III. MELISENDE
Dire bunny,
Fergus is stifling me. I am glad to be away, to finally be walking the road again. I told him the truth, yet he still badgered me. Yes, I am grieving for Tristan. He was my best friend after all. But I wasn't about to tell Fergus that I had slept with Tristan's brother and then told the poor guy that he was nothing. Ronan never deserved that. It hadn't been what I meant to say. I was a fool in my cups, grieving for my friend.
"Last time you were here, you were so in love," Fergus had the nerve to tell me. As if I didn't already know, brother. Maybe I didn't tell him the whole truth, but it wasn't the time or the place. The whole truth is this, dire bunny: last time I was home with Nathaniel, I was in love. But I didn't know that there was someone named Ronan in the world. Now, I don't know anything.
Everyone thinks I am the one to look out for, to protect, that I am the one that will be hurt. But they don't know any better. Tristan thought Ronan would hurt me, but I hurt Ronan. Fergus thought Nathaniel had hurt me, but I hurt Nathaniel, though he still walks around unaware that I have betrayed him. It is getting harder to keep quiet. When I woke up, I promised I would never tell him. But now, I am beginning to think it is crueler not to tell him.
If only Tristan were here. He would have given me the advice I so desperately need. But he is not here. He is dead, his body lying somewhere in the sea, lifeless. Bloated and unrecognizable probably. Maybe even torn to pieces by hungry fish.
Oh, dire bunny, how it shames me to think of him so. You must stop me from writing things like that in the future. I could cross it out, but it will be there still, and I will know it. So there's no use in doing that.
I think, instead, it would please me very much to tell you of the day I met Tristan. To remember him how he should be remembered.
It was right after I fled home. Right after father thrust me into the world, into the care of Duncan, to save my life. But there was a price to pay for my safety; I had to become a Grey Warden. I had never thought to become one of these legendary warriors, but it was not something I would ever have refused. There was nothing I ever wanted more than a life of adventure. The timing was all wrong, though. I had wanted to stay with father and mother, to protect them, to take vengeance on Arl Howe then and there. But Duncan dragged me to Ostagar.
On our way south, Duncan took a detour to Kinloch Hold, otherwise known as the Circle Tower. I did not wish to go into that tower though. It looked so depressing and I had no wish to further darken my mood. Instead, I saw the tavern, the Spoiled Princess. Somehow, and to this day I still do not know how I did it, but I convinced Duncan to let me stay behind in the tavern while he went into the Circle Tower.
I was tempted to drown my grief in that awful tasting ale. I was weak even back then, dire bunny. But at the same time, I was also stronger. I took one taste of the awful brew and thought better of my desire. If only all ale could taste that way to me, I would have no problem keeping my wits about me. Unfortunately, I think my tongue has since become immune to foul tasting ale.
Anyway, a few hours later, Duncan came back with a sullen looking mage with the nicest blue eyes I'd ever seen and a golden flame coloured braid. It was Tristan Amell. It was days before I actually spoke to him, for neither of us were in a mood to talk.
I studied him from afar, trying to forget about my home being destroyed, about what I would tell Fergus if I ever saw him again. It helped a little. Tristan was tall, broad shouldered, and surprisingly built for a mage. Though, he did look ridiculous in mage robes. I applaud the day he put on armour, mostly for his sake, but also for mine. He was a lot more pleasing to look at dressed normally. I wasn't used to men in robes, still am not. All I see is Aldous when I see a man in robes.
In any case, one day I decided to challenge Tristan, thinking I could easily take my frustration out on him. After all, he was only a mage, right dire bunny? He was big and so probably slow, and being a mage, he probably couldn't even hold a sword properly. He wouldn't possibly be able to defeat me in swordplay. But I was wrong. Terribly and utterly wrong, in fact. Tristan held his own and battered me to the ground very easily. It's no wonder Duncan had watched the whole thing with a slight smirk on his face.
After he upstaged me, I asked him where he'd learned to do that. He told me there was a Templar who showed him some moves when he was a child, on his way to the Circle Tower. The Templar gave him a wooden sword to calm him and Tristan had practiced in secret ever since. I remember clearly what I said to him: "And the moment you face a real person, you're amazing. Not fair."
Tristan had laughed. We never looked back after that. We became the best of friends, confiding in one another and comforting each other. Sure, we had rough patches. There were times when I had wanted to thrash him. Like the time he arranged for Alistair and Anora to marry without telling me, or the time he forgot to tell me about a certain Howe at the Keep. Stupid as it was, he was only trying to spare me, to protect me. Tristan had, in the end, always been there for me, even if I had to chase him all over Ferelden and bring him home first.
Tristan would have given me reassurances, pointers, anything on how to deal with this situation I find myself in. But he cannot.
Can you, dire bunny?
I've paused writing long enough for you to write an answer to me. You haven't. I thought that might happen. After all, you are only a book, a bunch of empty papers waiting to be filled by my hand.
I guess I will have to figure it out on my own.