“If the Circles are reinstated,” Kostos says, flat tone edged with humor, self-deprecation like a knife pointed inward, “and those of us who fought are not summarily executed, then I will come collect you myself.”
He won’t. Wouldn’t. He believes in the idea of Circles, accountability, safeguards; he believes in the reality of a few hundred mages, rebels from Circles that rose up and survivors from Circles where the Templars didn’t wait for them to try, packed into a crumbling ruin in the middle of winter and agreeing that whatever they decided to do, fight or surrender, they would do it as one.
“In the meantime,” he adds, “I trust you not to give it to any fanatic wearing a Seeker’s uniform.”
Unlike the Chantry officials who were meant to be watching them. And unlike the Inquisition. He doesn’t know Seeker Pentaghast. She might qualify.
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He won’t. Wouldn’t. He believes in the idea of Circles, accountability, safeguards; he believes in the reality of a few hundred mages, rebels from Circles that rose up and survivors from Circles where the Templars didn’t wait for them to try, packed into a crumbling ruin in the middle of winter and agreeing that whatever they decided to do, fight or surrender, they would do it as one.
“In the meantime,” he adds, “I trust you not to give it to any fanatic wearing a Seeker’s uniform.”
Unlike the Chantry officials who were meant to be watching them. And unlike the Inquisition. He doesn’t know Seeker Pentaghast. She might qualify.
no subject
"What was happening?" he asks as he tucks the phylactery into a pocket. "When you got there, why...why?"