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Herryk snorted. He punctuated that snort with a second, louder snort.

"Freya says she is a mess. Freya knows her mother and father, Freya knows her sisters. Freya knows where she came from and Freya is very loved, yes? By her family, but her baby Hel." There was no amusement in his voice when he continued speaking.

"Herryk is a mess. Herryk has no family. Herryk remembers nothing from the time before. The only thing that Herryk knows is that when he looks at Freya, it makes things better. When Freya laughs, Herryk forgets that he cannot remember the time before. And sometimes, when Herryk looks at Freya? Sometimes he thinks he can almost remember." He shook his head.

"If Freya is a mess, Herryk is a mess. Before meeting Freya, Herryk had nothing. Now Herryk has ... he has everything."

He had to inhale deeply to regain control of his emotions. Rage was burning hot and dark in his belly and Herryk was determined to tamp it down. It was slowly dissolved by a sadness that Herryk couldn't rid himself of.

Slowly he sat up from the bed. His gaze went from her stained fingertips to her face before he turned away completely and rose to his feet.

"Freya is wrong."

Spoken with such conviction, darkened by undertones of absolute fury. His fists clenched and unclenched as he strode from one end of the cozy room to the other. He had to calm down.

He couldn't.

"Freya thinks she knows all of this. Freya thinks she knows the way Herryk feels. Freya thinks she knows all of the things Herryk wants." He stopped at the foot of the bed, slashing his hand through the air.

"Freya has no idea. Freya is afraid. Herryk does not know why. Herryk has already promised he would never turn his back on Freya again, and Herryk feels that sometimes Freya wants exactly that." He shook his head, his mouth contorted in a fierce frown.

"Herryk is not with Freya because ... because she helps Herryk remember. Herryk is with Freya because of her laugh and the way her eyes move up when she smiles and the way she smells but most importantly," he paused and moved over to the bed to lean over her, bracing one hand next to her head while grasping her bloodied fingers with the other. He brought those fingers to his lips, the small stain of blood transferring to his own skin, "most importantly, Freya, Herryk is here because of how Freya makes Herryk feel."

"Not memories," he brought her hand to his chest, palm down, "but here. When Herryk lost Freya in the mirror room, he was afraid. When Herryk lost Freya in the trap room, he was terrified. The thought that Herryk might never see his Freya again..." Herryk turned his face away.

"If Freya regrets agreeing to be Herryk's ghoulfriend... Herryk understands. There is no need to tell Herryk that he is making a mistake. Freya can be honest." He reached down to pick his cape up from the floor. "Just like Herryk is being honest, yes?"

"Freya," Herryk mumbled, lifting his hands up as if he hadn't the slightest clue where to place them. Finally he rested one on her shoulder, the other pressing gently against the back of her head. He'd seen the blood, he could taste it on his tongue now. She shouldn't be moving and yet since his arrival here that's all she'd been doing.

"Herryk is not going anywhere." His dark skin looked even darker in comparison to her pale hair and paler skin. It was one of so many things he adored about the valkyrie. He only hoped that she would remember these words when she found out that he was going to the wedding that Hel had invited him to.

"Now, let Herryk see what you've done to your stomach, silly ladybird," he said lightly, "and then we will finish packing your bags. After that Herryk will leave so Freya can get her rest."

One black eyebrow slowly lifted. It sounded like she wanted him to stay with her.

Here.

Here in this bed.

Okay, he could manage that, right?

"Herryk will stay until Freya falls asleep?"

"No," Herryk said softly, leaning forward to brush his cool lips against her forehead. He tapped a finger against her lips as he pulled back. "Herryk is not mad at all, Freya." A soft smile flirted with his lips.

He loved her. He had to. This couldn't be anything other than love. The thought of living a day without her in his life hurt too much to even contemplate. Rage had threatened to tear him apart when Freya had told him he was making a mistake. He would willingly give his own life in exchange for hers. Did she feel the same way? Herryk didn't know. He would never know unless one of them said it -- he just didn't have the confidence to tell her, not now. Not after this last conversation. It didn't matter anyway.

"Where are the bandages, sweetling? Herryk will do his best to fix Freya up."

Herryk waited patiently for her to answer, just... staring at her face.

When she finally spoke, Herryk tore his gaze away from her long enough to kneel and tug a box of bandages and other supplies out from under the bed. He settled them next to Freya's hip, pausing with his hands still clasping the box.

"How, ah.." he cleared his throat, "how does Freya want to do this, hmm?"

The draugr grunted, carefully poking around the box of bandages. He pulled out a few gauzy bits, tenderly laying them down as Freya had explained before grabbing the tape. Such a strange combination -- golden skin was flawless around that pink, weeping scar.

It annoyed Herryk. He should have done better.

Shrugging off the errant thought, Herryk finished taping the gauze down to her skin.

"Is this good?" He wasn't sure. It was the first time he'd ever bandaged anyone up, ever.