he meant it as something sweet, she knew that. but there was nothing sweet about what the templars would do to him even in theory. templars didnât kill mages that might still be useful ăźÂ no, they branded foreheads with lyrium and turned them into walking, talking, sentient furniture. margoâs skin crawled at the thought. maybe it was a noble thought, a noble gesture. and yet, â donât ever suggest that turning yourself over to the templars would be worth anything. what they do to mages is worse than death, edgar. i know that, you know that. i could never be happy knowing that someone got themselves made tranquil for me. â her voice broke on that damned word, and once again she felt like the lyrium scar on her forehead was a bloody beacon, a gauge of the shame and anger inside of her. Â