It hits her nose with a delay, but she recognises it. It's what the healers cleaned her arm with, just in case the blade had been cursed, and she had very nearly soiled herself again from the pain.

She's not ashamed to grab onto the offered anchor of his hand when it is offered. She clasps it with both hands, in fact, pressing her forehead to his knuckles as if in prayer, bracing for it.

"Okay, I'm ready." No questions asked about this being the right course of action - with this, too, she has had experience. He's doing all the right things. And at least it isn't wine. Wine would just be sticky and sweet and make things worse.