Sitting in the chair was strange. It was not an uncomfortable chair, but in formal situations Ordhan was more accustomed to having a table in front of him, and often many more people around. As proper as the knight generally was, his knowledge of etiquette was not quite complete. It came in bits and pieces over the course of his life: some from observation, some from Nathaniel, some from the officials tasked with making sure the newly-knighted, battle-scarred handful of guards didn't embarrass the house they now served. There had even been lessons with Eileen (though those could hardly be trusted, as Ordhan had to convince her that crossing one's legs at the knee was not boys' manners). He settled on a rather stiff posture, back not touching the back of the chair and hands resting on his knees.
Ordhan was not surprised that Constans did not write often. This was likely an exception, with the young tranquil walking into the mouth of danger. However, as intrigued as Piers appeared, he neither opened the letter nor dismissed him. Ordhan tried not to shift under his gaze; the man seemed to see something, but what, he couldn't tell.
A new resolution immediately entered Ordhan's mind: never act upon a vague instinct, in case you are called upon to explain your actions. His brow furrowed. His presence must have been more of an inconvenience than he'd thought to earn such a question, but it was the other's right to ask.
When there is no real answer, give one that sounds good enough. Hopefully.
"Do you mean why I delivered it, myself?" Ordhan paused, hesitation noticeable but brief. "My company is passing through Denerim, and Constans asked me to give it to you. I do not know what he wrote, but thought I could be here in case you had questions." His discomfort grew, becoming more difficult to conceal, especially with those eyes boring into him.