The Boy who became the Herald

Chapter 1: Cassandra

The Hinterlands: 9:41 Dragon

"FOR ANDRASTE!"

The war cry rang out as the boy charged, fair haired and handsome, sword in hand and shield before him. All around them the soldiers of the newly formed Inquisition took up the call, charging after their over-eager herald. Men and women ready to give their lives for both the faith and the cause.

Cassandra Pentaghast frowned.

Foolish boy, she thought to herself.

Is he trying to get himself killed?

He charged in, meeting a Templar knight blade upon blade. Normally, that might have been the end for anyone who would dare attack someone as well trained a Templar, yet Robin did not falter, he dodged his opponents attack, and before the knight could respond, the boy's blade found the soldier's throat, ending their confrontation in a spray of blood. The Templar fell as the boy rushed off to engage another enemy. Such a victory would have seemed unthinkable once, the Templars had been the best of the best, but were no longer the warriors or champions of the faith they had once been. Since the order had struck out on its own, the Templars had lost a step or three; they were not the fighters they had been when they had marched beneath the chantry's banner. It was clear that either arrogance or a lack of lyrium had weakened these men's skills.

Cassandra suspected the latter rather than the former, she had seen what lyrium withdrawal could do.

It was not something to be taken lightly.

Their young herald was skilled, but that did not mean that his victory was all his.

Things were not what they once were in Thedas.

She hoped that the Herald would help change that, that he would do what needed to be done to restore sanity and compassion to the world.

Hopefully, she thought, he would live long enough to do that.

The Seeker had only agreed to this mission because the rest of the council thought that Mother Giselle's support would be worth it. The Herald had proven himself a decent enough fighter during their assault on the breach a few weeks earlier but…

Her frowned deepened.

He had courage, none would doubt that, but he was also young, young and impulsive…

Those traits were known to get someone killed.

Clad in fine armor, wielding the sigil of the ancient House of Trevelyan, the boy still seemed out of place. Thirteen years old, about to turn fourteen next month, Robin Trevelyan had been sent by his family to the Conclave, to represent their interests. As a fourth born son, he had been tapped early on to enter the clergy, more specifically the Templar order, and had been training for almost five years towards that goal, or so Robin had said.

It was a path that had been disrupted when the Templars left the chantry, when they had decided to take the war to the mages on their terms, no matter what Divine Justinia had said.

Things might have been different had the Seekers of Truth not decided to join the order in this insanity. Lord Seeker Lambert had broken the accord with the chantry and had not even looked back. His assassination early in the war had prevented the man from profiting from his betrayal, but still the war dragged on, and had dragged on these many months.

Neither the Templars nor the mages had been willing to listen, refused to compromise…now the Inquisition would force them to.

Their war would end whether they liked it or not.

Varric Tethras stood at her side, firing bolt after bolt from that crossbow of his. Each shot kept another enemy off their young herald's back, the boy had not yet learned to be aware of his surroundings; he needed others watching his back.

Fortunately, Varric, rogue that he was, was up to the task. Not that he was unaware of Robin Trevelyan's short comings, oh no.

"Kid is going to get us killed," the dwarf grumbled.

Cassandra almost sighed.

Alas she agreed.

It seemed impossible that a mere thirteen year old boy could survive a cataclysm that had ended the life of so many at the Conclave, but he had. He had been the only survivor, and therefore the only suspect. They had taken him into custody, and likely would have executed him had the breach not been their first priority.

She remembered the first time she had faced him, even in chains the boy had looked up at her manfully; he had fought back a child's tears, though they had glistened in his eyes. His noble blood and training had led him to aid them.

He had saved them, saved Haven, the breach was now stable, as was the mark on his hand. Solas, the apostate that had been aiding them since the Conclave believed that the boy might be the key to all of this, that the mark on his hand could be used to seal the breach for good…

Whether through fortune or providence, Robin Trevelyan was likely the only hope for their salvation.

Cassandra leapt into the fray, engaging a pair of Templar archers. They hesitated when they saw her black armor, the markings of the Seeker upon her breast. She cut them down before they could send anymore arrows towards Robin. She had seen one arrow glance off his armored shoulder, any higher it might have taken him in the throat; that would have been the end of the boy.

She could not allow that to happen.

Fool boy, she thought again.

He is too brash, he doesn't think, he…

He…

For the briefest of moments the face of an old man flashed before her, the old Seeker that had taught her the ways of the order over twenty years ago.

Byron…

His words rang through her thoughts.

Cassandra you are too brash, you must think before you act.

Despite her frustration at their young hero, the thought almost made her smile.

She had only just turned sixteen when her mentor had spoken those words, sixteen and so full of faith and anger. Only two short years older than the boy she now shielded.

Irony, she thought.

It seemed that the Maker had a great sense of irony.

Had Byron been here, he would have laughed at the situation that she now found herself in. She, his unruly and undisciplined student now forced to endure one of her own, with the fate of the world at stake.

Too young she thought.

He was far too young to have the fate of the world on his shoulders.

She knew what that was like; she had been too young when the events of the ten year gathering, now twenty years past, had forced her to grow up, to become both a woman and the Right Hand of the Divine. That had been her duty, nothing more. Robin had been more than eager to join this fight, far too eager, perhaps he saw only the glory he would win in the battlefield?

Such a thought turned her stomach.

Glory was for tales and songs. The boy needed to learn, just as she had.

What was happening here was no game.

He had been thrust into a dark and dangerous world, a world that crushed the innocence out of the most pious souls. He would need to fight, to sacrifice everything for those that would never thank him for it.

Just has she had, just as Galyan had.

The thought made her shudder.

It had not been right, she realized, it had not been fair.

Then again, life rarely was.

A rogue mage attacked the boy; a fireball flew from the man's staff. Robin brought up his shield; the rearing horse on its face took the brunt of the attack. Cassandra moved to engage the mage, but was cut off by one of their loyal soldiers. He met the mage blade against staff, but was struck down when the mage caught him with the mace that graced the war staff's end, the soldier died without a sound. His killer following him into death when an inquisition arrow caught the mage in the eye, and the whole time the Herald remained oblivious, too caught up in his duel with another Templar.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed.

Did the boy know that others were dying around him to shield him?

And even if he did, would he care?

Robin Trevelyan needed to be protected, she did not doubt that, but that did not mean that she would let him become oblivious to the deaths around him.

He is just a boy, she reminded herself.

He needs to learn.

"For Andraste!" he shouted again raising his red blade.

"FOR ANDRASTE!" the soldiers, the surviving soldiers, around him shouted as the made their final push against the rebel mages and Templars.

As the last of their enemies fell, she took silent tally of those they had lost, an archer here two warriors there.

Robin stood beside Varric as the Inquisition planted their banner in the ground of the crossroads.

Robin Trevelyan grinned widely, pleased with himself and this victory.

Cassandra frowned.

It fell to her to make sure that he understood that this was not all a game, that this was life and death.

She would make their young Herald understand.

Playing at war was for a child.

He no longer had that luxury.

He was the Herald of Andraste, a symbol of the Faith.

Being a boy was no longer an option.

He needed to become a man, a good and strong man.

It fell to her to make sure that he lived that long.

Maker help them all.