The jab at King Henry actually got a surprised little smirk out of Stutely. But he was listening now, properly listening, his mind ticking over her words as she spoke. He believed her, he thought. Against his expectations, everything about her spoke of conscientiousness, of care. But the doubts twisted in him, unwilling to let go.
"What if I... remember it wrong?" It was a real fear. Memory had always been a funny thing with their lot, even setting his recent troubles aside. Conflicting stories bumped up against each other in weird ways; one of them might recall a particular escapade distinctly differently from another, while a third might have two separate and clashing sets of memories of the same thing. There were things Stutely remembered that, to his knowledge, never made it into the tales, and events he only remembered in the distant manner of a passive spectator. What might happen if he got those muddled?