With permission granted she rests her hand on top of his, the full of her focus and Compassion's power flowing through him. Any bruise, any ache, any blister or sore or scab is washed away. He walks into shadow and death- but he will do so as whole and clean as she could possibly make him. If it were possible to burn a heroic aura into his bones, she would. While she cannot offer him that, she can impress upon him something smaller, subtler. A foolish charm for luck that she'd learned in her youth.

It might do nothing, it might spare him a boulder on his head- Maker only knows. But she marks the sigil in his palm with the tip of a glowing finger and watches it sink in. May his sword arm last till his heart stops. May his shield not break. "Make it count, Hercules."