They say that first impressions are the most important.
He first meets her in chains, in a dark and dangy dungeon, his left hand screaming with green fire. His staff long gone, his mana fleeting, floating away, he could only struggle uselessly at the blocks and chains surrounding him. As if on cue, the door slams open, and a figure in heavy armor stomps towards him, drawing out her longsword and pointing it right between his eyes.
His eyes focus on the blade, but he hears her voice. His mind reels at what she says: a hole torn in the sky, demons pouring into the physical world? All these people dead, and he is the only one left alive? What about his sister and brothers? He tries to piece together at her words, but the past day is gone, snatched and torn away from his mind.
He doesn't know if she believe him or not, but she gives him a chance to redeem his possible crime. He had fought wraiths and demons before, in his Harrowing, but facing them in his dreams could not compare to fighting them awake. But the woman in the armor was always by his side. She tried to stop him from wielding a staff, but relented after seeing reason. If she is his executioner, she will not let a pride demon do her job for her.
As all the demons around them were dead, he raises his burning hand towards the sky, aiming it like he would his staff. Maker, the pain. Everything else is green and screaming, he can't see his hand and a part of his mind wonders if his hand is still there, or if it was just mangled flesh and bone, dissolving away as the strange magic surged through him. Something implodes, the shock wave hits him in the gut, and everything goes black before his head even hits the ground.
The second time he meets her, at first he is too busy finding out he was made a messiah figure while he slept. He was drafted into the Inquisition, the revival of an order that created the Templars, now ordered to broker peace between the Templars and mages. She lead this order by default, this woman in armor. He joined because he knew it was right, but under her words he knew he didn't have much choice.
It isn't until he steps outside of the village that he actually sees her, hacking away at a training dummy with the same longsword that was pointed at his face, that he realizes that she is quite possibly the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Her face is strong, as sharp as her blades, while still very feminine. Her heavy armor gone, but she still wore light mail as she gracefully moved from one form to another with her blade. Her body was as honed and prepped for combat as her sword and shield, but in retrospect, not even the heaviest of armor could hide her curves. He had to think of something to say.
"You really are a force of nature."
The words slip out before his mind could approve it, but he couldn't find fault in them. She turns her head to him and just as he feared outrage, she simply raised an eyebrow at him.
"You flatter me," she says, her voice melodic, now that it wasn't piercing at him.
"I do try," he replies with a smile.
They say that first impressions are the most important, but for the man that will be Inquisitor and Cassandra Pentagast, they were the exception that proved the rule.