“Actual room for guests,” he murmurs. “Not only stables. A practice yard.”

A small chapel, he thinks. He’s — not sure how he feels about the Chantry any longer, but he would prefer not to interfere with whatever local practice the clerics have going on. (He’s not certain whether he could sit through a service with others at this point. Too much to sort out, in his heart and mind.)

“And a garden. At least at first.”