DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Dragon Age original plotline, characters, or games. These are all the property of the amazing Bioware team, and I am merely a fan reveling in the beautiful and intricate world that they have built.

"Talking"

'Thinking'

And so it begins...

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Ugh…

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What… What happened?

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She could feel cold, damp stone pressing uncomfortably against her legs, her ankles and wrists heavy. When she tried to move, she heard the clink of metal and felt something resist her movements. Her thoughts were slow, sluggish.

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Where… am I…?

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Her head felt like a herd of druffalo had stampeded through it.

"The prisoner is waking! Go fetch the Lady Seeker!"

A… Seeker?

She scrabbled to keep a hold of consciousness, but it slipped away.

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Someone is coming…

She squeezed her eyes shut once, and then twice. After a moment of forceful blinking, her vision began to clear and sharpen. She appeared to be the same prison cell that she had woken up in before – and still surrounded by twitchy soldiers… wonderful… – and currently all four of her limbs were shackled and linked to heavy chains. It wouldn't be too hard to escape them. She'd done it before; she just needed to wait until the guards left.

As she gazed down at her cuffed hands, she studied the green glow that was cradled in the palm of her left hand that had appeared while she was unconscious. The strange glow of the light cast her tanned skin into a sickly pallor, flickering lazily. During her first interrogation, the stupid man had attempted to touch the thing, and unsurprisingly, got zapped. He had beaten her for that, thinking that she had somehow willed it to do so.

To be honest, she had not really cared about the abuse at the time, too preoccupied wondering why the hell her hand was now a fucking nightlight. A tingly feeling – the kind people get when they lose feeling in their limb – was her only warning before the little light suddenly spark, and a zap of energy jolted through her veins like static shock.

She gasped and jerked back, as if she could escape her own limb. Well… that was a first. And it did not feel good. At all.

Immediately the guards in attendance drew their swords and aimed them at her neck, but remained at a cautious distance. At that moment the heavy metal door of the prison swung open, and a feminine shadow strode in. A longsword hung from the woman's side, she wore battle-worn armor and boots, and the aura of tension that seemed to linger in the air. Another woman followed, entering at a more sedate pace and regarding her with hawk-like eyes, the serenity emanating from her eyes only heightening the perceived danger. This one was dressed as a rogue in a hood and a tunic which covered her light armor. Both were human.

Dark green eyes regarded them carefully between the limp black strands that fell into her face. Her braid must have fallen out at some point, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder and making her appear more ragged than she already was, pitch black hair spilling across her bruised back until the tips skimmed her waist. She watched them with a stoic face, not betraying her anxiety.

The first woman said nothing to her at first, barely giving her enough time to glance at her face before she was circling around the prisoner to where she could not see.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now."

Her shoulders stiffened as her interrogator leaned over her shoulder and threatened her in a low voice. Pointed ears twitched at the proximity. Her accent was northern, with pursed vowels reminiscent of Orlais or Nevarr, although the heaviness of her consonants leaned more towards Nevarran in origin.

"The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead." The woman's voice wavered the slightest bit on the last word. "Except for you."

Finally, a bit of information! She felt her eyebrows fly upwards as she contemplated their meaning. Dead? Everyone? As in the entire Conclave? But how?

No, no, it wasn't supposed to happen this way…

Her silence must have lasted longer than appreciated, because suddenly her interrogator shot out her hand and yanked her arms up by the cuffs, holding up the hand that was pulsating with a sickly green light.

"Explain this."

The problem was, she had no idea how to explain this. She had no idea what this was! She remained silent, unable to give an answer. Confusion mixed with frustration as questions whirled through her head too fast for them to form in coherent thought.

"I already told the previous interrogators that I know nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada." She drawled blandly, knowing that they would not believe her. "Apparently visions of scary monsters and glowing women are not considered much evidence."

Her interrogator snarled as she rounded on her almost violently, grabbing her by the collar. "Why you impudent – !"

"We need her, Cassandra!" The redheaded woman caught the other's arm and pushed her back and away from the prisoner.

There was a pregnant pause between the three women, the two standing glaring down at the one in shackles. The one called Cassandra glowered at her while the redhead turned to regard their suspect with an unreadable expression. Their prisoner remained oddly silent, studying them both with cautious curiosity.

"Do you remember what happened?" The rogue asked. "How this began?"

Ah, and they were back to the this. Whatever this was. She rifled through her memories, but came up against a wall. Frustrated, she began to scour her mind for the first thing she could remember.

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Before the Conclave.

The Dalish. Lavellan.

Talav, and a piece of parchment heavy with emotion… Dread.

Crossing borders and sneaking into town.

Crawling in the rafters high above the heads of clerics, mages, and templars alike as they gathered under a single roof.

Their leaders called for a break and then left the room –

And she was running.

Panting, sweating, fear coiling in her gut, while screeches and hisses chased her, the sound of clicking and snapping on her heels. There was a steep hill, a light at the top – escape! – and so she climbed, pushing her tired body to its limits, pumping adrenaline, her thighs burning, hands scrabbling for purchase on the steep slope.

A woman. Golden hands reaching out for her. Stretching, stretching, just a little more –

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And there was that damned wall again. Nothing. Just simply nothing. It was as if there was a blank slate where the memory should be. Not even a sound or a smell that she could at least associate with it. She grit her teeth at the unexpected wave of helplessness that gripped her.

Convinced that they would simply label her a madwoman and either execute her or let her rot in an underground cell for the rest of her life, she sighed and reiterated her vision to them with a resigned expression.

"A woman?" The hooded redhead repeated, sounding slightly mystified. "Of light…?"

Cassandra drew her partner back and they convened closer to the door, leaning their heads together, although their suspect could still hear them just fine thanks to her pointy ears. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift."

She furrowed her brows. 'The rift'? What's a rift?

The redhead – Leliana – exited the prison after one last glance over her shoulder, leaving the prisoner at the mercy of Cassandra. As the door swung shut, the warrior was already approaching the shackled elf and, to her surprise, knelt down before her. Cassandra pulled out a key from her pocket and began unchaining the prisoner. The elven woman stared back at her, bewildered.

"What did happen, exactly?" The prisoner finally asked lowly, attempting to hide the nervousness in her voice.

"It…" Cassandra seemed to hesitate. "Will be easier to show you."

Uh-oh. That bad huh?

The prisoner followed Cassandra out of the dungeon, up the stairs, and into a rather short entrance hall. There were guards standing at the end, on either side of the wooden double doors. They stared at her suspiciously, glancing pointedly at her unshackled hands, bound only by a rope – which could easily be slipped off, mind you, dainty elf-hands and all, but since it made the angry masses feel more secure, she kept it on.

Cassandra glared at the guardsmen when they hesitated from opening the doors for them. "The prisoner is with me. Open the doors." She commanded impatiently.

Apparently the woman's threats were valid, as the men quickly snapped to attention and finally opened the entrance. A blast of icy wind chilled her face, snowflakes whirling into the hall in its wake. Cassandra pushed her forward, and she stumbled into the snowy landscape.

A blinding light pierced her eyes as she stepped out, making her wince and flinch away. Immediately it occurred to her that it was supposed to be late evening, and the sun should not be that high. Glancing up, she felt fear pool into her stomach as a neon green light hovered in the sky, casting an unnatural glow across the land, the clouds swirling ominously around it like the eye of a storm (and there was that word 'ominous' again, she knew it would be a bad thing). Green smoke seemed to trail up from the ground into its center, and around it were floating pieces of debris that looked to be giant rocks. She'd hate to be the person standing under them when that came down…

"We call it 'The Breach'." Cassandra's voice interrupted her musing. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour."

How ominous. Again. She was sensing a pattern here.

"It's not the only such rift." The warrior woman continued. "Just the largest."

Oh great, there are more. Yay.

"All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

There was an explosion at the Conclave? She tore her gaze from 'The Breach' and focused on Cassandra with wide eyes. "What kind of explosion can do that?"

Cassandra shrugged. "This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

Well, that certainly put a damper on things. Swallowing the world? Her gut told her there was more to it than that. Not that she did not acknowledge that the Breach was a threat, but she highly doubted any one person truly understood the true significance of the Breach so soon after its creation.

Suddenly the Breach pulsated, sending out a shockwave that could be felt even at their distance. As the green light exploded, the thing on her hand sparked violently and suddenly burned with magic. It felt like her hand was being scalded, like holding heated metal. The pain lanced up her arm and throughout her body so fast that she did not have time to smother her pained cry. She doubled over, falling to her knees.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads…" Cassandra knelt next to her and looked her in the eyes. "And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine… She thought sourly.

She gritted her teeth as the pain receded, the last of the spasms dying away. Glaring holes into the ground below her, she realized that there was no escape now. She couldn't run back to the clan now, couldn't hide from the disaster like she had with the Blight. This… this mark… she was literally bound to this. Whatever this was.

Fate is such a bitch. She thought ruefully. Blast it all! It wasn't supposed to happen like this… This isn't my problem!

Except that it was. Her selfishness could not save her now.

"I guess there isn't much choice." She growled, looking back up at Cassandra.

The warrior frowned at her reluctance, but helped her back to her feet anyway. Cassandra kept her hand wrapped around her upper arm as they walked through the camp. The people glared suspiciously at the prisoner, with mixed looks of blame and disgust. Their gazes burned on her skin, making her neck prickles at the tension.

"They have decided your guilt." Cassandra told her unnecessarily. "They need it."

Let's be honest, they are only looking for a scapegoat. She thought ruefully.

"The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry." Cassandra continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for –"

Blah, blah blah. She tuned out the warrior, already quite aware of the origins of the Conclave and its objectives. Again, this really wasn't her problem. And she would rather that it never became her problem. Humans only ever seemed to fuck up the world – and just when people thought that they couldn't do any worse, they did. After all, there had never been a problem with mages and magic before Tevinter and Andraste. It was said that during the time of Arlathan, all elves had the gift. Idly, she wondered what a society based on mages would have been like – surely they did not fear magic so blindly as Andrastians did.

Wishful thinking. She reminded herself.

Reaching the edge of the camp, they crossed a bridge, which seemed to connect to the road that led to where the Conclave had once been. The guards at these gates did not need Cassandra's prompting to open the gates, however they still gave the prisoner dirty looks.

"We lash out, like the Sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did." Cassandra murmured from behind. "At least, until the Breach is sealed."

Yes, because sealing the Breach is the key to world peace. She thought cynically.

They paused in the middle of the bridge as Cassandra pulled out a medium-sized dagger and approached her. The immediate reaction was to go on the defensive, but upon noticing the warrior's gaze upon her roped hands, she relaxed.

"There will be a trial." Cassandra told her as she slid the blade beneath the rope and cut upwards. "I can promise no more to you."

She resisted the urge to snort. Trial her ass! She was a knife-ear, they didn't get fair trials. The Chantry did not change its mind once it was set, and this time it was set in her guilt. Especially a 'dirty Dalish' such as herself. Just one look at the tattoos on her face and her fate would be sealed.

"I have a name." She muttered to Cassandra, keeping her eyes glued to the red rings around her wrists.

"What?" The warrior turned back to her.

"My name." She rubbed her wrists soothingly as she looked up to meet Cassandra's gaze. "My name is Banal'ras Lavellan."

Now that her hands were free, she pushed her straggly hair out of her face and straightened her clothes, standing a little straighter in an attempt to regain whatever was left of her pride.

"But you can just call me Lavellan."

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