The steering is welcome, if he's honest. He forces himself to slow-- in another time he would have driven himself harder, pressed forward all the more stubbornly, but he cannot exhaust himself before the man beside him has found safety.

"You cannot go alone and unarmed," he says, with a shake of his head. "You struck a hell of a blow there-- if I may say so-- but I won't let you seek danger again for my sake."

Then what to do? A moment's peril, and he's already thinking as though he's posting defenses against a force of a hundred. Trying to command an imaginary army through a haze of pain against an enemy he doesn't even know is out there. He's not in command here.

He battles with himself a moment; and then he lets out a breath, and with it allows the stranger to take a little more of his weight. "...We'll go to the Rose & Thorn," he says. "As you said. We'll alert the innkeep. What messages must be sent can be sent from there."

He adds, as though convincing himself, "You're right. This is the constable's affair."