Chapter 1: Prelude

A/N: For the sake of tagging, I've got this referring to my Inquisitor as a Trevelyan, but I took some liberties with a human origin mostly 'cause I'm really interested in exploring a character from Alamar. The fact there's almost nothing about it just makes it all the more fun! Two things about my Inquisitor before I leave you be: One thing about my Inquisitor before I leave you be: He's got a bit of an accent. Not enough to have me write a completely different dialect for him, but enough for him to eat his g's. Art of Dederick linked in my profile 'cause FF sucks.


Dederick remembered the moment he reached out with his marked hand, praying to any god that would listen for his attempt at stopping all of this to work, when a sharp pain washed over him. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, and it swallowed him whole into a darkness that didn't want to break.

When he finally stirs, it's because of the dull pulse ebbing from his hand. With a groan, he forces his eyelids to open before bringing up his hand to stare at the eerie green light shining from the mark on his palm. Though it no longer hurts, it makes him feel sick. He clutches at the sheets covering his body when he feels a wave of nausea. The mark's magic isn't his, and he can feel it like the cold sweats of a fever, but he can't let it weigh him down. But… where is he?

The dull crackle of a log fire fills the small cabin. It's warm, and he's in a bed, covered and… safe. He's safe. Maker, that's a relief. Does that mean that he succeeded? There's no shackles on him or chains. It doesn't like he's being held as a prisoner any more. Judging by the smell of herbs and elfroot, he was likely being treated as a patient. A few rays of sunlight creep in through the small cabin windows. It's still light out.

Sitting up, he realizes just how stiff his body is. "Maker… how long was I out?"

"Oh!" A sudden gasp startles him, and he almost brings up a magical barrier to defend himself when he spots an elven servant. The poor girl dropped the crate she was carrying when she spotted him. "I-I didn't know you were awake, I swear!"

Dederick slouches slightly as he lets his hackles drop, "It's fine. I'm just –"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before she drops to her knees and bows her head to him. "I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant."

"I don't understand." He frowns before scratching at the scruff on his chin. He better start off with simple questions.

He was out for three days, he finds out. Three days after his attempt to seal the Breach brought him to the brink of death, apparently. That explains why he feels as sodding awful as he does, but all he'd managed to do was stop it from growing. The servant girl scampered off shortly after answering his questions as best she could, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Maker, how'd he wind up here? He sighs loudly before standing up. Best get to it.

He strips from the clothes he'd been dressed in before wandering over to chest storing all his belongings, meticulously putting on the layers of his armor. The relief he feels from being in his own clothes is a welcome change. He grabs an apple from the bowl placed on the nightstand by the bed and holds it with his teeth while he steps toward the exit, leaning his staff against the wall before slicking his hair back with his hands and fastening it in place with his ragged headband. He takes a gleeful bite out of the apple once he's done, grabs his bladed staff, and opens the door to make his way and find the Chantry.

He damn near chokes when he sees the flock of people suddenly turn to face him.

He swallows nervously as the crowd starts to talk, all loudly clamoring about… well. Him. Thinking it best, he decides to leave his staff in the cabin before stepping into the fray. They call him the Herald of Andraste, and it only manages to make him all the more confused about his current predicament, but he nods at them as they give him their thanks. Of course, not all of the comments were… savory. There were more than a few murmurs about his magic, none sounding too pleased.

"How can the Herald of Andraste be a mage?" One man asks loudly.

The words unnerve him, and he balls his gloves hands into fists. Back in Alamar, he'd never had to worry about his magic. The people accepted what he was, they looked to him for protection, even if some of them feared him. The few Templars stationed there averted their eyes. Circumstances favored him, and he was fortunate. Here though? The scrutiny's almost tangible, and he's not sure what he should do. He keeps his head down until he enters the walls of the chantry, and he's glad to at least have some distance between the crowds and himself.

The peace he feels doesn't last long. Muffled voices arguing echo throughout the lofty halls of the chantry, drowning out his footsteps as he approaches the room in question. Just as he's about to go in, he hesitates and stops to listen in on the argument with an ear pressed to the door. He can feel his blood chill when he realizes they're arguing about him. He takes a deep breath and steels himself before opening the door and joining the commotion.

"Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial." Dederick feels a flare of panic when he realizes there are two Templars stationed at both sides of the door.

Cassandra's eyes lock with his before she addresses the guards, "Disregard that, and leave us."

Dederick feels himself relax once the Templars clear out of the room and hangs back while Cassandra and… Leliana, he thinks he remembers her name being, dealt with the chancellor. The feeling doesn't last. The seeker reformed the Inquisition right before his eyes, and asked him to pledge himself to their cause, even if it's only to protect him from those who would seek to harm him. Even if he wanted to object, he doesn't really have much of a choice. He agrees to help.

Cassandra lets out a hefty sigh before turning to address him once more. "It is good to see that you are up, but how are you feeling?"

Dederick rolls his shoulder in consideration, "Dreadful, if I'm bein' honest."

"I must insist you rest if you do not feel –"

"No," Dederick cuts her off. "I've spent three days restin'. I'd rather be on my feet doin' somethin'."

The seeker's brows arc upwards for half a second before she nods at him, "Very well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must gather the other advisors before we can begin our meeting."

With those words, the seeker stepped out, leaving Dederick alone under the piercing gaze of Leliana. He hides his grimace when he realizes that she's studying him. Rather than stand around waiting for Cassandra to return with company, he gazes over at the large table and blinks when he spots the map hastily placed atop it. Without realizing, he steps closer and peers down at the map. His eyes stop on Alamar. If word of him spreads beyond Haven, how is he supposed to – No. Better not to think about it.

Cassandra's voice startles him when she returns with two figures in tow. "It occurs to me that I do not know your name. If we are to have introductions, perhaps you should start us off."

Dederick blinks as he watches the trio situate themselves around the table. His eyes instinctively stop on the armored man the seeker brought with her, and he feels himself straighten his posture once he realizes he's seen that armor before. The last time he saw him, they were fighting side by side to seal a rift. A faint smile graces the man's lips, and Dederick feels himself falter. No commander should be that attractive without his helm. "At ease, soldier. I was under the impression you were a mage."

"I am." Dederick can't help but huff out a laugh when the other man mumbles a quiet 'oh'. "Not all of us hail from the Circle. My magic bloomed a little late. By the time it did, I was already trainin' as a warrior. My name is Dederick Elsworth."

"Elsworth?" Leliana asks, recognition lacing her voice, "As in the Elsworth of Alamar?"

"Aye."

"And what is your relation to them?"

Dederick bites his lower lip and looks away before sighing in defeat. There's no point in hiding it. "First son of Bann Roderick Elsworth, eldest of three."

"That… may complicate things." The lady laced in golden attire speaks up then before jotting something down in her ledger.

"Aye, I suppose it would to those outside of Alamar, but the people knew of me." His eyes hardened as he looked between all four of them, "I protected them. Not all held me in the best of lights, but they bit their tongues. At least in front of me. I served alongside the guardsmen, protectin' our people from raiders and pirates – no one else would. I've been fightin' since I was old enough to wield a sword proper."

He sighs before looking down at the map again and traces a finger around the outline of Alamar. "If… If I must abandon my namesake like the chantry demands of mages to serve, then I'll do it."

"That won't be necessary," Cassandra speaks up, gazing at him with a softness he didn't expect, "But your willingness to sacrifice has been noted, your lordship."

Dederick groans slightly, "Do we need the title? I hardly lived the life of a noble."

"You are a lord. We will present you as such, regardless of your status as a mage, but that is a topic for another time." Cassandra makes to direct his attention back to the others, "You've met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces."

Cullen nods at him in greeting, "It was only for a moment on the field. I'm pleased you survived."

Dederick can't hide his smile, "And I you, Commander."

"This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat." Cassandra continues with her introductions.

"I've heard much." The ambassador gives him a small curtsey, "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"And of course you know of Sister Leliana." Cassandra gestures toward her, "She is our spymaster."

"Yes..." Leliana makes a face, "Tactfully put, Cassandra."

Once introductions were out of the way, they got to the matter at hand: they needed power to fuel the mark in order to attempt sealing the Breach. Sister Leliana and Cassandra suggested they seek out the rebel mages' assistance while Commander Cullen insisted they seek the aid of the Templars to suppress the magic of the breach and weaken it, but… as Leliana had said, it was pure speculation. Both options were viable, but they would only be able to seek out one of the factions for aid. Such is the price of war.

"Unfortunately," Josephine chimes in after some time, "Neither group will even speak to us Chantry has denounced the Inquisition –" Her eyes turn to him, "And you, specifically."

"What?" Dederick asks before he can stop himself, "They still think I had somethin' to do with all of this?"

The ambassador hums slightly, "That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you – a mage – the 'Herald of Andraste.' And that frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you."

Cassandra sighs from his side, "Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt."

"It limits out options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question."

Dederick brings up a gloved hand to rub at his temples, only to notice that even through the leather, slivers of green light managed to escape. "Just how am I the 'Herald of Andraste'?"

"People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing." Cassandra explains, "They have also heard of the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste."

"Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-" Leliana chimes in.

"Which we have not."

"The point is everyone is talking about you."

Dederick feels a chill run down his spine. "Everyone?"

Leliana nods at him, but Cullen is the one to speak up, "It's quite the title, isn't it? How do you feel about that?"

"I…" Dederick hesistates. He hasn't really had the proper time to stomach all of what he's been told. Titles have never something he's been comfortable with, even one as simple as 'lord'. This one was something completely different altogether. It's weighed down by hope and admiration, two things he's not particularly accustomed to. "It's a heavy title. A bit unnervin', to be honest, but how I feel about it doesn't really matter, does it?" Dederick murmurs to himself before leaning forward to place his hands on the table and glancing at the others, "What can I do to help?"

Leliana explains to him the situation regarding a chantry cleric named Mother Giselle. Unlike the other members of the Chantry, she actually sought to speak to him. Or, rather she sought to speak with the Herald. He was never a very religious person. When he was younger, he would attend the Chantry services, but once his magic bloomed… it was hard to pray among the Faithful. One of the earliest lessons he learned was that while he may have been accepted for what he was, he was hardly loved for it. The tales of the mage boy from Redcliffe that got possessed only made people fear him more, but they never said anything to his face.

This is his opportunity to prove them wrong, to prove to all of Thedas and his people that mages are not tyrants. The Maker gave him this gift. If he had to accept the role as the Herald of Andraste to change things, then he'll do it. He thanks the council for their advice before excusing himself to try making himself useful around Haven. He shuts the door behind him but stops after a few steps, curiosity willing him to do something stupid. Something very stupid. He sneaks to the door as quietly as his armor allows and presses his ear to the door to listen to the chatter in his absence.

"Our Herald is a curious one, isn't he?" Leliana muses aloud. "I haven't met a mage like him since the Hero of Ferelden. The minstrels will adore him. The Herald of Andraste, a mage, leading from the front lines? The stories they'll spin." She pauses. "He's quite handsome, wouldn't you agree, Josie? He's got those wavy locks of hair you so admire."

"Leliana." Josephine stammers, mortified.

"Oh, hush. He seems worn by battle, but his compassion hardly seems touched." Dederick starts to push himself away but stops when he hears Leliana's following question. "What do you make of him, Commander?" He presses closer to the door.

"He seems a good man and fights like a warrior. I can only imagine he's got the honor of one."

A flush rises up his neck. He really shouldn't be listening to this. He mentally smacks himself before creeping away from the door and scolds himself for even doing that, but… the commander's compliment drives away his shame and brings the faintest smile to his lips before he opens the chantry doors to meet the challenges the day had to offer.