Arthur's happy with a bowl of stew, to be quite frank. Easy on his tender stomach and warm enough to keep the threat of chills at bay.

And the man immediately gets a flat look over his bowl; honestly, with how bedraggled Arthur still looks, it's less 'cold and calculated demeanor' and more 'feral dog that's going to bite if you steal his bone'.

"In times and places like these, all we can do is help each other," he says flatly, scrubbing his mouth with the side of his gloved hand. "It hardly does to disparage that."