Pointed ears flicked though he would make no remark toward the short huff which fled her lips nor the way her features lay heavier colored upon his next glance. Whether she chose to believe in those words or not would be up to her, however, within the paladin’s eyes carrying on after tragedy was a testament of strength. It would be so easy to throw it all away and lay waste to the life granted, to one so many continued to live. If holding on was not a matter of strength then Ívarr knew not what was. Soon enough it was his turn to sigh, a slow steadying sound as her grip tightened about his arm. He almost thought to bring a free hand to pat against her own in silent reassurance and yet found pause as she unwound.

Crystalline gaze meet her own, refractions of unspoken confusion swimming within the electric sea as she spoke of admonishment. He was not here to do such a thing not to bid her smitten by holy retribution for not holding the faith as dearly as he. It mattered not if vows were shared, those spoken with did not have to believe in the radiant divine nor seek to bathe in their light. All that mattered was that he followed the path set before him for he was but a servant to them. A vessel to spread their teachings and allow their voice to be heard, yet he would never force another to follow what they themselves did not believe.

Again a hand rise, laying over his heart as eyes closed in a short bow; apologetic before the priest would refocus upon her visage. “Apologies my lady, I am a creature of habit but I did not mean it as a manner of faith. One can turn to their divine, a friend, or merely someone standing right before them,” a presence more tangible to the masses. A physical sensation even if it sat behind the veils of confessed privacies. “So fear not Lady Andante, I am not here to try converting you,” though such promises would do little to change the way he spoke. Such a tongue only natural, “Their eyes see but a single soul this night, between the two of us, only I shall face whatever judgments lie in store beneath their will. You will hear none from me.” Nor from the very looming ones above.

Their voice would not reach her. Their piercing gaze would not find her.

Yet it seemed others may have. Admittance which brought the paladin’s own eyes to narrow as he fought the desire to openly frown no matter how it tinted his tone, “They know better than to gossip and spread falsities.” Especially beneath sanctuary’s roof where their eyes and reaching senses were ever present, “Your status, whatever it may be, is not of their concern nor is it the church’s business. I will speak with them come morning. It is a grave offense to spread rumors and whisper of those who are meant to be able to find solace and comfort within the cathedral.”

Punishable in ways unimaginable should the divine’s favor falter from the ill-devout, deny their requests for forgiveness from their sins. Not only this but it painted all within in an unappealing light, cast unsavory attitudes toward them and any associated with the church as a whole. It portrayed them as no different than the indulgences of the wicked and disorderly, of those who plundered and coerced. It simply wasn’t right. While Ívarr had not heard the sisters’ wagging tongues for himself it was something he needed to check in on. Yet he could not imagine who.

If nothing else perhaps it were those of fresher blood, uneducated in the ways of those who served the blessed and chose to reside beneath their radiant gaze. It was always troublesome to weed out the ill-suited from the very start until those who claimed to be devout so easily shattered their bonds. Forsook the path they tread beneath and abandoned the structure and harmony it granted their lives. In the end, it was not up to he who the divine cast their eyes upon… though they would always make it known who could not stay or required additional instruction. Though no matter all that lay shrouded in mystery, he found comfort in what he did know. The warmth he found in their light.

The supposed sisters would be dealt with, bid to seek forgiveness and face reprimand. Words that would be given to all in hopes of lessening the blow it may deal, allow them to keep some semblance of privacy to their sinful affairs lest they see repentance as his door. However, in the given moment, none of that mattered now as expression softened with a lightened sigh. Gaze fixing upon her and the ways tears trickled down her cheeks. Her frustration and embarrassment over one’s natural expression of self stirred another slow breath from his lungs.

Fingers delving into a breast pocket to free a pristine cloth, “Emotions and allowing them to be expressed is hardly unseemly my lady. At a young age we are often taught it is a sign of weakness but it is merely part of being alive. There is neither weakness nor need to apologize for tears or in seeking help, those who are true would never see it as a burden to assist when they are needed most. Loneliness eats away at you. Leaves one with no thoughts but their own and when that voice seeks only to beat them down they are thrown into a spiraling abyss. Finding it harder and harder to crawl free.”

While Ívarr nearly thought to brush the silken cloth to her skin, to wipe away what she so furiously swiped at; he held on to a sense of boundaries as bandaged limb extended it toward her in silent offer. Hovering close in his hesitance to overstep, easily within reach even should she end up not taking it. Though it would be up to touch to say if it was accepted for eyes lingered upon those stricken features, “I have already said it once before but speaking of what weighs on the mind only helps to lighten the load. Seeking help when it is needed most will never make you a burden. It is not an endeavor one needs to fear.”