"It is a good thing, then, that it was I who proposed it instead of you, my lord," she says primly, similarly not at all holding at bay her amusement. At the question, she remembers her own brew, picking up her half-empty cup and glancing down at the contents.

"Less distasteful than yours in flavor at least, I imagine. Chamomile-- the Warden seems more concerned with soothing my mind than my bodily aches, which are thankfully less today."

And if perhaps the Warden has the right of it with his decision, Èowyn says nothing of it out loud.