The events of the past two days were exhausting, more mentally than otherwise; dredging up Denerim's darker secrets had taken all of the group's ability and cleverness, and then some. That allowed no time for idleness afterwards, however. The day so far had been spent in the company of nobles, from the mild-mannered but cunning Piers Ledaals to the enigmatic Lelahai. The first had been as difficult as he had feared, but could have gone worse. The latter he hardly dared think of; the thought of Nathaniel being honored after so many years was almost too good to be true, and the cynical, cautious side of him warned him it might be so. Nobles often made promises only to break them later.
A new arlessa was not the only change Denerim would have when Ordhan returned. The reality of this hit him when Conlan, as flippant as ever, invited the knight to help him sell his house. For all of the differences between them, driven home by two tumultuous months, Conlan was still Ordhan's oldest friend, even if not the closest. Even though their meetings had been sparse as time dragged on, Denerim would not be the same without him.
The offer to give the house to the elves struck Ordhan as uncharacteristically generous for the mercenary, but then again, Conlan no longer had to scrape from job to job for each meal. Perhaps his new place as Grey Warden was surely but slowly beginning to have its effect on him. Ordhan's smile had been slight, as ever, but proud.
When they entered the small house that was Conlan's home, Ordhan glanced aside at the Warden. There was a thoughtful furrow to his brow that was rarely there; perhaps, as meager as it was, this building still held meaning to the once-mercenary. Ordhan was not one for sentimental comforts, nor was Conlan one for hearing them, so the knight cut straight to business.
"What needs to be done?" he asked. Even if the house would no longer be Conlan's, Ordhan still respected it as his, waiting for instruction before setting to whatever task waited.