A Sword and Shield in Gentle Hands
Chapter One: The Sword
Dawn touched the expansive horizon of the Free Marches, and it warmed the land with a golden splendor that often put the younger Trevelyan sibling into a pensive bout. Dylan Trevelyan gazed upon the trees, sections of the woodland scorched by magefire caused by the mage-templar war that had been waged for four years. The gentle kiss of the sunrise seemed all for naught, blackened wicked fingers of trees reached up to the sky in envy of what they could not have.
But Dylan set that aside when a letter was placed on his desk. The servant bowed to him and left promptly, as he did every time he left a letter for the mage to read. The young man fixed his golden bangs, hair that framed a sharp but comely face as he looked to the letter. He saw the seal was broken, but he knew the eye of old it represented. As he took the letter out, he saw the Inquisition had addressed this to his mother, father, and himself. His older brother wrote to him, a few days after the explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
To Mother, Father, and Brother,
I'm sure you've all heard murmurs of what transpired at the delegation. Everyone sadly passed save for I, obviously, and even then I come out all the more changed in ways I cannot fathom. While being a mage means I command a terrible power I must keep in check, I walk away from the Breach with something all the more enigmatic. People say I am the Herald of Andraste, but that I am not certain of. What I am certain of is that I can seal the rifts in the Fade caused by the incident, and it is imperative I do so. Thedas is in its trying times, as am I and those who aid me. But people look to me now, and I must set the example that our trying times in this life are our trials. The world will do well to remember that as this conflict shapes it.
To Bann Trevelyan, my father, I know your concerns about my boldness and the fire of Andraste within, but I think this experience will help alleviate those concerns. If I am to lead the house of Trevelyan, this experience shall steel me for the task.
To Joyce Trevelyan, my mother, worry not for me. The Inquisition not only needs the power I have, all of Thedas will need to see the gentle hand of mages to ease ire born from misunderstandings.
To Dylan Trevelyan, my little brother, keep vigilant as you always do. You are a fierce and talented knight-enchanter, far bolder than I ever have been. You shall do all mages a service, even without me to mend all of your scrapes.
I wish you all the best, and I hope you wish me the Maker's blessing. This will be a hardship for all of Thedas, but I know we will pull through.
Love, Devon Trevelyan.
Dylan took in a deep breath, lips thinned as storm clouds rumbled where his line of thinking once was. He slipped the letter back in its envelope and started to gather his things. Devon was not tackling this alone, and the boldness he mentioned was exactly the reason the younger brother felt obligated to leave home. Devon needed a sword, and Dylan was set on becoming just that.
It was those four years ago that the Circle he and his brother were involved in an incident in the Free Marches, an anomaly among his city's Circle. Not long after the uprising of Kirkwall's, he was but thirteen years of age, his brother sixteen when they fled rogue templars who defied the sedate nature of the Ostwic Circle of Magi. Dylan would not forget that it was Devon that stood in front of Templar blades so that he could be safe. It was a moment outside of his older brother's timid nature, something so brazen and nearly rash. It was an act that he felt must be reciprocated. Despite how thankful he was to avoid the tragic fate of almost everyone in the Conclave, a part of him was guilty for not helping Devon with negotiations to end the war that nearly ended him in the first place.
With that, he met with his mother and father to speak, for once, without decorum. After a short exchange, he would be sent with an escort to Haven in the Frostback Mountains. Devon might have the world's attention, good or ill, but he would not suffer it alone.