The air inside your room was heavy with the scent of medicine and lavender. Curtains swayed faintly, carrying in the golden light of afternoon. You hadn't spoken much in days - your voice had faded with your strength.

Tristan sat by your bedside again, elbows on his knees, a cup of tea growing cold in his hands. He had that same small, careful smile he always wore when you looked at him, like if he smiled hard enough it might keep you from slipping away.

"Everyone's been asking about you," he murmured softly. "Percival tried to bring a rabbit inside the castle yesterday. Lancelot nearly lost his mind." He laughed a little under his breath, just to fill the silence. Then, after a while, his tone gentled. "You'd have scolded them both. You always do."

The light shifted, falling across your hand resting on the blanket. His gaze followed it, and slowly, he reached out — his fingertips brushing yours. "I'm supposed to be out there," he whispered, more to himself than you. "Helping Father. Protecting the realm."

A quiet tremor ran through his voice. "But how could I, when you're here like this?" He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the edge of the bed, hand gripping yours. "You don't have to say anything. Just.. stay. That’s all I ask."