Lemm doesn't outwardly react, not even with a nod. What they've written is as simple as that: he does. (Inwardly, there is a nice little flicker of pride-and-protectiveness that he lets sit.) ...Ah, no, there is a slight outward response: his shoulders come back a little. The Knight trusts him with all that, he can manage a social encounter.

Seer slips a hand out of her wings to take the letter. "Please, both of you. Sit," she offers, dipping the paper in a slight gesture.

Lemm unloops his bag from his shoulder and comes to sit, with a glance at the pile of pillows behind her, which she hasn't offered. They're big enough that there would be an awkward height difference, anyway. He settles for the floor, putting his bag in his lap and resting his arms on top. Seer gets a stiff nod. He doesn't need to read; he knows what's going on already.

She is quiet for some time, and oddly still as she reads. They may get the sense that she is looking at them, even if her attention is on the paper.

...

She's quiet for a long time, and Lemm's itch to say something finally wins over.

"It's an unbelievable lot, if not for the proof I've seen..."

"A moment, please," Seer asks. She's not done.

Lemm apologetically clears his throat and lets her finish reading. Instead he watches the Knight as closely as he dares without resorting to staring. He knows they must be uncomfortable with this.