Hearing that she doesn't blame him lifts a weight and he's able to lift his head again to look at her. When he hears who she does blame, his expression falls in dismay. He leans towards her, trying to tell her with his eyes that he thinks no such thing. Trying, without interrupting her, to assure her that it wasn't her fault. She's not to blame. If anyone is, it's him for adhering to the traditions of long dead men. But not her. Never her.

It's on the tip of his tongue to say something, to reassure her, when she offers another way of helping. The idea of a favour distracts him completely. He eagerly answers, "Yes, of course. Anything."