There is not a single part of this he likes. Herc, as a rule, is a man who likes to listen better than he likes to talk. He's a second in command, the back up. He's never seen himself as the last man standing - he's the shield that keeps those who need to stand steady.

And then there's this, and though he's been content enough to listen, he steps forward. For a brief moment his hand is on Merrill's shoulder - steadying her, maybe steadying himself - as he prepares to add a voice to the pile of what might already be too many voices.

"Wardens," he addresses his fellows. Comrades, that was what the people in front of him were meant to be, and he's walked through Weisshaupt many times over, passed months here at a time. "Mal here's right. You've taken care. Maybe we can help you with that demon army. The Inquisition's looking to help. No one else needs to die taking care of those demons, but they do need to be taken care of."

He's not much for words, anyway.