Chapter One

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." William Shakespeare.

Alone, in his room, on the rock hard bed, with the door firmly locked, he wept.

He made sure to make no noise, as he did so. He held his miserable excuse for pillow to his face as the sobs wracked his body. It wouldn't do for the soldiers to hear him. Or for the lack of a better word, his companions: the mysterious elf Solas, always-ready-with-a-quip Varric and the hard and unyielding Cassandra. Mayhap he would have another in a few days' time. Tomorrow he would be on his way to the Storm Coast to meet up with the leader of a mercenary company, The Bull's Chargers and their famous (or infamous) leader, The Iron Bull.

He also shared this floor with the other Inquisition leaders. Josephine Montilyet, she seemed nice. An Antivan, well versed in politics. The name was familiar too, he'd have to ask her about it. Leliana, always smiling before others, and yet the few times he had noticed her in her tent just outside the chantry doors, her mouth would be set in a firm line, eyes searching for unseen foes. Then there was Cullen Rutherford the former Templar. He had seen the effects of lyrium, he knew the symptoms of withdrawal. The headaches, the twitching, he wondered if the others knew what he was attempting. Well best of luck to him. Seeing his elder brother, Richard, suffer had been enough to turn him from Templar life.

So why was he, Henry Maxwell Trevelyan, Chosen of Andraste alone in his room weeping? Simply, his grief had finally caught up with him. He wept for his siblings, those lost and those living. He wept for his parents, for the grief they must be feeling after losing three children, a fourth unlikely to return to them anytime soon. For the people of Thedas who didn't know their only hope was an untried youngster who'd never even seen a demon until the day of the explosion. He wept for himself and a life he would never regain. Carefree Henry Trevelyan, always ready with a smile and a cheeky comment to lighten the mood, had died at the Conclave too. In his place there was the Herald. Figurehead of the Inquisition. People of all ages and races flocked to the banner because of him, hoping to hear how Andraste had shielded him and returned him to the world. Was it true though? Maker knows he had no idea what had happened.

But while He may not remember what happened during the Conclave, he knew the events in his life that proceeded it.

The seventh child of Bann Trevelyan, he and his brother Thomas were sent to represent the family at the Conclave. To assist and record the historic event, that was the official story. The truth was they had gone to find any word of their sister. Evelyn was a mage, missing since the Ostwick Circle fell or rose in rebellion depending on who you asked. The day they left was unremarkable, fair weather, no ominous clouds hovering in the sky, no obvious omens portending his doom. No just his father's firm edict resounding in his ears, his mother's quietly hopeful look as they bid them farewell in the courtyard.


The courtyard is fairly empty as the four of us say our goodbyes, just Mother, Father, Thomas and me. William is away on family business, Richard is bedridden after the latest bout of nightmares kept him awake all night. Eleanor left with her children the week before to return to Starkhaven and her husband. Father repeats what he had said to us yesterday and the day before.

"The Major Powers of this War will be there, the Divine herself too. The majority will be Orlesian at that. Do not let them look down on you, you are a Free Marcher and you are free to do what you think is best in finding her. Do you understand?"

A reply in unison. "Yes Father."

Modest in temper. Bold in deed. Be calm, discreet, but if you have to, if there's no other way: break heads. No need to tell us that Father. We are Trevelyans, family is everything. I miss her as much as you. The pain pierces me, as does that sorrowful look on Mother's face, she tries to hide it but she can't all the time. She has lost one child already, her days are spent watching Richard struggle with the demons inside his head. I will not add to her pain, I will find our sister, I will do all I can.

"Speak to anyone you think would have the slightest information. Mages, Templars. This event will be historic, I would expect to see all sorts there". By "all sorts" he means elves, dwarves, possibly those horned giants too. It doesn't matter, who or what they are, if they have information we'll speak to them, beg or threaten if we have to.

"Understood, Father", comes Thomas' reply. Not a man of many words my brother. He was much more talkative when he was younger. Now he is always solemn. Chantry life for you, probably why he does not look keen on speaking to those who don't follow the Chant.

Mother startles at this, looking up she shakes her head at Father, then turns to us, "Only speak to them if it is safe to do so, I do not wish to lose…" her voice breaks.

I rush forward to embrace her, "Mother I swear we will do all we can".

"Thank you my dear boys, I know you will". She buries her face in my chest to hide her tears.

More hugs follow. Father lightens the mood by doing as he has done since I was knee high. He ruffles my short hair so it stands in all directions. Mother laughs as she flattens it down again. Maker's sake, I'm twenty-six not five! But it is comforting. Makes it seem as we are just wandering over the fields to tell Evelyn, supper is ready and she would have to come home now, how I wish that were still the case but it is not to be.

We mount up, and the available Brothers Trevelyan hit the road to rescue a lost sister.


When was the last time he felt so alone? As far back as he could remember he had always been surrounded by his family. His surviving siblings: William, Eleanor, Thomas, Richard and Evelyn. Mother and Father, endless Aunts and Uncles, his two dozen or so cousins. There was always someone with the Trevelyan blood around.

But now, Thomas was dead. Evelyn probably was too if she had been at the Conclave, if not she was still missing. Richard was battling through the lyrium addiction and dealing with being discharged from the Templars. Eleanor and that stuck up noble she had married were now settled in Starkhaven. That left, William the heir, already fighting desperately to advance the family name to comfort his poor parents in their grief.

And what about him? What had become of little Henry Trevelyan. The last born child. Perpetually muddy, knees scraped, hair a mess with, twigs, hay, grass or leaves stuck in it. Always in trouble with his governess and tutors. Why be in a classroom when you could be outside, where you and the other "Spares" could run about being the heroes of old! Why wait for dinner when the kitchens were so easy to sneak in and out of. We were never expected to amount to anything beyond reasonable positions in the Chantry or the Order. You don't need much education for that. He could read, write, knew his history and the Chant (mostly). Why coop him up in a classroom, if I'm to be for the Order why not leave me be in the practice ring outside? Rattling his wooden training sword against his cousin's. Flailing his shield about uselessly to the consternation of his instructor. He practically jumped for joy the day the old man had wrenched it out of his grip and handed him two practice daggers. Finally something that felt natural to him. The only advantage he had ever had over his training mates was his speed and now he could use it.

Slowly the crying stops and he lets out a morose chuckle. It makes him laugh that the Leaders ask him his opinion on Inquisition matters. Had the Spymaster not looked into his background yet? Nothing noteworthy or inspiring. Could the Commander not see his soldiering skills were lacking? He was more than competent with his blades, had a decent grasp of tactics but it didn't make him a leader. Surely the Ambassador could see he didn't have the flowery charm for the Game? She had already had to step between him and the Marquis Durellion to maintain their place in Haven. He went to save one sibling, now he may have lost two. What he had was a throbbing, glowing marked hand. They think he can save the world? Maker help us.

"Enough! Dammit!" he needs to rest, the trip to the Coast will be long. Finished with his tears for now, He quiets himself. His frustration still remains however leading him to launch his pillow at the opposite wall, without thinking. Too late, he watches as it bounces off onto the nearby end table and hits a half full goblet to the floor with a loud clatter. He gets up to fix the mess, hopefully no one hear-

"Trevelyan?"

Shit

He straightens himself, and unlocks his door to the Seeker.

"Pentaghast. Apologies I knocked over a goblet, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Your eyes are red".

"Nothing gets past you does it?"

Her eye twitches, he's hit a nerve without trying to, curious. She ignores him and asks why he is crying with her customary tact.

"I, well," he stumbles over his words before a thought crystallizes in his head, She needs to know, they all do, He is a mortal man with a family and other earthly concerns. Not some fade-sent champion of the Maker. They should know that he is one of them, glowing green mark aside. They shouldn't expect miracles. He clears his throat.

"My brother was with me at the Conclave, with all that has happened, I haven't had chance to properly mourn him".

Her eyes widen in response. "I'm sorry for your loss Trevelyan. I will leave you be."

"Thank you, I will be well. We are for the Coast tomorrow to meet this Bull. I will not let it distract me. I will be well". Who is he trying to convince here?

She smiles at him, a truly sad smile, like she knows something he doesn't. "You will be, not as soon as you think, but you will be. Until tomorrow Trevelyan".

He watches her leave for her room and returns to bed, trying to get comfortable. There is work to be done, new allies to be made for the Inquisition. As he drifts of to sleep his thoughts turn to the red haired Spymaster. Her network of spies and informants spread wide across Thedas on both sides of the war, perhaps she can find his sister?

Perhaps there is hope after all?