The Believer:

"You Are the Only Threat I See"

I wasn't sure how it happened.

None if it, if I was going to be entirely honest. How I entered the Fade, how I became the Herald of Andraste, how I became the head of a resurrected order from before the first age, or how I had come to build that order into a force to be reckoned with. This mark on my hand, this strange connection to the Breach that I possessed, and the strange call to end the tears in the Veil and destroy the Elder One; these were all things that I still did not understand. If I lived long enough, I wondered if I would look back on my life and suddenly everything would make sense.

As it stood, nothing made sense, but I was on a track to try and find the little things that did.

Many of the little things that made sense came in the form of my ragtag companions, the people of the Inquisition who promised to fight at my side. There was Varric, whose presence among the members of the Inquisition made sense after his firsthand interactions with the Champion of Kirkwall and the nasty business that began a mage rebellion there. There was Dorian, a Tevine magister who shunned the ways of his people; a pariah with a great mustache and a greater desire to redeem himself and his countrymen. Iron Bull – who was undoubtedly my favorite simply for his lewdness – a qunari mercenary who hated demons. Another mage, pro-Circle, named Vivienne with an excellent taste in fashion; she was intimidating, but it made sense why she worked alongside us (even if I was in a constant state of wondering when the moment of her betrayal would come). A Grey Warden named Blackwall, an elven mage named Solas, a young man with a dark secret named Cole (I think that is his name, but I have a hard time remembering it), a wildcard elf named Sera who was better than anyone else I knew with a bow, and lastly the pious Seeker of Truth named Cassandra. My other companions – more advisors than companions – were the enigmatic Sister Nightingale, or Leliana as she now preferred I call her; former Knight-Captain Cullen of Kirkwall's Templars; and a diplomatic Antivan noble by the name of Josephine Montilyet.

These people were the only things I understood in the current mess of my life. While none of them were simple and many harbored secret ambitions we were united by the common belief that the events taking place in Thedas needed to come to an end.

Chief among those that held this desire was evidently Cassandra. I blamed her mostly for being the one to put me in this outrageous position, but I saw her point when she yelled at me, "You are the only threat I see." I was clearly guilty of being the only one to survive the terror of the blast in Haven and walk out of the Fade, a righteously suspicious act that crowned me Inquisitor.

I stood alone in the War Room of Skyhold – the center of the Inquisition and my seat of power – staring at the stupid table fashioned like a map of Thedas. There were little wooden pieces spread out across its expanse; lions, flaming swords, lidless eyes, dancing griffons and hounds, half-circles, and other silly emblems signifying the factions and orders and nations of Thedas. The sight of it was exasperating.

"Inquisitor, are you alright?"

I knew without looking whom it was speaking to me. I heard the Nevarran-tinged accent and the clunky movements of a warrior not trained for stealth.

I replied without looking up. "I've told you before, Cassandra, you can call me Trevelyan. There's no need to be so formal with me."

"It is a habit," the dark-haired and square-jawed woman said as she moved over to join me on my side of the war table.

I glanced at her, finally taking in the sight of her. Maker, I thought she was gorgeous. The planes of her cheeks and the sharp curve of her jaw were sharp and fine, adding hard edges to an already tough exterior. The chocolate-brown hair and coffee-rich eyes accented bronze skin and pale scars. She was tall and strong; she needed to be in order to heft and hack with both shield and sword. More than anything, though, I admired her conviction. To some her brusque exterior and pious character overwhelmed and intimidated, and in coalition with those things a few found her overbearing or unattractive in character. Her conviction made her far more alluring, in my mind. Brusque or not, pious or not, I still thought that Cassandra Pentaghast was one of the most attractive women I had met in many years.

I dared to stare a moment too long and she gave me a puzzled look. I averted my gaze back to the war table and sighed, trying to search for words.

"What are you doing up here?" I finally spat out after my moment's hesitation. "It's late."

Darkness fell over Skyhold three hours before and many of our companions had turned in for the night. If not, a bulk of them was most likely playing cards and drinking down at the tavern. I was usually down there with them – a collection of Iron Bull, Sera, Varric, and Blackwall, typically – but tonight I had lots on my mind. What was it that plagued Cassandra's for her to be up at this hour, I wondered?

"I could not sleep. I tried for a while. And why are you up? You look…burdened, Trevelyan. You never answered my question: are you alright?"

I shrugged, choosing the more ambiguous of answers. "I'm fine. Or I will be, once this is all over."

She snorted a little and let her hands grasp the wood of the table, pinching the grain between strong thumb and forefinger. A ripple of muscle arose from her wrist as she gripped the table. "Won't we all."

"Most of Thedas doesn't seem to grasp the situation at hand. Celene and Gaspard are still fighting their stupid civil war, the mages and templars haven't resolved their issues, and the elven rebellion grows worse with each day. If they spent as much of their anger and resources they do fighting each other and stopped to help us fight the Elder One, maybe we would have a chance. More so than we do now."

"That is what you are here to do, Inquisitor."

I scowled at her, both for using the stupid title thrust upon me, and for verbally reminding me of how much was at stake.

"No pressure," I laughed.

"If there is anyone in Thedas who can stop the Breach and defeat the Elder One, it is you."

It sounded like a compliment, but it tasted like vinegar. She had been searching for the Hero of Fereldan – the Grey Warden who almost single-handedly vanquished the Fifth Blight – and the Champion of Kirkwall – a Circle-sympathizing rogue by the name of Marian Hawke – for many years before helping form the Inquisition. I was not her first choice, or her second, but I became her only choice when the Maker deemed me worthy enough to walk out of the Fade and escape the blast that destroyed the Chantry conclave.

"You say that, but I know you don't mean it. You wanted the Warden or the Champion, and instead you got me. If not for this stupid, weird curse" – I said, raising my pulsing green hand – "you would never have chosen me."

"I cannot pretend to know the Maker's will. The Warden and the Champion might have been my first choice because of the odds they overcame, but the Maker saw that it was not them who were given this duty, but you. You are the only one with the power to end this."

"You were singing quite a different tune when I first met you," I said, recalling the time I walked out of the Fade and Cassandra pressed her blade against my neck.

"I thought you were a threat. Now I know that you are our only hope."

I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. "Don't get your hopes up too high, Seeker. I can't guarantee this will have a good ending."

"I believe in you," she said, her voice now a calm and quiet reassurance. She let go of the war table and stepped back. "And it is Cassandra. You may call me Cassandra, Trevelyan."

I turned to face her, to say something sarcastic in retort, but she was already walking away. "The Believer", that's what the rest of our companions called her; a jibe against her piety and unwavering faith in the Maker, but I saw now how much truth there was to the joke. Cassandra Pentaghast was a believer in lost causes and I was the biggest of them all.