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The sun’s rays were just barely beginning to creep over the snowy crags of the Frostback Mountains when Alyss Hawke’s horse crested a ridge and she finally laid eyes on Skyhold. The light outlined its towers and battlements in a white-gold hue, and despite its lack of adornment and squat design, Alyss thought the way it seemed to grow straight from the stone of the mountain lent it a certain rough beauty. Or it would, she thought crossly, if it weren’t so bloody cold up here.
A cloud of mist billowed from the raven-haired woman as she huffed, drawing her thick cloak tighter around her body as her horse picked its way carefully across the rocky path that led towards the castle. When Varric’s letter had finally reached Alyss, telling her she needed to come meet this Inquisitor in person because now somehow fucking Corypheus was involved, she had sighed. This world and its problems will never be done with me, she thought wearily. But as she continued reading, her eyes alighted on where Skyhold was located, and Alyss groaned aloud. She’d spent the last 11 years in temperate coastal climes, first in Kirkwall and then sailing around the Amaranthine with Isabela. Hawke feared the biting cold of the Frostbacks would cut her to the bones. Spot on there, Aly, her mind remarked in Isabela’s voice. Not for the first time, Alyss thought of how much she missed Izzy. She hadn’t wanted the Rivaini to follow her to Skyhold, nor did Isabela particularly want to go, but that didn’t make being separated for so long any better. At least the thought of her lover shivering violently next to her in her thin pirate garb brought a smile to Hawke’s face.
The smile died as her horse finally drew near to the portcullis and her sharp eyes made out the armed sentries standing guard on Skyhold’s walls. Don’t worry, Varric’s letter had said, the Inquisitor is a good and honorable man. You have nothing to fear in Skyhold. But we need to meet him on his terms. Alyss fairly doubted that. Maxwell Trevelyan didn’t sound like the kind of man who only felt safe behind castle walls. Like as not, this was Varric’s way of apologizing for holding out on the Inquisition. Despite her reluctance to walk into a castle garrisoned by an independent army, at least this way she would get to evaluate them in all their strength. Alyss tugged on her horses reins, slowing to a stop in front of the gate as a guard called down to her.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Alyss Hawke!” she yelled back, and then a beat later, “The Champion of Kirkwall!” As soon as the title left her lips, her mouth tasted of ash.
The two guards standing on the gate tower conferred amongst themselves for a moment, and then the portcullis slowly raised up enough to allow horse and rider through. Hawke rode into the castle, but she didn’t get very far until she saw a small form topped with sandy blonde hair emerge from a door set into the side. She quickly spurred her horse forward, and then she leapt from the saddle, landing on her feet just long enough to cushion the impact before she knelt and pulled Varric into a tight bear hug.
Varric chuckled lightly at his friend’s display, his own arms coming up to encircle her as best he could. “I missed you too, Hawke.” The warm timbre of his voice soothed Alyss. She loved her brother dearly, fiercely , but eventually she admitted to herself that Varric was just as much her family as Carver was. Her and Carver had blood and history, but she and Varric had been each other’s complement since they day they met. She’d never bonded so quickly and easily with anyone. Alyss’s only response was to tighten her embrace. “Y-you trying to smother me here?”
Hawke finally relaxed her arms, sliding her hands up to rest on Varric’s shoulders before she glared at him. “Yes,” she said plainly, “so you can’t run off on another damn fool crusade and drag me into it.” Varric laughed at that, shaking his head.
“Trust me, after this one, my crusading days are done. I might even start going to some Merchant’s Guild meetings.” Despite the statement, Varric shuddered. “I think I’d revel in some petty bullshit after all this crazy end of the world nonsense.”
Alyss finally smiled then, shooting the dwarf a weary and sympathetic look. “Guess we just got too good at saving things. Now everyone wants a piece.” As they talked, a guardsman led her horse off to the stables.
Varric shook his head. “Ain’t that the truth. Speaking of which,” Varric beckoned to the door he’d come out of, “the Inquisitor awaits. We shouldn’t let him get too bored.”
Alyss rose, brushing the snow off of her legs as she steeled herself for what she was about to step in to. She desperately hoped that this Inquisitor could live up to his reputation. I hope I can too. Varric led her up a set of stairs within the tower they’d entered, until eventually they walked out onto the outer wall of Skyhold. The view that greeted Alyss took her breath away. She could see around and across all the mountain peaks that Skyhold was nestled between, icy streams and snow capped trees visible through the thin air. It made her feel simultaneously giant and very, very small. Varric grinned at the awed expression on her face.
“One of the job’s few perks.”
They entered another tower, but quickly turned right and exited onto the northern facing wall. Waiting for them there was a man dressed in thick, finely woven woolen clothes of midnight blue and dark red. On his left hip hung a sheathed sword, while a silvered warhorn dangled from his right. He was tall and powerfully built, cutting a striking profile against the beautiful backdrop. When he turned to face them, Alyss wanted to laugh. Nearly everyone in the Hinterlands spoke glowingly of the Inquisition, and especially of its leader, the messianic Herald of Andraste. But in each settlement Hawke had visited, the ones who lavished the most praise on the Herald were invariably the single young women and men. Now she saw why.
Maxwell Trevelyan looked like he’d walked right out of a song. He had smooth brown hair that artfully tumbled to his neck, framing a tanned face with aristocratic cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. His eyes were a bright, piercing green, and his cheeks were dimpled from smiling. Alyss found him strangely familiar. She quickly tried to recall why, but the thought escaped her. He immediately extended a hand towards Hawke, addressing her before Varric got a chance to make the introductions. “Greetings, Lady Hawke. It is truly an honor to meet you. I am Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan, though you can just call me Max,” he said sincerely. “Welcome to Skyhold.”
Alyss shook his hand firmly, giving him a small smile for courtesy’s sake. “Thank you for having me, Inquisitor Max,” she replied somewhat cheekily. “And likewise, just call me Hawke. Skyhold is beautiful.” She saw Varric deflate a bit, and Alyss surmised he’d been looking forward to declaring the grand arrival of the Champion of Kirkwall. She quietly appreciated Trevelyan sparing her from that.
“Aye, it is,” Max agreed, casting a quick glance at the vista before them before turning back to her with a grin. “Mighty cold though, wouldn’t you say?”
“So you are a Free Marcher,” Alyss said with more genuine humor.
“Ostwick born and bred,” Max replied. “I’m quite lucky we have as much wool as we do. Marchers weren’t meant to live in the Frostbacks.”
“On that we all agree,” chimed Varric.
“And yet the chest hair remains wild and free,” Hawke said airily.
“We all make sacrifices for style, Aly.” Varric raised an eyebrow. “Don’t lecture me while you’re wearing that nightmare of a greave on only one hand.”
“It’s part of the armor!”
A deep laugh rumbled out of the Inquisitor's chest, interrupting the playful squabble. “I think you both make a great battlefield fashion statement. But since we’ve all just admitted we’re freezing our balls off out here, would you prefer to talk in my solar?”
Hawke gladly acquiesced, while Varric decided to leave them to chat in private. “I’d like to savor my last few hours before the Seeker murders me,” he said in only partial jest. As Max beckoned her into his solar, Alyss reveled in the temperature difference. There was a fire blazing in the Inquisitor’s study, and the room apparently held the heat quite well. Hawke looked around the well-appointed study, and her eyes were oddly drawn to the curtains. They were a deep green, and Hawke saw silvery shapes she realized were halla winding around the fabric. Interesting, she thought. This Max Trevelyan likes Dalish decor. Suddenly, the reason why the Inquisitor was so familiar clicked into place, and Alyss gasped.
“That’s it! You’re Mister Fade Eyes!”
Max turned to her, thoroughly befuddled. “Wait, I’m... what?”
Alyss snorted at the thought of how strange she’d just sounded. “You were in Kirkwall sometime around five years ago, right?”
The confused look on Trevelyan’s face did not go away. If anything, it increased. “Yes, I was. How do you-”
“Do you remember ever bumping into a young Dalish girl in a seedy bar in Lowtown? Pretty, adorable accent, talks really fast?”
Max had to rack his brain for a second, but recognition soon dawned in his eyes. “Oh, yes! She spilled her drink on me!” A chagrined look appeared on his face. “The poor thing looked terrified, like I was going to yell at her or something. I apologized and she just ran away.”
‘That was my friend Merrill,” Hawke said, chuckling at the memory. “She’s terribly shy. But she said you didn’t just apologize. You said it in the elven language. ” Hawke fixed Max with a quizzical glance. “What kind of noble shemlen knows Elvhen, especially an apology?”
Max smiled and shrugged. “Second sons get a lot more leeway for their indiscretions. I used to run around Ostwick with the vagabonds and sellswords whilst my brother was getting taught how to shake hands. One of my best friends was a Dalish elf who taught me a lot of elvhen. Figured it was the easiest way to set your friend at ease.” Max laughed. “That was a mistake.”
“Oh no, it worked alright,” said Hawke with a lopsided grin. “She wouldn’t stop staring at you for the rest of the time you were there. Told us you had “eyes like the Fade.” It was one of the sappiest things we’d ever heard her say, but she just wouldn’t go over and talk to you, so we kept referring you as Mr. Fade Eyes. Oh, Merrill’s gonna freak when I tell her she was mooning after the future Herald of Andraste.”
Max grimaced a bit when Hawke mentioned his other title, but “Mr. Fade Eyes” apparently amused him to no end. Those bright green irises were alight with humor. “Eyes like the Fade. Merrill has no idea she’s a prophet.”
“I sure hope she isn’t,” Alyss said. “Else we’re all more fucked than we even dreamed.” Another thought occurred to her, and she leveled a knowing look at the Inquisitor. “Also, like hell you spoke in Elvhen to “set her at ease”. We both know why." Trevelyan smiled and shrugged, as though saying, Guilty as charged. Alyss’s eyes rolled. “Men.”
“Pigs, all of us,” he agreed cheerily. Alyss was once again surprised by how lightly Max seemed to take himself. They shared one more laugh about poor Merrill’s social anxiety, and then they arrived at the elephant in the room.
“So...Corypheus.”
“Yes, Corypheus. I hear you have some experience with him.”