There is not much to occupy the eye in the Fool's apartment, given he hasn't yet had the time to truly settle in and make the space his own. But the beginnings of a small indoor garden line a southwest facing window. Wooden wind chimes hang there before the glass, the artful designs rendered into the wood grain ostensibly done by his own hand. The memory stone carving on the sill remains where the Fool left it; his face is visible on one side of it--as is Fitz's, beside a noble-looking wolf.

The Fool does not look up from his task, and though his eyes linger on the scars long enough for it to be clear that he has seen them, he does not pry. (Healing magic took his own scars from his flesh, but they remain in other ways.) "I have no doubt that you are capable," he replies mildly, but does not pause in the delicate work of applying the arnica to the bruises. He does raise his eyebrows though. "Would you like to ask me whether or not I think you will actually do it?"

This time, he does glance up at Devin with a knowing sort of look on his face; it might be a smile, under better circumstances. Then he dabs his fingers back into the arnica salve and smears a bit more of it into place. "I am nearly finished, regardless, and if you heal as quickly as you say, this won't even be necessary tomorrow. It will do very little for broken bones, but will at least provide some relief from the bruising." He looks back to his fingertips to add more quietly, "I don't wish to see you in pain."