Mother blinked through his blurred vision. He hadn’t even realized, but looking at Vasily’s head resting against his chest, he couldn’t think of a name that fitted better. “Aye,” he said softly. “I reckon I’ve fallen for him.”
“About time you found someone,” Magnus said. He reached out and ruffled Mother’s hair just like he had when Mother was still a boy, and he was too tired and overwhelmed to take offence.
Instead he gave a nod. “Appreciate you coming out. He’s a heavy bugger, this one.”
“Guessed you’d need a hand. Brave thing you did, diving in,” Magnus said. “Stupid, mind you.”
“Wasn’t going to let the bastard sea take someone else from me,” Mother said roughly.
“Aye,” Magnus said quietly, eyes dark with understanding. He’d been the one to deliver the news about his brother, Mother remembered. Perhaps that was why he’d been so quick to row out and help them.
Vasily stirred against his chest, and Mother frowned when he saw that the wound on his head was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly. On closer inspection it looked more like a graze than a cut, and Mother’s gut unclenched a little. Still, he ran a hand through Vasily’s hair, checking for any hidden injuries. Vasily whined, twisting his head to free himself and burying his face against Mother’s collarbone.
“Shhh,” Mother said. The boat rose and fell, much more sharply than the low swell they’d been experiencing so far, and Mother glanced up to find they were approaching the shallows. As soon as they were close enough to shore, Magnus vaulted over the side and dragged the boat up the sand, and Mother stood, guiding Vasily to the side. They stepped into the two-inch surf. As they made their way onto the beach, Vasily staggered. Mother steadied him with a hand against his hip and pressed a kiss to his temple, uncaring of the onlookers gathered on the shore. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”
“I don’t think I can,” Vasily said, and promptly passed out.
Mother managed to catch him before he hit the ground, lowering him carefully onto the sand. When he looked up, a man who looked vaguely familiar was standing there with a set of reins in his hand. “Take my horse.”
Mother didn’t bother trying to put a name to the face. Instead, he nodded his thanks. “Help me lift him?”
Together they slung a still-unconscious Vasily across the front of the horse, and Mother settled behind him and rode towards the castle. The horse was biddable and steady, and it wasn’t long before they were riding through the castle gates. Mother slid off the saddle, careful not to dislodge Vasily’s prone form, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.“I need the maester!”
Three guards came running, Janus and Thomas among them. “Damn it,” Janus muttered. “What happened?”
“Fell in the drink. Can’t swim,” Mother said tersely.
“Thomas,” Janus barked, his brow creased with worry.
The guard nodded, scooping Vasily into his arms like he weighed nothing and carrying him inside, Mother and Janus following. “How bad is it?” Janus asked in an undertone.
“I don’t know,” Mother said. “He’s breathing, but he cracked his head on the rocks.”
When they reached the infirmary, Janus rapped sharply on the door and pushed inside without waiting for a reply. Thomas deposited Vasily on the bed, and upon catching sight of him, Maester Owens hurried over.
“He near drowned and banged his head,” Mother said before the man could ask.
Maester Owens pulled back Vasily’s eyelids and peered at him. “Hmmm. Outside, all of you.”
“But—"
“Out. Side,”the man said, a steely glint in his eye that told Mother there was no point arguing.
Janus hooked his elbow and led him out the door. He nodded at Thomas. “Go and inform His Majesty what’s happened.” Thomas took off in a long, loping run, and Janus led Mother into a small room next to the infirmary and guided him into a chair. He crouched in front of Mother, his eyes full of compassion. “He’s in good hands, Bryn.”
It was the use of his name that had Mother falling apart.
All the emotions he’d been struggling to keep at bay came bubbling to the surface, and he found himself awash in fear and anger and worry, all churning together under his skin until he was mad with it, and all he could do was cover his face with his hands and let out hoarse, ugly sobs.
Janus stood, dragging Mother to his feet and wrapping his arms around him, his body a solid, comforting wall for him to lean on as he cried like he hadn’t in years, unable to hold back.
Part of it, he knew, was the aftermath of diving into the harbour. But mostly it was that he’d finally, after all these years, found the one person perfect for him, and then he’d almost lost him.
He still might.
As if reading his mind, Janus murmured, “Don’t bury your boy yet, Mother. The maester knows what he’s doing. Don’t I trust him with my own son?”
Mother’s breathing hitched, but Janus was right. And, he thought absently, the maester had only made his trademark “hmmm” noise. He hadn’t made that horrible hissing-through-his-teeth sound that meant things were really bad.
