@radiantpaths; Ike is fine, all things considered. Sure, he lost, but it was a fake fight. He comes out of it with a couple of scrapes that he can walk off. His pain tolerance is pretty high. Yet here he is, in front of Rhys, as if the minor injuries are worse than the time he'd dislocated his shoulder (and kept fighting). "You mind patching this up for me?" he asks. He should feel bad that he's lying and he does, kind of. Not enough to stop himself.
Rhys isn't surprised when Ike shows up to ask for healing for mere scratches. He's been doing this for so long that Rhys doesn't remember when it started, but he does remember thinking at some point that, rather than healing, Ike was there for something else. Maybe someone to talk with or to have a moment of peace. He isn't sure, Ike never says, but Rhys never asks.
"Sure, Ike. Take a seat." He gestures to the cot that's been set up for patients (Ike counts, right?) and when Ike sits Rhys offers him a juice box.
"There's a woman passing out juice boxes. I asked her for one, I was feeling a little light headed, and she gave me two. So, here."
After Ike accepts it, Rhys picks up his staff. "This mock tournament is really kind of interesting. I've never heard of anything like this back home." As he speaks, he places his hand over the scratches that adorn Ike's upper arm. The familiar surge of healing magic comes forth and, when he removes his hand, the scratches are gone. He squeezes Ike's shoulder affectionately before pulling away.
"All of this energy makes me want to get up and go see all the matches, but then I get tired." He laughs sheepishly. "A lot of people come by the med tents though so it works out."
Which led him to what was really on his mind, as Rhys realized maybe he had rambled a little too much. "I know you're not continuing to the next round but…if you plan to go around and spectate the matches, I'd love to go with you. You know, I think I'm getting better at telling how well someone wields a sword after watching you fight for so long."
