Eamonn knows pain. He has broken half the bones in his body and bruised the other half. He has been stabbed, and burned, and strangled, and he cut down his own king and queen in cold blood because a stranger told him he had to.
He has gone numb, over the years. He put his lion helmet away, after he turned regicide. He had none of the courage of a lion, to do that.
So the bright bloom of pain when he sees Roan in a nothing town is unexpected. The punch and fire of the witch’s weapon is even more unexpected.
Roan did not know him, did not know his own name. Eamonn clings to that thought as he rides painfully back to the capital. He does not trust his men, and he does not trust himself, and he is exhausted with it, but not so exhausted that when the sawbones pulls the twist of metal from his shoulder that he doesn’t see the flash of fear that goes with the Wizard’s memory.
Eamonn does his best not to remember things. He works hard to forget who he was, before the Wizard. But he has never been good at forgetting. He is a coward with a good memory.
Roan is a brave man with no memory.