Althaea listens intently to the narrative, occasional offering a nod. When Soril finishes speaking, she remains silent for period, her expression betraying nothing more than an air of contemplation. Finally, she speaks a single syllable.
"Hmm."
The noble continues mulling the situation over in her head. This wasn't a situation entirely without precedent, but she couldn't recall from her studies how those similar disputes had been settled in past cases. That is, excluding assassinations and rebellions. "It's quite the situation you have on your shoulders. I'd like to help, but I don't know how much I could do," The eladrin continues her thoughts out loud, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think the Syraxan nobility would like to have its affairs meddled in by the nobility of the fey kingdoms. For that matter, I doubt the rest of House Ripace will wish to become involved in settling the disputes of outsiders."
She glances towards the darkening sky, as if hoping for some divine insight. Of course, none came. She'd stopped believing in miracles about 18 years prior. There was no reason to begin now.
"Whatever happens, I'm willing to help you resolve this should it come to that, after this job in Barrinsgate. You've saved my life before, I'm sure it's the least I can do. I think the rest of our compatriots would agree," she smiles at him. When they'd first met, Althaea had taken an immediate liking to the Dragonborn's martial spirit and diligence; it was something that she could immediately relate to, having spent years studying and practicing the art of battle. After traveling together, that sense of camaraderie had only strengthened, and the noble was more than willing to try to help him however possible.
Suddenly, the eladrin appears to remember that she is, in fact, on a ship, and the feeling of nausea returns. Immediately to distract herself, she asks, "If you don't mind my questioning, what will you be writing in your letter?"