He was not used to being cared for, but after today's events, he knew he needed someone to take care of him and tend his wounds, yet he was too proud to ask.

You entered his quartes with a first-aid kit. You were a fellow rider, and you both had rebellion relics on your body, marking you as traitors.

"Why are you here?" He asked from his bed, not even looking at you, staring out of the open window. He was bleeding from his wounds, yet too proud to ask for help.