When Sir Cameron indeed swept through the doors and fell to his knees before her, she resisted a long old urge to fall into his arms. She was no longer a child, crying over a nasty scrape to her knee or a branch tangled in her curls. This was a hurt that even he, her devoted protector from better times, could not soothe. Instead, she settled for gripping his offered hands, gasping softly beneath her breath when his hands were indeed solid and not a mere specter she had imagined in her grief. Five years ago, she had said her tearful goodbye to him, thinking she would never see him again. And now, with his soothingly familiar face before her, she wasn’t sure whether she was happy or devastated for him to see her this way.<br/><br/>“Sir Cameron,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse, “as I live and breathe.” She watched as tears watered in his eyes and her lips pulled into a broken smile. “I fear I am only part of the woman my mother was. But thank you.” Her voice wavered at the end, a threat to break, but she quickly reigned herself in. “You know how much I admired her; that’s very kind of you to say.”<br/><br/>Without moving, she looked up at her ladies, who all sat in stunned silence, their fingers frozen over their instruments and needlework. “Leave us, please.” They didn’t need to be asked twice. Quietly, one by one, they shuffled out, keeping enough good sense to save their gossiping whispers to themselves until after the doors closed behind them. When they were alone, Gwendolyn’s stiff shoulders dropped, just slightly, though her hands still held Cameron’s.<br/><br/>“Why are you here? Last I heard, you were in Runasia.”