This was probably a converted children's ward, I guess. It looks enough like one in any case.

[ Alva's used to open doors, especially when they stayed that way. Six years in Gloriana stripped him near-entirely of his sense of privacy; people coming and going through rooms without announcing themselves was commonplace. The man standing at the entryway isn't walking through the threshold, at least, just looking in from where the door's been left open as he's setting the sheets on his own bed.

Val had come over, and Alva read to him like he was a kid again. (It's so strange not to wake up and find guards already milling about right outside the door.) ]

I'm Alva. I don't think we've met yet.