Slowly nodding along with Hanzo's conclusions, Benedict raises his hands to rest his face in them. What a disaster.
He shakes his head to confirm that he didn't ask for it, but follows with a shrug at the next question.
"She didn't tell me," he says weakly, looking up over his hands, "she-- I told her about them, in my letters. I'm sure she was angry." But why not clue your own son in on the plan? That digs at him almost as much as the madness of the gesture itself.

"I think-- the slavers must have been hired. But there's so much I don't understand. Why... why send me back after?" The words are desolate, broken. "Why involve me at all?"
She had barely said hello to him, her long-lost kidnapped son, before galloping off and away again. He hasn't been able to forget that.