Normally Bariyan would be all over himself trying to comfort Martin in this condition, but he knew here there was no reason for that. The only sadness and upset here was long established, here to stay; the sort of grief that threaded itself through time. The same sort of grief that he might feel for his own son, for example. And there was nothing to be done about it. It was right, and in its own way, it was good. It was certainly unavoidable.

So he merely squeezed Martin's hand back, and nodded.

"Your father sounds like he was a good man," he murmurs. Martin's father... the man whose footsteps he was now following in, willingly or otherwise.