Sister, what have you done?
I believed we made it, I honestly thought something better could come of this long and gruesome nightmare. When sister managed to pursuade the nobles, when they rejected the chanty...
More then once, I've already clearly seen all our heads on spikes in the past month. And yet, the wounds had started to heal, quite literally in most cases. After what our family has been put through, I thought we had finally found some peace, some time to mend the scars that have been haunting us since we fled from Lothering.
They say that magic is a curse of the maker. And as much as I do not want to accept that, I cannot help, but feel that our family has been cursed beyond salvation. A curse that's claimed mother and father. And as things stand, a curse that will inevitably consume me and my sisters, regardless of how valiant we struggle.
Another Inspector from the chantry arrived today. I don't know who they are – they ride with the chantries sigils, but 'm sure they're no templars. They've come many times in the past few month, and I admit they make much better negotiators then most templars would. We had agreed to let them in. After all, we've had little to hide from them, but battered, but blossoming circle. They've been more then inquisitive, as was to be expected after all that's happened. But so far, they've never once been hostile. Not until today.
That woman from the chantry, a stern, dark tanned soldier that had accompanied their delegations a few times already... the bitch made an attempt on my sisters life!
She waited, dragged my sister off under false pretense, wanting to discuss the circle uprising, the Knight Commanders death, for the dozenth time. And as soon as they were alone, in some study in one of the wings that we put out of commission, after the battle...
We only heard a distant explosion. When I got there, the room was a right mess, shattered by the powers that had been unleashed within. As much as I doubt he's listening in times like these, I thank the maker that the cowardly assailant underestimated my sisters strength. She survived, even if the chantries would-be killer cut deeply into my sisters back.
On the cowards body, charred and twisted by magic, we found no less then four hidden daggers, and enough lyrium to go toe to toe with a dozen senior mages. A wonder that sis even managed to fend of such a foe.
She's still resting, even if her wound has been closed. The one on her back anyway, as none of the healers have been able to properly tend to the cursed cut that Meredith' sword took to her face. She's still upset, deeply shaken by this accident. We all are. The Assassin carried no notes on her, nothing that could lighten her motives. Of course, everything that we've done, everything we've build is a thorn in the chantries side, an open defiance of their authority. But after month of inspections hat turned up nothing, after endless days of peaceful conference and mediation, did they really resort to such a desperate measure? The way I understood them, we merely needed the grand clerics official acknowledgment of the new state of affairs.
And even if the chantry was really desperate enough to topple our success, to fall back on petty murder... what was there to gain by killing my sister? It would have been an act of gruesome provocation at the very best.
Not that it matters anymore. I'm more then thankful that my sister survived, I really am. But at the same time, that petty part of me wants to blame her. If the Assassin had just survived, maybe we could've... But with the chantries official ambassador, dead at our feet, there is nothing we can do to prevent the inevitable. As much as Thrask tries to hold up the morale, as much I want to hope for the best...
We're cursed. Me, my sisters. All of us. We really are.
-Taken from "Redemption of a Templar" by Ser Carver Hawke, first published 9:41 Dragon, declared heretic by the chantry 9:42 Dragon