Archive of Our Own

It was, perhaps, for the fifth time in the last half-hour. Seated before his desk in his quarters, a veritable mountain of paperwork occupying a precarious position at the left-hand corner, Maxwell Trevelyan signed his name at the bottom of a requisitions order and set aside the parchment before leaning heavily on his elbows with an audible thunk. Still holding his quill, he ran both hands through his shaggy hair, uncaring if any ink got in it as he did so. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage; he couldn't return to the field until Leliana's scouts came back with a report regarding the Venatori occupation of the northern Dales, and so Josephine had taken full advantage of his lingering presence at Skyhold by confronting him with all the requests, letters, and official documentation that had built up during his absence and yet required his signature .

And those documents numbered in the hundreds.

Sighing again, he pushed back in his chair, the wood creaking a little under him, and plopped his quill into its inkwell. Pulling his hands above his head, he linked them and stretched, his booted feet protruding from under the front of the desk, before retracting back in on himself again, straightening his tunic. His hand automatically went for the brandy glass at his elbow, then, and he knocked back the remainder of the contents with all the gusto of a man intent on getting drunk at a bar, forcibly ignoring the pulsing glow of the Anchor against the crystal.

Knock-knock-knock.

A swift rapping on his door drew his attention, and he sighed a third time, setting the glass back down none-too-gently.

"Come in."

Knowing it would take his guest a minute or two to climb the stairwell to his chambers proper, he took that time to school his expression from one of annoyance to that of passive indifference.

He was, after all, a nobleman trained in proper decorum. The least he could do was mask his irritation with stoicness for the sake of whoever had dared to bother him at half past ten of the evening bells...

Alora stood still for a moment and drew in a nervous breath before the door. It occurred to her now that perhaps a letter would have been more prudent- that maybe bursting in on Maxwell this late may not have been a welcome intrusion- but it was too late to back out, now. She slipped inside and climbed the stairs slowly, taking in the impressive sight of the Inquisitor's own chamber with each step she ascended. Firelight from the hearth bathed the grand room that came into view, a neat den of splendor befitting his high station. Fine carpeting. Ornate decorations. The captain's gaze settled, however, on the corner where her cousin sat, and she couldn't help the smile that quirked her lips. The desk was a mess of parchment stacked so high that she could only just see Maxwell poking out from behind it.

"Inquisitor," she greeted formally with a salute, and then her smile widened. "Cousin. I hope I'm not interrupting anything too important?"

Maxwell blinked, his jaw dropping a little. It was a rather un-Inquisitor-like move on his part, but apparently unstoppable regardless. There stood his cousin - well, one of many cousins - Alora Trevelyan. He hadn't seen her in a shameful number of years, well before he had pledged himself to the Chantry's service. Her hair was pulled up tightly in a style befitting their soldiers, and she wore what was undoubtedly an Inquisition uniform.

"Alora?" He asked, his voice tinged with lingering disbelief as he slowly stood. "You..." he trailed, recalling her question, and shook his head rapidly as if to clear it. "Of course not, cousin. Please, make yourself at home." He skirted around the edge of his desk, striding towards her with arms outstretched. "By the Maker, it's been too long."

She crossed the space between them and launched herself into his arms. Maxwell had always given the best hugs of any Trevelyan, and that much was still obviously true. Alora returned it with a grin, squeezing hard, making up for the many months she had wished to do just that- then stepped back to gaze up at him. He still looked quite befuddled, but happy. That expression offered a glimpse of her childhood friend in the face of this elegant man he'd become.

"Too bloody long, Maxwell. Look at you," she said, grabbing his arms and turning him so that the fire from the hearth illuminated his face, "All grown up, Herald, Inquisitor! Adventuring all over Thedas now."

He grinned sheepishly at her. "Yes, well. Circumstance can do a lot to a man." Then, looking Alora up and down, he added, "But enough about me, look at you. I know an Inquisition uniform when I see it - when did you join up? And why?" He paused. "Tell me you didn't come all this way and join the Inquisition solely to track me down."

"Not exactly."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"I have actually been with the Inquisition almost as long as you have, Maxwell."

She heard the sharp intake of breath signaling his question, so she continued quickly.

"I meant to attend to the Conclave, but my company was delayed. The explosion occurred while we were still a day away."

She could still remember the terrible sight. Even from a distance they had felt the rush of magical energy and seen the eerie green light in the sky. Then, the Breach.

"When we arrived, the guards who joined me from Ostwick and I were thrown into helping quell the chaos. I decided to join the Inquisition then... I really had no idea that you were the Herald of Andraste for some time. It was quite a surprise when I found out."

Alora lifted her shoulders in a shrug and dropped her gaze.

"Sister Nightingale thought it prudent for my presence to be kept from you, and for our relation not to become common knowledge."

Maxwell felt his brow furrow deeply. "Maker, Alora. To know you were so close to death. To know you have been all this time." He shook his head slowly, glancing towards the fire and running hand through his hair. "I am glad you were spared from the destruction of the Conclave. And I am thankful for your aid to us in this dark time; we need every available blade, and yours is a worthy one. But that you were serving under me... could have been killed at my order and I never would have known it..."

He trailed, gaze hardening. "Rest assured I will be having a word with my Spymaster."

"No one has killed me yet, right?"

She offered him a joking smile, but it faded when he didn't smile back. She could see how bothered he was by this revelation. Really, who could blame him?

"I did not like the idea, but she feared that if people knew you had family in the Inquisition, I could become a target. Something to be used against you. Especially once you became Inquisitor, and once I made Captain."

Alora crossed her arms and shook her head.

"I thought she was right. I still do. You talk about me being near death but what about you? Word about your exploits goes through the ranks like wildfire. You are in more danger than anyone else, Maxwell. I wanted to see you before I lose the chance."

Maxwell sighed once more. "You're not responsible for me though, Alora. But now that you're part of this, I am very much responsible for you." He paused again, lips thinning. "I'm responsible for everyone."

He fell silent then, wandering towards the fireplace and staring long and hard into its flames. "I'm glad you came to talk to me. Knowing you're here with us... it makes the burden easier." He swallowed. "I'll be sure neither the Nightingale nor the Commander reprimands you for this. Keeping the knowledge from others I agree with. But I'm your cousin... your family... and I have a right to know what my people are getting you into. What I'm getting you into."

Turning back, he took a deep, almost shaking breath and then gestured back to where the brandy decanter sat on the edge of his desk. "Drink?"

"Maker, yes."

She could have pointed out that she hadn't wanted to add to his worries. That her concern was not for her well-being but his, and the distraction that knowing would have caused him. Alora followed him toward his desk with a small sigh, her gaze once again sweeping over the well-furnished room. The position of Inquisitor had brought with it many riches, but with them came the burden of responsibility. He had so much on his shoulders already; she could nearly see the physical weight of it all bearing down on him. The green glow emanating from his left hand only added to that sense. He was her young, carefree cousin no more.

"How are you holding up?" 

She leaned against the edge of his desk, careful not to disturb the paperwork towers.

"And I want the real answer, not the one you use on your advisors and companions to keep them from worrying."

Maxwell paused in his pouring of two crystal glasses of brandy, brow furrowing a little before he resumed and then handed Alora hers with his non-Anchored hand. Chuckling mirthlessly, he replied at last, "Struggling, if I'm honest."

He took a drink of the sweet wine and shook his head. "There was a time when I would have been ecstatic to live the life I have in these past few months. Traveling the world, slaying dragons, protecting the innocent. And, don't get me wrong," he added with a wink, "there is some part of me that does greatly enjoy it, despite the long rides and sleepless nights. But this," he glanced to his Mark, frowning at the glowing green slash thereon. "This has changed everything. It's changed me."

Taking another sip, his olivine gaze focused on the papers before him. "I do this now not for glory, but because I'm the only one who can. However it happened," he glanced up to meet Alora's eyes, "the people need me. And sometimes their need feels like more than I can accomplish."

"You've been doing a damn fine job, from what I hear."  She offered him a smile over the rim of her glass. "There is a reason that the people look up to you, and it isn't just because of your titles or the thing on your hand. You're a hero, and a good man. Even if you weren't where you are, you would still be helping others somehow."

"But," she continued, pointing a finger at him, "You cannot do it all, Maxwell. You may be Andraste's Herald and the Inquisitor, but you're still one man. As a force we've done a lot of good, but even the whole Inquisition can't be everywhere at once. How could anyone expect you to do it yourself?"

 She looked down at her glass.

"I learned in the guard that no matter how hard you fight to protect everyone, there are always going to be people who will slip through the cracks. Especially during times of strife. It is a hard truth to accept, and harder not to punish yourself for it."

Alora drained her glass in one deep swallow as though it might wash away sour memories. Then she reached out to squeeze her cousin's shoulder.

"Anyway, you aren't alone. Let others share your burden. Let me."

At that, Maxwell felt like wrapping her up in a hug again. Alora had always been his dearest friend growing up; she hadn't cared for family politics, and neither had he. She was also brutally honest, which was a character trait he thoroughly appreciated. Though the Trevelyans as a whole were nothing like some noble houses, they still had their Game-players, even outside Orlais. He had always been thankful that Alora wasn't one of them.

"All right, Alora," he said at last, voice quiet. "I'll try."

"C'mere."

She set down her glass and stood on her toes to throw her arms around him in another warm embrace. Her heart ached for all that he had suffered and all that he still would. Pain and loss would be inevitable, and she knew she couldn't shelter him from it. In her mind's eye she could still see the ruddy-faced boy who'd caused mischief with her at her mother's parties, who had pouted over skinned knees and who had helped her down from trees when she'd climbed too high. The world had seemed so much simpler back then. Kinder.

Alora hugged her cousin just a bit tighter. Perhaps she couldn't shelter him, but she could continue to be his friend.

"Let's sit," she said as she pulled away. She tugged at his sleeve and jabbed a thumb toward the hearth. "Tell me about your adventures. The good and the bad, even the boring. I want to hear it all."