"All his life, help has been impossible for him,” Claudius says. He puts the ember down before it can begin to burn again. “He had an illness none could cure. The ones who claimed that they could cure him only caused him further misery. They treated him less like a child than a broken clock, still a-repairing, ever out of frame, its only value how it was meant to work, and never how it does. When he's offered aid, he must feel like someone's come again to fix him, and will put him aside in frustration when they see he can't be fixed. I understand it. But I do not like it." He sighs. "Hast thou had this argument with him before?"