[ Bard's children would sound better off by that description than Ingeras would — at least they can defend themselves from various foes, orcs or otherwise. She simply chooses not to think on how the Sultan and his armies could take her son easily, and she would never be the wiser for it in this frigid place.

But the safehouse is not so frigid, at least; it's cozy and insulated, and there is a warm hearth in the back of the house, which she leads him to — releasing his arm, though, because he may get the wrong idea if she seems too taken with touching him — when he makes a move to set down his bowl and follow her. He's tired as well as cold, Mirena can see from the lines on his face. ]

...Then it is a good thing we are without wine, tonight, [ said with a small smirk. His levity is welcome, after such a gravid subject.

She leads him down the hallway to the bedroom with the wood-burning fireplace, and takes one of the extra blankets off of the bed upon entering; when he draws nearer to the hearth and sits down before it, she drapes the blanket over his shoulders.

...Yes, maybe she's fussing over him, just a little. ]

Although any man who spins tales of dragons cannot possibly be that grim, even when drunk, I would imagine.