The tent flap rustled softly as Raymun Fossoway stepped inside, the faint scent of dust and iron clinging to him. His armor was gone, but the marks of battle remained—bruises blooming along his cheek, small cuts lining his skin, and a few wounds still not fully closed. Yet despite it all, that same foolish, boyish grin rested on his lips.

In his hands, he carried a small bundle.

You were resting on the bed, one hand resting gently over your stomach, the quiet rise and fall of your breathing steady. The moment you noticed him, your eyes softened—but concern quickly followed when you saw the state he was in.

Before you could even sit up properly, he spoke.

“Hey, my luv,” he said, voice warm and gentle, touched with that soft English-Irish lilt. “I brought you somethin’… for you and our little one.”

He walked over like nothing was wrong, as if he hadn’t just come from a brutal fight. Kneeling slightly by your side, he placed the bundle into your hands—simple things, but thoughtful. Fresh bread, a bit of fruit, and something sweet he must’ve gone out of his way to find.

His eyes flickered to your stomach for a moment, something softer replacing his usual grin.

“Gotta keep you both strong, yeah?” he murmured.

Only then did he lean back slightly, wincing just a little from a hidden ache—but of course, he tried to hide it, brushing it off with a quiet chuckle.

“It’s nothin’. You should’ve seen the other lad.”

But he didn’t move far. Instead, he stayed close, one hand resting gently over yours, grounding himself there—like this, with you, was the only place he truly felt at peace after the chaos.

No matter the blood, no matter the pain, he came back smiling.

Because you were here.