Church is not really Lyall's cup of tea. It never really has been. He knows perfectly well he'd be as likely to be cast out as accepted, and he's not really interested in a deity that is so harsh with his supplicants. He sits thought the service politely, of course, as it is expected for his position within the house, if not necessarily required. Instead of thinking on the homily, however, his mind is moving through lists of things that need doing today, people he needs to check in with on various tasks, and a shipment due to arrive in the next couple days that will need people reassigned to handle organizing. When Lord Valdemar finally flees, he breathe a small and silent sigh of relief, and rises smoothly. He'll light a candle of his own, if just to see the altar light up with warmth, and then be on his way.

Warsman is there first, his much longer stride and more awkward impatience moving him more quickly. The quiet butler offers him an amiable nod and a small smile. "Someone on your mind?" he asks, voice soft in the open space, eyes on the slowly growing collection of votive candles.