A/N: Hello and welcome to my new story on Dragon Age! My first story in this fandom, I hope you start this story and see it through to the end because I certainly hope to do so! This story will focus on Marcus Trevelyan and his quest to be the leader Thedas needs in its hour of crisis! Read on and enjoy!


Chapter 1 - The Breach


9: 41 Dragon, three weeks before the Conclave

"Moira, I can't have this ruffian as part of the Trevelyan delegation! He will ruin everything!"

Marcus Trevelyan snorted in derision, "Its not like I want to be on this journey, anyway," he quipped back.

"Silence,"

The feminine voice was soft, rich and when calm, was soothing to the ear, But Moira Trevelyan was anything but calm, the steely glint in her emerald, green eyes showed her fiery anger, as she glared at her younger brother. Tall, dignified and dressed in a long flowing dress of green, Moira Trevelyan was the definition of grace and strength, qualities that had seen House Trevelyan become one of Ostwick's most prominent noble houses. Moira's eyes rounded on her third son and Marcus knew that her anger was targeted at him, for hitting his brother at the Congregation, the grand meeting where the Heads of Ostwicks powerful families had gathered to discuss the matter of the Conclave and the Mage-Templar war. Marcus looked back at his mother, staying stock still, the glare in her eyes sent a clear but unspoken message, 'Do not utter another word,'

Marcus leaned back in the couch he was sitting on, his eyes falling on the rest of the room, they were in Moira's office, a large room with a tall ceiling that towered above their heads, splendor and opulence screamed at him in every direction. Soft lush rugs made out of dark green fur were draped across the floor, portraits depicting the head of each household, each figure painted in intricate detail by an artist from Orlais, were hung along the wall, the golden frames gleaming from the sunlight that flooded the room through the large window that touched the floor and almost reached the ceiling. At the far end of the room, directly opposite Marcus, sat a huge bookshelf made of oak wood, filled all kinds of books, large leather bound volumes about Maker knew what and in front of the bookshelf was a huge desk, large enough to allow three people to sit side by side with room to spare, the parchment, bottles of ink and quill holder organized neatly on top of it. Marcus wondered what his mother thought of whenever she worked in such splendor, did she even notice the luxury? Or was it constant reminder of her responsibilities? Moria began to speak again and Marcus found his attention wandering back to the conversation.

"Marcus is a capable fighter," she said, "His protection will be valuable should the negotiations…. not go as planned,"

"Things will not go as planned if he is there!" exclaimed Garvin Trevelyan, a pious man who was devout to the Chantry and an admirer of Divine Justinia, he had volunteered to represent House Trevelyan at the coming Conclave… along with the rest of Ostwick, his stormy grey eyes were wide in disbelief, as he pleaded with his older sister to reverse her decision. Marcus was content to let the man grovel, although they both knew it was pointless, for Moira always had her way, no matter what.

"For Maker's sake, Moira, the boy attacked his own brother in the middle of a meeting with the other nobles! Would have chopped off the poor man's arm, had it not been for your daughter. You can't honestly expect me to trust-"

"Enough Garvin," cut off Moira, her tone brokering no argument. "Marcus may have caused trouble in the past but he will be on his best behavior at Haven,"

Marcus, who had been lounging in a large chair, suddenly sat up straight as his mother turned to look at him.

"What makes you think this… hooligan will be on his best behavior?"he demanded. "This boy has spent too much time rutting with-"

"If you continue you that sentence Garvin, I will make what Marcus did to his brother look like child's play,"

The cold statement shut the middle aged man and Marcus couldn't help but smile. 'Ha!'Garvin's grey, beady eyes glared at him in dislike, Marcus glowered back at him, though he restrained himself… barely. Garvin had never been fond of his second nephew and the feeling was mutual.

"Garvin, you are to form your delegation as planned," Moira continued, as if she not just threatened to disembowel her brother, a few moments ago. "But your delegation will include Marcus for security and protection, he will do his duty and keep all of you safe,"

Marcus took a deep breath, trying to keep calm, the anger that was raging inside him, he had already lost his temper once and it landed him in this situation, he was not going to lose it again.

"Moira, what makes you think he will stay in line?" Garvin pleaded.

"Because if Marcus fails in his duties and fails to keep the delegation from House Trevelyan safe," said Moira, turning to look at her son, with a cold glare. "He will be branded a traitor of Ostwick and punished with execution."


The Conclave

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you, now?"

The voice was soft, dangerous and dripping with malice. Marcus was strongly reminded of her mother and her threat of execution, and his dislike for the woman in armor grew. The fact that he woke up in a dungeon, locked in chains, with swords pointing at him like a prisoner, despite committing no crime did nothing to improve his temper.

"The Conclave is destroyed, along with everyone who attended…except for you,"

Marcus had grown up in nobility and understood an accusation when he heard it, an accusation that made him furious.

"And you think I did it!" Marcus snapped angrily, shaking the chains that bound him, he barely noticed the guards shifting uneasily. "If I had things my way I wouldn't be at the bloody Conclave," Marcus shouted. "I don't know what happened there, but I did not do it!"

The woman in armor grabbed his hand and shoved it in his face.

"Explain this!" she hissed.

Green sparks spat out of his hand, it felt like someone was stabbing him in the arm repeatedly but he was too angry to care about the pain.

"I can't remember anything, you crazy bitch!"

"You are lying!"

Marcus felt something hard hit him across his mouth and pain exploded from his jaw. The woman had struck him, with an armored glove. That only enraged him more.

"Let me go!" he demanded, glaring back at the woman and ignoring the pain radiating from his jaw. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"You are not telling us everything!" she replied,

"The hell I am!" Marcus roared, "If I could blow up the Conclave, then I would have broken out of these bloody chains by now!"

The woman in black armor drew her fist back to hit him, but another woman in blue and purple robes intercepted her. "

We need him, Cassandra,"

Marcus narrowed his eyes, need him for what? The hooded woman turned to look at him, pinning him with her cerulean, blue eyes.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"No I don't!" Marcus snapped, "And even if I did what does it matter? You have already decided my guilt!"

"That is not-"

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana," spoke the woman in black armor.

Marcus glared at the woman who struck him, her black hair was cropped short and her voice was thick with a foreign accent that Marcus couldn't place, he
glared at her with intense dislike written all over his face.

"I will take him there,"

Marcus watched in stony silence, as the red haired lady disappeared up the stairs and the dark haired woman knelt and removed the handcuffs. The nobleman noticed that she wore black armor with a white eye on the chest plate, there was something ominous about that symbol that him uncomfortable.

Marcus growled, "I suppose by forward camp, you mean the executioner's noose?"

The woman glared at him, hazel brown eyes flashing with dislike.

"Do not tempt me,"


Ten year old Marcus Trevelyan struggled to hold up his small, wooden shield as he performed the moves that his father showed him. His arms were aching from holding that shield for hours on end and his throat was parched from thirst, all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and read the latest story from his favorite author, Arianna Magnus.

"Focus Marcus!" roared Morgan, as if sensing his son's distraction.

Marcus shook his head and held up his sword to shoulder level and waited, his sparring partner was a boy around his own age, with ginger hair and blue eyes that gleamed with mischief, Harriet was the quartermaster's son, and had been conscripted into training with Marcus. Though they were the same age, Harriet was taller and seemingly stronger, something that Marcus always resented. Marcus took a deep breath and ran directly at taller boy, but Marcus was too slow. Harriet sidestepped and clonked him on the head. Marcus staggered and fell forward onto his knees, feeling tears of frustration and humiliation welling in his eyes.

'I can't do this, I am not cut out for this!'

Marcus felt a shadow fall over him and he looked up, his father was looking down on him, his dark brown eyes staring at him in a critical fashion. Marcus looked down at the ground, unable to meet his father's gaze.

"We are done for the day, Harriet,"

"Father, I…"

"I don't understand what's wrong with you Marcus," Morgan snapped, "Your sister could defeat boys twice her size when she was your age, you on the other hand can barely hold your shield up,"

Marcus closed his eyes and clenched his fists, the disappointed tone in his father's voice doing more to cut him, then his harsh words.

"I don't know where we want wrong with you," he said, turning and walking away, leaving the young boy weeping on the ground.


Marcus was unchained, with two daggers in each hand and a lot of pent up rage to unleash, his time in captivity had made him furious with the Seeker, and Inquisition. He barely noticed the demons with their distorted, grotesque bodies. Marcus would have been scared, had he not been so angry, he did not believe what she had said about him being the only survivor of the explosion, the Conclave hosted some of the best mages and Templars in Southern Thedas, people who possessed the skill to do something to prevent their untimely deaths. Marcus had no reason to believe this agent of the Inquisition, let alone trust her, but right now what mattered was closing the Breach and making sure that the demons stopped raining from the skies. Marcus ran up the steps, the large, sickly green Breach on the periphery of his sight, he could feel a connection to the large hole in the sky, every time it grew, he could feel his hand throb with pain.

"We will be there soon, you can hear the fighting!"

Marcus could indeed hear the sounds of battle, men crying out and demons roaring with their unholy cries.

"Whose fighting!" he demanded, he thought that the bulk of the Seeker's men were back at Haven.

"You'll see soon enough,"

"I am just dying in suspense!" he barked back, as he vaulted the final few steps, the ground was slippery beneath his feet, but Marcus was quick, agile and experienced when it came to traversing on such territory.

"Keep talking and a demon might just do that to you,"

The two of them made their way up their stairs, as Marcus rounded a corner, he stopped and stared. Cold wind whipped at his black hair, flecks of white snow caressed his face with a freezing touch, as he surveyed the scene before him, a battle was indeed taking place, right in front of something that was glowing green, strongly resembling the Breach. A handful of the Seeker's men were struggling to hold their own against a pack of demons. Marcus didn't hesitate, he leapt down from his higher position and charged forward.

A large explosion ricocheted through the air, as Marcus instinctively pulled his hand back and away from the small Breach… only to find it no longer there. He stared in wonder, forgetting about his anger. For a moment, everyone present was silent, only the wind howled in their ears, as they absorbed what had happened. Marcus stared at his hand, then back at the sky, where only moments ago they had been a hole that was spitting out demons. Marcus turned to the bald elf, who stood of to aside with a benign expression on his face.

"How did you do that?" he asked, in confusion and wonder.

"I did nothing," spoke the elf, "The credit is all yours,"

"I.."

Marcus glanced up at the sky, he could hear men whispering in the background, they were recovering from the shock of what they had just seen.

"This thing on my hand?" he said, "Is it because of the Breach?"

The elf smiled and nodded, "It would seem so, I theorized that whatever magic opened the Breach also left that mark on your hand, and it could be used to close the fade rifts… and it seems I was correct,"

"Meaning that it could work on the Breach, as well," Cassandra added.

Marcus nodded, feeling slightly relieved, he had no idea what was going to happen to him, and he hated that thought, but atleast they were no longer running about blind intuition, or at least the Seeker's intuition.

"So I can help," he said, more to himself than to the others.

"It seems that you hold the key to our salvation,"

"Good to know, and I hear I thought we would be ass deep in demons forever,"

Marcus picked up the distinct accent of a dwarf and turned around, to see a middle aged dwarf looking up at him with a suave grin, he wore a dark brown coat that little to cover his voluminous chest hair and he carried a large and impressive looking crossbow, which he now slung over his back.

"Varric Tethras, at your service, rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwanted tag along,"

Despite the gravity of his situation, Marcus smiled at the dwarf's introduction.

"Believe me, I know the feeling," he said, giving Cassandra a mistrustful look, the Seeker glared back at him.

"By the way, that's a nice crossbow, you have there,"

Varric and smiled, stroking the crossbow with relish.

"Bianca and I, we've been through a lot together,"

"Bianca?" Marcus said,

"A beautiful name for a beautiful machine"

"I am Solas, if there are any introductions to be made," spoke the bald elf, "I am pleased to see you still live,"

Marcus chuckled, as he turned to look at Solas.

"You might be the first person to have said that to me…ever,"

"What he really means is," said Varric, "I prevented that mark from killing you while you slept,"

Marcus turned back to the elf with renewed interest, "I didn't know that," he said, "Thanks for that,"

"You can thank me after you have closed the Breach," Solas replied, he then turned to Cassandra,

"You should know that the magic we see here is unlike anything I have seen before. Your prisoner is no mage but I find it difficult to believe that any mage is capable of such power,"

"Understood,"

Marcus snorted, "I doubt that,"

"Shut up and walk,"


"What are we to do? How on earth can we make a decent Templar out of this boy!"

Fourteen year old Marcus Trevelyan hung his head, unable to meet the disappointing looks of his father, or the angry gaze of his Knight Commander. Marcus closed his eyes as tears stung his eyes, he had failed his family once again. Despite his best efforts, Marcus wasn't good enough to bring pride and honor to the noble line of House Trevelyan, he could already hear his older brother taunting him.

'Marcus, once again a failure, reminding us all why no one wants him!'

He tried hard, he did his best to by heart all the canticles, he trained until his bones broke, he was always on his best behavior, but it still wasn't enough!

"What has he done now Knight Commander?" came his father's voice.

Marcus couldn't help but wince at the tone, he was only glad that his mother wasn't here to face the shame.

"He has been too kind to apprentices here," said Knight Commander, in an affronted tone, "Sneaking them all sorts of merchandise for them, items they should not be having with them,"

Marcus felt his father's withering glare on him and he recoiled even further in shame.

'I was only trying to help them,' he protested, feebly.

"Why did you do this Marcus?" his father asked, the simple question seemed to unlock something in Marcus, he found it hard to speak as tears began to swell past his eyelids.

"It doesn't matter why he did this!" snapped the Knight Commander, "He broke a serious law! If his sir name had been anything else but Trevelyan, I would have sent him home with a severe beating!"

"What do you propose then, Knight Commander?"

"The boy is weak," spoke the Knight Commander, viciously, "But not beyond training, he needs to be in a different environment, away from home, away from Ostwick for the duration of his training,"

"Are you suggesting…"

"Yes, I am," said the Knight Commander, Marcus looked up, wiping tears as he did so.

"You must send your son to Kirkwall, there they will teach him to be strict with mages, there they will teach him to be a true Templar,"

His father did not even hesitate, he nodded. "It shall be done,"

Marcus gave both men a blank look, he was leaving home?

"I have never left home before,"

"Do not look on this journey with trepidation boy," said the Knight Commander, turning cold brown eyes in his direction. "Kirkwall will make you a great Templar and a fine member of your family,"

'Fine member of his family,'

That was all Marcus ever wanted to be…. make his family proud, the fourteen-year-old boy held his head up straighter.

"Father, I will go to Kirkwall!" he declared, "I want to make House Trevelyan proud!"

His father did not react, there was no proud smile to encourage him, no sad look to tell him that he would miss his son.

The senior Trevelyan only nodded, "Then pack your things, it is time to leave."


"Hurry use the mark before more come through!"

Marcus held up his hand, the green mark pulsed with life, releasing tendrils of energy and causing pain to erupt through his arm, as he reached out towards the fade rift. It was almost like a tapestry, Marcus thought, find the right thread and the whole thing unraveled, and when the whole thing unraveled…. Marcus sensed that he found the right thread; he grasped it tightly with his hand and pulled with all his might. The fade rift disappeared with a loud noise, leaving behind only clear air.

Marcus took a deep breath and looked around, feeling slightly dazed. Barely moments ago, there had been an unholy green portal to the fade that was pouring out demons, now it was eerily quiet.

"We are clear for the moment, well done,"

"Whatever that thing on your hand is, its useful,"

Marcus was breathing hard but he looked up at Solas and Varric with a large grin on his face.

"Who knew I had such a talent for wielding strange, fade controlling magic that could end up killing me?"

"The world works in unpredictable ways, young human," replied the elf.

Marcus snorted, "You don't say,"

"Open the gates, the Rift has been closed!"

Cassandra's voice rung with conviction and authority, her voice cut through the silent air, as her voice echoed across the area.

"Right away, Lady Cassandra,"

Marcus snorted in derision, "Lady?" he muttered, "Seriously?"

"You and me, both," muttered Varric.

The thick, iron gates to the forward camp swing open, revealing the Inquisition's forward camp. There were only handful soldiers manning the area, and it was slightly disorganized, papers were strewn across the ground and table, scattered by the wind and supplies were strewn across the camp. A familiar figure in purple robes stood at the far end of table, standing next to another figure dressed in robes. Marcus could distinctly make out the red and white robes of the Chantry, he glanced down at his hand, feeling a little nervous. He had a feeling that the Chantry would not react to his presence here well, especially if he was believed to be responsible for what had happened.

Cassandra led the way towards the purple robed figure with Marcus, Solas and Varric following her lead, as Marcus drew closer, he could hear two distinct voices, one male and another female, growing in volume with each step.

"You have caused enough trouble already!"

"I have caused trouble?"

"You! Cassandra! The Most Holy!"

The little group made their way towards the table, the robed figure looked up, Marcus immediately recognized the pale face and bright blue eyes of one of his interrogators, though she looked a lot less scary now, than in the dungeon. The one dressed in Chantry robes was a middle aged man, Marcus guessed he was in his forties due to graying mustache and slightly wrinkled face. He looked up as the group approached, his beady brown eyes were fixed on Cassandra.

"Seeker I order you to put this man in chains, at once!"

Marcus frowned at the Chantry figure, than looked up at the Breach, it was now larger than a few hours ago when he first saw it, did this fool not realize what was at stake?

"Order me?" Cassandra, said in an indignant voice, "Chancellor you are a clerk, a glorified bureaucrat! You have no authority over me!"

"And you are thug! But a thug who supposedly served the Chantry,"

Marcus looked at the angry Chancellor then at the even angrier looking Seeker, both of them were glaring daggers at each other, oblivious to everything else in the world around them, including the Breach.

'Are we seriously having this conversation right now?'

Marcus decided to intervene,

"Ahem!"

Cassandra and the Chancellor broke their stares and turned to him. Marcus got the distinct impression of being pinned to the ground, no doubt Cassandra was trying to glare a hole through his head.

"Look, I hate to interrupt what is obviously a touching reunion," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"But I think we have to focus on something that is slightly more important than your conversation about Chantry hierarchy, like say… that giant hole in the sky spitting out demons!"

"Shut up!" snapped the Chancellor, "You should not even be here!"

"Friend, you are not the only one wishing that," quipped Marcus, "So how about we first focus on closing the Breach, so that I can go back to where I came from and you can start working on getting that stick out of your ass?"

Behind Marcus, Varric laughed, "Nice," even Solas had a small smile on his face.

The Chancellor was momentarily stunned, his mouth hung open, before he snapped to attention and turned back to Cassandra,

"Call a retreat, Seeker," he said, "Our position here is lost,"

His tone had decidedly soften, he was no longer looking to command, but to entreat the Seeker into obeying. Cassandra, however, was having none of it.

"We can still win the day!"

"How? Even with your soldiers, you won't be able to reach the temple!"

"Yes," added Marcus, "Because you are the military expert here, correct?"

The Chancellor opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Cassandra.

"We must get to the temple it is the quickest route!"

"But not the safest," said the robed figure, speaking for the first time since they arrived.

"Our forces can act as a distraction," she said, pointing to the mountains in the background, "While you go through the mountains,"

Marcus looked up at the mountains in the distance, he could make out a series of small ladders, in the distance.

"We lost an entire company up there, its too risky!" said Cassandra.

Marcus sighed, rubbing his temple with his forefinger in exasperation, 'Is this really the time for a debate?'

As if sensing his mood, Cassandra turned to him,

"How do you think we should proceed?"

Marcus was stunned, he stared at Cassandra with wide, green eyes, she returned his surprised look with a steady gaze, expecting him to make the decision. Marcus glanced at the woman in robes and the Chancellor, both of them were looking at him expectedly.

"So… you are asking for my opinion?"

"You are the one with the mark," pointed out Solas,

"And you are the one we must protect, since we cannot decide on our own…" said Cassandra.

Marcus nodded, "We will take the mountain paths," he said, "We need to work together if we are going to get through this,"

Marcus noticed a frown on Cassandra's face, perhaps she didn't approve of his choice? Marcus shrugged, it did not matter, what she thought, he may not even be alive, even if he succeeded in closing the Breach.


For as long as he had lived, Marcus had wanted to make his family proud, to finally get the attention he secretly craved from his mother, to earn his father's approval and to earn his sibling's respect. But the City of Chains would change all of that. Marcus had come to Kirkwall's Circle at a difficult time, tensions between the mages and the templars grew with each passing day, as Knight Commander Meredith came down hard on the circle for the slightest transgressions. At first, Marcus did not notice the growing tensions, between mage and templar, as a squire and student, he had little to no interaction with the mages and he was barred from entering certain parts of the Circle, until his training was young Trevelyan committed himself to his studies, determined to become the best Templar he could be, he studied the Canticles of the Chantry past midnight and working hard on his fighting skills. It was in Kirkwall did Marcus discover his talent with daggers, small, but lethal weapons that could shred a man to pieces, if one knew how to use it properly. Unlike, Ostwick's Circle, daggers were common weapons amongst the Templars of Kirkwall because the smaller weapons were more suited to the narrow streets of the city. Marcus was agile and had a keen mind, making him one of the best students amongst his age group, the young boy did not have many friends amongst the apprentices, his Ostwick origins drove away many of the students who were native to Kirkwall. It was this distrust that prompted his fellow students to test him.

"Trevelyan?"

Sixteen year old Marcus Trevelyan looked up from the roll of parchment he was reading, a young man with blonde hair and blue eyes approached him, with a small smile on his face. Marcus smiled back in polite greeting.

"Greetings, Clyde," Marcus spoke, "Is there something you need?"

"Naturally, otherwise I wouldn't be disturbing the teacher's favourite student!"

Marcus nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable, about the choice of words, their trainers ranging from Chantry clerics to Templar trainers had come to see Marcus as a model student, the type other recruits should aspire to be, causing him to be the butt of many jokes, amongst his fellow students. Marcus gave little thought to what they said about him, everything he was doing was to make his family proud. Marcus smiled faintly as he recalled the most recent letter he received from his parents, it was written by his mother, telling him that they were receiving fantastic reports about his studies and encouraging him to keep up the good work, it was brief letter but still very important, as far he was concerned, letters from home were very rare and were always, appreciated when they came.

"Trevelyan, I need you to come with me,"

Marcus nodded a little apprehensively, "Of course, but why? Do you need a sparring partner?"

Clyde shook his head, his lips hinting at a smirk. "No, we are being allowed into the Gallows today,"

Marcus immediately stood up from his bench, all thoughts of the scroll (and his mother's letter) forgotten,

"Really?"

"Yes, and I need you to come with me, immediately," Clyde, with a sneer, "Ser Alrik would like to give you a test,"

Marcus' eyes lit up at the prospect, Ser Alrik was one of the finest knights in the Templar Order, Knight Commander Meredith praised him for his unparalleled virtue, gentlemanly qualities and unquestioned commitment to the order, passing a test from him would surely alleviate Marcus to even higher standards. The young noblemen nodded, an eager smile lighting up his youthful features.

"Then take me to him," Clyde leered at him, "This way, Trevelyan,"