If it weren’t my sword arm, I’d let you cut it off yourself, [ is confirmation of his unwillingness.

Honest, too. He’s given serious thought to it—how he could maybe rig a shield to a stump and learn to fight with the other arm. But he’s getting old. Only so many more years of use in him, before the lyrium has its inevitable way. He doesn’t want to squander that time trying to learn to be half as effective as he was before.

As for the rest. ]

I don’t see why the Chantry would want to interfere with you while you’re trying to stop that monster and his legions. [ He pauses to get a shred of plant fiber out of his teeth with his tongue. ] Maybe they think you’re up to something else.