kind of adoration? She felt strands of her black hair start to stick with sweat onto her face even in the cold mountain air.

Luca ducked inside the Chantry.

Cassandra met her there and Luca found it surprising how the woman had softened to her after hearing the voice of the Divine at the temple. Although Luca still suspected that Cassandra might pull out her sword at any moment, Luca was deeply thankful for the distraction of the conversation.

"Your mark, does it trouble you?" Cassandra asked kindly.

"It is…" Luca looked at her hand, "I suppose far less bothersome than you would expect a gross violation of the natural order to be"

"That is good to hear I suppose. We are all glad that you are awake and willing to help. Maker knows the scale of the disaster at hand here" she paused, "Solas says the Breach is stable, but also that it is not truly sealed. In order to seal it we will need your mark…and the same amount of power imbued into it that was originally used to open the Breach"

"And you believe that apostate?" Luca asked incredulously, slightly surprised the elf was held in such high esteem, "I am no 'Fade expert' but I think I know enough to realize that crushing large amounts of magic into each other usually doesn't solve problems."

Cassandra raised her eyebrows and smiled wryly. "I agree with you Luca, but we have no other choice. The Circle mages are all apostates now and the Templars do nothing but fight endlessly with them. Now on top of everything the Chantry leadership has been utterly devastated. I do not think it impossible that the chaos will rip Ferelden apart."

Luca paused and appraised the woman. Cassandra seemed diminished somehow, it seemed that even she was not immune to the rising chaos. Luca felt a kind of sympathy for her.

"Do not worry Cassandra, consider me good janitor Luca. I shall mop up the mess of the Chantry, Ferelden, Orlais and the Fade itself" she bowed in jest.

"You joke now" she snorted.

Cassandra gestured at the open door in front of her and they both walked in to the war room.

"Let me introduce to the leadership here at Haven. This is Cullen, who you met earlier on the mountain. He is the commander of the forces here."

Upon entering Luca lifted her head to meet the eyes of a blond, very pretty man. She pegged him immediately. He was definitely a Golden Boy, probably the favored son of some Ferelden noble house and likely playing at commander.

"What's left of them, we had few here to start and lost many in the valley" Luca nodded politely at him and noticed that his eyes lingered on her just a bit too long.

"That is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador"

Josephine curtsied slightly and smiled warmly. "Pleased to meet you" Luca curtsied very poorly back to her, which caused a flash of amusement in Josephine's eyes.

"And finally this is Lady Leliana, who is in charge of more…secretive things"

Leliana smiled very slightly. "I am the Inquisition spymaster"

"Very pleased to meet you all. I am Luca Tanner, rogue with…formerly with the Silver Sons company." Luca realized with a sinking feeling in the middle of her sentence that they had all died on the mountain. They had really meant it when they said she was the only one who made it out.

"Well Lady Tanner, there are some issues the Inquisition must discuss with you." Josephine said.

"Uhh, it's ok Lady Montilyet we really can't all be ladies. Just call me Luca."

"Oh no problem at all, Luca. The issue we wanted to broach with you was that of gaining the help of the mages or templars to close the Breach. You are, after all, going to be heavily involved" Josephine responded with finesse.

"Yes I agree, the rebel mages have sought refuge at Redcliffe village. It would be advantageous to pay them a visit there" Leliana responded.

"The mages? Let us not forget the Templars, with their abilities they would be much better suited to the task at hand" Cullen added firmly as soon as Leliana finished speaking, Luca caught him glancing in her direction to gauge her reaction.

"Do not forget that neither will speak to us at the moment, we should not get ahead of ourselves" Josephine added, anticipating the argument that was to break out.

"I agree with Josephine, let's hear about what's to be done first" Luca responded, trying to be a mediator.

Cullen felt so odd that upon meeting the Herald of Andraste his first thoughts were that he had never seen a mercenary so beautiful. It seemed such an inappropriate feeling to have at such a moment. She was the otherworldly woman who had broken all rules to step out of the Fade. On top of that they were going to be colleagues.

But Maker's breath she really was beautiful, raven black hair twisted into pinned braids. Perfect brown almond eyes with a terrible jagged scar going down and through the left eye. He wondered what it would be like to trace that scar with his finger and immediately felt like self-flagellating. Could he even be any more embarrassing?

Cullen sat on a crate and polished the lion's head of his helmet with even more ferocity than before. He really was losing it, if the withdrawal had been messing with his dreams before it was now taking hold of his emotions in waking life. He was letting this woman, who he really did not know at all, pull at his emotions like a puppy-love crush.