"Ah, but I shall only chide you once; I suspect Ioreth and the Warden would be less merciful. Pick your battles, my lord." She chuckles, smiling, but makes a sympathetic noise as well when he speaks of his headache.

"I daresay you may blame the wine for most of it." A beat, before a hint of teasing enters into her voice as she goes on, "There is an old wives tale about a remedy for overindulging in Rohan, made out of mixing raw eggs with warm mare's milk. Perhaps your tea fares slightly better in comparison?"