A chuckle, laced with either genuine humor or bitterness: it isn't clear.
"I left the Templars because they were a bunch of blowhard reactionary fucking idiots," he says amiably, draining his glass, "you can't hear about things like what happened here, with the Knight-Commander, and maintain any self-respect in the profession."
As much effort as Barrow puts into not having any strong opinions at all, it's clearly difficult to hold this one back.
"The answer to that was to put down all our charges or to be put down ourselves. Or fuck off, I suppose. Where's the Maker's will in that? It was lunacy."
"I wouldn't be surprised if there were other once-Templars who shared your way of thinking. Otherwise, the Divine would hardly need to have issued the invitation that they return to join the March." Fitcher tips her head faintly, as if something has occurred to her in saying it. She asks, "You weren't tempted by that? To return to the Order, now that both it and the freed mages have been pointed in a similar direction rather than at one another?"
For once, although prickly, Barrow isn't too evasive on the subject of the Templars. Chalk it up to them having had a few glasses of wine, or simply that he likes Fitcher. Trusts her, even.
He has to consider her question for a moment, stroking the rough dark hairs on his chin.
"I think I'd be a hypocrite," he decides after a moment, even a little surprised by his own answer, "...you can't just turn your back on an institution like that and then walk back in as if nothing happened."
A tip of the head, a quirk of an eyebrow. Fair enough, they say.
"Then I see no reason why you should be ashamed of any of it. It sounds like you made a difficult choice guided by principle, and have stuck beside it regardless of the fact that it be made easy not to." Her small ghost of a smile is warm as she fetches up glass. "Some might call that admirable, you know."
"Mm. It would be a waste of a good fellow, otherwise," she agrees with a tip of the glass.
When she has had her drink, Fitcher trades her half eaten meal for his empty plate so he might finish hers saying, No, no, it was a kind thought. Let us stay away from authentic Antivan cuisine the next time, which at the very least implies a next time.
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"I left the Templars because they were a bunch of blowhard reactionary fucking idiots," he says amiably, draining his glass, "you can't hear about things like what happened here, with the Knight-Commander, and maintain any self-respect in the profession."
As much effort as Barrow puts into not having any strong opinions at all, it's clearly difficult to hold this one back.
"The answer to that was to put down all our charges or to be put down ourselves. Or fuck off, I suppose. Where's the Maker's will in that? It was lunacy."
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He has to consider her question for a moment, stroking the rough dark hairs on his chin.
"I think I'd be a hypocrite," he decides after a moment, even a little surprised by his own answer, "...you can't just turn your back on an institution like that and then walk back in as if nothing happened."
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"You think there's no hope of reedming the Order, then?"
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"Might be. I just don't think I need to be part of it."
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"Then I see no reason why you should be ashamed of any of it. It sounds like you made a difficult choice guided by principle, and have stuck beside it regardless of the fact that it be made easy not to." Her small ghost of a smile is warm as she fetches up glass. "Some might call that admirable, you know."
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"You're infuriating, you know that," he says warmly, "can't just let a fellow doubt himself in peace."
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When she has had her drink, Fitcher trades her half eaten meal for his empty plate so he might finish hers saying, No, no, it was a kind thought. Let us stay away from authentic Antivan cuisine the next time, which at the very least implies a next time.