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Sinric comes through the door dancing and laughing, all joyous flirtation and golden charm.

Until the door closes behind him. The mask drops away and he leans heavily against it with a sigh.

Sinric drags himself tiredly to the couches, meaning to rest for just a moment before he goes upstairs to wash and sleep properly. But the couch is so very comfortable...

Find him dozing by the fire.

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He jerks awake, rubbing his eyes. "Pardon?"

"There are better places to sleep", he repeats. "More comfortable, at any rate."

He blinks rapidly, leaning forward to rest his face on his hands. "I mean to go up to my rooms. I just..." He yawns deeply. "It has been such a long week."

"So it seems", he says with a nod. "And I suppose the chairs are not so uncomfortable."

"Comfortable enough to make it easy to drift off in them." He pushes back his hair, pulling a face. "I should bathe. I must stink of peat smoke and horses."

"You have been travelling?" he guesses.

He nods. "The emissary we're meeting with choose one of their nomadic camps for the negotiations. Primitive but charming, at least a first. But after five days, we're no closer to a resolution. And after five nights of feasting and drinking, I'm exhausted."

"At least, I can think of worse smells than peat smoke and horse hair."

Horse droppings, for one.

The piss of drunk men. That's high on Sinric's list. "Hmm." He starts to nod off again but shakes himself away. "I should go up." Which requires standing up. And act of will that takes a bit of a run up now he's sat down.

Childermass raises a sardonic eyebrow at him.

"That seems easier said than done."

"Just so." He laughs and pulls himself up with an effort. "Thank you, for keeping me from falling asleep here."

He shrugs. "Think nothing of it."

He gives Childermass a small smile and drags himself towards the stairs.

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