"If you'd known, I've no doubt you'd have saved me," he replies warmly. "But you didn't know, and there's no shame in that. The real shame here is someone as lovely as you looking as sad as all that." He hates seeing her so upset, even on his behalf. He remembers her as vibrant and strong and cheerful, someone he was happy to fight alongside.

He squeezes her hand again, then pulls his own away. "Can I get you a fresh tea?" And perhaps a distraction?