It might have helped if Conlan had stood back for a moment and simply though about his actions. Ah, the indescretions of youth; Matt was sufficiently older than Conlan that the mercenary would forever be lanky and barely old enough to drink in Matthew's eyes, but at least he didn't rub the lad's nose in it. There were more important things to do.
Whhen Lalin threw her arms around his neck, he returned the embrace, strong arms locked across her back to hold her tight, tilting his head that he could touch his cheek to the crown of Lalin's hair. "Oh, there, love," he murmured quietly, for a moment only the two of them in that crowded courtyard. "Let it all out." Whatever grudges might be held against him, no one could argue that Matthew did not love his 'daughters', or was a bad father-figure for them; partly, he was glad that Azabeth was not here at the reading of the letter, because then he could bear the initial brunt of Lalin's tears and give her to her heartsister in somewhat better shape. What she needed now was her family, disparate and strange as they were, and Matthew would see to it that it was done.
He had just had this thought when Conlan spoke up; he flicked a dark eye to the Warden, not daring to nod. "I'll take care of it," he said instead, quietly, simply.