This is going to hurt, all of it. Hells, it already does: Between holding her close and knowing how little he can ask for, and hearing the conclusion she's drawn about their lives, he feels a bit like his chest is being stomped on. But even then, even knowing that she looks at their future and sees pain, at least he's holding her. The weight of her body resting against his chest is right. The smooth shape of her braid, the warmth of her breath, he's missed all of it fiercely in the last few days.

And he has a responsibility before him, regardless. He's broken her heart knowingly and without mercy, shown her something he knows she fears and told her she should feel joy. He owes it to her to try and mend things, if he can, or at least give her some comfort.

Percival de Rolo has always taken his responsibilities seriously.

"I know bad luck." He's been lucky to know anything else, these last few years. "And it has never - in my entire life - looked like you."

She's been his savior on more than one occasion at this point, the conscience he's not convinced he still has left inside him. Opener of doors, caretaker of wayward creatures, speaker of sense - anyone with Vex'ahlia on their side has luck in the balance.