[Wriothesley knew the importance of having a hand held out to another. He remembers the kind Melusine who had given him soup when he had lived off the streets. He remembers Sigewinne tending his injuries fight after fight. He remembers all the little moments that helped him keep going.

He wonders if the trajectory of his life would have changed if he had someone who would have let him cry on their shoulder.

It’s no use for that though. Instead, he focuses on Navia. He knows very little about her. He had merely kept his promise to Callus pertaining to her, but he isn’t the warden of the Fortress of Meropide here and she’s not president of Spina di Rosula here either.

He gently threads his fingers through her hair as she cries, letting her get it all out of her system. For his rough appearance and reputation, the man was so gentle as through she were precious.

Wriothesley only speaks once she’s ready to speak again.] When you spend so much of your time trying to be strong, we often forget to take moments for ourselves. You’re welcome, Navia.