Pathetic. Simply pathetic. Here I am, emptying my soul onto paper, the third time now, like some noble girl complaining about love sickness. But if, by some cruel joke of fate, these lines eventually find their way into the hands of a willing reader, do not judge me too harshly. For what I'm forced to witness is to much for a single soul to bear, yet speaking up insight these walls might well cost me more then just position and status.
I know full well what magic can do, what suffering this most terrible among the makers curses brings with it. My father was an apostate, fled from the circle before I was born. And while I myself was lucky enough to escape the makers wrath, his accursed blood has been inherited to both my sisters. It would be unfair, to blame my father for me taking up the shield of a templar, even though even my namesake was one. My father was a good man. A good man, taken from us far too early. But still, I cannot deny, that the curse of magic has certainly left it's mark on my life, perhaps a mark greater then even the blight that drove us from our home in Lothering.
I'll admit, in more then one night I've lain sleepless, cursing the fact that I too payed the price for something I myself had nothing to do with. The life of an apostate isn't easy, and neither is escaping the templars. I'll even admit, I myself might have cast more complains about our fate, then either of my sisters ever have. First of all, I've seen just how fearsome a curse magic is, in the hand of those able and willing to use it. I saw the powers that my sisters unleashed on the darkspawn, when we ran from the blight. Maker, even when that power saved my life, it is more, way more power then any mortal should wield. My father was a good man, a mage that showed remarkable restraint for all his life, where any lesser man would have long used such powers for personal gain. Magic is to server man, never to rule over him. Such is what Andraste the prophet set in stone as the first law of magic. Few mages understand that, but my father did, and for what it's worth, he passed that legacy on to his daughters. In the past few years, since I finally decided to join the templars, since I finally took my fate into my own hands, I've seen what magic does, what it really does. What it does, when wielded by those that do not posses the honor of my father, or kind hearts of my sisters. As a matter of fact, I've never seen a mage outside the circles bounds, that bowed to the makers will, that was not part of my family. And who knows, if I am a fair judge of their behavior, if that's not what everyone would think about a mage they shared their crib with. Despite what my father might have said, the circle is a good thing. It's a necessity. Even Bethany saw that, when she surrendered herself to the circle three year ago. But, maker forgive me, I am starting to doubt.
Things haven't exactly been kindly between me and my elder sister. Not since our father died. Now I know what she did, how she tried to replace him with all her might. Something like that isn't easy to accept for a younger brother. It is only now, that I know what burden she was carrying, all this time. Now that this burden, trying to defend your family, and to protect it in times as cruel as these, has fallen to me. When I first heard she was eventually discovered, that both my sisters were now part of the circle, I did not even seek her out. I didn't, until yesterday. A little over a month, after the Qunari uprising, when Kirkwall just so settled down again, our mother fell prey to a bloodmage, a despicable creature, dwelling in the sewers, kidnapping women as mere resources for his crooked rituals. Eventually, he was discovered, eventually the templars brought him down, even if it came at the cost of good lives. Regardless, they came to late to make a difference for our mothers fate.
Attending the funeral, between uncle Gamlens hypocrisy and Bethanys weeping was bad enough. But my elder sister wasn't even there. Of course she wasn't. I could, no I should have known that she did not stay absent voluntarily, that the rules of the circle strictly prohibit an apostate brought in so recently to leave the gallows walls. But part of me, perhaps the part that could not accept loosing another parent so soon, wanted to lay the blame at my sisters feet. For getting caught even, for not being there when mother needed protection. Like I layed blame at my sisters feet so often, over the past few years, whenever I myself failed to escape from the clutches of misfortune.
Even though it just happened yesterday, right now I am unable to tell, what I expected to see, when I pushed open the door to my sisters cell. The same sister mind you, that even after I joined the templars, managed to grab all the glory for herself. The same person, that singlehandedly slew the Arishok, while I was just another templar, fighting Qunari in the streets. The same person, that pushed me out of harms way, to take on an ogre all by herself. Whatever I expected to see, it will have been far from the truth, in all it's heart wrangling cruelty. I entered the wing where they keep the dangerous, and the recently caught apostates for the first time that day. To find my sister in a cell, of six square foot at most, nothing in it but a small chest and bed, bare walls and a single window. Or rather, discovering a person only barely reminiscent of my sister. The hair a right mess, the eyes almost as red, the cheeks hollow and the skin pale as virgin snow. I dare not fathom, what kind of experience, what kind of abuse brought her, no broke her down to such a state.
Maker, I've cursed her countless times for making me feel helpless, for being able where I was not. But never in my life, not in the face of the maleficar, not in the face of darkspawn have I felt as helpless as in that very moment, holding my sister in my arms. The sister that had not shed a single tear since father died, sobbing without a single trace of dignity left.
Maker, I know how often I prayed for the opportunity, to snatch the duty of leading, of protecting the family back from her. But not like this. It was never supposed to be like this.
Maker preserve us all, I am starting to doubt.
-Taken from "Redemption of a Templar" by Ser Carver Hawke, first published 9:41 Dragon, declared heretic by the chantry 9:42 Dragon