She instructs him through the lacing of her corset, hands flat against her stomach, says tighter a few too many times, jaw set. It has her steady and straight when she sits in front of him, sliding her feet into slippers and breathing out, finally. Only to draw a breath sharper,

"Now he's a champion twice over," she says, a hand coming up beneath her hair and curling around the back of her neck. She'd tilt and stretch, if not for the need to let him work. "I missed the grand melee, I didn't see."

It seems a safe assumption it was bad if Iorveth is actually with the healers. He seems like a man inclined to walk off a head wound.

"It's all a bit obscene now."