He was a total bastard to everyone, including the only one he ever cherished.
And yet when he still collapsed onto the steps, cloak torn, eyelids heavy, lungs bursting, a hand guided his head to rest on a leather clad thigh as a gentle hand went through his hair.
"Rest," a voice whispered.
Golden eyes willingly closed.
No matter what he did, no matter how much of a bastard he was, he could still rely on him.
Always.
END