Conlan turned to watch Ser Cira drink. Of the Warden recruits he'd probably gotten to know her at least moderately well. She was t least the one he ended up fighting the most in practice duels, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that she'd even gotten the better of him a few times. They rarely talked though, mostly as her attention was often occupied by Rudyerd, one of the senior Grey Warden guards.
Con watched with apprehension as she drank and his heart sank as she fell. He shut his eyes, and bowed his head, trying not to be too stung by her death. Internally, he made a quick question of the Maker. "Just this one, why couldn't you have let just this one live?" Though, if he was being honest with himself, he would have had to admit that he'd likely asked the question with every recruit who had died.
When he raised his head, he looked toward Rudyerd, surely all that time spent talking to the young knight would invoke some kind of reaction. It barely seemed to register with him. Conlan had seen the attitude before. All of Thedas honored the Wardens and the sacrifices they made. Except apparently the other Wardens. To Mona, and Rudyerd, and Aedan, they were soldiers now. Expendable Bodies who were worth slightly less then their arms and armor. Bodies cost a bit less to replace.
It was the same as it ever was. A new job, new commander, same attitude. Except for Alistair. That was a conundrum in and of itself.