Chapter 2: The Maker Shall Be Her Beacon

"He's not a baby anymore." Thisbe pouted, glaring at her four-year-old brother perched on their mother's lap.

"Shush, darling," Cordelia said, holding little Theodane closer to her. It was a warm summer day, but he didn't struggle out of her hug. "You're nine, Thisbe; you're a young lady. You and Gwyn must behave as you've been taught." Thisbe let out a huge sigh. Of course she was perfectly aware of the fact that others in the Chantry were watching her. She was always aware of the most effective ways to get attention. She'd be able to make her own smart match when she was of marriageable age. Cordelia was both frightened and impressed by it. Where Thisbe got her attitude from, Cordelia would never know; she did know that if they'd been Orlesian, they'd have had quite a Game player on their hands.

The Revered Mother ascended to the pulpit and the congregation rose. Cordelia shifted Theo to her hip and he rested his head on her shoulder, quietly watching the Revered Mother with his studious green eyes. He was a quiet child, always watching and listening; she'd worried about him initially, but realized that with five elder siblings all clamoring with one another and with their parents, little Theo probably felt lost or overwhelmed in all the chatter.

Revered Mother Marya prayed from the Canticle of Benedictions and they sat after that to hear her sermon. Theo nestled his head into his mother's neck and listened intently. Next to her, Thisbe was swinging her legs and playing with the hem of her dress; Gwyneth was sitting straight as a rail, remembering her etiquette lessons. Gavriel was slouched down, arms crossed, but was at least trying to pay attention; and Matthias was, as always, a younger version of his devout father. If only Maranda was here.

Cordelia held Theo closer. She knew too well what his future held. Maranda had been taken from them so suddenly that Cordelia had hardly had time to say goodbye; at least she knew what awaited her youngest and was determined to cling to him as long as possible and treasure every moment she could. If that meant letting him sit on her lap, or holding him so close when he was nearly five years old, so be it.

She rocked him gently through the sermon and by the end he'd fallen asleep. It took a bit of cajoling to wake him as they filed out of their front row pew and left first, so that they might greet the other congregants of Ostwick. Theo blinked as he woke and held fast to her hand as they left. Cordelia felt the eyes on her: amazement that she'd survived the birth at an advanced age, but pity that it was a third son. Still she held her head high and smiled. The less Theo knew about his eventual place, the better.

The Revered Mother joined them and blessed the people as Bann Trevelyan shook hands and smiled and asked after his people. "Your son pays attention to the Chant nicely," she said to Cordelia as the stream of parishioners thinned. "Have you started him with tutors yet?"

Cordelia glanced at Theo, who sat in a corner hugging his knees to his chest and eyeing the people who passed by him. "We're hoping for another Chantry brother to tutor him soon," Cordelia said. Not entirely a lie; the request had been drafted up. It just hadn't been sent. "Gavriel's progressed in his studies, and the girls have their lay sisters and etiquette tutors. It's been some time between Thisbe and Theodane."

"I have no doubt that he will be well educated by the time we receive him," Mother Marya said with a smile. "His uncles have risen highly in the templar forces. The Trevelyans are easily the Ostwick Chantry's greatest asset."

Cordelia smiled, even though she felt hollow at the compliment. She nodded her thanks and excused herself. She believed in the Maker, but she also was a mother who loved her children. It shouldn't have been so hard to balance the two.

It wasn't every day that Alick's younger templar brothers received leave to visit, so when they did it was an occasion for celebration in the Trevelyan household. Cadan and Declan had shed their heavy armor in favor of light leathers, though it was only a matter of time before Matthias had convinced his uncle Declan to put on some padding so he could show off what he'd been learning with the sword.

"He's eager," Cadan told Alick, who stood at the edge of the practice ring, watching his son. "He's your son, through and through." He leaned against the fence, watching Matthias's movements. He was clearly going through the paces the weapons master had taught him, but it was also clear that he practiced and took them seriously.

"I know what you're thinking, Cay, and no," Alick said. "He's the heir to Ostwick."

"Is Cadan trying to recruit again?" Cordelia asked with a smile as she joined them. "Why doesn't your Knight-Captain just promote you already?"

"Cordy," he said with a grin and gave her a hug. He glanced behind her. "This must be your youngest. Theodore, was it?"

"Close enough," Alick said, still watching Matthias practice.

"Theodane," Cordelia said, keeping her irritation at bay. She held out her hand to her tiny shadow. "Theo, this is your uncle Cay." He clung to her skirt and peered up at his uncle. His face still held the round softness of childhood, but there were signs of the strong angles that marked her other two sons and her husband. His soft chestnut hair fell into his eyes and he didn't bother to brush it away.

Cadan knelt down. "Theo is it?" he asked with a broad grin. "Are you going to learn sword fighting someday too?"

Theo peeked out to see his oldest brother, twelve years his senior, going through his paces. "I don't think so," he said after a moment of thought. He looked up at his father, an imposing figure against the blue sky. He slipped away from his mother and stood next to Alick, still staring up at him. His small hand reached up to tug at the hem of his father's tunic, but Alick looked down at him with a warning look in his eye. The boy looked down at the ground and stepped away.

"Theo, go find your sisters and get ready for dinner," Cordelia said, stroking his soft hair, but he flinched and ducked away from her before taking off at a run toward the manor. "Alick…" she began, even as she glanced nervously over at Cadan. Her brother-in-law, however, had always been courteous and intuitive, and he excused himself to join Declan and Matthias in the yard.

"You baby him too much." Alick did not look at her. "He's nearly five. He shouldn't be clinging to your skirts like a toddler."

"You don't pay him enough mind," she countered. "He only wants you to acknowledge him… would it hurt so much for you to look at him? Or even, Maker forbid, smile?"

He sighed. "What's the point?" he asked after a moment of tense silence between them. "I'll only lose him in another few years."

"Cadan and Declan come to visit," Cordelia pointed out. "Your own lord father sought after their well-being after they joined the templar order, right up until he died!" She took a deep breath; she was treading on awkward ground. While Alick would never strike her or even reprimand her, it was still difficult to convince him of her feelings. "If you're going to practically deny his existence, we may as well send him away right now," she snapped.

"They don't take initiates from noble families that young," he said. He rubbed his eyes. "Maker's breath, Cor, don't you think I've thought of this already? How much easier it would have been if… well, if anything else had been the case." He sighed. "He may yet turn out to be a mage. It's not optimal, but he would be with Maranda."

"And you'd call the templars yourself to take him, too," she said. His silence said more than his words ever could. "You're the Bann of Ostwick," she told him. "Is it so difficult for you to consider dispensing with tradition? Perhaps forming a new one?"

"What makes me above the Maker's will?" he asked. "And do you know how that would make me, make our whole family, appear to the rest of the Marches? We'd be seen as weak, as opportunists, as selfish." He turned to her and took her gently by the shoulders. "Andraste gave up her very life for the Maker's will," he said, gazing into his wife's eyes. "We're being asked to give our son to the Maker's will. I… I think we can handle that." He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "Let the Maker be your beacon, Cor," he said softly, and kissed her cheek.

Cordelia tried to smile, if only for the sake of keeping the peace, but she could hardly look at him when he got like this. She understood his conviction; but she hated it all the same. All she could think was that, mage or not, the Chantry would take another one of her children from her.