"Ages for him, perhaps." Vera's personally not so convinced that time is the same for the daedra and Mundus. But that's her own opinion. "I thought it might be foolish to return it so it could be given to another with true intentions for such power." To her, it had been little more than a trinket.

"I don't care what your lineage is, Imperial," she huffs. "You'll have to pardon me if I don't particularly feel sorry for your plight." He had been gifted and a martyr, and the stories of his skill are as legendary as his title. He can't hide from her. But there's a bit of empathy in her gaze, a sharp contrast to the lingering disgust at war in her expression. There are memories there now, emotions and thoughts, and despite what she wishes...they're connected now.

Maybe that's the reason that she can't shake all of the anger.

"No, you do have something to prove to me." But she can't gain anything from him if he's doubled over in pain or dead. Standing, she holds out a hand, palm down, and allows the warmth of a healing spell to drop from her and into him. Her expression beyond the flood of light is mostly unreadable, though there is wariness in her eyes and distrust that cannot be erased so easily.