[Eventually, Ardyn comes out, mug of tea in hand. He moves over to where Fynn is, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and offers it to him. (Frowning a little, too; Fynn just looks worse now than he did moments before.)]

I'm hoping that they won't. Perhaps that's what is most disconcerting about it all.

[A beat, and then.] Are you feeling warm or cold? [If Fynn has the chills, then he bets he has a fever too.]

I suppose we won't know until the truth shows itself.

[That's probably the most cryptic thing he's said all day.]

We'll wait and see, I guess. [He takes the mug from Ardyn with an inaudible "thank you" to follow. After a few sips, Fynn finally admits to his malady which a feat within itself.]

Colder than a witch's toe, to be honest. You got the damn windows open.

[No, he doesn't.]

[And so, once again the conversation concerning memories is put carefully to the side in Ardyn's mind. He chooses to focus on Fynn's health for now, as that appears to be the most pressing matter.

A frown.]

No, I don't. You're feeling chilled because you're probably running a fever.

[And then, a bit sternly, like a parent talking to a child:] Stay home tomorrow. You'd be useless at work anyway.