Trevelyan was not what Cassandra had expected. At all. The man who survived the Conclave was crippled, a mage, and had an attitude that could fell entire nations with it's wit. He could be ruthless when required, but also seemed to care the most about the common people, despite most of the nobility looking down on him for such a thing.

Trevelyan was also possibly one of the most mysterious people Cassandra had ever met, he would talk to others about their past, but he very rarely mentioned his own.

Early on, back in Haven, Cassandra has asked him where he was from. The man, still exhausted and limping slightly from closing the Breach, had looked at her with his too pale eyes for a long moment before answering. Trevelyan had shuffled his feet, looked at the group of soldiers Cullen was training, and said in his hoarse voice:

"Ostwick."

Cassandra nodded, that made sense. It explained his accent, and the fact that he had clearly been a Circle mage. She had been about to ask him something else, about how the Circle fell, but when she had turned to face him completely, he was already limping away toward the gate.

Other than that, Cassandra knew desperately little about him. While she had been curious, she wasn't curious enough to ask Leliana to go digging. Part of Cassandra knew she was worried about what could be found. Another part of her, knew that Trevelyan would probably say something on his own.

Now, though, several months later, Cassandra was beginning to doubt her original assessment. The man barely slept, barely ate, and worked tirelessly to make sure the Inquisition survived and their enemies died. It was fantastic, what the man could do with a modified staff.

They were sitting in camp in the Hinterlands, tying up loose ends and seeing what they could find in terms of raw resources. It had been a pleasant, if tiring, day. Dorian had already retired to the tent he shared with the Inquisitor, and Iron Bull had gone off into the night to do something or other.

Trevelyan was staring into the fire, his shaggy white hair hanging into his exhausted eyes. He nursed a tankard of mead in his good hand, while his right arm was cradled against his chest, the fingers threading themselves through Trevelyan's robes.

"If you don't mind me asking," Cassandra blurted, "Why didn't you get your shoulder healed? Surely it would have been easier than having a limb that is mostly useless."

"I couldn't," Trevelyan replied evenly, sipping his drink, "I was on the way to the Conclave. I was alone... you know how useless I am with healing."

Cassandra nodded. That she knew, all too well. There was a pregnant pause, then Trevelyan spoke again.

"As far as I know, I'm the only mage that escaped Ostwick," Trevelyan admitted, "A few tried to leave, but I was... the only one that survived long enough to come to the Conclave."

"Annulment?" Cassandra asked.

Trevelyan shrugged his good shoulder, "I don't know. I was upstairs when I heard the first screams. I packed a bag with whatever I thought I would need. A few friends and one little apprentice," Trevelyan's voice cracked, "tried to run. My friends died in the Circle, and Abela died on the trail a few weeks after."

"What happened?"

"A Templar wounded her when we got out. I-I couldn't save her. The infection killed her."

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said slowly, "We could send emissaries to Ostwick."

"I don't want to know what happened," Trevelyan said roughly, "I don't want to know who died or who lived in that damned hell hole. I lost everything when the Templars attacked us, and I've moved on as best I can. I saw Templars slaying children cowering under their beds, Cassandra. I saw-I saw an enchanter being killed by her own student. I saw so much."

Cassandra nodded, "Is that why you hate the Circle?"

Trevelyan nodded, slamming his empty tankard on the ground beside him, "I never really liked the Circle, but I could understand why. That night was chaos, it was war in the ugliest sense of the word. If the new Divine wants to reinstate the Circle as it was before, I will be strongly against it. I believe there should be schools, but mages should be able to live as other people do. Regulated, and monitored I can see. Controlled and killed for simply existing is not alright."

Cassandra nodded, "I understand, I think."

Trevelyan smirked, then stood, his knees creaking. He stretched, moving his bad shoulder as much as he could before letting his arm hang limply at his side, "I'm glad you can. Vivienne frustrates me to no end."

Cassandra snorted, "I can imagine."

Trevelyan disappeared into his tent, leaving Cassandra to her thoughts.

(LINE BREAK)

The next time Cassandra was able to talk to the Inquisitor about his past was a few weeks later, when they were camping in Emprise du Lion. It was cold, and freezing rain. The Inquisitor was left shivering helplessly whenever he had to leave more than a layer of blankets behind. The group had opted to take a break and spend the day back at camp.

Despite the fact that Trevelyan was sitting as close to the blazing fire as he could, he was still shaking like a leaf. He was wrapped in multiple, thick blankets, with his hood cast over his head. Bull was sleeping in his tent, and Dorian was on the other side of camp, mixing up a potion.

It was Cassandra's job to keep the fire as hot as possible, and she was beginning to realize why. Sitting across the fire from the Inquisitor, Cassandra could hear the man's teeth chattering.

"If you're ill, we can go back to Skyhold."

Trevelyan shook his head, "No. Not sick... not really. Lyrium."

Cassandra's body was filled with alarm, "Not red lyrium?"

"No," Trevelyan coughed into his blankets, "Accident. I should have died. Now I'm freezing most of the time."

"Lyrium can do that?" Cassandra muttered, surprised.

"I'm one of few who's survived an accident like mine... It sucks more than it's helped."

"Has it augmented your powers at all?"

Trevelyan shrugged his lopsided shrug, "I suppose. I've always been good at magic, so I'm not sure if I'm as powerful as I am because of raw talent, or because of the accident."

Cassandra nodded, "Did it hurt?"

"I don't know. I don't remember the three days before the accident. No one involved ever told me-" Trevelyan paused to shiver heavily for a few minutes, "and now there's no one I can ask."

Cassandra stoked the fire, "Is that why your eyes are blue like that?"

Trevelyan's lips twitched, "Yes."

"That's... rather incredible."

Trevelyan nodded, "I almost died."

"Lyrium is usually fatal," Cassandra said dryly.

Trevelyan shot her his signature smirk, "Don't forget it. Do you think if we got Bull to stand on the mountain over there and shout that, that the Red Templars would give up?"

"It would be an interesting solution."

Trevelyan opened his mouth to say something, but another round of violent shivers made him curl into himself pathetically.

"Do you need anything?" Cassandra asked quietly.

A small shake of his head was Trevelyan's answer. Looking at the man, Cassandra was suddenly struck by how young he really was. He was twenty if he was lucky, certainly not old enough by most standards to be traipsing about Orlais and Ferelden slaying dragons and killing monsters told in the Chantry's myths. To be fair, Hawke was young, and the Hero of Fereldan had just turned eighteen when they had begun their journeys.

Dorian sitting beside the Inquisitor broke Cassandra's thoughts. Trevelyan leaned against the Tevinter mage, sighing in comfort. In Dorian's hand, was a potion bottle. He handed it to Trevelyan, who's good hand snaked out from the layers of fabric to grasp the cold bottle. Trevelyan drank the potion, setting the bottle on the ground beside him.

"The potion should warm you up," Dorian explained, smiling weekly, "It should make you feel better by tomorrow."

"Will it help with my damned shoulder?" Trevelyan asked tightly.

Dorian sighed, "No, sorry amatus. However, it should help you sleep deeply for today."

Trevelyan's head spun around, "What!?"

"Sitting here shivering all day isn't going to help. You need rest, you need sleep."

Trevelyan growled something under his breath that would make a Revered Sister blush, but didn't resist when Dorian carefully stood him up and lead him back into their tent.

Cassandra smiled at the sight, and stood up herself. She retired to her own tent, taking the time to finally finish the latest volume of Swords and Shields. It was unlikely that Cassandra was going to learn anything else about Trevelyan anytime soon.

Perhaps Trevelyan wasn't as unapproachable as everyone seemed to think he was.

(LINE BREAK)

See? Short, to the point. Nothing huge. I'm planning on doing similar things with the other two Inquisitor's. It should be fun. I'm excited.

As always, feel free to leave a review/PM me. I love hearing from people, honestly.

J'aime écrire. C'est vrai.