"I am sure we could each put up a sincere fight." And right now, it might be as close to an equal one as they are ever like to get, and she still would not fancy her chances. Not in a direct confrontation, but she doubts he has ever feared direct confrontation. It is other things that trouble him, hidden things, secrets, whispered treasons. Out of a hundred levelled against him, he must, in the end, only miss one.

But the truth remains that she does not hate him, and that he, in turn, fails to hate her as well. She has half a mind to wish for a dose of this sickness, so she would at least have reason to fall to such an insanity.

"Of course." Fresh hot water is procured from above the fireplace, and she brews him but a single fresh cup this time. It is best served hot, and she sees no need to share in it each and every time he must suffer the earthy taste. This time, she does not ask if he requires honey – a drop of it is simply added. "I can gather more if need be, but for now, there is enough left to last you through the night."

She turns away from him, if only to open the window, to let in some fresh air. "The cloth helps?"