Jorwen nodded, appreciating the effort that went into the lad’s smile. Though, lad was a relative term when it came to mer-folk. They look like a newbeard but have enough years behind them to be your father. He’d never seen tea before, didn’t even know what it was. He’d heard it was similar to a potion but without all the fuss. He’d heard the folk down in Hammerfell and High Rock to the east were fond of the stuff, but why a man would go through the effort of putting leaves and roots in water to make it taste different if it at least wasn’t going to close a wound was beyond him. He took the offered cup anyways and while listening to Keegan voice his nerve a little, which was always good to do for some before the battle was on, he peered at the liquid inside the cup. Just looked like dirty water to him. But, he was here to foster some trust and camaraderie. Time comes, might keep them together and save a life. Might save his. He took a sip and found it wasn’t all bad and nodded at the cup. “I’ve a lifetime of battles behind me. Fought in the great war, helped Ulfric break the Reachmen at Markarth and then helped him push out the Empire, all the good that did us in the end.” He snorted. “You won’t hear anyone else say it, but if we get through this without having to fight, I’ll be a happy man. I’ve fought at night, fought in the day, been on both sides of what we’re about to do to these Reachfolk. I can’t say I’m happy about Ashav’s decision but he’s Chief, commander, whatever the folk in Cyrodiil or wherever else call him, he’s in charge. Chief gives you a task, you do it, and you do it all the way.”

He shrugged, “Anyhow, we all know what’s coming, no use talking about it. I will ask you where you came from though, and what makes an elf like you sign on to a company like this.” He took another sip of the tea, “Not bad, by the way.”