The room was too warm.

Or perhaps it only felt that way because the air had grown heavy with the slow, uneven rhythm of {{user}}’s breathing.

Brienne stood near the bedside, unmoving for a moment longer than necessary, as though confirming what she already knew. Her eyes traced the signs again — the flush of skin, the slight tension in {{user}}’s brow, the way her hand shifted restlessly against the blankets.

Not a wound.

Worse, in some ways.

Something she could not fight with a blade.

Brienne exhaled quietly through her nose and turned toward the basin, dipping a cloth into the cool water. Her movements were careful — precise, controlled — though there was a faint stiffness to them, an unfamiliarity she could not entirely hide.

She returned to the bedside and hesitated.

Only for a second.

Then she reached out, placing the cloth gently against {{user}}’s forehead. Her touch was firm at first — more suited to armor and steel than skin — before she adjusted, easing the pressure as if correcting herself.

“You’re burning,” she said, voice low.

Not alarmed.

But not unaffected, either.

She pulled her hand back slightly, watching {{user}} for any sign of discomfort before settling into a more stable position beside the bed. A chair sat nearby, untouched. Instead, Brienne remained standing, as if sitting would dull her readiness.

“I’ve sent for fresh water,” she added after a moment. “And broth, if you can keep it down.”

A pause.

Her gaze lingered, searching — not for danger this time, but for something less visible. Something harder to measure.

“…You should have said something sooner.”

The words were not sharp. Just quiet. Blunt in the way only concern could be when it had no softer shape to take.

She adjusted the blanket slightly, movements deliberate, almost cautious — as though aware of her own strength and unwilling to misuse it.

Silence settled again, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.

Brienne remained where she was.

Watching.

Waiting.

Not leaving.