Barnaby nods his understanding. It's noble of Tristan to want to make a stand, heedless of personal risk, and he won't try to talk him out of it when his mind is clearly made up.

"Then, shall we give the two of you time to discuss particulars in private?" Cid and Tristan, he means. He reaches down to pick up the guard at his feet, still unconscious, and scoops them up in his arms. He understands why Tristan wouldn't want to divulge anything sensitive to anyone other than a Pleroma. "It might be too risky for the rest of us to render our assistance directly, but if there are other ways we can help, I would be glad to."

And in the mean time, they can get these Achamites out of Tristan's hair before they cause any more problems.