Don't ask how he's managed it. Don't ask how he managed to avoid the Inquisition's throng of medical busybodies to this point.

"Won't close up right," The messy little gash in his side must be in fact, a day or two old, and still oozing through its bandage. "And you know how those places are —"

Lazar pauses, before lowering his shirt again. She probably doesn't know how the back room of that particular tavern goes. Rutyer or not, she's still a lady.

"— Well, reckoned I should see an expert."