To my sister, apparently now called "Her Worship Lady Inquisitor Herald" or something,
Only you would leave for a peace conference and come out of it a religious figure leading a growing army of the Chantry's faithful! I know you're the youngest Trevelyan, Mel, but if you wanted attention you could've just participated in the Grand Tourney under a different name-Oh, wait, you already did that. I suppose starting a quasi-religious movement was the next best thing.
I'm glad to hear you're in one piece. We all are. When we heard that the entire village of Haven fucking exploded, Mother was hysterical and Father didn't speak to anyone-it was the worst news any of us had ever gotten, and they didn't know what to do. Helena didn't take it too well, though I couldn't tell much just from letters. Willem is...well, you know. Willem. And there was just a single letter from Jeyne, which we were lucky to even receive considering how she's a nomadic apostate these days. But you're alive, and we're grateful.
Mother's over my shoulder whinging at me as I speak...she wants me to "write down what I say word for word, Garlan Lawrence Trevelyan! I know you can hear me!" But basically, she's glad you're okay and she wants you to write home more.
It's a bit quieter without you-you were always good at handing out orders, delegating, but at the same time never making anyone feel beneath you. I assume you're putting that to use in the Inquisition.
Keep yourself safe, alright? We all want to hear your stories in person-you always tell them best.
Sincerely,
Garlan Trevelyan
To the most annoying brother in the world,
It's not like I wasn't going to write, it's just. . .
Alright fine, you've got me. Every time I had time-which wasn't often, seriously!-I'd just sit at my writing desk, unable to even think of a proper salutation, much less a way to explain what's been happening. Yes, I'm the Inquisitor, and yes there's a crazed magister out to make that hole in the sky even bigger, but that's not even an inch of this mile-long mess, and it'd take me that much paper to explain it all.
(And will you ever let me live down the Grand Tourney in 9:37? I did well!)
I didn't mean to get caught up in all this, Garlan. It all happened so fast. . .and now look at me. Big glowing magic mark on my hand, leading an army, and hanging on by the skin of my damn teeth. I'm glad that everyone at home is alright. Mother is. . .as fine as can be expected, which is exactly what I expected. I'm hoping that Father is. . .proud of me? Is that too much to ask? Probably.
So much is expected of me in this role, Garlan. So much. Every choice I make matters far too much, from rubbing elbows at the Winter Palace to taking out bandits on the coast to choosing what kind of bed I want in my room (it's a four-poster that I had imported from Markham, by the way. I've never really been one to ask for much, but this is the one thing I wanted for me). If you have any pointers, I'd welcome them.
Now that you've called me out on it, I promise to try to write more. Really!
Love,
Mel