"Vinegar would be a good idea," Éowyn agrees with a little nod. She'd already been planning to add it to the mix, but there's no need to say as much; she's proud, but not so proud as to defend herself against something that's no great slight. "But my wrist has taken little enough hurt. It will bruise, and little more. I'd sooner keep it as a lesson." This with a sidelong little smile, as she takes the bowl back over to the kitchenette, adding vinegar and honey and a splash of boiling water and stirring it with a fork.

She leaves it on the sideboard, bringing over a large cup of yellowish, cloudy tea and handing it to Fitz. "Linden, willow, fennel, and honey. It ought to ease the pain, and help you rest a little." Then, with a little smile, "Are you sure you are no healer? You seem more conversant with poultices and bindings than most soldiers I have met."