Ordhan couldn't place why he was glad that Conlan kept the ring. Perhaps it was because of the direction his friend seemed to have taken, tossing aside one thing after another that once meant something to him, whether it be hope or belief or keepsake. Perhaps it was that Ordhan hoped that Conlan would do the same with the trinket he had yet to give him. A slow, nervous dread was building over the thought of it. There was no excuse for the delay, especially no delay that long, and Ordhan would have no answer were it demanded of him. A pity he did not think out his actions--or lack of them, in this case--as well as his words. He would have so much less to answer for.
A corner of Ordhan's mouth twitched downwards. "I am afraid the elves chose to stay in Denerim, Davin included. It is for the best. He is untrained and not suited for what is waiting for us." He paused before adding, "We are fortunate that Cyril agreed to accompany us, however." The dwarf's experience outstripped most of the company's, even if it had lain idle for some years.
He hesitated, not wanting to contradict Conlan on this matter. His friend had assumed some sort of close companionship between the once-guard and once-whore, and Ordhan balked at stamping out that assumption to replace it with the cold, ugly truth. On his part Ordhan worried, wishing he could dissuade her from wanting to come, but quietly added his support when it was called for. Even he was not sure why; some misplaced sense of guilt, perhaps, that kept him from opposing her.