Why hello there – as a matter of fact this project hasn't quite died off yet, but between real life and work and studies eating me up, time has been scarce. Now that my first book is out of the door, and I'm officially too lazy to do the revisions or start the next one right away, I might find the time for some updates here.
My friend, you must take us all for fools, for the actions we took that day. I'm sure the rest of Ferelden surely does. Lying on my deathbed, I fear I will soon find out, if the maker may forgive the sins, that mortals can not.
I do not make you write these lines to atone, and I will not ask you, or anyone who reads this, to excuse our actions, and what they unleashed upon Thedas. But maybe, just maybe I can hope to explain why we acted the way we did, why did not see a better choice before us.
They came to me, late that night. A soldier from the city watch, banging on my door, urging me to come to the Viscounts Keep with great haste. I know, I hesitated to oblige, and I know that if nothing else, my sense of duty, as appointed recording clerk of the city council, got the better of me. That I followed the Guardsman into the Night, even though he seemed as confused about the late night gathering as I was.
Still, I arrived at the keep as one of the last noblemen, and none of my fellow council members seemed to even have a clue on who called for this gathering, or why. More notable however, wasn't the presence of the other members of the council, but the absence, not only of the Knight Commander, but of any templars whatsoever in the room, and even the keep as a whole. In a time where the templars all but ran the city, their absence was as welcome as it was discouraging. Though it wasn't for long, that a young, dark haired templar entered, a templar that judging by the state of his attire had seen battle, not too long ago. And holding to the templars shoulder, she entered. The champion of Kirkwall. For month, we had caught glimpses of her, between the mages' delegations to the council, and she had looked sickish back then, but those images didn't even compare, to the state that young lady Amell was in, that night. Her robes torn, and stained, her fiery hair a wild mess. Improvised bandages, glistening with red, covering her right hand, and drawn across her face. Mind you, in days where the Kirkwall mages faced tranquility for so much as grazing their fingers. But even though all the blood seemed to have left her face, in favor of the bandage covering her cheek, nose and forehead, even though lady Amell barely looked like she belonged into the world of the living anymore, she had regained something that had seemed lost for so long. Maybe I am desperate to give her more credit then is due, maybe my memory is failing me, but she seemed to have regained the charisma, the battle torn beauty, that had so captured all of us, when we first saw her fight the Arishok. Maybe it is true, what the poets say. That some people only truly come alive in the heat of battle, that there are persons destined for violence.
But I digress. As you can probably guess, the moment the unlikely pair entered, the gathered nobleman erupted in uproar, demanding explanation, demanding answers. The templar simply helped lady Amell reach the chair, the one at the head of the table, the one reserved for the night commander. And with a single movement of her hand, the champion of Kirkwall silenced us all. No magic had been worked, just a single throw, a golden piece of metal, flung to the middle of the table. A piece of jewelry we recognized all too well. The Knight Commanders Crown, or rather, half of it, drenched in blood.
Whatever madness may have taken hold of us, we listened as she started talking. As she spoke of a massacre at the circle. Of the Knight Commander loosing her mind, of the templars fighting among themselves, of most of the circles inhabitants dead or wounded. And yet she did not fail to assure us, time and time again, that the circle remained functional, that the remaining templars and mages had restored order and peace, and that they'd remain in the gallows for now. And we believed her, every single word she spoke.
And even more, she warned us. That the chantry would not take the death of a Knight Commander lightly. That more templars would come. Not interested in order or peace, but with the intend of continuing on, where the mad Knight Commander had stopped. She adjured us, to think of the month behind us, of the power that the templars had accumulated beyond their due. And to this day I cannot even call her a liar. Just mere weeks before the incident, the templars had stormed the Launcet mansion, arresting Lord Launcet, the owner of half of Kirkwalls harbor, on no more grounds then some trouble his mage firstborn supposedly caused. Of course his business was no in chantry hand, like so many others.
Lady Amell merely put into words, what we were all fearing, that new templars would come, that they'd use this incident as an excuse to take over what little of the city had remained in it's rightful owners hands. Can you blame us, for giving in, when she offered us a way out? I will never forget her words. "If you wish to surrender, we will all be gone this night" she said. " But magic is to serve man" she said. "So let us stand by your side, let us help you defend your... our home, from those that seek to take it."
Maker preserve our souls, we believed her.
-Taken from the memoirs of Friedrich of Reinhardt, 9:46 Dragon