"You are our daesohn. Our brother. If we do not afford you some small measure of the luxuries we have, that bodes ill for the rest of us. Come. We will find you a comfortable place to sit, and we can chat over your meal so you needn't think too much about it."

And soon enough, Vonsim finds himself sitting near the sound of a crackling fire, resting against a lumpy pillow, with a bowl of not-wholly-unpleasant-smelling stew in his hands. He can hear the clanking of a kettle being readied, though Drelasa is going to hold off on heating the water until it's time for tea. Then, he hears the soft jingle and the scrape of fabric against the floor as she sits down near him.