[Piece by piece, his armor comes free, and he methodically stacks it on the arms rack at the foot of the bed, every implement in its proper place. Good military training, always.

It's only after the last piece has been set aside that Aymeric truly seems to deflate, as though the rigidity of the plate had been keeping his poise and composure upright along with his body, and now at last he can spill free of it.]

I would not speak of the events of today any longer, Haurchefant, lest my heart break from the repetition.

[Gingerly, he eases himself down onto his side, and then wincing onto his back, seeking to find a position that doesn't aggravate his lingering pains.]

But you are kind to console me. Even in the darkest of times, you never fail to find kindness to spare.