Lord Astor of Ostwick, first born son of the house of Trevelyan, Winner of two separate tournaments held in the Free Marches, Highly renowned warrior, survivor of the conclave and Herald of Andraste, slowly banged his head against the rough wood of work bench. Never in his wildest dreams would the young, impetuous noble have imagined himself to be tied to all… this.
With a groan he slumped back in his chair and covered his face in his hands. Dignitaries to appease, spies, scouts, the whole Herald of Aundraste thing, and the paperwork. Oh the dreaded paperwork. When he had gone to that damn conclave to help Great Aunt Margerie, who was a sister with just enough power to be invited to the conclave, he had expected to be bored out of his mind. He had even wished for some bit of excitement to liven up the sour sisters, tedious Templars and malicious mages. A dragon perhaps, or a saucy kitchen maid, instead he got a blown up temple, hundreds of dead people, a mysterious mark on his hand that might or might not kill him. Oh, and paperwork.
Be careful what you wish for eh?
The young redhead slowly parted his fingers but shut them again with a wince as the bindingly white stack of paperwork assaulted his tender eyes. Astor could feel his hand beginning to cramp up at even the thought of dealing with that monster. Maybe he could break it up, make it more bearable! Another peak. Then again, he thought to himself a trip to the tavern might bolster my courage. And maybe that one lass who had been eyeing me earlier might keep me company…
The door to Astor's little study/bedroom was thrown open with a bang. Astor yelped and nearly fell backwards off his chair, narrowly saving himself by grabbing the beaten edge of the table with his marked hand. Small splinters broke off the table into the flesh around his mark, making the already sore skin bleed from the tiny wood swords.
"Trouble?" Varric asked innocently from his place leaning on the doorframe. Astor rubbed his slightly glowing hand and glared at the dwarf
"Didn't your mother ever teach you how to knock?" The dwarf sauntered in, unperturbed by either the glowering herald or his glowing hand.
"She tried but sadly I'm too thick skulled to learn my lessons properly."
"I'll bet you are" Astor muttered, still rubbing his injured hand, then he had a horrible thought "Sweet Aundraste preserve me, please don't tell me Josephine didn't send you with more paperwork" He hissed the word with as much venom and distain as any blue blooded noble.
Varric chuckled "No such luck! Although I do have a letter I found tied to the leg of one of those red eyed birds Lilliana uses as carriers" he placed the letter on top of the giant pile of paperwork with a shudder "I swear I thought he was going to take my arm off. Evil things"
"What? Not an animal lover Varric? I'm shocked!" Astor picked up the letter and with a single swipe of his belt knife, sliced open the letter, unfolded it and began to read.
"Not when they look like that!" Varric shuddered again and looked at the Herald who had frozen, eyes still fixed on the paper.
"Astor? Wha-" The man held a finger to his lips and Varric paused, confused by the intensity in his friend's green and orange flecked eyes. In the two months they had been traveling together, Varric had seen the man fight everything from raiders to dragon hatchlings, had seen him face down diplomats and hill giants alike, even somehow survived an angry Vivienne, but nothing Varric had ever seen Astor face put quite this expression on his face.
It was almost as if several intense emotions were all trying to take over all at once. His eyebrows were drawn down in an intense, angry fashion, but his eyes were wide and spoke more of surprise. His nostrils were flared, as if in panic, yet his mouth was tightened into a thin, pained line.
It would look comical if it wasn't so terrifying. Varric waited for Astor to finish reading the letter. When he did, his eyes instantly flicked back to the top of the page and began to read again. After a third read through, he sighed put the page down, and rubbed his face with both hands.
Varric ventured a question "Might I ask what that was all about?"
The Herald groaned "It's a small town in the free marches. When the big breach opened up here, a medium size breach opened up there and let some sort of daemon through. Apparently it killed a bunch of people, poisoned the regions only reliable water supply, and then got" he picked up the paper again "dealt with in an unusual and possibly colossally destructive manner that, while the only choice at the time, will probably kill us eventually if the Inquisition doesn't get their asses down here and close this damned breach."
Varric raised an eyebrow, still unsure "That certainly sounds… interesting."
"Not only that-"Astor stood up wearily and walked with Varric to the door "I know this village. It's on the edge of my families estates, by the sea. They dealt with the more… unsavory part of my mother and uncles businesses. It was perfect. Close to ship and receive, but far enough that a stray 'raider' attack could wipe it out if necessary."
The evening light shone on The Herald's face, the fading rays of the winter sun turning his normally smiling face into a maze of shadows. Varric understood what having a questionable family business entailed, and wondered if his own past wasn't similar to his friend's. He reached up and, since he couldn't reach Astor's shoulder, patted his arm understandingly.
For his trouble, Astor gave the dwarf a smile. "There's more, but I'd rather not have to repeat myself more than necessary."
"Don't you mean more times than Cassandra will make you repeat yourself?"
That got him a real laugh. "Common Oh Great and Powerful Herald, let's go save your people."
