PROLOGUE
Alex hated her dress. Hated anything that could be considered frilly or, as Mother put it, "enough to make you look like a proper young lady." All it took was a minute or two of speaking with one of the numerous nobles at the ball to break that charade. Had she been given a choice, she'd have worn her suit of personalized steel and leather she loved so much. Even decorative armor would be preferable to a corset that made breathing next to impossible and a royal blue gown she tripped on constantly. "It matches your eyes," Mother had said against Alex's protests. "Steel does not, nor should it."
The makeup was even worse. She felt like an Orlesian, her face painted as it was. Mother, who in fact hailed from Orlais, insisted upon it as she always did when the Trevelyan family was invited to these extravagant events. This particular ball was held in Tantervale, celebrating... well, celebrating something. Alex was sure she'd been told, but she couldn't recall exactly what. She could've asked someone, but then she'd suffer some dull explanation accompanied by a "you silly, ignorant girl" expression.
From across the room she spotted her father, Bann Lawrence Trevelyan, chatting with the Lord Chancellor. He spotted her and, when the Lord Chancellor turned away for a moment, rolled his eyes. Alex smiled; it was nice to know he'd had as little choice to be there as she did. Mother asserted that if he or future descendants ever wished to rule Ostwick, Father would have to do his part and be involved in affairs big or small in the Free Marches. That Father wasn't even the head of the Trevelyan family—that prestigious role belonged to Alex's oldest uncle—didn't seem to matter.
"Stop slouching," a sharp Orlesian tone ordered from behind Alex. "You do not look respectable when you slouch."
"Yes, Mother," Alex huffed, straightening her posture as her mother came to her side.
"Come with me, my dear," Mother said in her I'm-not-asking voice. "I want to introduce you to someone."
"Just what I wanted," Alex muttered under her breath.
Her mother's quest to give Alex away to a potential suitor had started three years prior, following her sixteenth nameday. Alex had as much interest in bearing some noble's children as she did in dying. So far Mother's endeavors had failed, but she was nothing if not stubborn. Something Alex had inherited, Father was prone to say. All Alex could be thankful for was that she'd not been given to the Chantry as many of her cousins and her brother Edmund had been. Alex believed in the Maker well enough, but devoting her whole life to Him? Not her idea of an enjoyable life.
Reluctantly, Alex fell in line behind her mother. While Mother walked with poise and elegance, flashing smiles left and right, Alex was trying her best not to stomp or frown too much. She was born into this life of politics and nobility but had never felt comfortable in it. Alex preferred the music of steel ringing against steel to the melodies performed by minstrels; preferred the smell of sweat and blood to expensive fragrances and perfumes that made her gag.
Mother had sworn up and down she'd never allow Alex to hold a sword, much less receive extensive training, when she'd been younger. Father had believed it important she know how to defend herself. He won out. Alex's second cousin Ser Reilly Trevelyan of the Templar Order had taught her most everything she knew. Frequently training with guards at her family estate kept her skills from getting rusty. Guard-Captain Fredrick believed she could win the next Grand Tourney if she could participate.
Mother abruptly stopped. Alex barely halted in time to prevent running into her. Her mother gestured to two people in front of them, a man and a woman. The woman looked near Mother's age. Her short hair was almost entirely grey, unlike Mother's, still mostly the auburn color Alex had taken. The woman had a stance and dress befit a practiced noble, but hers wasn't a familiar face, as much as it was Free Marcher.
The man beside her was clearly her son, despite having some Fereldan in his tanned face, as they had the same blue-grey eyes. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Tall and muscular he was, large arms bulging in his red doublet—a warrior like her, no doubt. Alex had to admit he was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, what with his wavy ebony hair, thick beard, and faint scar on his left cheek. He appeared about just as comfortable at the ball as Alex did—which was to say, not at all.
Mother made a show of clearing her throat. "Leandra, darling, it is my pleasure to present to you my youngest daughter, Alexandra Trevelyan."
Alex somehow managed to curtsy without falling over. She didn't like these events, but she did try to be well-mannered, more so to avoid her mother's wrath. "Messere," Alex said as she bowed her head. She was sure she'd heard the name Leandra somewhere but couldn't place it.
"Alexandra." Mother drew out the second half of her name to emphasize it. She never called her Alex, thinking it too boyish and unfit for a lady. Alex couldn't imagine the fit her mother would have if Alex ever ended up with a scar on her face from swordplay. "Let me introduce you to Leandra Amell and her unmarriedson, Percival Hawke."
"Oh," Alex exclaimed. Now she remembered Leandra's name. The Amells had been a prominent noble family in Kirkwall before Alex was born. They almost became the ruling family of Kirkwall, but they fell fast and fell hard. First, the three children of Revka Amell showed signs of magical abilities almost all at the same time and were disturbed to various Circles across Thedas. Not long after, charges of smuggling had greatly cost the family financially.
The last straw had been when Leandra Amell fleeing Kirkwall and eloping with an apostate. Rumor had it she'd been pregnant with his child. If it was true, Alex assumed Percival was said child. Leandra's brother Gamlen Amell had been the sole benefactor of the family fortune—what little was left—after she left. He'd had gambled it all away. The Amells, it'd seemed, were done for.
Then the Hero of Ferelden, Revka Amell's youngest child, defeated the Archdemon. The name Amell was on everyone's mind. The same year, Percival Hawke restored his family to nobility in the Free Marches. Humble beginnings, considering he'd been an early refugee of the Fifth Blight the year before. Seeing the man who managed that now standing before her... Alex couldn't deny how impressive he was.
"I prefer Percy, Messere Elaine," Percival—or Percy, Alex supposed—said to Mother. His voice was rich and deep, emanating a sense of power. "Many simply call me Hawke." He looked to Alex and smiled. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Alexandra."
Alex smiled back. "You may call me Alex, Hawke." She saw her mother's eyes slightly narrow and her mouth tighten. Alex recognized it as one of her more subtle scowls and was proud to have earned it.
Hawke was a large man, which made it all the more surprising how impish his grin became. Perhaps he saw through Mother's mask? "All right then, Alex."
"Perhaps we should leave these two alone, Lady Leandra?" Mother suggested. "Let them get to know each other better."
Leandra nodded. "I think that idea is splendid."
Alex wasn't so sure. Mother thought herself tactful, but Alex knew better. She'd complained loudly to Father it wasn't right for the Amells to raise themselves out of the slums. She'd likely let that belief slip to Leandra after she had a glass of wine or two, ruining any chance of marrying Alex off to Hawke. Mother was getting desperate, so she'd suit Alex up with just about anyone at this point, even someone she couldn't stand.
Though of all the suitors Mother had ever tried to set me up with, Hawke certainly... isn't the worse prospect.
Lady Leandra and Mother departed, discussing the unfortunate events surrounding the Vael family. Hawke and Alex watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, then Hawke said, "I'm sorry my mother had you dragged over here. She's been seeking to match me up with anyone since I restored the Amell name."
"My mother was trying the same," Alex admitted. "I can see her now, bragging to all her friends, servants—really anyone with ears—that she may someday be related to the Hero of Ferelden through marriage."
"An Orlesian, bragging of familial relations to a Fereldan?" Hawke asked. "What has the world come to?"
"'A Hero of Ferelden, but the blood of the Free Marches,' my mother would say."
Hawke shrugged. "True enough." He brushed something off his shoulder, displaying his rough, calloused fingers. Alex's were similar, though hidden by the gloves she'd been forced to wear. "Would you care for a drink? I think it'd improve this engagement party tremendously."
Engagement party, yes, that's what this is. "I couldn't agree more."
For the next several hours, the nobility of the Free Marches could find Alexandra Trevelyan and Percival Hawke wherever there may be wine. He regaled her with tales of Kirkwall, of his first year as a mercenary in the City of Chains, and all he'd done to fund his expedition into the Deep Roads mere months ago. He'd made friends and companions of a variety of people: Grey Wardens, pirate queens, Dalish Elves, and escaped Tevinter slaves. His cheerful temperament couldn't extend to all his stories. Sad was he, speaking of his brother and sister, the former a Templar of the Kirkwall Chantry and the latter a Grey Warden not by choice but out of necessity. She hung onto his every word, offering comments and condolences before she spoke of her own life in Ostwick.
Like Hawke, Alex had a family history of magic, due in part to Tevinter blood in their veins. She was the youngest of four children, and two of her siblings had been born mages. Typically, mages were moved to a new city or an entirely separate country—as the Hero of Ferelden had been—but the Trevelyan family, devoted and faithful, had close connections to the Chantry. As such, Maxwell and Evelyn had been allowed to stay in Ostwick's Circle. From what Hawke told her of the Gallows, Kirkwall's Circle, she was thankful her brother and sister hadn't been subject to that fate.
Her eldest brother Edmund, firstborn of Lawrence Trevelyan and Elaine Trevelyan-Caron, had been given to the Chantry at a young age to become a Templar. Sadly, he'd exceeded all expectations and rose quickly in rank. He'd earned the "opportunity" to bear witness to a mage's Harrowing in Starkhaven... where he'd failed to kill the abomination before it could kill him. Alex hadn't known him well, but he was family and she'd despaired at his loss. Though, if any sort of consolation could come from his death, Alex believed his fate was in-part the reason she'd not been given to the Chantry.
Hawke gave a toast to Edmund, and Alex downed her glass in one gulp. They moved on to happier topics after that.
When the ball came to an end and Mother found her less than sober and singing bawdy songs in the corner of the room with Hawke, she was not amused. "Alexandra, you shame me with such behavior!" she hissed. Only Leandra and Hawke were close enough to hear. "Proper women do not drink like whores!"
"She says with the smell of wine and more on her breath," Alex grumbled. She hiccupped, pretending it was an act of defiance.
"Forgive her, Lady Elaine," Hawke stepped in, sounding more coherent than she. "The blame is mine. I dared her to match me drink-for-drink. To my surprise, she did. Impressive, if I do say so myself."
Mother sniffed loudly. "Of course you did, Fereldan. Next you'll want her roll around with dogs."
"You will not talk to my son that way," Leandra said coolly.
"Then your son will not treat my daughter as some harlot to fill up with alcohol before he fills her with something else."
"Mother!" Alex felt her cheeks redden even worse than they'd been already.
Before anymore insults could be flung, or Mother could show just how little wine she needed to loosen her lips, she grabbed Alex's wrist and dragged her away from the last of Amell nobility. Bann Trevelyan was waiting patiently with their servants near the exit to the ballroom. Arms crossed, he looked at them confusedly. Likely he'd receive another earful tonight about "those damn upstarts."
Alex took one last look at Hawke as she was pulled away from him. Leandra was saying something to him, but his eyes were on Alex. Funny, I start liking a man my mother picked out and she's the one to ruin any chance of something between us.
She wouldn't let Mother do this, not if it could be helped.
A/N: I had this idea brewing for a while, but it wasn't until today I committed and finished what I had of the first chapter. I'm either going to jump straight into DA:I following this chapter, or I'll explore Alex and Percy's relationship and her participation in the events of Dragon Age 2. Most likely it will be the second, but it shouldn't be long before I get into Inquisition's plot.
Reviews are encouraged. It has been a while since I've written anything for this fandom, so I might be a bit rusty. And thanks to Apollo Wings for helping me develop this idea when I first came up with it.
