"The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us"

Laurel Trevelyan

She was named for a flower and by the look of her, you could see why. She held beauty, but like the flower she also held a secret. Under the pretty petals lay a strength and a deadly poison if you dared to cross her.

Born in 9:12 on the 30th day of Drakonis to a Bann, she was the only girl in a brood full of boys. She was the last Trevelyan child, born 4th. To her parents, this meant no choice of fate. As the youngest, she was the "sacrifice"; their gift to the Chantry. It was Trevelyan tradition, long-standing in the line. Regardless of personal feelings or wishes, it was her responsibility to serve the Chantry in whatever way her parents would decide. The oldest was to be the heir and the youngest the servant. It was that simple. Except that it wasn't.

For the first time, at least in "recorded" history, a last born Trevelyan dared to defy her parents. Laurel suspected there had been more like her, but they had been conveniently left out of the record books, or erased from the family tree. She might as well have defied Andraste herself the way her parents had reacted. They were devastated. And angry, she'd never seen them so angry. For years she dreaded the name day she would turn 18 and be forced into a life of boredom. It wasn't that she wasn't religious, she was! But she knew that she didn't belong in the Chantry. It was just not the fate that was chosen for her by Andraste or the Maker or whatever was out there pulling on mortals' strings. So the day before her name day, she told them. She told them she would not be joining the Chantry, that she wouldn't be forced into a life she didn't feel she belonged in, whatever the consequences. Her parents were upset to say the least. She wasn't sure if they would have the heart to disown her, if she would be allowed to stay, or if they would drag her to the Chantry kicking and screaming. Whatever the consequences, Laurel knew in her heart that it would be better than the celibate life of a Priest or the flat life of a Chanter. That couldn't be her.

Gared, her closest brother in age and bond, had become a Templar. She had confided in him over the years, the only person she could truly share her feelings with. Gared was the one to suggest the possibility that maybe she could have a choice and not join the Chantry. He had always been concerned with her happiness and safety. Though he would not say why, he had one request. Whatever decision she ultimately made, he had made her promise never to consider the path of a Templar. Gared had been a part of the order for 4 years now, enough time for Laurel to know he must have had a good reason to keep her away. Ever her protector, he had stood with her that day while breaking the news to their parents. He'd gotten permission to leave the Ostwick circle for a few days, able to convince his superiors he was desperately needed at home. Gared certainly had a way with words, usually able to sway the opinions of even the most stubborn. A skill that was particularly useful on that name day. Once again he had saved Laurel, able to convince their parents that her decision didn't break tradition. Technically he was the youngest son and one of the youngest Trevelyans, and his life was already dedicated to the Chantry through the Templar Order. He convince them he had already fulfilled their commitment to the Chantry, leaving Laurel free to pursue another life. But what life was that?

Laurel found it quite easy to figure out what she didn't want for her life, but she had spent so much of it so certain she was headed for doom and unhappiness that she never thought about what she actually did want for it. She was a noblewoman. If she didn't join the Chantry, she knew what the next expectation of her would be: a marriage. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so boring, not nearly the same as the Chantry would have been. And there could be certain perks to look forward to if she could at least find a man handsome enough. It certainly didn't take long for her parents to suggest the idea. By the time her 19th name day came a year later she had been forced to attend nearly 40 parties, almost a dozen suitors had been invited to the Trevelyan estate, and she had been in 2 short-lived courtships, all her parents doing. She had already disappointed them once. Sweet Andraste, she wasn't about to do it again! She knew it would be time to make a decision soon, but no one had really shown much promise, no one was quite handsome enough, interesting enough, charming or witty enough. Not until that day.

It was the day of the Grand Tourney, the Marches' most celebrated event. Laurel had attended each year, and every year she looked on in envy and excitement as each participant competed. Her parents would never allow her to do something so improper for a lady, but that didn't sway her determination to one day compete, even if in a small event. She had learned a few fighting skills, mostly by following her older brothers to their lessons, but her parents had tried to make sure her training was very limited. She always followed Gared on the days of his lessons, and he always encouraged her. She believed if her parents had known the extent of her skills that they would have been quite shocked and probably quite angry. After all, they had groomed her for a nice, proper life in the Chantry. Her oldest two brothers Adam and Caleb had a tendency to pick on her when they were younger. Gared would always step in and incur their wrath upon himself and Laurel was determined to be able to defend herself one day. She would never forget the day in the stables Adam had crossed her once more and how he left with a bloodied nose. It was her first of many victories. Over the years she had learned how to fight, how to use a sword and daggers, and a bow. The only real skill her parents would actually let her practice openly was her archery.

The day of the tourney, Laurel made her decision, this was it; she was entering a tourney contest today whether they liked it or not. She'd done so many bold things over the past year. She was feeling brave and she was determined to experience this once before she'd be bound to some boring Marcher noble who'd no doubt feel the same way as her parents about the behavior of a lady. That morning she dressed in a simple brown coat made of bear skin and put on an old cowl she'd bought from a dwarf selling things out of a trunk. Before breakfast she slipped out of her tent unnoticed, guessing it would take until the afternoon for anyone to notice she was gone. After purchasing a bow from an out of the way stand, she made her way to enter the archery event. It wasn't her favorite, but she was quite good at it and it was the safest bet. Her parents didn't watch the archery displays and she could come away without any evidence in the form of cuts or bruises. Her thoughts were what they don't know won't hurt them, right?

She approached the registration table. A large burly man with black greasy hair and a long burn scar across his cheek sat at the table with a quill and paper. He barely glanced up from his paper when she approached. Laurel froze, was she really doing this? He finally grew impatient with her silence and looked up at her with a look of sheer annoyance.

"Name and event?"

Shit! She hadn't thought of that, they announce each contestant's name, she couldn't register with her real name. What they don't know won't hurt them, remember.

"Are you deaf or dumb or a bloody mute? Name?"

She thought of something quickly, "It's..um..Lora". Well that wasn't very original she thought.

"And is Um your first name or your last name? Or am I safe in assuming your first name is Lora and you've forgotten your surname?"

'Um' wouldn't work would it? No that's stupid. Something else. She took a deep breath as she thought of something. "Yes, my name is Lora…ga…it's Lora Gareth and I'd like to enter the archery tournament."

"Oh really, I couldn't have guessed that from the large bow on your back. Next!" What an arse.

It was an hour until the first qualifying event. Laurel made her way to practice field. Time to break in the new bow. Laurel couldn't believe what she'd just done, what she was doing. It was quite liberating but also terrifying. She had no idea how she would answer if she were caught. She drew her first arrow from the quiver on her back, ready to take aim. "Lady Tevelyan?" a voice questioned just as she released her fingers from the string. Her arrow was sent veering off to the left, far from its mark. Maker's balls! She tried to look away, focusing on loading her next arrow, pretending the name was not her own. But again she heard her name. Laurel glanced up pulling back her cowl to see who spoke her name, but it wasn't a face she was familiar with. A young man stood at the next target leaning with both hands on an upright bow with its end dug into the dirt. He was quite a striking man. He was handsome and tall, the type of sculpted face she'd only seen in paintings or statues before. His smile was large and warm and a little bit crooked and his teeth were well taken care of. His hair the color of chocolate with a slight curl. Dashing and well dressed, obviously a noble, but also a bit rugged and unshaven. He was attractive to say the least. She noticed her gaze was starting to linger.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

He chuckled. "Ah, apologies! We haven't actually spoken before, m'lady. I've seen you before, at a party once. In Wycome. I never worked up the nerve to speak with you and introduce myself."

He didn't seem like the shy type. "Well now is your chance." she teased. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name. May I know yours?"

"Of course." He smirked. "Oliver Carnwell. Just a minor Lord of Wycome. You've probably never heard of me."

It was true, she had never heard his name before. But the Free Marches were large and she'd only been to Wycome a few times in her life. "Well, Oliver, I do apologize, but you quite startled me when you said my name. Although I am obviously not doing a very good job of it, I was trying to disguise myself," Laurel admitted as she laughed at herself.

He looked intrigued. "And Lady Laurel, why would you be disguising yourself? Hiding from someone?'

"My family. I've entered the tournament and they would not approve. I suppose I was silly enough to think a cowl and registering under a false name would protect me," she said as she looked down towards her feet.

"Well m'lady, I admit I may have stared a bit longer than I should have when I saw an attractive young lady standing at the next practice stall. I'd been there for a few minutes before I determined where I'd seen you before," he almost too eagerly admitted.

Was he trying to flirt? She looked up from her feet, biting her lip, trying to hide her growing smile. "Oh, then I suppose my ruse may work after all if I can just keep the lechers from staring."

He laughed. "Not a word I've ever heard myself called before, but I suppose I deserved it. I'll take my leave m'lady and let you practice since I seem to be such a distraction," he chuckled pointing at her arrow in the dirt. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, turning her way with a grin. "I do hope we meet again, perhaps on the games field. Maybe your arrow will find its target more easily, or perhaps I can use my charm and good looks as a distraction again."

Oh he is a charmer, isn't he? Laurel couldn't help but let out a giggle. "Well Lord Carnwell, if you distract me too much you may end up with an arrow in your arse."

He let out a bellowing laugh. "Lady Tevelyan, I'd be honored to be shot in the arse by you if you swore to help me nurse the wound." He began to walk away and turned back again. "Please do find me again after the competition."

"Perhaps I will" she said.

And that was it, the first time she met Oliver Carmwell.