Constans spared him the need to even ask; his desire to be helpful related to more than just chores, it seemed. The knight's solemn expression brightened just barely; as ever, it was only a hint of the underlying emotion, this time a spark of hope instead of suffocating fear.
So far, his searches had been fruitless. No one he had questioned had even heard of her, save a nameless mage from a chance meeting fourteen years ago--and even he had just heard of her, giving Ordhan nothing more than the assurance that she was alive. It was thrilling news at the time. Mutterings of the disastrous insurrection at the Tower had spread by then, and between it and the blood drenched battle of Denerim, countless mages must have lost their lives. To learn that his sister was among the lucky survivors was a joy.
Fourteen long years with no further word was more than enough to dampen his relief, twisting it once again into worry that ate at his mind whenever he allowed his thoughts to drift. He had once thought himself content to know she was safe. In rare moments of honesty, the knight knew this was not true; he wanted to see her, to have the chance to talk again, even if everything was different than before. This hope was only strengthened after meeting Hilda, who had come so very far in search of a sibling she knew to be dead. Shouldn't he be trying harder to meet the sister that may yet live?
"Do you know a mage named Eileen Wyland? I believe she lived at the tower for at least twenty years," he responded eagerly. He paused, striving to remember how far apart in age the two happy children of distant memory were before amending, "Twenty-six years." The hesitation typical of his inquiries was abandoned. There was no reason for pretense around Constans; surely he would not show the scorn or suspicion that met most of Ordhan's questions.