Issy bit her lip, fussing and worrying. This was…new, new and unpleasant. She didn’t *like* being uncertain. Himself seemed to be in a bad way, had been ever since the news about the girl him and Konse had known, and gods knew the battle hadn’t helped…she thought. And of course he had to go get himself some bloody mead…
She tugged on the sleeves of the simple dress she wore. Issy hadn’t been sure, so she’d worn the damn thing, just to see if it would lift his spirits, and it had done, it seemed at first. Thank the gods he’d stopped himself and left the pub, though, because she wasn’t sure how happy he’d be if she’d knocked him out and dragged him out by the heel. There was a faint, nervous giggle, and then a deep breath as she glanced to the door of his quarters.
Godsdamn it, this…feelings…thing was hard. So bloody hard. What to do?
She raised her hand to knock, and hearing no response, creaked open the door and peeked her head around the the crack. Himself was sleeping. Dammit. She sighed, hesitated, and fussed. The despair in his voice, the worry on his shoulders. What could she do? She was a street rat, a damn street rat, that had caught his fancy. He was older, and wiser, and in pain, and she didn’t know what to do.
An idea occurred to her, and she bit her lip, and then slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her, and moved to his bedside. Sat down on the floor and leaned her head against his pillow and settled in. She would wait, and be there for him. Maybe that was enough.
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