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Esme Trevelyan stared into the valley below Skyhold, a part of her mind unable to fully process the number of tents that were pitched in the snow. As the Inquisition set to work renovating the long-forgotten fortress, she still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that most, if not all, of those people were there because of her.
On one hand, it was laughable.
She was the youngest of seven children born to Veryan and Angélique Trevelyan. Amongst her siblings, she knew she was seen as the disappointment.
Grayson, her eldest brother, would inherit the family holdings when their father passed away. He had already been married for nearly ten years, and he and Adelaide had an adolescent daughter.
Bertrand, Derrick, and Elowyn belonged to the Templar Order. While Bertrand had died at the Conclave, and although Elowyn had fallen prey to red lyrium, all three of them had been well-known for their combative skills.
Gabrielle was happily married to an Orlesian marquis and was now the mother of her own two children.
Henri was notorious within the family for being extremely bookish, but at least he held the promise of becoming a professor at the University of Orlais.
And then there was Esme.
At twenty-seven, she remained unmarried, with no discernable marriage prospects on the horizon. Where Gabrielle was surprisingly fair-skinned - aided in part by Orlesian cosmetics - and had a delicate bone structure, Esme had too broad a forehead and too square a jaw. Her eyes were a somber grey as opposed to the warm browns and brilliant greens that were common in her family, and her brows were difficult to tame without excessive grooming. And where most of her siblings had been talented with heavy weapons, Esme had always had a fondness for her bow and throwing knives. Although Aunt Margot had encouraged her skills, Elowyn had always called her a coward for preferring long-ranged combat instead of getting right up in an opponent’s space.
Although she had been a rambunctious child, eager to run amok and pull pranks on her elder siblings, trying to earn their affections through her outgoing personality, Esme had sobered up over the years. She did retain her quick wit and her sense of humor, but she had long given up on the hope that her siblings, much less her parents, would ever take notice of her.
She was no leader, no figure of inspiration. She was just another Trevelyan, and probably the least ambitious of them. The fact that she had been declared Herald at Haven, and then Inquisitor only a few days prior, was nearly impossible to comprehend.
On the other hand…
She felt that it was a good thing she didn’t act like the rest of her family. Ever since she had been sent to live with Aunt Margot, Esme had decided that she would never sacrifice herself in order to forge connections or gain power for the Trevelyans. She was perfectly content to be herself, however unremarkable she may be. While she feared the chance of becoming as power-hungry as her relatives, she did appreciate the opportunity that had been presented to her through her new role of Inquisitor.
If nothing else, the small part of her that still yearned for her parents’ affections hoped this would finally prove she was worthy of the Trevelyan name.