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She woke to pain.
She remembers this clearly, the Mark on her hand flashing along with the memory. She woke to pain and fear and anger. At the time she thought she had no reason to be angry, she was the prisoner after all.
But Linette Trevelyan has gone from prisoner -and suspected murderer of the Divine, not to mention all of those people at the Conclave- to Herald of Andraste.
It’s almost comical enough to make her laugh. She would have, had it been anyone else who was saddled with rift magic to their hand. If it was not her that had to deal with people whispering and asking for her blessing, she would have shaken her head and cursed that poor sod’s luck.
And yet here she was, drinking at the tavern for the first time ever and she was alone. She’d lived at the Circle most of her life, and when didn't she was ferried back and forth to her family’s estate. It did not leave a lot of room for socializing at taverns or sneaking off.
Annoyed and quickly working herself back to mad, she threw some coin down before she stalked out of the tavern. Snow crunches underneath her feet, the wind cool enough to leave her cheeks red. The sky above them swirls green and grey, an ongoing reminder of how wrong things have gotten.
She still doesn't understand how how she got here. Linette knew she had not been the one responsible for the disaster at the Conclave. If she had, you’d think she’d remember. Then again, what possible reason could she have for not remembering? Yet no one but her seems to questions this. There is no proof that she did it, and yet besides Solas word that he didn't think she did, there is no proof that she didn't. It makes her head hurt, makes her sick to her stomach that she is questioning whether or not she killed hundreds of people and doesn't remember.
“So now that Cassandra’s is out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people who have spread that out over more than a day.”
Varric. She had not even noticed she’d come this way, so lost she’d been in her thoughts. She tilts her head and offers a small smile. If anyone is going to understand how unnerved she is by going from prisoner to ally, it’ll be him. “I’m just glad to be standing after all that.”
“I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra. You’re lucky you were out cold for most of her frothing rage.”
Linette felt that prickle of unease that she had begun to feel whenever she went near the Advisors of the Inquisition. Here is another person other than herself confirming what she is afraid of - Cassandra had been angry. Not just angry, but grieving and hurt. And yet, now she had been asked to help them battle this great evil when she had been their only suspect. She was first and foremost a mage, and she didn't know if she could never forget that Cassandra was a Seeker, Cullen an ex-templar. They could have her flat on her back and unable to defend herself instantly.
I hope what they’re right about you. We've lost a lot of good people getting you here.
She had been too stunned by his brisk tone and slight scowl to respond quickly. By the time she had recovered, the noble her parents had raised her to be had given him a polite and diplomatic answer when in reality she had wanted to tell him that it looked like she was their only hope. That she had lost people too. That she had no idea what she was doing, except hoping to the Maker that flinging her hand in the air worked.
Half the time she felt like she was doing what they wanted her to to appease them, to not make them angry. To make sure they knew she would do whatever she could, even if she had no idea what that meant. That was the mage in her, she knew this. She’d learnt early on that she was meant to serve man and never rule over them. Linette had offered help at every opportunity because what better way to show that she never meant to use that power to hurt anyone?
The other half of the time… well, she kept her mouth shut a lot. Not because she was deep in thought or calculating what their next move should be but because she didn’t trust them. How could she? Here she was, in the middle of a Chantry (or not, as she understood it) movement that meant to restore order and they’d shoved a mage in the middle of it? No matter how many time she raised her hand and asked “are you sure you trust the mage?”, they answered with “we have to trust you.” The idea that the idea of anyone being the Herald of anything, let alone Andraste, could be a mage… well, she’d grown up in a rigidly religious household. She knew it was beyond blasphemous.
“You might want to consider running at the first opportunity,” Varric was saying with that half smile on his face that made her sad, “I've written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”
A miracle. One she had no idea how to achieve. Her stomach rolled over with fear, but before it could show on her face she smiled back at Varric and walked away.
She didn't have a miracle. She didn't even have a prayer that what they were doing would work.
And yet everyone still trusted that the Herald of Andraste knew what she was doing.
Fools, she thought. Even back in the Circle she had not know what her life would be like, and it had been all but planned out for her. Wake up, practice the tamest of fire and creation spells, eat, sleep, repeat. Every now and then, she’d get to visit her family. The first time she’d visited her family’s state after being away for years, she’d felt like such a stranger. Everything was still the same, they all looked the same and laughed the same and tried to treat her the same. It hadn't been. She wasn't the same girl who left for the Circle, full of hope and not knowing how lonely she might be. Surrounded by people her whole life, she did not realize that it was her noble title they gathered around.
At the Circle, she had been the mage Linette. Her title meant nothing, had meant nothing to the other mages or apprentices. She had been glad of it at first, until she realized that her family’s status meant nothing inside the tower’s walls and she had relied heavily on it outside the walls of this new home. Left to fall back on her charm, she had stumbled a couple times. How could she go from being loved and respected to merely another robe in the crowd without feeling lost and alone? The demons had tempted her then, and she was more scared of failing than being lonely for the rest of her days. To see disappointment in their eyes… it was the reason she pushed forward now, when she had no connection to any of these strangers. She couldn’t stand the idea that she might fail, that her family might get a letter explaining that she had fallen and the end of the world was coming.
“Herald?”
She froze. Her hand was on the doorknob of the door that led to her little house, the one Josephine had insisted she be comfortable in. How long had she been standing here, thinking of what was and wasn't? How long had the Commander been standing there? Had he been standing guard, weary of demons? She knew nothing about him except that he’d been at Kirkwall when the Chantry fell. Surely, if anyone would be weary of demons, it would be him.
She turned slightly, making sure her hands were visible and smiled at him. “Commander. How can I help you?”
Cullen’s brow furrowed and if she hadn't been looking for it, she might have missed it. “I… was walking to the War Room. I saw you… about to enter the… are you alright, Trevelyan?”
I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you, she thought desperately. Instead she smiled and nodded cheerfully, “Of course. I was trying to decide if I had had enough of the cold or if my toes could stand a bit more before they truly fell off.”
He let out a bark of laughter and she blinked before he composed himself and smothered it. “Well?” he asked as he linked his hands behind his back, “what is the verdict?”
Still out. You could still hurt me. You all could still hurt me. Instead of saying this, she looked down at her feet and shrugged, “Still attached, for now. How about I join you to the War Room? I’m sure there’s something up there that I could take a look like. Maker, but it seems the paperwork never ends.”
He nodded easily and waited for her to fall into step. She walked beside him in silence, and noticed it was not as awkward as she’d feared. She stole a glance at him, caught him studying her and hid her smile when he looked away first. Was he trying to figure her out as much as she was trying to figure him out? She was a mage, and she didn't delude herself to believe that she would always be in control of her powers. Something might push her, and who better than to stop her but a Templar?
Would it be this ex-Templar? Would he hesitate to raise his sword, end her before she could hurt anyone?
“Here we are,” said Cullen easily as he pushed open the Chantry door, bowing slightly, “a warm Chantry. I hope we have arrived in time to save your toes.”
He would stop her, she realized and felt oddly at peace with this realization. She was nowhere near trust, didn't know if she would ever be there. But for now, this was all she had. “I believe we have,” she breathed and stepped into the building, ignoring the way her mana reacted to having him near. Was she truly so terrified of him that even her mana spiked out of fear? What would her Papa say, if he saw her now - a frightened and quiet thing when his Linette had been loud and lively enough to keep the whole room entertained?
He stopped before the door to the War Room, looking over her shoulder at Mother Giselle. Linette look over her shoulder, noticed the Mother deep in conversation with a Chantry sister and turned back to Cullen. He hesitated before he muttered, “Lady Trevelyan-”
“Linette,” she cut him off, raising her chin slightly, “I understand you lot have to keep some decorum with the crowds but I’m not…. I’m a noble no longer, or Andraste’s Herald. I am a mage from the Circle and to insinuate anything else….”
Cullen blinked at her, clearly surprised. He cleared his throat, rubbing his neck as he said, “But you are. All of those things. Whatever you were before the Breach, you are so much more than just a mage. Just like we have all risen above what we were.”
“But I am just a mage,” she said stubbornly and lit her hands aflame. Had the satisfaction of watching his eyes narrow slightly before feeling ashamed. She extinguished her hands, looking at the floor and taking a deep breath, “my apologies, Ser. I do not know who I am in this new world.”
There was a long pause before he said, “do any of us?”
Confused, her eyes flew to his. Dark brown eyes meeting lighter ones, understanding in one pair while helplessness swam in the other. She said nothing, not trusting her voice. Instead she inclined her head and pushed inside where they expected her to weigh in on what should happen in this new world.
She still had no idea what they expected or how she should handle a noble’s request to move people off his land when all they needed was refugee. But for the first time since this began, since she became something she didn't understand, she listened to what the Advisors said. Trusting them was not on her radar, not anywhere near it.
But she wasn't as alone as she thought she was.