[Yes, that sounds about right. A gloriously fierce fighter, protective of his people and weighed down with the duties that he had unwillingly inherited. There was horror and grief in his past, but then, that was true of all of them. Not a stuffy man, no, for Fenris had teased out a tale or two of his debauched past, wine and drink and women. Cheerful and charming, and kind in his own way ( there's plenty who would admire all you've accomplished, Sebastian had told him once, his tone simple but genuine, you are your own man, living as you see fit, and he can still remember the warmth in his chest at that praise). Religious, oh, yes, with the ironclad faith of someone who truly believed (and Leto, truly, cannot imagine what it is to have such faith; he is wary at best, skeptical and unsure, mostly convinced that if there is a Maker, He does not care much for the day to day affairs of a single soul).
And maybe that was the problem right there. For Leto had always gotten the impression that Sebastian, fervently faithful creature that he was, knew in the depths of his soul that whatever the Chantry decreed was Correct and Good. And so it followed that if anyone opposed it, they were Wrong. And it was really as simple as that.
But you know, the Chantry is also the reason there are alienages. The Chantry was the one who struck Shartan's canticle from their official records. The Chantry led a March against the Dales and canonized a man whose greatest achievement was that he terrorized and murdered more elves than anyone else. The Chantry, Leto knows, says that anyone who isn't human is somehow farther from the Maker's light, and thus utterly unsuited for any kind of clerical role.
For the Chantry is only an organization. And every organization is made up of people: fallible, petty, prejudiced people. And it's not that they don't have faith; it's not even that they're being deliberately malicious. It's that it's so, so easy to justify just about anything under the header of religion. It's so easy to hear your own thoughts and think them divinely blessed, especially if those thoughts are reinforced and reiterated as Right.
Blind belief is a terrible thing.
Leto has plenty of opinions, and he certainly believes they're right. But he's also aware that he is, when you get right down to it, kind of a prick about some things. It is what it is, and he isn't a bit sorry for it, but it does affect his viewpoint. If nothing else, this past conversation has proved that: what he says isn't always what he believes, and his traumas and emotions both can cloud his mind and his opinions both.
He hadn't approved of Hawke sparing Anders all those years ago. But he hadn't threatened to raise an army and raze an entire city to the ground because of it.]
. . . no. I didn't.
[He's slow to say that, rising up out of the depths of his own thoughts.]
When she attained the position of Guard-Captain, Aveline once told me that there were reports with my name on them. Complaints from our neighbors, and inquiries from Danarius' agent. Thank you for getting rid of them, I told her, and she informed me that she hadn't. Another time, she told me to be more discreet about my very existence as an elf in Hightown.
[Now, why he had brought that up? He glances away for a few moments, but ah, this is much easier to deduce.]
I see the way we are looked at when we leave the house. I remember the way those in Teviner would stare at me when Danarius would send me on an errand. Elf. Slave. It barely mattered what they objected to, but the thought behind it was always the same: put a toe out of line, stop apologizing for your existence, stand tall and proud on your own, and we will put you right back in your place.
I suppose my running to the Templars would feel the same. Turning them in to a higher authority that I did not trust, for every organization is a little corrupt. I did not approve of them, but . . . nor did I have any wish to see them dragged off in chains, torn from our sides because I felt pettily malicious.
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And maybe that was the problem right there. For Leto had always gotten the impression that Sebastian, fervently faithful creature that he was, knew in the depths of his soul that whatever the Chantry decreed was Correct and Good. And so it followed that if anyone opposed it, they were Wrong. And it was really as simple as that.
But you know, the Chantry is also the reason there are alienages. The Chantry was the one who struck Shartan's canticle from their official records. The Chantry led a March against the Dales and canonized a man whose greatest achievement was that he terrorized and murdered more elves than anyone else. The Chantry, Leto knows, says that anyone who isn't human is somehow farther from the Maker's light, and thus utterly unsuited for any kind of clerical role.
For the Chantry is only an organization. And every organization is made up of people: fallible, petty, prejudiced people. And it's not that they don't have faith; it's not even that they're being deliberately malicious. It's that it's so, so easy to justify just about anything under the header of religion. It's so easy to hear your own thoughts and think them divinely blessed, especially if those thoughts are reinforced and reiterated as Right.
Blind belief is a terrible thing.
Leto has plenty of opinions, and he certainly believes they're right. But he's also aware that he is, when you get right down to it, kind of a prick about some things. It is what it is, and he isn't a bit sorry for it, but it does affect his viewpoint. If nothing else, this past conversation has proved that: what he says isn't always what he believes, and his traumas and emotions both can cloud his mind and his opinions both.
He hadn't approved of Hawke sparing Anders all those years ago. But he hadn't threatened to raise an army and raze an entire city to the ground because of it.]
. . . no. I didn't.
[He's slow to say that, rising up out of the depths of his own thoughts.]
When she attained the position of Guard-Captain, Aveline once told me that there were reports with my name on them. Complaints from our neighbors, and inquiries from Danarius' agent. Thank you for getting rid of them, I told her, and she informed me that she hadn't. Another time, she told me to be more discreet about my very existence as an elf in Hightown.
[Now, why he had brought that up? He glances away for a few moments, but ah, this is much easier to deduce.]
I see the way we are looked at when we leave the house. I remember the way those in Teviner would stare at me when Danarius would send me on an errand. Elf. Slave. It barely mattered what they objected to, but the thought behind it was always the same: put a toe out of line, stop apologizing for your existence, stand tall and proud on your own, and we will put you right back in your place.
I suppose my running to the Templars would feel the same. Turning them in to a higher authority that I did not trust, for every organization is a little corrupt. I did not approve of them, but . . . nor did I have any wish to see them dragged off in chains, torn from our sides because I felt pettily malicious.
Does that make sense?