A situation he knew well–running out of arrows, out of energy, out of soldiers before they finished with the Darkspawn. The endless sea of monsters overwhelmed everything–and yet, here stood The Hero of Ferelden, conquering them in little more than a year from the Blight’s beginning. A truly astonishing feat, considering the span of most Blights.
Duncan nodded solemnly, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You learned well. It is rare for someone to have such introspection–to find their weaknesses and confront them directly. You’ve done the Wardens–and myself, might I add–proud.”
The simple gesture sent reassurance and warmth in her soul, the praise making her turn wide and grateful eyes towards Duncan. She had gotten used to emotionless praise, to empty platitudes devoid of actual feeling. After all, had she not heard them from nobles and towns people alike, critical eyes thrown to her pointed ears, to her staff whenever she held it, while lips formed honeyed words. She had gotten used to it all that to receive genuine praise was as unexpected as it was welcomed.
"Thank you, Duncan. I... I tried my best,” a winch and flash of a haunted look appeared through the cracks in her facade. “I made many mistakes, but I always tried my best. So thank you! It, it means more than you might think, to hear that in the end I did right.”
