Something about how she says it cuts right to his heart. He feels it, the helpless certainty of loss that makes every joy a grief. When Sagramore and Janet had parted ways, when Sagramore was drinking as though it were poison and he was late to his grave ... oh, what Laertes wouldn't have done to haul him bodily into any other world than this. "Was he well, as High King of Fillory?" His stomach clenches with a craving for someone to be well.