A hint of sorrow lingers within his gaze as he watches the mage turn away. As much as he speaks prettily of this alleged beautiful and bright future that will surely come, Alayre cannot help but doubt himself. What can one man go against the rising tide when all the others have failed? He desperately wants to put this war torn past behind him but he cannot. How can he possibly undo decades of savagery by just his hands alone? Alayre knows his fighting against the tide here but he honestly believe that he'll win.

"You will?" He questions in muted awe once the mage speaks of Skyhold. "Believe me when I say that not all is perfect but progress comes slowly." Alayre admits with a tense smile that suddenly appears. It almost hurt to smile to this mage. There's plenty who would wisely doubt the words of a Templar just out of fear alone. No matter how earnestly he speaks, Alayre knows there will always be doubt because of what he represents.

"Safe travels, good ser."