"Doesn't matter." His grip loosens on Andrew's hand. "If it's all written down somewhere already -- "

(and even addled by drugs, weakened by pain, it's impossible not to think of President Roslin cradling the Book of Pythia, or of Starbuck throwing gobs of paint onto the walls of her rack -- )

" -- if enough's written down that he knew about this -- "

(This is not what he signed on for when he accepted that the Lords existed in some form.)