@nighttimefriend from here
“So,” the warrior mused, “yer Mum might yet be livin’. Fer all I know, mine could be as well. She left me t’ be raised by the Chantry, so young I don’t remember her at all. ‘Taint t’ say she done wrong by me. I wasn’t the first brat...or the last...to be dropped off at the Chantry because there was too many mouths t’ feed, er whatever.”
“And ‘twasn’t bad, not in the beginnin’. I never had a problem with the lay folk, sisters or brothers. B’sides teachin’ me t’ read and write and do sums, and nursin’ me through coughs and fevers, ‘twas them who did all the cookin’ and cleanin’ and mendin’, and a lot of it there was, in a Chantry the size o’ Kirkwall’s. Those folk were as close to a mother as I ever knew, just as Knight Commander Guylian was the closest to a father.”
“I know,” he said, waving a hand. “Heard it all. Guylian was dull as a rock. He was too old, too lyrium-addled, almost as senile as Divine Beatrix. And yeah, he did give in to Beatrix when he shouldn’t have. But ain’t that what a good Templar’s supposed t’ do? All through our training it gets hammered into us that Andraste speaks through the Divine. So if there’s a conflict, and the Divine asks somethin’ of ya, how can ya refuse? Because of course the Divine don’t play favorites...”
He smiled a bit sheepishly. “But...I ain’t here t’ give y’ another lecture about the Chantry. They’re all set t’ topple on their own, with no help from me. I’ve...been sent back. T’help ya deal with a certain...Wolf.”