Valgar
“Do you...?” He offered when Quincy was in the other chamber having a bath and hopefully somewhat distracted.
But she shook her head. “Not now, it’s..
.” She looked away, busying herself straightening the bedcovers like the servants would not be along as soon as they left the room.
“It’s a lot to take in, but if I can do something, then I will, and that will help.
That was... That was the worst part, feeling so helpless. ”
He nodded, understanding. He remembered that feeling; being a child and begging to be allowed to go to battle, to save his father who lay injured too close to the coast. Naturally, they’d sent others for the task, and his father had died on the journey.
To this day, part of him wondered if he could have made a better choice, if perhaps his father would be alive if he had been there.
But Mar was alive and so he did not have to wonder with her; he’d done enough, somehow, for the gods to show him mercy. That was what she was saying now: she wanted to do enough for Quincy.
He squeezed her hand. “Should we talk to the physician...?”
“Not yet,” Mar decided. “Unless...” She glanced towards the other room.
“They can only tell the present and their advice was always the same: rest and try to avoid any disturbances.” She attempted a smile.
“The risk is not so great as all that, when it’s the first and there is no reason to think.
..” Her voice caught and Valgar took her in his arms, offering his shoulder for her to hide into.
She clung to him, breathing a little fast, but she did not let the tears fall. “He will be fine,” she told him, voice hard as steel.
And he nodded, because he was afraid too, but he believed her. He believed in them.