[ It would be easier to smuggle in poison than to smuggle out a half-dozen captives. It would be easiest if the captives didn't wait for poison. And if they do try, in earnest, there are a dozen ways it could go wrong that he could come up with right now, without even knowing the plan, and probably a hundred he could come up with if he did know, and even if it all goes right there's still the issue of whether anyone knows about the blood magic, whether he'll manage to keep a secret if he has to change in front of people or fight for his life in earnest.
When Kostos turns his head, he's intending to point a few of those things out. It shows on his face. But, looking at her—not small, in the dark and in repose, but her actual size, skinny enough that only muscle is saving her from frailty and without the energy and defiant chin angles that make him think of her as a little bit taller than she is—he doesn't.
It's not the first time in his life he's decided not to voice cynicism, but it is, at most, the tenth. ]
We can get him a leash. [ He presses the cap back onto the flask, reaches the bit further required to smooth her hair behind her ear, then resumes staring at the ceiling. ] Not for always. We don't have to be Templars about it. But for the potentially hostile cities.
Or not bring him. Lock him in his room when we go to potentially hostile cities. [ A pause, a grunt into the pillow. ] I suppose locking him in the Gallows might not be the least Templar way to handle it.
[ She turns her face fully into the pillow now and sighs, noisily. She stays face down for a long minute or so, emerging only when it becomes uncomfortable not to. She pushes her own hair back out of her face this time, and sighs again, quieter. It's too hot to get any nearer, so she can't roll over and set her head against his shoulder or curl an arm around his midsection and let that speak for her. ]
If the blood magic comes out, we could head back to Llomerryn, where I was. It puts us out of everything, but no one will give a shit and there's work if we want it.
[ Kostos tries to imagine leaving the Inquisition, becoming a pirate—tries to imagine Nell leaving the Inquisition, or more precisely leaving the fate and business of Thedas’ mages to everyone else—and thinks, maybe.
They would have to listen to news of Corypheus’ progress (definitely progress; they’re all going to die) and old friends’ deaths and stay gone despite it, or else listen to news of his defeat and everyone’s important decisions about the fates of mages from afar. Kostos, with his cousin and brother back in his view, real people with real lives instead of only memories and stories, might have some trouble leaving his family to whatever fates awaited, increasingly more trouble with every day that lapses in the meantime.
But there are bonds that matter more than blood. And there’s the draw of open water and freedom that doesn’t have to come tangled and weighted down with politics and excitement enough for it to sound less like a nightmare than disappearing into the woods alone to live off of berries until death. ]
If we removed his arm, he could have a hook.
[ That may have to happen anyway. ]
Could you stand it? [ Letting go of the war, letting go of everything, and— ] You might turn into a freckle. Develop a crust.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ It would be easier to smuggle in poison than to smuggle out a half-dozen captives. It would be easiest if the captives didn't wait for poison. And if they do try, in earnest, there are a dozen ways it could go wrong that he could come up with right now, without even knowing the plan, and probably a hundred he could come up with if he did know, and even if it all goes right there's still the issue of whether anyone knows about the blood magic, whether he'll manage to keep a secret if he has to change in front of people or fight for his life in earnest.
When Kostos turns his head, he's intending to point a few of those things out. It shows on his face. But, looking at her—not small, in the dark and in repose, but her actual size, skinny enough that only muscle is saving her from frailty and without the energy and defiant chin angles that make him think of her as a little bit taller than she is—he doesn't.
It's not the first time in his life he's decided not to voice cynicism, but it is, at most, the tenth. ]
We can get him a leash. [ He presses the cap back onto the flask, reaches the bit further required to smooth her hair behind her ear, then resumes staring at the ceiling. ] Not for always. We don't have to be Templars about it. But for the potentially hostile cities.
no subject
[ She turns her face fully into the pillow now and sighs, noisily. She stays face down for a long minute or so, emerging only when it becomes uncomfortable not to. She pushes her own hair back out of her face this time, and sighs again, quieter. It's too hot to get any nearer, so she can't roll over and set her head against his shoulder or curl an arm around his midsection and let that speak for her. ]
If the blood magic comes out, we could head back to Llomerryn, where I was. It puts us out of everything, but no one will give a shit and there's work if we want it.
no subject
They would have to listen to news of Corypheus’ progress (definitely progress; they’re all going to die) and old friends’ deaths and stay gone despite it, or else listen to news of his defeat and everyone’s important decisions about the fates of mages from afar. Kostos, with his cousin and brother back in his view, real people with real lives instead of only memories and stories, might have some trouble leaving his family to whatever fates awaited, increasingly more trouble with every day that lapses in the meantime.
But there are bonds that matter more than blood. And there’s the draw of open water and freedom that doesn’t have to come tangled and weighted down with politics and excitement enough for it to sound less like a nightmare than disappearing into the woods alone to live off of berries until death. ]
If we removed his arm, he could have a hook.
[ That may have to happen anyway. ]
Could you stand it? [ Letting go of the war, letting go of everything, and— ] You might turn into a freckle. Develop a crust.