The Pot Calling the Kettle Black

When they departed the Knight-Commander's office Helena's aggravation manifested in her long, quick strides and spear-like looks. Not only had Maricara escaped the shelter of the Starkhaven circle, but Helena was expected to hunt her down with a circle mage? The Seeker doubted this woman, Bethany Hawke, would be anything but a hindrance to make her own mission more difficult. Circle Mages were no apostates, but, they were not nearly as disciplined, stringent, and trustworthy as those that had climbed with the Templars, or better yet, with the Seekers. For when circle Mages wandered, it was the Templars who kept them in line. And when Templars wandered, it was Helena Prieskorn who snuffed them out. 

She stomped to the stables, and then barked orders for two mounts to be prepared. After she whirled on Bethany, her fingers twitching like the legs of dead spiders - like the Rivaini witches and their somatic component style she so reviled, and she warned the other mage. 

You, Hawke, I expect you to not be a dallying nuisance. Actually, do you know what I expect you to be? A snivelling dove, who will betray me the first chance she gets, because she loves her magic and all those who use it regardless of how. Your weak policies are the most foolish tripe I have ever laid my eyes on. They are warped, Hawke, taken over by a destructive rush when the Maker's magic is left to rule their bodies. And I don't think you even know how bad they become. If you get in my way, I swear you will regret it, she finished, lowering the finger she had begun to jab towards Bethany. She immediately began to root into the saddle bags of the mount that had been lead to her during her tirade, muttering, I don't know why I ever trusted her.