Work Text:
“You’re here often.”
Maxwell looks up from the dusty tome on his lap. “Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not.” Blackwall looks at him, then at the overturned bucket he’s sitting on, and then at the white-flecked golden chestnut horse standing next to him, dozing on its feet. “Just didn’t think you’re the type to, well-”
“My family breeds horses when they’re not breeding new servants for Ostwick and the Chantry,” he says wryly. “Or are you talking about the reading? I like both, so why not here?”
Blackwall just stares at him and he considers retreating to the tavern, though he knows that Sera and Bull’s Chargers will eventually distract him from his book. The library would be an obvious alternative but he tends to stare at the Tevinter mage across the rotunda from him instead of at the words on the pages of the book in his hands. His quarters are cozy but too quiet and lonely, and the herb garden and courtyard are too full of people.
The Warden shakes his head. “That, I didn’t expect.”
“I am from a noble family.”
“I met plenty of younger sons and daughters of noble families during my years recruiting for my Order. Most of them aren’t as level-headed or learned as you are.”
“I was the only child in the house after my sister was taken to the Circle. It was either read every book in Father’s library or prank the servants until Mother drags me away by the ear.”
“Sister?”
Maxwell nods. He hasn’t seen Evelyn since before he left for the Conclave with Ostwick’s representatives, and the last letter he read from her and their two templar siblings was right before Redcliffe and Haven’s destruction.
“Evie. Well, Evelyn, but I always call her Evie. She’s older by two and a half years, and the best friend I had until she set a cousin on fire for bullying me. Off to the Circle she went, like all good mages do.”
“And when the war broke out?”
“We have a sister and brother in the Templar Order; they rescued her and several other mages. Soon as I heard what happened, I went and joined them.”
Blackwall’s rather incredulous expression hasn’t gone away. “What did your family think of that?”
“I don’t know. I suppose they were too distracted to pay attention. We have Trevelyans in the Chantry, the templars, and the Circle. Them splitting up and fighting each other was… well, a mess. Besides, my parents already have Adelyn and Edric to carry on the family titles and lands. I could afford to run off and help Evie and Edmund hide from rogue templars.”
“Edmund being… ?”
“Second brother and a mage. He was-” And the words abruptly clog up at the back of his throat.
Edmund had split ways with them not long after the Circles fell and Maxwell ran into him in Haven the night before the Conclave. Edmund had aged significantly, with lines and scars marking his face and hands, but his dark gray eyes were fierce and proud with what he lived through and fought for.
“A shame you come as a face of Ostwick’s chantry, though I’m sure it wasn’t your choice,” he had said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s hope these talks end well for the both of us, eh?”
A tear dots the open book and Maxwell wipes it away with a thumb. He stares at the straw bedding in the stall, not wanting to show the Warden his face. “Edmund died at the Conclave. Don’t know if the others know. Been letting Josephine handle that.”
Having grown up knowing he’ll shoulder none of the responsibilities of House Trevelyan, Maxwell found being thrust into the role of the Inquisitor was a bit like trying to run from an avalanche of snow and rock. He knows enough about politicking to survive a formal dinner with half of the Free Marches’ ruling families but not this, not actual and fake Trevelyans vying for his attention and favor when he’s trying to keep up with Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, Cassandra, and every known city-state kingdom, and empire in Thedas. He has forces to command, expeditions to lead, dignitaries to meet, information to gather, an entire world to save. He doesn’t have time for these seemingly petty things he wasn’t groomed for.
“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Blackwall suddenly says.
Maxwell looks up at him, confused.
“I tell you about myself, about the work I do, what my life was like,” the man says, picking his words with care. “We all talk to you about who we are, what we can offer you and the Inquisition. But you don’t say anything about yourself. I’ve been fighting at your side for several weeks now and I didn’t know you lost a brother at the Conclave.”
“Leliana knows but then she knows everything. I don’t… talk about myself because I have nothing to say. I’m the Herald, the Inquisitor, that one person who can save the world. That’s all that matters.”
“Stop selling yourself short,” Blackwall says, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “Your past made you who you are now - a great swordsman, a fair leader, and a good man. You don’t have to tell us everything, but just know that we’re here to listen if you ever need a pair of ears.”
He smiles, warmed by Blackwall’s offer. “Thank you. If I ever need to shout at someone about some great-uncle I had never even heard of begging for a some foolish favor, I’ll come find you.”
The older man chuckles and shakes his head. “If that’s what you need.” He leans on the stall door, attention sliding to the book in Maxwell’s lap. “So, what is our esteemed Inquisitor currently reading?”
“History,” Maxwell says simply and turns the page.
Blackwall’s eyes narrow at the illustration on the left page. “Ancient Tevinter history. Really?”
His cheeks color a traitorous red against gold-hued skin. “Not a word.”
Blackwall walks away with a laugh, not seeing Maxwell scowl at his back. Maxwell then looks at the Tantervale war horse as it shuffles over to him and lips at his hand, begging for the apples he stuffed in his pockets. There was a basket of them sitting at his door, waiting for him to trip over it on his way out, but he’s sure Cole meant well.
“This is why I read here,” he tells the horse while feeding it a bright red apple. “Nobody bothers you or judges you for your reading material.”
The horse snorts at him.