(I was tempted to go with The Bride for this, but uh it feels more ironic this way :3c)
Hason rubs at his forehead tiredly, green eyes focused on the papers in his hand intently. So much to go through and less and less time between meetings make it difficult for him to have the time to spare for these smaller reports. having to resort to sifting through these on the way back to his home. With a careful gaze roving over the notes on the progress of the soldiers training, logistics regarding the knights and their shifts, and countless reports from the various jobs each had taken up. He'd have to read and file each, which was never something he never looked forward to.
Familiar handwriting catches his eye, and he stops flipping through the papers, pulling the offender to the front. It's his daughter's handwriting, carefully penned to recount her report of a recent assignment. A Bodyguard. Protection and so on.
Hason hums to himself, adjusting his grip so he can read the contents better. An assignment that he had no part in, so he knew little about the specifics aside from Illanya's reports. The older man was more familiar with Miss. Blacach the composer then he was with the composer who needed to be guarded. From what he knew, and had heard from the audience of some of her performances here, he couldn't help but admire her for it. Music was something that frequently perplexed him, the intricacies of such and what was possible on a stage difficult to grasp in its entirety. Yet he still loved it, whether it was the drunken caterwauling in a tavern or something as fine and gentle as melodies plucked on a harp. The latter was the preferred instance with the few performances he'd had the time to spare to go see being high among his favorites.
For that alone his opinion of this visitor to Arlin was high, and from what he read of Illanya's past reports and of the one in her hands, she had been kind. Perhaps a bit distant if the notes were to be believed, but perhaps that was of less surprise to him. Fame and attention like that makes a certain amount of aloofness necessary, he supposes. It wasn't uncommon among those who held the public's attention, either, something he'd observed within the court.
So engrossed in his thoughts the man doesn't even realize he has glanced up to check the hall until it is too late, his broad stature slamming into another poor soul and knocking them back. Papers go flying and Hason only pauses with a grunt, grimacing embarrassedly. It's only when he looks up from where the papers fell that he realizes the odd coincidence. Knocked back to the cool floor of the castle halls is Isolde. Immediately, Hason ignores the tossed papers and drops to a knee, holding out a hand.
"Ah! I am terribly sorry, My lady. I wasn't watching, and nearly trampled you there. Are you alright? Do you need any assistance?"