He pulled me from the dark whirling place once again, perhaps shining has nothing to do with his armor after all. I wanted to hate him for it, so uncomfortable to need something, anything, from another. But I find that I can not hate him, I’ve never been able to. He offered me no absolution, no phrases of doing what needed to be done, or shifting of blame to others. He saw as well that there had been another way. He let me own my guilt and shame, and pulled me out anyway.

The way to the risen temple went past Jeffery’s door, and we could have gone on past as well. But we didn’t. I didn’t. I hunted him out, in the name of my gods - and my beliefs. I can not even call it a battle, he only managed one feeble strike against me. I pleaded with him as I killed him, but he refused to relent - and so did I. With his death came the realization that I murdered him with the same mindless faith that he had been fighting me. And then that thought that always lingers, in Drakon’s world, this never would have happened. And another revelation, if Drakon was fallible, could be wrong, could lie. So too could my gods.

My ring sits in a box in my chest, I’ve never once taken it off since Cordelia gave it to me, but it feels wrong to wear it. What manner of protector kills their own people?