Meteion has been docile throughout--though the entelechy has done her level best to observe. There is a flicker of recognition in her eyes at the sight of Estinien Wyrmblood, but the corners of her lips only turn down in the slightest of frowns. Mostly confusion, perhaps, but there was recognition as well...

She tilts her head up at the tall, disheveled Elezen, brows arching.

"I know as much as you, ser," Meteion responds, calmly enough. "I have nothing to do with this."

That, of course, could always change, considering what the army's ends are, but for the moment Meteion's knowledge is as limited as the dragoon's might be--she has no way to find out. She does take in his appearance, and frowns at it.

"Are you all right?"