[Finger prodding right at his sternum, Stephen gathers a silent inhale in his lungs, letting the air settle there while Stark prattles off claims of being too mentally wrung out to give him any kind of answer.

Is it satisfactory? Stephen’s mind is firing at all cylinders, so no, but admittedly, Stephen is also not fresh off of death’s doorstep. A breather is reasonable, and even he won’t argue otherwise.]

Sure. Give yourself a moment to settle, then.

[Mentally and physically. And finally, Stephen deigns to move, only enough to reach towards the table to swipe a cloth napkin from the spread, and works at banishing excess pudding from his tunic.]

There’s a library here, in the castle. If you need me, and instead of going room to room trying to pin me down, just look there. I’ll be easy enough to find.