A Sword and Shield in Gentle Hands

Chapter Two: The Shield

Devon Trevelyan had little clue how his presence had changed the face of Thedas. He had even less knowledge that Thedas shifted around each movement he made, a ripple made every time his finger touched upon the pond. Though it was rarely that he wanted to think of his hand, even in the abstract. The mark was a green he rarely liked seeing. It was not the green of the trees of the Free Marches, it was the same sickeningly bright color he could barely recollect when he ran for his life at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and that same green the Breach emanated like a pulsing scar rife with the Fade.

Though, for now, the scope of the Herald's actions did not seem so grand outside of what his mark meant. It had been a week since the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and his nerves were rattled by all the expectations thrust upon him. But he had a long time to think with his ride from the Hinterlands to Haven, the Frostback Mountains as bitterly chilly as ever. He shrunk in his furs and thought warm thoughts when his burden did not concern him.

He had gone back there to go investigate reports of a lone grey warden. What he found was indeed a lonely looking warden, and found nothing regarding their disappearance. This was not to say he found nothing of worth, for to say such a thing would be a disingenuous statement.

Those who rode beside Devon were Solas, Cassandra, Varric, and Warden Constable Blackwall.

The grey warden was a dutiful sort, from what Devon saw of him. He seemed practiced and driven to defend others. Devon wasn't sure if he would ever forget when he blocked an arrow he didn't even see coming, or when he inspired the men he conscripted. Blackwall didn't save them; he showed them how to save themselves. He spoke of duty and honor, and seemed to move as if those concepts were innate in his very being when it came time for battle. Though, there times where he seemed burdened; hunched and folded in on himself. One of those times seemed to be now, and it perplexed Devon to no end.

Regardless, he always had his fancies for the honor-bound knights and the men who lived and died by his convictions and the convictions of those he served. Such men made Thedas seem bright, if only for those moments. The Grey Wardens were a more grim bunch, the armor they donned not so much as shiny than in his fantasies, though all the same they held their ideals proudly and do a great good in a world where there are so precious few.

Though Devon's pensive trance had shattered when the man spoke. "Are you alright, Devon? You seem preoccupied." Blackwall said.

The Herald smiled and shook his head gently. "I am fine. This is a quiet ride and sometimes I retreat into my thoughts when nothing else is available."

Varric then interjected, "Now, now, Hero. Leave Handsy be, quiet's sort of who he is. For now."

Blackwall furrowed his brows. "Handsy?"

Devon frowned. "For now?"

The dwarf gave a gentle chuckle. "He's a top-notch medic, but I can tell when someone lingers a little too long in their ministrations. Of course, it's naturally a constant endeavor for me." He said to Blackwall, afterward looking to Devon. "And it's easier to make a compelling hero with some dialogue." He finished with a wink.

Blackwall eyed the Herald, and noticed the spattering of red on Devon's cheeks. He took in a deep breath and changed the subject, "Regardless, I am sure you have many things to think about, Herald of Andraste. I would imagine there shall be no shortage of them any time soon."

Devon shifted in his saddle and surrendered himself to a bout of intense shivering. Before anyone could give their concern, the Herald muttered a warming charm to ease the piercing cold. Though he quaked less, the frail and spindly slip of a thing still seemed to suffer in the cold.

The Warden raised a brow at the young, comparative to him, mage. The Herald was a fair and comely man, features blessed by youth and noble birth. It was clear he lived a sheltered life in the Circle, by the wispy build and the way he carried himself in battle. Blackwall remembered clearly the battles in the Hinterlands, how Devon seemed to shrink back at foes and stood tall only near his allies. In fact, Blackwall saw little of his offensive magic. Devon seemed content mending and creating barriers rather than be what the warden expected of a mage.

Regardless, unremarkable hours passed until they finally saw Haven. Blackwall was left reeling, not inspired by any sort of splendor or awe, but shock that the Inquisition was as humble as it was. Though he couldn't completely scoff at their holdings, they were at least enough to contain what they had. He could admire the fervor of the raucous men who sparred at the front, young men all a part of an important cause.

As they reached the chantry building, two others awaited the both of them. One was another young man, hair shaved save the top, and the other a willowy woman, fair despite the dourness that clung to her resting face. She appraised Blackwall briefly, eyes smooth in how they scanned the warden, but her attention settled on the Herald. "You have two people asking for you by name, Devon. One stands before you, the other is your brother." She said, as Cassandra, Solas, and Varric dispersed.

Devon lofted his brows. "Dylan? I-… thanks, Leliana." He said as his eyes blinked slowly. "I told him not to worry about me, but alas…" He paused, and bowed his head to the other man. "I am Devon Trevelyan, though some call me the Herald of Andraste."

"My name is Cremisius Aclassi," The man started, "I'm here to ask you come appraise our mercenary company. Bull's Chargers would like to work with the Inquisition, if you have the coin."

Blackwall was impressed by how Cremisius carried himself, a professional demeanor with head held high and words smooth without seeming overly casual. Devon seemed to consider him, a cant of the head given as he thought.

Cremisius spoke again, "If you have an interest in our services, come find us at the Storm Coasts. The Iron Bull will be glad to see you." He said, as he turned and left.

Devon gave a wave as he spoke, "I'll be sure to!" With a smile that was as bright as his magic, an endless warmth that radiated to all that had the privilege of being near it.

Leliana cleared her throat. "Your brother awaits, Herald. We should not keep him waiting." She said as she guided Devon to where he resided. With a bow of the head, she regarded Blackwall. "It is good to have you, Warden Constable."

Blackwall could only wonder how the woman could know who he was, before he set himself on the task of finding his station in Haven, and in the Inquisition.