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If Seeker Reed feels any remorse or even disappointment for the news of this meeting, he damn well doesn't show any. Cade had been troubled since he'd heard of and met the lad, but he'd shown such promise. Now and again. If only things had been as simple back then as he'd suggested they be.

Things can't be simple now, either, simply for the fact that the Inquisition has an image to keep up and responsibilities to maintain. But Aleron's suggestion is perhaps the best workaround they can agree upon.

"Cade Harimann. You understand why you are here, rather than attending to your duties." It isn't a question. "Your ability for tremendous violence against yourself and others paired with your inability to recall these moments has put you on dangerous footing for some time, but you were granted mercy. And mercy shall be granted again. However. You cannot go unpunished for putting others at unnecessary risk.

"Henceforth, you are stripped of your Templar status entirely and will be made a ward of the Inquisition."

The Seeker's words are first greeted with a dutiful "yes, ser," and then a sequence of nodding. But it quickly turns into standing stock still, then shaking his head, Cade's thin resolve to be professional already crumbling.
"Ser," he whimpers, his mind racing, searching for any argument he could use to prevent this catastrophe. Surely he can make it right.

"You are restricted," he continues with no apparent reaction to Cade's faltering expression, "to secretarial duties such that you remain under Inquisition employ, at least until something more sutable is found for you. You no longer answer to Norrington nor any other Templar directly. You have no rank. Arrangements will be made so that you may continue to take lyrium."

The ultimate disgrace, his life torn away, over something that didn't even seem a big deal at the time. Cade feels like he's been stabbed.
"Ser, please," he says, choking up, his voice going quieter as his breath leaves him. Not this, anything but this.

"We made this concession for you the first time. Not this time. You're going to have to find a new way to exist in the world without being the sword of the Maker. The decision is made. Am I clear?"

"No," Cade breathes, suppressing a sob as he sinks back down onto his bed. It's not that Malcolm isn't clear, there's just nothing else Cade finds himself capable of saying. "Please, ser, no," he murmurs as he presses his face down into his hands. Often he wishes he were confident and articulate, but there's no hope of that anytime soon.

If Malcolm were given to softness when passing judgement, when doing his job, then he likely wouldn't have the job anymore. He allows no sympathy on his face or in his voice, even when his words give them. "I am sorry, Cade. I truly am. I understand that what you do, what you are, is not by choice. But it does not excuse the danger you pose."

It's been too long sitting and waiting, and too long of a life being miserable, his entire existence and identity dedicated to the organization that has chosen to discard him. Cade is stretched so thin, so worn down that any resolve he could have hoped for in this situation is completely gone. Shaking his head, he simply sits and sobs silently into his hands. There's no appealing this, he knows it's far too late for that. He couldn't anyway, he'd be shit at it. It's over.

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