UNBOUNDHere on Unbound, our plot follows four different timelines, set throughout the canonical history of the Dragon Age. The events following Trespasser, the time of the Inquisition, the rise of the Champion of Kirkwall and the quest of the Warden against the Fifth Blight.
And So is the Golden City blackened
With each step you take in my Hall.
Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.
You have brought Sin to Heaven
And doom upon all the world.
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Free Marcher, Ostwick
Herald of Andraste
Father: Iwan Trevelyan [deceased]
Mother: Elain Trevelyan [deceased]
Eldest Brother: Garreth Trevelyan
Elder Sibling: Cyrus Trevelyan [mage]
Duel Wielding: expert
Double Daggers & Subterfuge
Most noble women are defined by the softness of their hands or the finery they wear, but Honor has never subscribed to the official definition of what a noble lady should be. Her hands are steady and nimble, roughly calloused and lined with thin scars from years of training with blade and bow. However, recently, a more prominent feature has begun to stand out at the exclusion of all else - a hand that can mend the tears in the fabric of their world. Touched by Andraste directly, it is a symbol of the Maker's favor and the righteousness of her new cause.
Always more susceptible to sickness than most, ever since she was a child, Honor is in good physical shape but prone to colds or bouts of the flu if she's not careful. Yet up until the Conclave, Honor's health was stable. Now, in addition to living in a snow-drenched and less-than-hygenic village, her time in the Fade has left her with memory loss, night terrors and insomnia. Sleep is fleeting and fitful when the very sky is being torn apart all around you. The mark on her hand is also painful, from time to time. Especially when close to the Breach.
“Send her in.”
Garreth Trevelyan was the eldest of his father’s three children. Noble, disciplined and everything that was expected of a Trevelyan heir. Already thirty-five and with a number of years tending to his family’s holding behind him, Garreth wore the burden of lordship on steady shoulders while his father’s ailing health deteriorated. He was a man his men were eager to serve. A man well loved by his people. A man any father would be proud to call his son.
Yet while he had all the wealth and power and influence granted to him by right of birth, he was not his father’s golden child. He was not her. Honor. His bright, gregarious, perfect sister. The youngest child of Iwan Trevelyan’s children, Honor had always been held in higher regard than her older siblings, at least to Garreth’s understanding. With himself absorbed in being groomed to take his father’s mantle and their middle sibling taken to the Circle at just eight-years-old, Iwan had put all of his fatherly affection towards his only daughter.
Perhaps it was because Honor had always been a sickly child. A bout of pneumonia when she was five had almost taken her from them and with Iwan’s spare taken to the Circle of Magi just one year prior it would have fallen to Honor to inherit should anything happen to Garreth. Henceforth, Iwan had doted on the little girl. Catered to her every interest, indulged every fantasy, while impressioning upon her his own love of history, botany and philosophy. On days when Garreth was locked up inside studying finances and toiling over ledgers, he could look out to the gardens to catch glimpses of Honor and their father playing with their blades or a new bow. Honor had been granted the luxury of pursuing any interest that struck her fancy, while her eldest brother had been saddled with the responsibility of one day ruling.
So when his father’s quavering voice beckoned for his precious Honor, Garreth’s voice was solemn. Dutiful, as always, even when resentment burned within him. “Yes, father.”
Honor paced the hallway, arms crossed defensively across her chest and thumb to her teeth, nail stubbed from hours of relentless worrying. The healers gave her pitying looks as they came and went, but no matter their sympathy for her predicament, her father had demanded privacy. Even from his favored child while he settled the last of his affairs. So she waited, lingering outside the door in a tangle of nervous energy and ears straining for any hint of her father’s voice from the other side.
Finally then, the door opened, wrenched in one stiff movement, and her brother filled the threshold. Garreth’s eyes were hard and rimmed in dark smudges that spoke of too little sleep, and Honor waited with bated breath for his word.
“He wishes to see you.”
Shoulders slumped as the air whooshed from her lungs and she plunged past him to her father’s bedside. Curtains had been pulled to ward off the harsh morning light and the room was dimly lit by one stout candle. It smelt of healing herbs, but stale with sickness. Honor didn’t mind. All that mattered was this precious little time with her father.
“Nora, your kerchief.”
Iwan’s voice, wilted and raspy, nearly broke her on the spot. To see her strong, proud, hearty father reduced to...to this was beyond painful. “I’m alright, papa. The healers -”
There was no denying her father’s insistence, not now or ever, and Honor obeyed, taking the kerchief from the pocket of her gown and holding it to her nose and mouth. As if it would stave off whatever sickness that was laying him low. The healers had told her that the illness was not contagious, but her father had always taken extra precautions with his daughter ever since she was young. So she would oblige him in this final hour and her free hand grasped his, skin withered and calloused, as if a simple touch could anchor him to this world for just a little bit longer.
That was how it always was, wasn’t it? One more story, papa! Just a little bit longer. Can’t I stay outside, just a little bit longer? Stay with me, papa. Just a little bit longer.
“There is something I need of you, firebug.” Iwan squeezed her hand, what strength he once had merely a ghost now.
Honor’s voice was thick and she swallowed past the lump knotting in her throat. “Anything.”
Her quick agreement seemed to amuse her father and his chuckle crackled like a dry log over a dying fire. “My little Nora, always so quick to enter a bargain without even knowing the terms terms first.”
It was such a relief to see some little spark of the old Iwan back that she found a smile behind her handkerchief, but it still felt taut with grief. He could have asked her to walk through fire and she would have done it if just to please him. “Teasing at a time like this.” She scolded, a frail attempt at some familiarity even as her world seemed to be unraveling around her. Yet she still hadn’t asked his terms. There was no need. They both knew that she would carry his final wish out no matter what it was.
“There is a peace summit being held at the Temple of Andraste in Ferelden to hopefully end this ghastly war.” A fit of coughing interrupted Iwan’s explanation and Honor’s fingers squeezed his, offering silent comfort until he could compose himself. “You...I would like you to accompany your cousins when they go. Maker knows they could do to have a voice of reason amongst the lot of them.”
Honor did not relish the thought of leaving, especially at a time such as this, but her father's concerns for their family were well founded and he trusted her to attend what would surely be a defining moment in their history in their family's name. She would not disappoint him.
“Of course, papa.”
THIS IS HONOR.
SHE IS A TROLL.