As Conlan took a swig from his mug, Ordhan drank from his own more slowly, eyes thoughtful. At Conlan's raised brow he halted, not tense but with some vague stirring of apprehension. Ever since their argument in the tavern, Ordhan half-expected it to surface again, whether in the subject itself or in another argument.
It did not seem to be, for now. Ordhan looked up at Conlan at the comments. This was not a touchy subject, or at least Ordhan did not assume it to be, but could he be certain? He had blundered into other subjects only to discover that Conlan felt quite strongly about them, and quite strongly against Ordhan's own mind on the matter. The disagreement itself did not trouble him. They were different in many ways, and both knew this very well. It was the conflict that unsettled him. He had precious few friends, and could not be certain that he would ever see his newest ones again (or for those still near him, if they would grow distant), but Conlan was a constant in his life.
"It does seem strange," he admitted quietly. "But what can be done? If it is not, we fight them, and if it is, we fight them." He was no Grey Warden, himself, but felt their duty no less keenly. "As for better days, I hope we never see what we did in the last Blight again...but no one was prepared. We will do better this time." Ordhan survived one Blight and could not count on surviving another, but even then whether he would return to the dutiful drudgery that was his life afterwards remained to be seen.