The only turmoil Ordhan could think of was his own. The man could have been killed, but every time the realization of this pricked at him he stifled it. The very thought made his blood freeze. Was he a murderer without knowing it? He hadn't committed the act, but if he could have stopped it, did that stain his hands with blood as well? Cold dread came with the thought; murderers and rebellious souls were doomed to wandering, alone, far from any peace in death.
It almost seemed fitting. He was lost and aimless in life; why should he be any less after it?
His breath hitched as a violent shudder ran through him, and his hands sought her like a lifeline. Even if just one event like this was not enough to condemn him, most of his life lay ahead--unless it was cut short, something that might be merciful, really--and it could happen again and again and again. He never expected that he would act any differently. The same reasons that turned his head this time would be there the next.
"Yes," he agreed hollowly. These were the same things he told himself. These were the things that would let him bury the anguish and face another day, even if it was in a darker world. And she would help him, like she always did.
Despite his guilt Ordhan did not think of anything but himself. Lillian was an unconcerned listener who knew what to say to calm him, the elf and his wife were simply parts played in the horror that was reality. Were he less blinded by fear and self-pity, he could have sought them out himself; even if no official action was promised for the matter, what would keep him from giving what aid he could? But even though Dalbach was gone from the Alienage, Ordhan's eyes remained turned away.