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Degas let his hands fall though they had risen to embrace Saeryn. "What am I doing here?" he repeated blankly, "Why didn't I come sooner?"
She stood silently, and it seemed to Degas that she was angry. No, not angry: furious. But why? What in the world had happened in his absence? And surely she knew he had been in Gondor, with Linduial's kin? Surely she understood that after he left her to return to Farlan, he did not stray from his duties there? He had had no obligation to the Folde, with Fenrir's unstoppable might governing the people there, but he had obligation to his betrothed's people. Surely Saeryn knew that he was in Gondor as a matter of duty and love, rather than as an escape from her? Or--
Except nothing made sense.
"Saeryn..." he began, looking over her shoulder to Harreld, who shrugged, and Eodwine who raised an equally baffled eyebrow. "I came to find you. Even the Three Hunters could not travel more quickly than I did when at last I heard of... of whatever transpired here. Saeryn, you must tell me... What has happened to our... land of birth? Why did you go back when you were under the care of Lotheriel? How many are dead? Is everything destroyed as I have heard? Saeryn, you must stop looking at me as though I am all that you fear and more. Do you not know your own brother when you see him? I, Degas, who helped you to abandon our childhood home in the first place? I, Degas, who found you with Eodwine, who wish you only the best? Saeryn, for the sake of all that you hold dear, speak to me!"
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