[ He is a man of sixteen, and men of sixteen don't shed tears, and he will not - he will not be the weaker of the two of them, they can't afford it. Can't possibly.

Nodding feebly, he lets his head fall for a moment, forehead touching the back of her hands, resting before his collects himself to kiss her knuckles reverently in the way every good brother might salute the parent or sibling he's gone without for long. ]

I swear it.

[ A moment, and his voice is stronger. ]

By God's grace, when He watches, and by my sword when He does not. You will bleed for nothing and you will weep for nothing and you will want for nothing. I swear it.