"Likely." His trust of Orlesians and the Chantry as a whole are about on the same level these days, in the dust. He tries to retain a sliver of optimism for his men. Someone has to wear a hopeful face.

He didn't for a long time. It's part of the reason they're in this mess now. He decides he has burdened him enough with his doubts for one night. There's no need to compound it by revealing the depths of his guilt. He leans in and bumps shoulders again, this time staying that way.

"Like I said. You're good for me." His gaze stays on the waves. Some truths are more easily spoken without a window onto whatever reaction they elicit or too much visual insight into their origin. It has been a very long time since he has felt this companionable with anyone, not since those who recruited with him died. He had thought he had shut that part of himself away for good. Now here it is, making him put off ending this moment and trudging back to the people who need him.