Sarkan's expression blackens. No, this certainly is not what he expected, and the situation here is much more fragile and downright barbaric for sorcerers than he ever would have imagined. And how could he conceive of something like this? The Dragon came from a country where, in its distant pasts, sorcerers could be kings and wizards were welcomed as high-ranking members of the royal court, regardless of lowliness of birth. Power is what mattered, and though most without the gift of magic thought of sorcery as something to be feared, it was certainly not condemned.

He cannot take his relative freedom for granted here. He considers, perhaps for the first time, that he has been too lax and offhanded about the way he practices his magic in Thedas.

"There are no schools for magic in Polnya because the gift is quite rare," he says finally. "I am accustomed to apprenticeships and private tutors. Provided by our royal courts, naturally, and in return we swear fealty to our regents and serve the realm in a capacity that suits our skills." A grim pause. He is not quite looking directly at Anders, but staring off into the middle distance, turning inwardly, darkening further still. "Or not so naturally for Thedas. Mages are not charlatans and demons by default -- absolutely barbaric that you were no better than slaves. Shocking that there was no rebellion even sooner than this."

Sarkan willfully shrugs off his deeply unsettled, rattled feelings, shutting them away, turning them off so he may resume the business at hand. He looks Anders in the eye at last, firm and commanding once more.

"Are you proposing to stall out on ridding the world of Corypheus?"