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Degas reflected over Eodwine's request before answering.
He had travelled far upon Eodwine's orders to inform the lady Linduial's family that she was missing. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as old Bilbo and Mithrandir had once said, or so the legends went. Flying from those who blamed him for her disappearance to those who would learn, from him, that it was his fault their youngest and beloved was kidnapped.
While Degas knew it was only fair for him to bear his own ill news, his thoughts and judgement were both clouded. Had Eodwine's decision been clouded with a desire to leave Saeryn unattended? Could a man with romantic interest treat a woman under his protection with an impartial eye? Degas pushed the thoughts from his mind to deal with the situation at hand. Surely Eodwine was far too honorable... and he had ridden to rescue Linduial... he had not even been at the Hall. Yet what had transpired between the pair while Degas's mind was caught up in his own romantic difficulties?
He looked to Linduial for a moment and glanced back to Eodwine when Farahil's eyes met his.
"I say that you speak wisely, Lord Eodwine. Not all matters of a Lord and Lady are meant to be judged within their court. My thoughts will remain my own for the remainder of these proceedings excepting the birth of a situation in which their publication becomes required. We shall have further words, I am sure, when the walls have fewer ears."
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