A Work in Progress

Small council meetings were rarely occasions of interest, though Aemond sat through each and every one he was granted entry to diligently, unlike his brother. Although Aegon was next in line for the iron throne, he paid little attention to the ruling of the kingdom or the petty matters of court. Aemond however, took a vested interest in how his kingdom was to be run, even if he wasn’t a member himself. If he was not present for meetings, his mother often recalled significant events and decisions to him over dinner. When the time came to replace a member of the small council, a trusted and integral member of the King’s advisors, Aemond had sway, his voice echoing through his mother’s lips. 

The role of Master of Coin had long been filled by older members of court, typically of noble families who lived in Kings Landing. With the passing of the old master, the small council pleaded with the King to inject some youth and vitality into a stale system. The Hand of the King was instructed to search the realm for the most qualified, loyal men with families and ties to the realm, men of good standing, but with real world experience - who could give real insight into the plight of the people, yet handle the burden of the vast finances of the crown. He found all those qualities within your father. 

You had never expected such a dramatic upheaval, a thorough uprooting of your entire life, yet you packed your belongings and endured the long journey to Kings Landing, everything you ever owned in tow. As an unmarried woman, you were tied to your father, supported by his finances and stuck under his thumb until you found a husband. It wasn’t the life you’d ever have chosen, but it was the one you were stuck with. Luckily your father wasn’t the type to force your hand into an unhappy marriage, and thus far all prospective suitors had been highly undesirable. Perhaps you had read too many books, too many stories of romance and the ardour of men who simply did not exist in reality. Perhaps your standards were simply too high. In any regard, this move would prove to be the start of a very interesting adventure, one you truly never expected.

Few introductions are memorable affairs, but the day Aemond Targaryen made your acquaintance was one he was sure to never forget. As the second son, it was his unfortunate duty to greet new members of court, along with his mother, the Queen and the King’s hand. As always, Aegon much preferred the company of his cups and the whores of the street of Silk, forsaking his obligations to the crown over his selfish pleasures. Aemond had seen in four Masters of Coin, all distinguished men in their fields, all of whom had flittered away the crown’s reserves, or had died before satisfactorily executing their duties. He wasn’t looking forward to heralding in yet another man severely unprepared for the responsibilities of such a role, but there he stood, pin straight and the picture of a Targaryen prince. He heeded his mother’s warnings, giving his guests ‘the courtesy of a smile’, with as much zeal as he could muster.

When you floated into his field of vision, accompanying a middle aged man who clearly hadn’t seen battle in some time, Aemond was rightfully stunned. He paid little attention to the new Master of Coin aside from a brief but polite greeting, so rapturous was your beauty, you stole the very wind from his lungs. Even as the older man introduced you, a far away voice muttering “Your Grace, this is my daughter”, and you lowered yourself before him, Aemond stood dumbstruck, all sense of decorum and propriety falling by the wayside.

Despite a youthful appearance, Aemond suspected you were of an age where most ladies would’ve already been married, and blessed with babes. Maybe, like him, you were disinterested in such things, or perhaps your father stood in the way of unsuitable matches. In any case, you possessed a rare beauty, even rivalling that of the Targaryen’s themselves. It wasn’t often a woman left Aemond stunned, even a little shellshocked in their presence, yet he stood silently as you passed him by. A bow of his head was the only reasonable action he could summon in that moment, his mind swimming as his eye locked onto yours. Yet despite this immediate infatuation, Aemond was also plagued by self doubt - the notion that such a woman could ever love a man so maimed and damaged was beyond all reason, and he put it to rest straight away, to shield his fragile self esteem from further disappointment. 

The remainder of the evening was spent settling into your draughty chambers, and eventually roaming the castle. Although your father held a tight rein on some aspects of your life, he allowed you the freedom to go where you pleased unaccompanied. You knew it would cause a stir among the ladies of court, but you weren’t about to give up your independence to satisfy gossiping women who could never be satisfied, or to give into rules imposed by men who hardly knew you. The following day would be a flurry of strangers, a whirlwind of social obligation and overstimulation, so you enjoyed the contemplative silence of these small moments. These slivers of tranquility, where you could explore your new surroundings in peace.

Eventually after wandering the many cold and confusing corridors of the Red Keep, through the hallways lined with vaulted ceilings and intricate carvings, you found yourself pushing through the doors of a vast and sprawling library. Every twist and turn led to a new nook, a new cosy place to spend your days lost in the pages that filled this room. 

The earthy smell of old paper swam in your nostrils, the twisting and winding labyrinth empty enough to think and daydream without interruption. Rows and rows of books lined the walls, entire generations worth of knowledge ready and waiting for your curious mind to soak in. You wandered the maze of stacked books, thoroughly astounded by the vast array of information at your fingertips. Books in the common tongue but also books in High Valyrian - an ancient language spoken almost exclusively by the Targaryen family, a language they used to communicate with the beasts that cruised the skies. You’d always thought that there was magic in communicating with such creatures, in a tongue older than most people could fathom. These books contained stories of their history, of the origins of the language itself, perhaps you’d learn it someday.

Your next turn brought you to a cosy alcove, where prince Aemond sat engrossed in his pages, his striking profile outlined by the orange glow of the hearth behind him. 

He seemed oddly at ease, his body free of the knotted tension that pulled his muscles taut in public. The expectation of duty had been shed, a heavy weight falling from his shoulders with the turn of each new page. Now he sat in silence, in the company of wise words and the smell of decaying parchment, a place where Aemond seemed at ease within himself. A fire burned brightly in the wrought iron grate, illuminating the words of the thick tome in his slender fingers. 

Thick flames licked at the mantle, threatening to escape. The warm light danced against his hardened features, softening even the sharpest of edges. He looked like a statue, carefully carved from the finest stone, each whack of the hammer revealing more of his chiselled beauty.

At first he didn’t notice you hovering, watching from a shadowed corner as he digested each and every word. His eye darted rapidly across the pages, a satisfied smirk painted onto his face as he consumed every line. There was something beautiful about him like this, at peace, thoroughly absorbed in the words of pages much older than himself, and you couldn’t help but watch. You stood there gaping rather unabashedly at the graceful flick of his fingers against the parchment, deftly turning one page after the next. The veins in his hand caught the light as he moved them, highlighting each and every ridge. Only a subtle shift in your stance revealed your position, the small movement alerting him to your presence, though he couldn’t see who was there until you stepped into the warm glow of the fireplace. His head swivelled to where you stood, his expression 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, your Grace.” You bowed your head and swiftly walked in the opposite direction, his wide eye following your every move until you disappeared from view. He didn’t even get the opportunity to respond before you disappeared into the dark once more.

Your adventures continued the following morning as you explored the entanglement of corridors of the keep, observing the daily happenings of its inhabitants. Through the winding hallways and beautifully manicured gardens, you somehow found yourself hovering above the training yard, eyes gleefully trained on the men refining their battle skills, the clashing of metal and crash of swords against wooden shields which provided a soundtrack for the graceful dance of flesh and steel. You stood mesmerised by the weaving of limbs around one another, the glimmering armour protecting hardened muscle. You watched from your perch high above and though other ladies passed by, you stayed for hours on end observing the men of the realm diligently practicing their craft among the dust and dirt of the training pit, thoroughly entertained by the display of testosterone and repressed rage. 

Though you had been there from early morning, it wasn’t long before the swish of silver hair announced the arrival of prince Aemond. He moved like a specter in the night, swiftly parting the crowd to find his target, quickly setting into a well rehearsed dance around his sparring partner, moving through the space with ease and learned precision. He struck at Ser Criston Cole with a controlled ferocity, a rage tempered by poise and restraint. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the serpentine movement of his body, each strike of his sword communicating fury governed by a logical mind. Large palms held tight to his sword as if it had no weight, he could strike any opponent effortlessly. There was a deep seated anger behind his blows, a desperate frenzy at times, yet he remained in complete control, the steel in his hand obeying each and every command.

Your eyes were fixed firmly on the One Eyed Prince, captivated by every move imbued with grace and composure, yet with purpose. You couldn't help but think that he was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, despite his obvious physical imperfections. His build was slim, a little thinner than you typically preferred, but underneath layers of leather and cloth lay the sculpted body of a warrior. Clothing fit his svelte frame like a glove, the material molded to the contours of each and every muscle. As you watched from your high vantage point, you let your mind wander, imagining what lay beneath those layers of form-fitting leather and tight cloth. Thoughts highly unbefitting of a lady of the court, hell, even the women roaming the streets of Silk would blush at some of the visions that plagued you since your first awkward meeting. The one-eyed prince invaded your dreams, so striking was his beauty. 

You did wonder why the most beautiful son of a Targaryen king was not yet betrothed. Perhaps it was his deformation that hindered a fruitful match, perhaps it was his rather disarming personality. You had an inkling that his disinterest was all a front though, you could see how intrigued he was when he spotted you staring. How taken aback he was when he realised you had eyes for only him. Perhaps he expected derision from yet another lady of the court, perhaps that was all he was used to. But you had your sights set on the pretty prince, and would use all your feminine charm to lure him in, to let him know your interest was sincere.

You wondered how long it would be until he approached, until he made a move - if he would do so at all. You could only do so much as a lady. You could choose how you present yourself, seek out his attentions, but you could only place yourself within his reach, it was up to him to chase after you. Would it be enough to lure in the famously aloof prince Aemond Targaryen? Most men of his station were already married, already courting mistresses or wading through swathes of heirs, nipping at their ankles. But this prince seemed only interested in bloodshed and his beloved dragon. 

Perhaps if you made your affections for the prince known to your father, he would aid you in your perilous quest. He had always sought a good match for you, and despite the lines of noblemen that graced your door on a regular basis, vying for your regard, you took no mass in any of them. All of them pitiful, powerless men. They had wealth, certainly, but none of them deserved it. They let their wealth determine their worth, rather than the content of their character. They were defined by their blood, by the graces of their birth, rather than their achievements or talents. They skated by, as most noblemen did, with their servants doing the real work. You were not so easily swayed. One look at Aemond Targaryen though, and you were enraptured. His fearsome reputation paled in comparison to his beauty. He was a powerful man, sure, with a wealthy family and prospects for the throne….but that’s not what drew you in. It was the way he held himself, under your gaze. As if he didn’t think he was worthy of such attentions. As if he expected that your ogling was intended to offend, rather than to show the depth of your interest. 

One look and he diverted his eyes, shrinking under the weight of your curiosity. Yet you couldn’t help but notice the ghost of a smirk form on his lips. Now, as he trained with ferocious precision, he couldn’t help but put on a bit of a show, swinging his sword with extra flair and flounce, just for your benefit. One misstep and he would succumb to the bite of Ser Criston’s blade, but his focus was pure and his motivation strong. Aemond scarcely realised it, but watching him train only furthered your quickly developing crush, never had you seen such a fine specimen of a man, such a fierce warrior in a form quite so beautiful. 

Aemond could always tell when his eye would cause him trouble, when the flesh behind his crudely carved gemstone flared, and the nerves danced like they were set alight. It usually started as an ache, barely perceptible, a prickling sting he could ignore. Often it bloomed into a throbbing pain, debilitating and powerful. Sometimes it halted his vision, shrouding his good eye with black spots. Other times, it gave no warning and hit all at once, devastating and overwhelming his system without caution. This night was one of those times.

It had been a rather joyous celebration of your father’s appointment as the newest Master of Coin, with the Targaryen family and friends of the realm gathering to break bread in his honour. 

The hall was filled with the din of merriment, clattering of silverware and half empty cups striking the solid table tops. It was rare to see the entire Targaryen family in revelry, no arguments or animosity to be seen on their bright, gleeful faces. It warmed your heart to see your father brought into the fold so quickly, he’d worked hard all his life, and even though he was a nobleman of some standing, it didn’t stop him grafting countless hours to be the best in his field. When the opportunity to work for the royal family opened up, he grasped it with both hands, and you followed gladly, looking forward to seeing the inner workings of the Red Keep.

You never expected to become so enamoured with the infamous one-eyed prince, the second son who was often overlooked in favour of his drunkard of a brother. You couldn’t see how that lout had the fairest of ladies fawning all over him, aside from his enormous wealth of course. Prospects are an enticing force, and Aegon came with the highest of prospects…the iron throne would naturally pass to him, as the first born son. You knew Rhaenyra had a claim, as the first born, but a woman would never be accepted on the throne, not in this lifetime. You certainly didn’t look forward to the grief it would cause. But for now, you enjoyed the merriment and respite your father’s appointment provided. Good food, plentiful wine, and a view of the most breathtaking man in King’s Landing. 

Soft fluttery eyes met Aemond’s disarming glare across the room, his usual dour demeanour immediately softening with your bright eyes upon him. You tried to communicate your interest in him through those brief, but powerful moments.

Over seas of people, mountains of food and the rapturous cacophony of joyful conversation, you admired the one-eyed prince in his stoic, silent glory at the left hand of the king. 

He didn’t quite know how to handle such attentions, though there was a glimmer in his eye that looked like fascination. He returned your stolen glances, to the best of his ability, relenting when he was sure that you weren't simply staring as others tended to do. Ladies of the court seemed utterly repulsed by his mangled face, often staring quite brazenly, but diverting their gaze just as quick when caught - but you seemed different, you seemed genuinely interested in the scarred and broken man across that enormous feast hall. 

He had scrutinised your father at council meetings, looking for any fault, any sign of treachery or dishonesty, but he couldn't find a single trace of impropriety, in fact he seemed more honest than half of the men that previously occupied that role. Aemond saw a steadfast man, trustworthy by all accounts. He saw how he doted on you, accompanying you to meals, and on your leisurely walks about the castle. 

In truth, he became slightly jealous at the loving relationship you shared with your father. It hurt more than anything to see such a bond between family, one he never experienced with his own father, the king. Theirs was a bond of blood, and not much else. Perhaps if he had that kind of support as a child, his life may have taken a different path. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been maimed, and wouldn’t have been subjected to a life of pain and torment. But he couldn’t blame anyone for that bar his father, and despite his poking and prodding, Aemond found no reason to hate yours. 

Seeing integrity on full display eased his anxieties slightly, finally accepting that your intentions might’ve been pure, your subtle flirting and brazen gawking coming from a genuine place, not just toying with him as other maidens had done in his youth. He’d been hurt before for sure, and guarded as he was, Aemond wouldn’t let an opportunity to court a fair highborn lady, who showed genuine interest in him, pass him by.

As he sat distracted by your flirtatious ogling, picking at his plate of food, Aemond was struck down by a rather sudden spasm of the damaged nerves behind his missing eye. Stifling a groan with a barely audible hiss, he excused himself from the table quite quickly, before rushing out of the hall into an adjoining corridor. Only his mother noticed his departure, and the look on her face told all. 

He went from flirting with you across the hall in a series of stolen glances, the corners of his mouth twisting into something resembling a smile, to clutching at the eyepatch laying across his damaged eye, his face contorting into a harsh grimace as he stumbled quietly out of the grand hall. Before you knew it, he had shuffled out of your eyeline, though some movement in the darkness gave hints to his whereabouts. 

Seeing this unusual behaviour, and noticing his stagger towards an empty hallway, you quietly excused yourself from dinner, and assured your father you were okay. With an approving nod, you shuffled in the same direction as the prince. 

You never expected to find him huddled in a corner, away from prying eyes, clutching the source of his discomfort, one hand braced against the cold stone of the castle walls. You could only see a vague outline in the darkness, but there was no doubt as to the shadow’s identity. A soft whimper came from the pitiful mass, and your heart hurt for him, knowing he must’ve been in significant pain to succumb in this manner. To see such a fierce and powerful prince, who was only hours earlier dancing and lunging around the training yard struck down, forced to his knees, it touched something within you. 

You'd never seen someone in such agony, cowering against an invisible foe, the one enemy Aemond could never see coming, the only one he could never slay, never evade. Every fibre of your being longed to help him, so pathetic was the silhouette of the most fearsome prince of the realm, now knelt in a hallway, doubled over in utter torment. So you lowered yourself down beside him. You tentatively extended a hand to touch his sleeve, trying not to startle him, but with enough force to make him aware of your presence, you whispered “My prince, apologies for the intrusion, but may I be of some assistance?”

“Leave me be, woman..go!” he shouted, though his strained voice came through as more of a plea, than anything else. His usual irrefutable commands now sounded desperate, his throat tight as his body battled against unimaginable suffering. “Please my prince, I may be of use. Let’s get out of this place, I'll escort you to your chambers at the least” you extended a hand to Aemond, hoping he wouldn't be too proud to accept it. To your surprise, he grasped onto your hand, using your arm as a lifeline as you slowly guided him through the empty halls. You had to shoulder the majority of his dense weight, as he faltered under the hand of his invisible tormentor several times. Luckily everyone was tending to the guests at the feast, there were no onlookers to his misery. 

As soon as you reached his chambers, he raised a flat palm to the smooth surface and pushed through the heavy wooden door, collapsing onto the first chair he could find with his limited field of vision. You helped him drop down, supporting his weight as best you could and immediately called for the maesters. Unfortunately they were busy tending to his ailing father….so you decided to take things into your own hands. 

Your mother, in her short time on this earth, taught you a few useful tricks for remedying simple ailments. They wouldn't completely fix him, but you thought perhaps they may soothe the worst of his pain. Some herbs such as calendula and comfrey could soothe the skin, ease pain of irritation or open wounds…and you desperately hoped they would prove useful in this situation. Aemond’s servants fetched bowls of cool water, along with the herbs you requested, but you were insistent on doing the rest.  

You thought he may have cowered away from you, from such an intrusion into his personal space, but instead, as you gingerly dabbed the cold water onto the inflamed skin around his eye, Aemond melted into your arms. His body was coiled tight, like a viper ready to strike, with his pain the source of all the tension. But your hands provided a welcoming source of warmth. He usually wasn’t one to lean into physical contact, but this was a comfort, a true balm to the permeating sting behind his damaged eye socket. 

He heard a small resonating thud as your knees hit the stone floor beside him, and you settled by the leg of his writing chair, holding that wet rag against his inflamed skin. The herbs began their task immediately, reducing the swelling and fiery redness around his scar, while the water cooled his flesh. Every brush of your hand against his face set Aemond alight, and even through the fog and debilitating haze of pain, he felt every gentle caress, every soft and healing touch. 

This was a man who was hurt, touch starved, in desperate need of comfort & companionship. To have someone on his side, someone to prop him up, meant the world, especially in a moment of true vulnerability. In this moment, in the privacy of his quarters, Aemond was free to shed the mask of the cold, uncaring weapon and just be a man. 

His body unconsciously chased the warmth of your hand, the solace of your body heat against a frame wracked with pain. It was a type of intimacy he was woefully unfamiliar with, yet his body instantly craved more, clearly aching for a deeper human connection.

He had never even had company in his chambers before, save for the maesters and his sister, on occasion. Though with the white hot flames licking at the inside of his brain, he could have been in any room in this godforsaken castle. Now, to have the object of his affections doting on him while pain ran unrestrained through his body, it all felt slightly surreal. If he was a prouder man, he'd have been ashamed to have such a lovely woman tending to his wounds, but pain is a great leveller. All his notions of grandeur subsided with that first swell of pain, and again as he felt your soft hands clasped around his own in that hallway, his inhibitions ebbing away with his pain under your tender care. The throbbing behind his roughly cut sapphire eased a bit under your careful watch, the cold providing more relief than anything else. 

“My prince, I will need to remove this..” you whispered as your fingers traced the edge of his leather eyepatch. You weren’t afraid of what lay underneath, however you were wary of how he’d respond. “You will only think me a monster. It’s unsightly...” Aemond croaked, his throat still tight, tears welling up in the corner of his good eye. “I will think you a man. A mere human, who feels pain. Please, let me help..” He looked at you for a second, his bright violet eye surveying the sincerity of your statement before nodding, allowing you to remove the leather standing in the way of your treatment, however basic it may be. 

As soon as you removed the leather covering, Aemond cast his face down, detaching himself from the reaction he expected to come. But you merely looked at him for a minute, your eyes sympathetic but kind, before returning to the dappling motion of the rag against his severely inflamed flesh. 

The skin underneath the eyepatch was worse than you thought, scar tissue had formed into jagged ridges, though the skin around the eye itself looked raw and angry. You couldn’t fathom the pain it must cause him on a regular basis, but you could sympathise and not judge him based on this one imperfection. What did bring you monetary pause, was the beautiful sapphire that stood in place of his eye. It sat in the socket, glimmering even in the dim dappled light of the moon. It was truly mesmerising and complimented the tones of his naturally striking lavender eye and his crystalline pale skin. It was certainly striking, but you could understand why he hid it from the world. His family were known for their flawless physicality, their silver hair and lavender eyes. They were the epitome of royalty, imbued with dragon blood. To feel imperfect in a world where perfection walked around you daily, it must have been impossibly tiresome.

When no visible gasp could be heard, no intake of breath or any sign of shock, Aemond raised his chin slightly, bringing his eyes back to meet yours, albeit sheepishly.

“How can you look at me and not feel utter revulsion at this hideous sight?”

“I find you remarkably beautiful, your grace. Tis’ but a blemish on a rather impressive canvas” 

He tilted his head, studying your face for any signs of deception, as if he could hardly believe the words falling from your lips. He tried to furrow his brow, but this aggravated his swollen eye further. You maintained a steady, neutral expression, as if the words you spoke were fact, not open to interpretation. All the while, dabbing at the delicate skin around his raw, bright red eye socket. With your efforts bringing some relief, Aemond could think clearer. 

Looking at him now, just a man tormented by a childhood wound, Aemond didn’t seem quite so menacing as his reputation led you to believe. You could see that underneath the guise of a warrior, of a mad man prone to violence and utter fiendish behaviour, lay someone broken, in need of comfort and love. Somehow it only made him more attractive, his imperfections didn’t detract from his beauty, only added backstory and context to a rather elusive man. If this would bring you closer, if this was the impetus he needed to make his feelings known, you were glad it was you tending his wounds, and not some sheepish maid or withered old maester.

In a moment of perhaps ill advised impulsivity, Aemond raised his hand and  laid his large palm over your own, halting your benevolent ministry. Though you jumped slightly at his sudden movements, you were shocked at the pure heat emanating from his hands, as if fire ran beneath the surface of his skin, as if his veins held the same force that coursed through his dragon. He leaned into the comfort of your touch against his scarred skin, those healing fingers that brought him such relief. You could only look at him, mouth agape, slightly shocked by the sudden contact. He didn’t stop there though, eventually bringing your hand to the unexpectedly soft curve of his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to the flesh of your open palms, as if he was worshipping them before the seven, a chaste, yet surprisingly gentle gesture unbefitting a man with such a fearsome reputation. He clutched your hand to his cheek, hesitant to let it go, should this tender moment come to an abrupt end. His eye closed, afraid that if he looked at you directly, you’d come to your senses and abandon him to his torment. He certainly never expected you to reciprocate such a gesture. 

“Aemond, look at me, please” you whispered. 

He drew his eyes from the ground to look you in the eye directly. What he saw shocked him. He saw compassion, a tender and unfamiliar look, before you tightened your grip on the curve of his jaw, and leaned in closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the soft skin of his slightly parted lips. 

It was merely a peck, an innocent gesture to test the waters, yet you saw the profound impact such a token had on the broken prince. You felt his breath hitch, sticking in his chest as if he didn’t know what to do with it. As you pulled back to let him breathe a little, Aemond soon chased after, quickly pulling you back into a rather tender display of affection. His lips were surprisingly soft against your own, traces of wine still lingering on them from the feast. A tender kiss developed into something frenzied, passionate, a clash of teeth and tongue utterly unbefitting a lady, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much as he melted into your embrace.

You felt incredibly lucky to have been entrusted with something so vulnerable as his trust.

You knew prince Aemond was notoriously aloof, showing no discernible interest in ladies, but in a moment where his pain was raw and exposed, he sat unguarded before you, letting you in wholeheartedly. He softened in your arms, truly let himself relax into your touch, yielding to your tender kiss. Although you were taken aback at him letting down his carefully crafted walls so suddenly, you felt honoured to know that he felt safe enough in your arms to do so.

In that moment, all your selfish desires came to the fore, but you knew he wasn’t strong enough for more rigorous activities, nor was it proper to even suggest such things. 

Pain still wracked his body, you could feel the trembling of his muscles beneath your hands, the adrenaline coursing through his system in the fight against an impossible opponent. 

To be held by hands so strong, that had seen battle and bloodshed, hours of training, yet shook like a leaf under the torment of an invisible foe. 

You wanted nothing more than to ease his pain, to soothe the demons that lay behind that glimmering gemstone. Yet, you couldn’t slay these enemies. You couldn’t use your wiles or charm on an adversary you could not see. Your tinctures and potions would only go so far, but to hold him, to be a support and a shoulder to lean on when he so desperately needed one, that was something you would willingly provide. You thought maybe showing him that wasn't alone, perhaps that would be enough. 

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