"No more than any other mortal, Joscelin." Alcuin's gaze sharpens, even if his voice does not. "Somehow I doubt even Phèdre's Tsingano friend could have seen this." Joscelin has always been too hard on himself, and even if Phèdre saw it more frequently than he, one must needs be blind and deaf to miss it. He's not quite certain how to go about moderating this harsh habit, but someone must, as it is more than clear that Josclin won't, left to himself.

He steps forward, holding out an open palm, concern writ about his eyes. "Don't rush to shoulder the blame. It was never your fault."