Fǫnn can all but sense the pain around king Thor, and it hurts her, too. Still, one of the first things you learn as a healer is never to bleed for your patients. They will be in pain, and afraid, and you must let them be, without taking on their suffering yourself. You need to be clear-headed, and never let sympathy cloud your judgment. That training has stood her in good stead these past weeks. She's lost everything, like so many around her, but her pain is her own, and theirs is their own, and she will tend patiently to their ailments without carrying their guilt and sorrow.

She puts her hand on Thor's good elbow as if to guide him, and she doesn't smile at Loki's quip, but the way her eyebrows quirk suggests amusement.

He, meanwhile, shakes out the towel on his shoulder and steps down to meet his brother, green eyes searching his face. "I ought to hug you just to get the bathwater on you, too," he says, and reaches out to curl his hand around the nape of Thor's neck. Not an embrace, but the next best thing, a friendly touch.

"No, they're all right. If I had to bathe all of them I think I'd have drowned by now, but a few a week I can tolerate." He sniffs and holds the door open for them.

"...anyway, I'm the only one Eindrid will sit still for, for whatever reason," he adds. As if he doesn't already know the reason.