Wallace flinched at the touch, and it became immediately apparent how little of the aging man remained underneath his encompassing blue jacket. His figure was defined primarily by the amount of books and parchment on his person. Surprised as he was, he couldn't find it in himself to be displeased as his eyes fell from the sky back to Gareth. The man looked something tragic and more than anything it was the eyes. In them, Wallace saw a despair truly familiar, he'd looked upon it first as a younger man standing over a mirror and now remembered the sight of it, every day, in [i]their[/i] faces. No matter how he tried to look upon Gareth he kept seeing the child he'd failed. Disgust welled within him at the realization that only two days in he'd gone soft and nearly lost his resolve. He couldn't allow Lexine's death and a chance memory to interrupt him. He smiled at Gareth in return, "Don't be," he said, pausing as unsureness swept him and he felt unable to follow the hollow remark. "I appreciate what you're doing, for the palace. The realm will appreciate it when the truth comes to light. Ultimately, we will need more people like you, looking for the truth, before that goal can be fully realized, but for now I fear we must not be too bold in looking for them." His eyes shifted from the Great Hall to the Tower of the Thistle as he spoke.