Chapter 38: Lessons
"Are you alright?"
The question sounded ridiculous even as Byron Trevelyan asked it. No, it was certain to say that the young inquisition recruit was not alright, not after the young warrior had put the man flat on his back.
The recruit groaned and tried to move his hand. He looked up at Byron with pained eyes. They had been sparing together, Commander Cullen did his best to pair the more experienced swordsmen up with those that showed promise, but needed further training and experience.
The recruit had shown promise, and had been a bit of a challenge for the young Trevelyan, but in the end he had fallen for Byron's disarming trick, now the man was on his back in the snow.
Byron had won again, or so it seemed.
The recruit shook his injured hand, perhaps trying to shake of the pain, then trying to pick up his sword but finding out he was unable to.
He looked up at his opponent.
"Dunno," he admitted, "Think…thing you might have broken my wrist."
Frowning Byron leaned down and took the man's hand in his, checking the status of the injury, The man's wrist was red, and already starting to swell and turn a shade of purple, but he did not think it was broke, not from feeling alone.
"Feels like you sprained it," he said, "Not surprising, considering the shape I was in when my brother used that move on me."
The man's brow furrowed.
"Your own brother did this to you?"
Byron nodded.
"Jace is five years old than I," he said, ""He taught me that trick when I was getting a little too cocky with the sword, my wrist was swollen for a week."
The memory made Byron chuckle, though his opponent did not look so amused.
Trevelyan gave him a sheepish look.
"You should go see one of Lady Vivienne's people, one of them will get you fixed right up. After that, I will teach you the counter to that move, just in case you need to disarm some bastard with a sword."
The recruit nodded, his expression surprised. No doubt he had heard a bit about Byron's growing reputation in camp. No doubt his offer to help, seemed like a surprise, and it would have been a few days ago.
That was when Cousin Nicholai had taken him down a peg or two, and looking back…
Byron sighed.
He was pretty sure he had deserved it.
IOI
They had just returned from the Stormcoast, with the Bull's Chargers in tow. Cousin Nicholai had dealt with the mercenaries that had been hindering the Inquisition's operations there, a group calling itself the Blades of Hessarian. Byron had not been with them when they had faced the troublemakers; he had been helping set up the newest Inquisition camp. Cousin Nicholai had left them after having recovered a small medallion from one of the slain mercenaries. According to a note they had found, if an outsider showed up at the Blades' camp wearing it, he or she had the right to challenge their commander for the right of leadership. It was a challenge that the Herald of Andraste could not pass up.
Byron had offered to go along, to fight as his cousin's champion, but the Herald had refused, since he had returned victorious an hour or two later, it seemed that he had been right about needing his younger cousin's aid. Not that Byron was overly surprised by that, he had seen how potent his cousin's spells were, against that…any warrior would be more than outclassed.
Adding the blades to the Inquisition's forces, Cousin Nicholai had next turned his attention to locating a group of Grey Wardens that had supposedly been seen in the area. Byron had not gotten all the details, but from what he gathered from hearing the Herald speaking with their own warden Blackwall, it appeared that the wardens had already moved on long before the Inquisition forces had arrived. From what he had gathered, it seemed that the wardens were looking for someone, who that was, even Blackwall was not sure. Both the warden and the Herald hoped that the clues they had found would lead them to either the man the wardens were searching for, or perhaps the wardens themselves.
Having completed their mission, not to mention closing a few fade rifts, the Inquisition returned to their base in Haven, to plan their next move. Byron hoped that at least one of those moves would be directed at the Tevinter fanatics who had seized control of the mage rebellion. As a Ferelden born and bred warrior, he did not like the thought of foreign soldiers establishing a possible launching point in his homeland. If the magister tried to claim more land for Tevinter, Byron wanted to be ready.
He wanted to a part of the group that brought down this threat. It was not only the right thing to do, but the battle would be glorious…
What else was a warrior to do, but seek glory for himself, to make sure that his great deeds made it into the history books, that his very name became carved in stone, and remembered throughout the centuries…?
…That his name…was remembered forever.
Was such a goal worth fighting for? Was it worth dying for?
Byron…thought that it was.
They had returned to find Commander Cullen looking for new officers to take key positions within the growing Inquisition army. Their numbers continued to expand, with no sign of stopping. Cullen needed subordinates willing to take up the cause of leading these brave souls.
Byron was determined to be one of them.
He had put himself forward, daring any man here to prove himself his better. Several men had taken up the challenge, and he defeated them one by one. These men had spirit and heart, but they were no match for someone who had spent the last three years completing in tourneys and melees throughout the kingdom.
Cullen had watched him carefully as he had dealt with opponent after opponent. The former Templar said nothing, his eyes cool and evaluating.
Byron was determined to impress him.
After four straight victories, the Commander had called a stop. Despite Byron's success he did not seem…impressed in the least by the young warriors skill and tactics. Many of the recruits had gathered round him, hoping to watch one of their own take down Van Trevelyan's youngest son, he ignored their taunts, what did he care.
He was better than anyone here.
They were all just jealous, that was all it was.
Let them stew in their own petty jealousies.
He noticed then that both his sister Rhaena and Cousin Nicholai had taken their place in the crowd. No doubt the Herald was impressed with his skills, why wouldn't he?
It was the pride of House Trevelyan that Byron was upholding, how could he be anything else but impressed?
"You fight well," Cullen said coldly, "You are probably one of the best blades here."
Byron beamed with pride.
"Thank you, ser," he said.
"Yet," Cullen continued, "I still do not see you as officer material."
The rebuke was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.
Byron had to resist the urge to glare at the man.
"I will defeat any man you put in front of me," he declared, "Even you, ser."
Commander Cullen's eyes narrowed, he might have thought the boast as simple arrogance, but Byron did not see it that way. He knew how good he was, and what he deserved.
He was determined to take it.
Several of the recruits he had defeated earlier began to cheer for their commander, all but begging him to take Byron down. The young Trevelyan ignored their pleas; he might have ignored them all, until one voice spoke up.
"GO CULLEN!"
Both of the men turned to see Rhaena Trevelyan with her fist in the air, declaring herself behind the commander. Her brother's look made her drop her hand quickly, moving it quickly to cover her mouth.
Her cheeks turned scarlet, clearly she had not meant to say those words out loud, but she had. Cousin Nicholai chuckled, clearly amused by Rhaena's reaction.
Her brother glared at her.
Go Cullen, he mouthed to her.
Her blush darkened further.
Byron looked back and forth between his sister and the Inquisition's commander, he did not know what was worse, his sister cheering on his would-be opponent, or that hint of a pleased smile on the Commander's face.
Byron's eyes narrowed.
Now…he really wanted to knock Commander Cullen on his ass. He did not know what was going on between the man and his little sister, but he would put a stop to it, right now.
He drew his blade and twirled it expertly.
He glared at the former Templar.
Whatever was going on, he would put a stop to it right now.
"Commander!"
They both turned, Nicholai Trevelyan was making his way through the crowd, a cheery smile on his face.
"There is no need to draw your blade," he continued, "I would be happy to test my young cousin here."
Cullen looked between the two Trevelyans; Byron was not sure what the herald was playing at but…
Cullen nodded.
"As you say, Herald," he said taking his hand off his blade.
"As you say."
Byron watched as Nicholai drew a training sword from a rack, he flipped it awkwardly in his hand, clearly not used to the weight.
He smiled sheepishly at Cullen.
"I'm holding the right end, yes?" he asked dryly.
Giggles and muted laughter rippled through the gathering crowd.
Byron gave his cousin a cool look.
"I'm no match for your spells cousin," he said.
The Herald grinned at him.
"Then…I shall not use magic," he said.
He raised his hand, and looked away slightly.
"I swear not to use any magic during our little…lesson here."
He smiled gamely.
"Are you ready, cousin?"
Byron swallowed and set his feet in ready position.
Nicholai did the same; clearly he was still not used to the sword.
Byron did not give him the chance to get used to it.
He struck hard and fast.
Nicholai Trevelyan struck harder.
He clumsily blocked the young warrior's blows, blocked and sidestepped around him.
Byron was not sure what happened, his cousin was far faster than he expected. He had always heard that mages preferred to keep their distance. Maker knew, he had seen his cousin fight enough times to know he preferred to stand back and use his spells to decimate the enemy. He had seen Nicholai use a staff and sword as defense, but only to move demons back so he could either blast them with fire, or turn his holy mark on the fade rift from which they came.
Byron shook his head.
He thought it all but a lucky move on his cousin's part. Luck he was determined to see run out.
He moved again to engage, and again his cousin sidestepped him, moving with a series of stumbling blocks that just got him out of trouble.
The fight went like that for several more minutes. He moved to strike, his cousin would block and evade, strike, block, and evade, strike, block, and evade.
The Herald never lost his smile, during each awkward exchange, slowly Byron felt his patience begin to wear thin, he grew to dislike that smile, and the occasional shrug as if to say, oops, sorry you failed to take me down again.
His patience faded, and with it, his temper.
He managed a quick glance over at Rhaena, she was hardly paying any attention, her eyes continually were being drawn back to the commander.
Finally, Byron lost his temper, he charged in, bringing his most powerful thrust against his holy cousin's defenses.
That…is when the world went out from underneath him.
His holy cousin did not only block his attack, he countered in a move that was nothing but pure hard-earned skill. Byron had only just managed to get his blade up, while the Herald rained down on him with a flurry of well-placed blows. No longer was his cousin handling the sword clumsily, he now wielded it was the cool confidence of an expert swordsman; his blade was an extension of his arm.
It was in that moment that Byron realized the truth. Up this point, his cousin had been playing with him, seeking to make him angry, now that he had…
The Herald of Andraste was coming in for the kill.
Now it was all he could do to defend himself against the elder Trevelyan's attacks. He was blocking now on pure panic alone, his skill all but abandoned, he fought now entirely on instinct. Yet, he did not quit, he had managed to win at least a few melees when he had been caught off guard, he had good instincts.
He trusted them to save him now.
Nicholai did not let up, and just when Byron thought he was tiring, he did something that the young warrior did not expect.
He caught him with a mind blast spell; the magic flung Byron back, leaving him dazed.
He looked up to see his cousin standing over him, looking down upon him with cold contempt in his eyes.
His training blade fell across Byron's neck.
He smiled savagely.
"There goes your head," the Herald exclaimed, "Congratulations, you are now dead."
The Herald smiled down at him.
"I think it is safe to say that you are not ready to become an officer just yet.
Byron shook his head, trying to shake off the effects of his cousin's spell, his temper flared anew.
"You said you weren't going to use your magic?"
"I lied," Nicholai said dryly.
Byron's eyes flashed with anger.
"You cheated!"
Nicholai brought the training blade to press against his cousin's throat, the force of it made him cough.
Rhaena gasped, and tried to go down to help, but Leliana, who had been watching not too far behind her, stopped her. All the while the Herald stared down at his young cousin, his own anger clear on his face, anger, or perhaps…disappointment.
He glared down at the younger man.
"Did you think I was playing a game?" he asked.
He tightened the blade against his cousin's throat.
"Did you?" the herald demanded.
Byron gasped and coughed, but said nothing.
He did not know what to say.
The elder Trevelyan sighed.
"This is not the tourney circuit boy," he hissed, "Your enemies won't declare themselves as such, and fight in the honorable fashion. Out there is war, and the only measure of victory is survival. The people we fight will lie, cheat, and do whatever it takes to see that you are left dead on the ground, to claim victory."
The Herald pursed his lips.
"I've been watching you, closely. You have alienated everyone you have trained with today, including your commander. That is not the way to ensure that the man standing next to you would risk his life to keep you safe, to watch your back when you need it watched."
Byron coughed.
"I'm…I'm better…"
"You are better than no one," Nicholai said, making sure that his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "One of the first lessons my father taught me about leading men was that an army is like a good steel chain, it is only as strong as its weakest link. Being an arrogant ass is no way to win the respect and support of your men. They must trust you, and you must be willing to trust them."
Nicholai sighed again, and took the training blade away, finally allowing his beaten cousin to stand.
"You want to lead men?" he asked.
Byron nodded.
"Then learn how to act like a good soldier, because that is where good officers come from. If you fight alone, you will die alone, no matter how good with a blade you might be."
The Herald turned away.
"I expect better from one of my own kin," he murmured, "Do better cousin, or you have no place here."
Byron watched him go, he watched as Leliana led his sister away before she could even check on him. He watched as Cullen and the rest turned their backs on him, resuming their training without him.
Heat suffused Byron's cheeks; Cousin Nicholai had embarrassed him in the worst way possible.
He left the training ground.
He needed time to think.
IOI
"Move your feet," Byron advised his newest opponent, "A moving target is always harder to hit."
The Inquisition scout nodded and tried to do what he suggested.
Byron had been working with this one of almost an hour, Bregan was his name, good man, strong from working on a farm, once he grasped just what he could do with a great sword; the man would be a terror on the battlefield.
Byron noted his cousin watching him, Nicholai was talking with Evelyn, the two mages moved through the line inspecting Cullen's work.
The Herald nodded to him, more a greeting than anything else, but Byron took it as a good sign.
He had stayed away for most of the day after Nicholai had embarrassed him, but somewhere in the middle of all that shame, some of what he had been told got through and started to make sense.
He had been shamed, yes, but the only thing that had really been hurt was his ego, his cousin could have done far worse if he had really wanted to do Byron harm.
The Herald was right, this was not the tourney circuit, he needed to do what he could to survive, even if that meant sacrificing the chance of his own glory for the good of the cause.
He tried to take what he had learned from the Herald to heart; aiding those he was training, helping them get better. He had already made a few allies by doing so, and had come to realize that that was actually a very good thing.
He glanced over at Commander Cullen. He still did not like the looks the man was giving Rhaena, but for now he put that aside. Sister Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet would not let the man take advantage of his sister. She might have been a bit of a babe in the woods, but with the help of their new allies, she was as safe as she could be.
"Again," Byron called out. The recruit he was training with charged in, he tried his disarming trick, but the boy had obviously been watching when he had done it to his fellow recruit earlier. He backed away before Byron could finish the maneuver.
"Good," he called out, "You're quick; that speed could save your life."
He smiled gamely.
"Now let's see if we can combine some precision with that speed."
He raised his blade.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
The recruit nodded, his hand shook slightly with anticipation, but beyond that, he held his ground.
Byron lunged, and the boy backpedaled, again Byron tried to disarm him, and this time the recruit just avoided, almost losing his grip on his sword in the process.
Byron smiled.
They would need to work on that.
"Now you will attack me," he said.
The recruit, murmured an agreement.
"Are you ready," Byron said setting his feet for the next attack.
Again the recruit nodded.
Byron nodded back.
"Begin," he called out.
The recruit tried to attack him, his speed was good, but he overextended, and Byron knocked him down. He struggled to his feet, but not before Byron had his training blade at the man's throat.
"Keep your lunges short," he advised,' they are more controllable that way."
Again the man nodded.
"Ready?"
Another nod.
Byron smirked.
He had gotten knocked on his ass, and humiliated, but he had also gotten back up, the wiser for it.
Wasn't that all that mattered?
What he wanted was still in reach, now he had to take it, but first there was this, and he intended not to disappoint.
"Begin."