Conlan seemed to read this thoughts, but though that part of his fears was allayed, it did little to help the rest. Ordhan listened silently as his friend spoke, making himself not look away out of respect for the honesty, but one hand still toyed restlessly with the handle of the ale mug. The praise was too much, and Ordhan's self-doubt led him to wonder if Conlan were being sarcastic again. It was unfair to assume, however, given how straightforward the rest of the conversation was.
Failed to not be heroic? "I do not understand," he admitted, frustrated that this was so often his answer. A pity Conlan didn't have a friend who was clever enough or sympathetic enough to understand his worries without explanation. It must be even more frustrating for the other. "I do not think it ought to matter whether what you do is heroic. If there is something that ought to be done, and you can do it, there is no reason to hold back." A creeping thought nagged at the back of his mind; after he spoke, Ordhan paused to track it down, to find what was bothering him. It was then he realized that such advice might be poor for a man like Conlan, who once did what ought to be done and was cast out of the guard for it. Ordhan looked away. At least now that Conlan was a Grey Warden, he would never find himself in the same position again.
Ordhan's puzzlement only deepened when Conlan explained another misgiving. His brows drew together. For one, he did not remember any children at the Keep--perhaps the servants had them, but they kept well away from the warriors and Wardens, and the Wardens themselves never had children. Ordhan decided not to debate this issue, taking the example as hypothetical.
"I do not see why the story of a man defending his family from a werewolf would make children want to leave their homes and kill people that will do no harm to them. Their parents would not let them. If anything, would they not wait until they were grown and owned a sword? I do not think that any of the servant families there had swords." He was taking it all literally again, but half-wavered with wondering if it was jokingly said. "Stories have been told for hundreds of years, and there has never been an army of children as you say."
Ordhan watched as Conlan dragged a hand across his face, and wondered how long he had worried about all of this. He would have never been able to tell. Conlan was as good at masking such things as Ordhan was. "If it is a real Blight ahead of us, I am not afraid to make a last stand. I have lived through many battles, and one day it will be my last. Many better men have died already." Yes, this remained true, despite the dangerous veer in his thoughts that his time in the Keep led to. But there was one significant difference, now. "I am not looking to die, and I doubt any with us are."
His answers were far longer than Ordhan was ever used to making. He felt exhausted after he made them. Talking was so much more difficult than other things that was expected of him. Every time he answered, he wondered how it would be taken, if Conlan would grow angry or realize that the battleworn knight was too different from him to be a worthy friend. It was so strange, after all this time, to wonder such things, but it had never been tested in this way before.