A/N: Some more Trevelyan background headcanon

Guard-Captain Lewis resisted the urge to roll his neck as he strode toward the barracks. Training dull-minded soldiers was not how he imagined spending his twilight years. It wasn't that the men of the Trevelyan guard weren't good or shirked their duties. He'd weeded out the bad ones weeks ago and sent them packing. But there was no spark to any of them. They did what was asked of them but nothing more. Just once he'd like to have that feeling of being able to help mold a talent... to nurture it like his old master did for him.

He paused on the threshold of the barracks, the sight before him momentarily arresting his thoughts.

A girl—no more than eight or nine years old—in the pale, butter-colored robes of the Chantry stood staring open-mouthed at the rack of weapons near one of the bedsteads.

He opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing there, but a slip of paper clutched in one of her hands gave the answer. Probably Mother Madeleine asking for an escort to the city to run some errands. Lot of Fereldan refugees in Ostwick lately, and not all of them were friendly. Folks were whispering about a Blight, but surely it couldn't be that bad? Maybe it was just a very large raid...

The girl rocked back and forth on her heels a little, chewing her lower lip in the manner of children trying very hard to resist a temptation. Lewis, amused despite himself, took a quiet step back to watch. Any other Chantry initiate would have waited quietly with folded hands on the threshold for his arrival. But this one had opened a closed door and, even now, was lifting a small hand to one of the throwing knives on the lowest part of the rack.

He knew he ought to stop her. Knives were dangerous even to adults if you didn't know how to handle them. But he could tell she was being cautious, carefully holding only the hilt, her fingers wrapping securely around its short length.

"Ha!" She mimed a clumsy forward thrust, a move more reserved for the ridiculous fancy duels nobles sometimes did to show off their skills than something that was used in actual battle. But there was something about the move... Lewis's eyes widened. This girl wasn't just an initiate—she was the youngest Trevelyan lass. He'd seen her before, sometimes in the company of her parents, but mostly in her Chantry robes and had forgotten that she was in fact a noblewoman. Her sword work ought to be far better than that. She ought to have begun her training at the beginning of this summer if he had her age aright. No Trevelyan child was ever without weapons training.

He'd made up his mind when a flurry of steps to his right announced the arrival of a sister, also in Chantry robes, with a prim bun and pursed lips. She paused upon seeing him.

"Guard-Captain Lewis," she said with a nod, "have you seen—"

The little Trevelyan lass dropped her knife with a clatter, drawing the sister's eyes to her inside the room.

She gasped and bustled inside. "Elanor! What are you doing? You were to deliver a message and come right back to the Chantry!"

"I'm sorry, Sister Ida, I was just—"

The sister grabbed her by the shoulder, harsh enough that the little lass winced at the pressure. "None of your excuses! I'm going to speak to Mother Madeleine about you... again!"

"Here, lass," he found himself saying, striding forward, casually blocking the doorway. "Let's get you a wooden one. That'll be safer to practice with."

The sister narrowed her eyes. "What is the meaning of this, Guard-Captain?"

"Oh?" He said with a bright voice. "Didn't you know? I always train the Trevelyan family personally. It's high time the little lass learn to handle a weapon. Family name to live up to and all that."

Sister Ida sniffed. "Elanor Trevelyan was dedicated to the Chantry. There will be no need for silly swordplay. Her life will be one of service and contemplation."

He didn't move. "Her mother, her father, her brother," he said in a firm voice. "All of them have been trained. It's time she was too." At her frown he relented a little. "It won't interfere much with her Chantry duties, Sister. A few hours a day is all I need. And," he added on inspiration, "if this is indeed a Blight as the rumors say, she'll need to be able to defend herself and the people of this house."

"Please, Sister Ida?" whispered Elanor, raising wide eyes to her face. "I won't ever complain about resetting the candles, or polishing the pews, or... or anything else again."

The Sister seemed to soften. "I will need to speak with Mother Madeline, and your parents," she said. "But... it would be nice to have you out of my hair for a little while during the day."

"Oh thank you!" The little lass flung her arms around the woman's legs.

"There, there now. None of that. Come. It's nearly time for evensong. I can speak with Mother Madeleine after."

Lewis stepped aside to let them pass and had to hide a laugh when the little lass looked back and gave him a big toothy grin and a thumbs-up.