She's going to leave a dead rat in Varric's bed for this whole thing, mark her fucking words. It was enough for her friend to send one cryptic note about the troubles over Thedas that Hawke mobilised her forces (i.e. herself, her staff, and the best pair of walking boots a girl can loot off a fallen bandit) and snuck into Skyhold as requested.
And here she is now, standing on the windy battlements, standing in front of the man that the soldiers here call (worshipfully) the Inquisitor.
"I thought you'd be taller," are the first words out of her mouth, just as Varric finally disappears from sight, putting her attention on the mage in front of her. "From the rumours of you running across Ferelden, I was honestly expecting you to descend on either lightning bolts or like five desire demons. Tits out and all." She has no filter, that hasn't changed. You rescue one city from turmoil, you get a big head.
Edited (idk angels don't feel that common in thedas) 2022-04-14 15:53 (UTC)
Out of all the possible ways they could have met, this is far from what Trevelyan would have expected. He barely has any time to react when suddenly Hawke is right in front of him with nobody to act as a buffer.
"Yes, well, if Varric is to be believed, you'd be at least a foot taller and constantly enveloped in a ring of flame, but I suppose we can't all live up to our mythos." Considering the amount of responsibility laying on top of his shoulders and how many people look to him for leadership, it's a relief to be able to be unapologetically himself to someone. To not have to constantly watch what he says for fear that he'd accidentally start a war with Orlais.
She holds her hand out for the first handshake, because she's not going to peacock about with pretending it's not her. Of course it's her.
"I don't walk enveloped in a ring of flame when there's so many Templars around, they get very shifty about that." A casual handwave. "For some reason."
It's weird to be in Skyhold. It's weirder still to be hiding up in the battlements, because she's caught sight of Cullen of all people, leading the soldiers and not acting like a total dick, for a change. And she's caught sight of Cassandra, too, who apparently had been trying to rope Hawke into becoming the Inquisitor? Ha - as if. A poor mage who nearly brought a whole city down, and couldn't even save her family from -
"Anyway," she chirps up. "Inquisitor. What did you need me for?"
Trevelyan returns the handshake, firm but not lingering too long. No need to make things weird right off the bat, and as far as he is concerned, they both have a lot in common, what with being thrust into leadership positions without really asking for it.
Or at least, that is what Varric's stories seem to imply. Maybe one day he'll get the truth out of Hawke, but for now he will settle on at least trying to convince her that their cause is one worth fighting for.
Maybe by the end of it, Trevelyan will even believe his own words. (Though, thwarting the end of the world is probably worth it, just isn't something he ever saw himself as being the figurehead. He, a mage! Hah!)
"Varric tells me you might have some knowledge on who we're dealing with?" Right, down to business then. "Honestly, we could use all the help we can get. I won't ask for more than you are willing to give."
She sighs at this, a little of her bravado deflating. "No, you don't need to worry about that. Keeping Thedas safe is as much in my interest as it is in yours, so you have my support."
Maybe not her loyalty, maybe not her friendship. It's just business. Business, and a little personal - because Varric summoned her, for one, and because her history with the Grey Wardens is personal. She's going to be looking out for a shock of black hair in the crowds for as long as there are Grey Wardens around. Maybe Stroud will know more.
"You've already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I don't know how what I could say will be of any more help, though..."
Trevelyan sighs in relief that Hawke agrees almost immediately. "And Varric told me to prepare a speech and everything," he jokes, shaking his head. "And he knows how much I hate speeches."
It still feels strange, being expected to be this big leader when he has absolutely zero experience leading. He doesn't even remember what happened that night at the Conclave, so how can he be expected to save the world? Just one of a million questions he will continue to keep asking until he can get to the bottom of why any of this is even happening.
"Varric mentioned something about you lot coming up against him before? He even might have mentioned that you thought you had destroyed him." Which, of course, does not bode well. How do they make sure Corypheus stays dead this time? "If you know of any weakness that we can exploit, or any hint of what his endgame might be."
To business then. Right. "I did, yes, but I thought for sure we'd put him down. When we learned of him the first time, it was because the Grey Wardens had started disappearing... He was controlling them, using their power to funnel his."
She deliberately, methodically, doesn't think about Carver being manipulated by that arch-bastard, because Carver would know better than to be swayed.
"You have a former Warden in your mix, any word from him? Has he been hearing the song?"
That was disconcerting - probably the biggest understatement of the year, even. The Grey Wardens were supposed to be protectors against entities like Corypheus, so if he could control them...
Well, it was hard not to assume they were utterly fucked.
"Blackwall? He hasn't reported anything of the sort yet. I could ask, in case he thought to try playing this one close to the vest," Trevelyan replied, a concerned edge to his tone. It had been somewhat difficult to speak with Blackwall as of late. The man offered up plenty of his knowledge about the Grey Wardens, but peculiarly very little about himself.
"There must be a way to break that control he has on them." Trevelyan refused to believe he was unbeatable. There had to be a way to stop him, and if that lay with the Grey Wardens, then he supposed he would have to seek them out. "Maybe Blackwall will have more insight."
It gets very difficult to deliberately ignore the concerns for Carver, but her brother's a little shitbag - Grey Warden or not - so if he started hearing the song, somehow Marian likes to believe he would've written to her all about it. Flexed his big manly muscles about how he can go fight the Blight or something.
She shakes the thought away, and focuses on Trevelyan. "I might have someone - I'll reach out to him. He's a Grey Warden, high up enough in the ranks to know if something shady's going on right now. I'll let you know."
There is a breath of relief at Hawke possibly having something up her sleeve that might help them. He won't get his hopes up just yet, and knows that they still have a long road ahead of them, but it feels like progress, which is far more than what they had before this arranged meeting.
"Thank you, I truly cannot state enough just how much I appreciate that you are doing this." He manages the smallest of smiles and tries not to show how much the pressure is starting to get to him already. It feels like they had only just arrived at Skyhold and despite the charming accommodations, he can't actually remember the last time he got a decent night's rest. "If there is anything we can do for you, if you need housing while you are visiting, please do let me know. As it turns out, I have quite the pull around here." The smile of his widens just a bit, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
She lets out a crack of laughter at that. She imagines he quite does, she's seen his soldiers follow him with awe, in some cases.
"You can keep the Seeker off my trail a little longer, I'm not ready to be interrogated for the sake of the Order." She pulls a face at the idea, and then regards him one more time. Head to toes. Not a templar, by the look of it, and from what Varric tells her, also a mage.
"We should talk about the mage rebellion. But wine, first, I think."
That seems like a fair trade, and Trevelyan can think of plenty of ways to keep Cassandra at bay. He has a feeling she is going to be quite occupied with giving Varric a piece of her mind, anyway. Which, Trevelyan is probably going to owe him as well. But if it means getting a little bit of time away from having to plot their next move? He will take it.
"I will do what I can," he reassures her with a nod. Cassandra will probably be cross with him, but at this point he is starting to lose his patience with everyone that he cannot bring himself to care all that much.
"Ah yes, wine. To the tavern, then?" If only he had his own stash, then he could perhaps find an excuse to retreat from the public eye, but he is confident that no one would dare bother them while they were together. Not that Trevelyan would unleash his magic on anyone, but carrying his staff with him was enough of a threat.
She flashes him a sharp grin at that, and the somber demeanour is shed, shaken off like drops of water. She slaps his shoulder once, with possibly more strength than a mage should have (but then, Marian's a wild one, an aposthate, unbound by Circles).
"Now you speak my language. Lead the way, Inquisitor."
Nothing like drowning all the worries of the day at the bottom of a tankard of ale. She has been travelling alone for weeks now, in her journey here, and Andraste help her but she really could do with a rowdy tavern.
Damn this all. Damn the Grey Wardens and their stupid song, damn Corypheus, damn the venatori. Trevelyan could honestly say he never felt so much rage coursing through his veins. Just for fucking once, he would love for something to just make sense. But no, Corypheus had to go and make the Grey Wardens believe their time was at an end, to ultimately bind them to Corypheus's service in the most insane plot he had ever heard.
Well not this fucking day, not if Trevelyan could help it.
He wanted to charge in and wreak havoc. He wanted to exact justice for the Grey Wardens who already were lost. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted -
He wanted to get completely obliterated. Which was probably why he was in the tavern by himself, already halfway through his first ale and trying very hard not to shoot a fireball at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. That...probably wouldn't show the world that mages could be trusted. So instead he sat there, imagining Corypheus's head on a spike while far better people were off making the plans necessary to take back Adamant Fortress. There was nothing to be done and wait, and this was the only way Trevelyan could do so without going absolutely ballistic.
She's still seething. And sure, by Stroud's judgement, it could be said that Hawke acted like a proper bitch when it came to the big reveal, but - fuck. When she entrusted Carver to them in the Deep Roads, it was with the hope that finally she could keep at least one family member safe from death. It turns out now, that not only did she take Carver down to his near death but she also signed him up for potentially a life in the service of an archdemon.
Booze is not going to fix the massive issue at hand, but it might make her feel less like snapping at every person who looks at her with that aren't you the Champion of Kirkwall look in their eyes.
The tavern's blessedly empty at this time, because they arrived from the Approach late in the evening, but the bartender's still pouring shitty ale for whoever's buying. And Hawke is willing to actually pay for it this time, instead of challenge the Chargers to duels for drinks.
The Chargers themselves must be off on Inquisition business, with their boss recovering from the fortress kerfuffle somewhere in Skyhold (possibly working frustrations out on Dorian's lucky ass), so the tavern is quiet for a change. Nevertheless, there is a corner of it that's unignorable, because the man taking up a table for himself is getting some tentative looks from the other patrons.
Oh, his fucking holiness. She grabs her tankard of ale and walks over to Trevelyan's table, deciding that if she's going to be angry tonight she's going to be angry at the fact that people either worship him or fear him - and he clearly hates either option.
"Drinking alone is the first sign of a problem," she points out as way of introduction, and pulls a chair out from under the table to drop herself into it, affecting a slouch that the Iron Bull would be proud of. "You look like you wanna punch some people with fire."
Trevelyan looks furious, which is quite honestly putting it lightly. He can't recall the last time he felt so much rage within him. Had he ever been in such a state before? Even when he was dragged to the Circle as a young boy, he still had hope in his heart.
Now, it feels like the hope has been completely extinguished.
"Yes, well, I needed to do something to keep from tearing this fortress apart," Trevelyan mutters, still seething. The ale is helping a little, but he still is a long way from feeling completely zen. Maybe he can rope Bull into letting him whack him with a wooden board a few times and call it practice despite the fact that Trevelyan will certainly never need to utilize melee combat anytime soon.
At least he fucking hopes not or Thedas is well and truly fucked.
"I do, I really do. I need to save this for when we meet up with that fucking asshole Erimond again, but fuck the wait is going to be unbearable."
Having never experienced the austerity of a Circle before has gifted Hawke with maybe better coping mechanisms for rage. She knows where the best sparring grounds are, even if the fortress isn't hers. She knows where she'd go to shoot some fire out of her mouth and pretend the practice dummy is a particularly corrupt and idiotic Grey Warden, or a complete and utter jackass of a Magister.
"Well, chief - it's a big mountain," she points out. Takes a swig of ale from her tankard and sets it down. "We could trek up it somewhere with a lot of snow, and fight the shit out of each other?"
Trevelyan is honestly not sure why he hadn't thought of that before. Probably because he had been trained so heavily not to use magic just because, but this seems like a far better channeling of his energy and of his emotions. Bottling it up no longer feels like an option.
Besides, he wants to be ready. He wants to hone his power so well that when there is a next time, he can be sure not to miss.
"That sounds like a terrible idea, so naturally I'm in." Could one of them get hurt? Probably. That just means bringing more healing potions with them.
She flashes him an immediate grin, and knocks her tankard with his in a pitiful attempt at a toast. "That's the spirit! That's how I got Varric to be my best friend, you know?"
So they're on the right track for this, whatever it is. "Let's pack some healing potions, I'm shit at healing spells." It takes some effort for her to not think about who was good at healing, about what he did, and how life turned out for Marian Hawke - in part - because of him.
Although, in hindsight, that might be as much about Anders as it could be about her father.
"My sister was better at them." It slips, the Facts About Hawke moment. Bethany, sweet Bethany, however sweet and good at tending to bruises and scabs and burns, however loving and dear, and how fucking young...
The fucking Blight.
She stares into her ale for a long pause, then looks up, pulling on the mask of self-confidence again. "Anyway, finish these and go? Seems a waste not to."
There is something rather touching about Hawke turning her attention towards reminiscing about her family. While he had not studied Varric's account of Hawke that closely, the one thing he did pick up on is just how much she lost.
Some of Trevelyan's anger dissipates at that, and his face softens, just slightly. He never really felt all that close to his family. As soon as his magic surfaced, he was tossed away, hidden at the Circle where he couldn't tarnish the family name. But he still thinks of his sister, pushing past their parents to give him a hug just before he was dragged off, and wonders if she still lives or if this damned war got to them, too?
"Yes, I think that's an excellent idea," Trevelyan replies after a pause, his heart hardening once more as he recalls what they had initially settled on doing.
In the end, it doesn't take him long at all to finish his ale. Between the anticipation of getting his aggressions out and needing a general distraction from the pain that threatens his heart, he has enough reasons to drink quickly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
o1.
And here she is now, standing on the windy battlements, standing in front of the man that the soldiers here call (worshipfully) the Inquisitor.
"I thought you'd be taller," are the first words out of her mouth, just as Varric finally disappears from sight, putting her attention on the mage in front of her. "From the rumours of you running across Ferelden, I was honestly expecting you to descend on either lightning bolts or like five desire demons. Tits out and all." She has no filter, that hasn't changed. You rescue one city from turmoil, you get a big head.
no subject
"Yes, well, if Varric is to be believed, you'd be at least a foot taller and constantly enveloped in a ring of flame, but I suppose we can't all live up to our mythos." Considering the amount of responsibility laying on top of his shoulders and how many people look to him for leadership, it's a relief to be able to be unapologetically himself to someone. To not have to constantly watch what he says for fear that he'd accidentally start a war with Orlais.
"A pleasure to meet you. Hawke, I presume?"
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"I don't walk enveloped in a ring of flame when there's so many Templars around, they get very shifty about that." A casual handwave. "For some reason."
It's weird to be in Skyhold. It's weirder still to be hiding up in the battlements, because she's caught sight of Cullen of all people, leading the soldiers and not acting like a total dick, for a change. And she's caught sight of Cassandra, too, who apparently had been trying to rope Hawke into becoming the Inquisitor? Ha - as if. A poor mage who nearly brought a whole city down, and couldn't even save her family from -
"Anyway," she chirps up. "Inquisitor. What did you need me for?"
no subject
Or at least, that is what Varric's stories seem to imply. Maybe one day he'll get the truth out of Hawke, but for now he will settle on at least trying to convince her that their cause is one worth fighting for.
Maybe by the end of it, Trevelyan will even believe his own words. (Though, thwarting the end of the world is probably worth it, just isn't something he ever saw himself as being the figurehead. He, a mage! Hah!)
"Varric tells me you might have some knowledge on who we're dealing with?" Right, down to business then. "Honestly, we could use all the help we can get. I won't ask for more than you are willing to give."
no subject
Maybe not her loyalty, maybe not her friendship. It's just business. Business, and a little personal - because Varric summoned her, for one, and because her history with the Grey Wardens is personal. She's going to be looking out for a shock of black hair in the crowds for as long as there are Grey Wardens around. Maybe Stroud will know more.
"You've already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I don't know how what I could say will be of any more help, though..."
no subject
It still feels strange, being expected to be this big leader when he has absolutely zero experience leading. He doesn't even remember what happened that night at the Conclave, so how can he be expected to save the world? Just one of a million questions he will continue to keep asking until he can get to the bottom of why any of this is even happening.
"Varric mentioned something about you lot coming up against him before? He even might have mentioned that you thought you had destroyed him." Which, of course, does not bode well. How do they make sure Corypheus stays dead this time? "If you know of any weakness that we can exploit, or any hint of what his endgame might be."
no subject
She deliberately, methodically, doesn't think about Carver being manipulated by that arch-bastard, because Carver would know better than to be swayed.
"You have a former Warden in your mix, any word from him? Has he been hearing the song?"
no subject
Well, it was hard not to assume they were utterly fucked.
"Blackwall? He hasn't reported anything of the sort yet. I could ask, in case he thought to try playing this one close to the vest," Trevelyan replied, a concerned edge to his tone. It had been somewhat difficult to speak with Blackwall as of late. The man offered up plenty of his knowledge about the Grey Wardens, but peculiarly very little about himself.
"There must be a way to break that control he has on them." Trevelyan refused to believe he was unbeatable. There had to be a way to stop him, and if that lay with the Grey Wardens, then he supposed he would have to seek them out. "Maybe Blackwall will have more insight."
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She shakes the thought away, and focuses on Trevelyan. "I might have someone - I'll reach out to him. He's a Grey Warden, high up enough in the ranks to know if something shady's going on right now. I'll let you know."
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"Thank you, I truly cannot state enough just how much I appreciate that you are doing this." He manages the smallest of smiles and tries not to show how much the pressure is starting to get to him already. It feels like they had only just arrived at Skyhold and despite the charming accommodations, he can't actually remember the last time he got a decent night's rest. "If there is anything we can do for you, if you need housing while you are visiting, please do let me know. As it turns out, I have quite the pull around here." The smile of his widens just a bit, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
no subject
"You can keep the Seeker off my trail a little longer, I'm not ready to be interrogated for the sake of the Order." She pulls a face at the idea, and then regards him one more time. Head to toes. Not a templar, by the look of it, and from what Varric tells her, also a mage.
"We should talk about the mage rebellion. But wine, first, I think."
no subject
"I will do what I can," he reassures her with a nod. Cassandra will probably be cross with him, but at this point he is starting to lose his patience with everyone that he cannot bring himself to care all that much.
"Ah yes, wine. To the tavern, then?" If only he had his own stash, then he could perhaps find an excuse to retreat from the public eye, but he is confident that no one would dare bother them while they were together. Not that Trevelyan would unleash his magic on anyone, but carrying his staff with him was enough of a threat.
no subject
"Now you speak my language. Lead the way, Inquisitor."
Nothing like drowning all the worries of the day at the bottom of a tankard of ale. She has been travelling alone for weeks now, in her journey here, and Andraste help her but she really could do with a rowdy tavern.
02.
Well not this fucking day, not if Trevelyan could help it.
He wanted to charge in and wreak havoc. He wanted to exact justice for the Grey Wardens who already were lost. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted -
He wanted to get completely obliterated. Which was probably why he was in the tavern by himself, already halfway through his first ale and trying very hard not to shoot a fireball at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. That...probably wouldn't show the world that mages could be trusted. So instead he sat there, imagining Corypheus's head on a spike while far better people were off making the plans necessary to take back Adamant Fortress. There was nothing to be done and wait, and this was the only way Trevelyan could do so without going absolutely ballistic.
Re: 02.
Booze is not going to fix the massive issue at hand, but it might make her feel less like snapping at every person who looks at her with that aren't you the Champion of Kirkwall look in their eyes.
The tavern's blessedly empty at this time, because they arrived from the Approach late in the evening, but the bartender's still pouring shitty ale for whoever's buying. And Hawke is willing to actually pay for it this time, instead of challenge the Chargers to duels for drinks.
The Chargers themselves must be off on Inquisition business, with their boss recovering from the fortress kerfuffle somewhere in Skyhold (possibly working frustrations out on Dorian's lucky ass), so the tavern is quiet for a change. Nevertheless, there is a corner of it that's unignorable, because the man taking up a table for himself is getting some tentative looks from the other patrons.
Oh, his fucking holiness. She grabs her tankard of ale and walks over to Trevelyan's table, deciding that if she's going to be angry tonight she's going to be angry at the fact that people either worship him or fear him - and he clearly hates either option.
"Drinking alone is the first sign of a problem," she points out as way of introduction, and pulls a chair out from under the table to drop herself into it, affecting a slouch that the Iron Bull would be proud of. "You look like you wanna punch some people with fire."
no subject
Now, it feels like the hope has been completely extinguished.
"Yes, well, I needed to do something to keep from tearing this fortress apart," Trevelyan mutters, still seething. The ale is helping a little, but he still is a long way from feeling completely zen. Maybe he can rope Bull into letting him whack him with a wooden board a few times and call it practice despite the fact that Trevelyan will certainly never need to utilize melee combat anytime soon.
At least he fucking hopes not or Thedas is well and truly fucked.
"I do, I really do. I need to save this for when we meet up with that fucking asshole Erimond again, but fuck the wait is going to be unbearable."
no subject
"Well, chief - it's a big mountain," she points out. Takes a swig of ale from her tankard and sets it down. "We could trek up it somewhere with a lot of snow, and fight the shit out of each other?"
no subject
Besides, he wants to be ready. He wants to hone his power so well that when there is a next time, he can be sure not to miss.
"That sounds like a terrible idea, so naturally I'm in." Could one of them get hurt? Probably. That just means bringing more healing potions with them.
no subject
So they're on the right track for this, whatever it is. "Let's pack some healing potions, I'm shit at healing spells." It takes some effort for her to not think about who was good at healing, about what he did, and how life turned out for Marian Hawke - in part - because of him.
Although, in hindsight, that might be as much about Anders as it could be about her father.
"My sister was better at them." It slips, the Facts About Hawke moment. Bethany, sweet Bethany, however sweet and good at tending to bruises and scabs and burns, however loving and dear, and how fucking young...
The fucking Blight.
She stares into her ale for a long pause, then looks up, pulling on the mask of self-confidence again. "Anyway, finish these and go? Seems a waste not to."
no subject
Some of Trevelyan's anger dissipates at that, and his face softens, just slightly. He never really felt all that close to his family. As soon as his magic surfaced, he was tossed away, hidden at the Circle where he couldn't tarnish the family name. But he still thinks of his sister, pushing past their parents to give him a hug just before he was dragged off, and wonders if she still lives or if this damned war got to them, too?
"Yes, I think that's an excellent idea," Trevelyan replies after a pause, his heart hardening once more as he recalls what they had initially settled on doing.
In the end, it doesn't take him long at all to finish his ale. Between the anticipation of getting his aggressions out and needing a general distraction from the pain that threatens his heart, he has enough reasons to drink quickly.