A/N: Thanks for all the support you've given this story. It means a lot to me.
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
31: Domeric
"Can you play another one, please?"
"Of course," Domeric was more than happy to accept her request.
Sansa smiled in response, sitting opposite of him across the small table in her chambers. Her fingers were nimbly working the needles as she continued her embroidery.
Domeric brought his fingers to the strings of his harp to start another song. He had been playing for so long it had become second nature to him.
A skill he was thankful for as it allowed him keep his attention on his beautiful betrothed as his fingers slowly, but deftly began to pull at the strings, letting music come from the harp as light as breath. His fingers lazily trailed across the strings, aware of the pattern in which they needed to be plucked to elicit the melody that filled the room.
Sansa's smile brightened as she recognized the familiar song. Her eyes went from her needlework to him, shimmering with gratitude. She let out a soft hum that wove together effortlessly with the song he continued to play.
While he played, he couldn't help but remember his father's dislike of the idea of him learning the harp. Lord Roose Bolton dismissed the instrument and any importance it might have, not wanting Domeric to grow up as some foolish bard. Maester Uthor had stressed several reasons of why Domeric should learn, but still it was not enough to move his Lord Father.
Mother, in his mind's eye he saw a woman with long braided brown hair, brown eyes that shone with happiness when they saw him, a kind face with a doting smile on her lips.
She had asked Father. She didn't beg, didn't threaten, didn't demand, she had simply asked.
Domeric wasn't foolish enough into thinking his father loved his mother. He had understood that from a young age. He wasn't certain of what if any feelings they held for each other, but there had to be something, because whatever it had been, was enough for the cold, calculating, aloof Roose Bolton to acquiesce to his Lady Wife, Bethany Bolton and allow Domeric, their son to learn to play the harp.
Finishing his trail of thoughts to realize the song was over, Domeric's fingers ceased at the last string, drawing one more long, but soothing note from the harp before he put it down.
"Thank you, Dom," Sansa said sincerely.
Hearing her voice had a way of filling Domeric's chest with warmth, "Anything for you, my love," having meant every word of it.
"I shall remember that," she teased.
Domeric chuckled, "Do you wish to send me to the kitchens for more lemon cakes after supper?" Something he had done on more than one occasion while he was a ward at Winterfell.
"I recall you having one or two of them," She pointed out.
He remembered too, the taste was too sweet, but still he ate them, because it meant spending a few more minutes with her in either of their chambers instead of simply delivering them and leaving. It gave him reason to stay with her, she savoring the treat, him savoring her presence. He then said as much to her and she responded with a dazzling smile that made his stomach flutter.
"Oh Dom," she said warmly, putting down her embroidery, she moved across the table in a few steps and before he could speak, he felt her lips on his. He was quick to respond, relishing the sweet taste of her, a coil of heat tightening in his gut while his hand moved to the back of her head so as to deepen the kiss. She let out a soft moan at that which elicited a comfortable shiver that seemed to crawl up his back.
Pulling apart, he couldn't help but notice the smug smile she was wearing, her eyes had a hazy hue to them, but she looked quite pleased with herself. And he knew why, the reaction she had gotten from him with that surprise and heated kiss had left him dazed which clearly showed on his face.
She spent a few seconds turning her attention on her hair which he had accidentally undone in his move to extend the embrace between them. In that time, her smile disappeared, but her satisfaction didn't seem to. She went back to her seat and picked up her needlework again and acting as if they hadn't just shared a passionate embrace.
I should get lemon cakes more often, he thought with a smile.
That night Domeric found himself escorting Sansa to Lord Renly Baratheon's chambers within the Red Keep where, the two had been invited for dinner. An unexpected invitation from the Lord of Storm's End that had Domeric cautious and curious, knowing that the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands hadn't extended an invite to them out of the kindness of his heart.
A pair of Stark and Bolton guards followed the Hand of the King's daughter and the Dreadfort heir, but it was the direwolf, Lady, that was the most intimidating part of their retinue. Domeric was curious to how the Lord of Storm's End would react to having to host a direwolf as well for his dinner.
He glanced over at Sansa and couldn't help but admire how beautiful she looked tonight for this occasion. Her thick auburn hair shone like copper, falling neatly into curls behind her back while a few tresses of her fiery hair fall over the front of her shoulder. He was pleased to see she was wearing the ruby necklace he had gifted her, the jewels sparkle in the light.
In looking down at the light blue dress she had chosen all Domeric can think was that she looked stunning. She was dressed in blue velvets, the material clung to her, displaying her curves that have distracted Domeric on several occasions. It was richly embroidered around the collar and symmetrical sleeves, featuring pink and pale red, the colors of his house.
Soon to be their house, he reminded himself with a smile. He had dressed in freshly polished black boots, black breeches, a leather jerkin dyed pitch black over a red doublet, the flayed man was skillfully stitched onto his jerkin in pale red.
"You look beautiful, my love," Domeric said when Sansa's eyes found his.
She blushed, and smiled, "It is for you."
He gently squeezed her hand which was resting on his arm.
"Only for you," she whispered.
"And I am yours," he replied.
She liked that. A glint in her eyes at his declaration that made his heartbeat seem to grow louder within his chest.
"Jon should be with us," she broke the silence that had fallen on them as they moved closer towards Lord Renly's Chambers within the Red Keep.
"It was his choice, my lady." A choice Domeric could not fault. This was not Winterfell, but the capital, and a bastard wasn't given a seat at the lords' table. Something Domeric didn't agree with as he found Jon a better man of character then any of the lords he had met at court during his time in King's Landing.
His friend's presence within the Red Keep seemed to have stirred some gossip amongst the servants and the nobility. It was whispered the Queen wasn't pleased with Jon's arrival, and feared that if he was allowed to stay her own husband may seek to bring his bastards to court as well.
A shame and an embarrassment that the Queen didn't want to face, it was said. It was enough for Domeric to want to laugh, doubting that any of Robert's bastards could be any more disgraceful then his trueborn son and heir, Joffrey. Now that was someone who should be banned from the Royal Court, he thought.
"Jon has been acting differently since he's talked to Father." Sansa observed.
Domeric knew she was referring to her father finally telling Jon who his mother was. A truth that he seemed to be struggling with as far as Domeric could tell in his limited observations and interactions with his friend. Even with him and Sansa there for Jon, it seemed to have taken some sort of toll on him.
"Can you blame him?"
"No," Sansa admitted, "I just wish he'd talk to us about it." She looked determined when she added, "I don't care who his mother was, servant or noblewoman. He's still my brother."
"And he knows that," Domeric reminded her gently while quietly admiring her strength and loyalty to her family. "He just needs time."
Their conversation ended their as they reached the chambers where Lord Renly was hosting this dinner, a pair of Baratheon guards stood by the doors. They bowed their heads at their approach, while the one on the left, knocked on the door to announce their presence to his liege lord.
The response was immediate as the doors opened. The Bolton and Stark guards took their cue to be dismissed, but the four knew to be close in case they were needed while Lady made no effort to part from them. The direwolf trailed behind Domeric and Sansa into the chambers while all the Baratheon guards could do was look nervously at the creature none of them having the courage to object about the direwolf's presence.
"Lady Sansa," Renly greeted her warmly. Moving aside from the table to approach them where he was quick to place a kiss on the back of her hand.
"Lord Renly," Sansa returned the greeting with a curtsey. "My betrothed and I were honored by the invitation."
"I apologize for not having invited you sooner," Renly confessed before turning to look at Domeric for the first time. The Lord of Storm's End was dressed in a green velvet doublet, with a black trimmed cloak, the Baratheon stag displayed proudly on his chest. His long black hair tied back.
"Lord Domeric."
"Lord Renly," Domeric shook his extended hand. "Thank you for having us."
"It is my pleasure," Renly dismissed their gratefulness with a smile. "I'm just pleased the popular Dread Knight was able to spare us this evening."
Domeric nearly rolled his eyes at the name he had been given, but he restrained his reaction and looked back at Renly with a polite smile.
A faint scoff caught his attention and he turned to see Lord Renly wasn't alone in his chambers, Ser Loras Tyrell was there as well, already sitting, dressed in green and gold with the Tyrell rose prominently stitched onto his doublet.
"Ser Loras," Sansa greeted the surly knight with her unbreakable charm. "This is a wonderful surprise."
"My lady," Loras rose smoothly out of his seat, slipping into the charming knight of flowers persona he so expertly wore at tournaments to please the small folk. He kissed the back of her hand just as Lord Renly had. "You are a vision."
"Thank you, good ser," Sansa took his compliment with a smile. "My betrothed hasn't stopped praising me since we left the Tower of the Hand."
"Even a blind man can see your beauty, my lady," Loras added.
A sudden low growl got the attention of the Knight of Flowers and the Lord of Storm's End. The former looking at the direwolf with indignity while the latter with amusement.
"So you brought your direwolf?" Renly said the obvious, but he smiled at Lady all the same. "Wonderful."
"Castles aren't places for such beasts," Loras mumbled.
"Nonsense," Renly dismissed his friend's perspective. "It cannot often be said that one has hosted a creature straight out of legend for dinner." He then gestured to the table, "Shall we?"
"Yes, please," Sansa answered.
Domeric stepped forward to take Sansa's hand before Loras or Renly could, she smiled at his presence as he escorted her to her spot at the finely carved rectangular table. Lord Renly sat on one end and Loras the other as Domeric took the seat across from her, when he sat down he gave her a smile before looking down at the set of ornate plates, goblets, and silverware that had been put out for them this evening.
These must have cost dragons not coppers, Domeric observed at the plates they were to use this evening. Such waste, he wanted to shake his head in dismay at how vain and frivolous the south was with how they spent their coin. Plates were for food and yet, to these southerners it just seemed another way to flaunt their wealth.
This is going to be a long night.
The laughter of Sansa and Renly filled his ears.
Realizing Lord Renly must have finished his story and gotten to the humorous ending. He allowed himself a small smile as if to reassure his host that he was listening to the story and did find it amusing.
"Did he recover?" Sansa asked once her laughter subsided.
"From the injuries, yes," Renly's laughing blue eyes were sparkling, "But his pride that is a different matter."
Sansa's laughter was musical. Captivated by the sound he turned to her, sitting across from him at the table. Amazed at how lovely and charming she was, and realizing how fortunate he was to one day call her wife.
A swatting tail broke him out of his observations. He looked down to see Lady's tail tapping against his feet. He looked forward to see Sana's hands were not holding her utensils but were out of sight. Judging by the flicking of Lady's tail, he knew what his betrothed was doing. Feeding her beloved direwolf scraps from her plate.
He knew he stood on no high ground to judge since he often fed Lady from his plate during their meals. Between the two of them, he was sure Lady would be as big as a horse in no time.
Sansa sensed his gaze as she turned to meet his smile with an innocent look while her blue eyes shined brightly. The corner of her lips curved at being caught. She sent him a sly wink before turning to the Knight of Flowers.
"Highgarden sounds wonderful, Ser Loras."
Domeric frowned. Highgarden? Before realizing that must have been where Lord Renly's story had taken place.
"It is, my lady," Loras answered proudly, "The most beautiful castle in the seven kingdoms."
Domeric wanted to snort at that declaration. Leave it for these southerners to put an emphasis on vanity and appearances when it came to their castles. The Dreadfort was no beauty, but a stalwart, menacing castle that has held its own against besieging armies.
Usually in repelling the Starks, a small voice reminded him. That was a different time, he quickly pointed out, looking back across the table at his beautiful betrothed. We are no longer enemies.
"And that's where the rest of your family is?" Sansa asked, always the soul of courtesy.
"They are," Loras confirmed, "I have two older brothers and a younger sister." A look of fondness came to his face, "My oldest brother, Willas is a wise man, who will rule Highgarden and the Reach with fairness." A wistful smile came to his lips, "and my brother, Garlan is the Warrior himself, best swordsman in all the Reach," his smile looked smug when he added, "Though I am better then him with the lance."
Despite his dislike for the knight, Domeric could tell the Knight of Flowers truly did care about his older brothers. The tone and the way Ser Loras spoke of them, reminded him of how he heard the Starks talk about their siblings with affection and pride. It was good to know that there seemed to be others, this southern knight admired and cared for besides himself.
"And Margaery, my younger sister, she wanted to come to the Tournament of the Hand, but she could not," Loras finished.
"Much to your father's disappointment," Renly observed with a wry grin.
Loras gave an uncomfortable chuckle, "Yes, it was."
"Lord Tyrell has his mind on making Margaery a Queen," Renly clarified, with more than a touch of amusement in his voice. "It's the worst kept secret in much of the south," his laughing blue eyes moved to Sansa, "He was probably very thankful when he heard your father decline my brother's original betrothal offer between yourself and the Crown Prince."
"It was a generous offer," Sansa replied politely, "But my Lord Father was already given one years before and I'm most thankful for it."
"But to dismiss a crown," Loras shook his head in dismay, "That is not something to be taken lightly."
"I've already been crowned, Ser Loras, don't you recall?" Sansa asked innocently enough, but there was a glint in her blue eyes. "The golden roses, it's the only crown I need or want, and it was given to me by the only man I want as my husband."
Renly laughed, "She has you there, Loras." He then raised his glass in Sansa's direction, "Well said, my lady."
Whatever annoyance Domeric had felt bubbling in his gut at Loras' remarks evaporated with Sansa's sincere words.
She then looked over at him with that smile, the one she favored for him, and only him; the one that had the ability to make his heart beat quicker and louder.
"My lady!" A guard bearing the Stark sigil burst into the chambers unannounced.
He looked disheveled and his face was ashen.
"What's going on?" Lord Renly was taking in the sudden appearance of the guard's arrival.
The guard ignored the Lord of Storm's End and turned directly to Sansa. "Lady Sansa," he bowed his head, "There was an attack in the streets involving your father."
"My father?" Sansa gasped at this startling news.
Domeric pushed himself out of his seat. He moved swiftly around the table to be at Sansa's side. He stood over her seat, putting his hands upon her shoulders. Her hands met his and he squeezed them.
"Who would dare attack the Hand of the King?" Lord Renly demanded.
The guard's look soured, "The Kingslayer."
"A member of the Kingsguard attacked the Hand of the King?" Domeric couldn't believe this madness.
"Aye," the guard confirmed grimly.
"What of my father?" Sansa's voice hitched.
The guard looked down and that movement was telling than any answer could be. "He was injured, my lady." He looked up to meet their stares, "He has yet to wake."
"I must see him!" Sansa rose from her seat with immaculate grace even during this trying moment.
"I will take you, my love," Domeric held out his arm for her which she took with a thankful look.
"Lord Renly, Ser Loras, thank you for this evening, but you must excuse me," Sansa's poise never faltering.
"Of course, my lady," Lord Renly took her gratitude with a nod, "Let us know if there is anything you or your father needs."
"I thank you, my lord," Sansa bowed her head, but Domeric was certain he saw her blue eyes glistening, he squeezed her hand.
Everything had just changed, he realized.
"We shall see him soon." Domeric assured Sansa, watching while she paced furiously in front of him.
The two of them were in the Godswood. He was sitting one on of the too many stone benches that infected this wooded area, his harp resting beside him.
"Soon?" Sansa spun to face him, her auburn hair whipping behind her, "We should see him now. He's my father."
Domeric could not fault her for being upset. For six days and seven nights, Lord Stark lay unconscious, struggling and recovering from his wound given to him by the kingslayer while maesters tended to him.
In that time, Sansa Stark's strength shined through for all to see.
She had kept her composure and had put a calming hand to her father's household that had been thrown into disarray from the attack. Sansa had eased into the role of Lady of the household since they arrived in the capital and now that her father was bedridden for the time, she maintained the household to great success and efficiency. While, she wasn't overseeing the household and the day to day management of the Tower of the Hand, Sansa spent her time with her father-She and Jon both.
He could see how much the attack on Lord Stark had shaken Sansa. Her concern had been palpable to him even though she did an admirable job concealing it from the servants of the household as well as the other lords within the court. She had told him how unnerved she had felt at seeing him looking so fragile and ill in his bed the countless times they visited him. Claiming to have always seen him as the strong, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and how unsettling she felt upon seeing him so weak.
Then the news that had come to the three of them, the relief and happiness they all felt when they had been told that Lord Stark was awake. That had quickly turned to frustration when the messenger told them that they would not be able to see Lord Stark until after the King's business with him was finished.
Domeric pitied the servant who had come with the news. The withering stare he had gotten from Sansa and that sharp smile she had given him when she thanked him, had unnerved the poor boy and sent him scurrying out of the room.
Jon hadn't taken the news any better than his sister. He gave a brief and vague excuse before he left them behind. Seeing how Sansa had taken the news, Domeric had believed the Godswood could serve as a soothing balm to her.
It didn't work.
"Your father is a valued friend of the king," Domeric pointed out. It was a weak defense to his ears, as the King had done nothing in punishing the man who had attacked Lord Stark.
Judging by the stern stare, Domeric found himself the center of, it seemed Sansa too didn't find his argument to be very good. She silently went about pacing through the Godswood, but even in her annoyance, she looked elegant in her movements.
Knowing, he could say nothing at the moment to cool her temper, he picked up his harp and carefully stroked the strings, drawing out a series of soothing notes that proceeded to linger around them.
He looked up to see the grateful smile Sansa flashed him.
"What is this?"
Domeric's eyes snapped to his left to see the Crown Prince sauntering towards them, followed closely by a handful of Lannister guards, his sworn shield, The Hound, and Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard.
"What a surprise, my prince," Sansa recovered first, dipping into a polished curtsey.
Domeric followed her example, offering the insufferable Prince a brief bow. He then placed his harp on the bench and moved to stand beside his betrothed. While silently berating himself for not having any of his guards with him, neither did they have Lady, the direwolves had grown restless and aggressive in the days following the attack on Lord Stark. Sansa had wisely instructed that Lady and Ghost be kept in their chambers for the foreseeable future.
"Hardly a surprise, my lady," Joffrey turned his attention towards her, giving her a grin that he thought made him look handsome and regal, but it really only made him look like a pompous arse.
"I heard this music," His green eyes moved to Domeric. "And here I was expecting a woman to be playing it but here you are."
The Lannister guards who had come with the Prince chuckled amongst themselves at his insult.
Domeric looked back at the Prince careful to keep his expression stoic. He would show him nothing.
"The Dread Knight they call you?" Joffrey scoffed, "You're not intimidating as the stupid peasants would have you believe."
"Then why do you bring so many men to speak with me?" Domeric asked quietly.
The Prince flushed at that. "You think I'm afraid of some northern savage like you?" Joffrey mocked, trying to regain his bravado. "I've seen you train with that bastard and lose."
"Jon is a good swordsman," Domeric replied calmly. "I find no shame in losing to a talented opponent."
"A bastard?" Joffrey said in dismay. "Is that the best the north has? Unwashed bastards?"
The guffaws grew louder from his guardsman; Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard had joined them, but not the Hound. The intimidating Sandor Clegane didn't look amused, glowering, his dark hair covering parts of his face to try to hide the hideous burns.
"No wonder Lord Stark went down like a frightened maid when forced to fight a skilled warrior like my uncle," Joffrey boasted. "That's what happens when a wolf tries to fight a lion."
From the corner of his eye, Domeric saw Sansa tense at the insult the Prince casually threw at her father, but she let nothing slip past her carefully crafted visage.
"Look at him," Joffrey was staring at Domeric. "I insult your home and your liege lord and you do nothing."
"Craven," mumbled one of the Lannister guards, and they were nodding and murmuring their agreement.
"And this is our champion in the tourney?" He then withdrew a glittering longsword from his sheath, it gleamed in the sunlight, blue steel, double edged, with a lion's head pommel. "This is Lion's Tooth," he declared proudly.
Domeric heard Sansa's gasp from beside him when the Prince had withdrew the longsword, and had felt Sansa's grip on his hand tighten. "I am unarmed."
Hating himself for doing it, but not as much as he hated himself for getting into this predicament with the Prince, he was at Joffrey's mercy. Unarmed, and without any loyal guards, it was him and Sansa at the whims of this bully.
"Pathetic," he lowered his sword. "I'm going to do you a courtesy." Joffrey moved passed him, Lion's Tooth in his hand. He stopped in front of the bench Domeric had been sitting on, and raised the sword over his head.
Joffrey brought the sword in downward, clumsy arcs, the sound of metal slashing through wood and hitting stone as Lion's Tooth made short of work of Domeric' harp. All the while, Joffrey was laughing.
Domeric didn't dare to react. He wouldn't give Joffrey the satisfaction. He had no recourse he could give at that moment. So he watched silently and did nothing.
The Prince let out a tired breath, stepping aside to show Domeric's harp was nothing but kindling and broken strings. The carved horse head on the harp had been mutilated. It had been a gift from his Aunt, and now it was nothing.
"You should be thanking me for this kindness." Joffrey sheathed the sword.
Before Domeric had a chance to respond to the Prince's bullying, a new voice joined them.
"Lord Domeric, Lady Sansa,"it was Ser Barristan Selmy leading more than a handful of Baratheon men-at-arms into the Godswood. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard turned to Joffrey, "My Prince," inclining his head towards him before he turned back to them.
"I've been sent by the King," he informed them. "I'm to escort you to your father," he said, a small smile at his lips, "He's very anxious to see you."
"My Father," Sansa's relief was palpable at hearing that she could finally see him. "Thank you, Ser Barristan."
"My lady," he bowed his head
"Then let us not keep Lord Stark waiting."
"Father," Sansa was unable to keep the happiness out of her voice or the relief off her face as she went to her father's side.
Lord Stark welcomed them into his room with a worn smile. His grey eyes on his daughter, slowly, and with some pain he moved his arms so that he could welcome the shaky embrace of his daughter.
Domeric put aside the recent confrontation with the prince and his broken harp. Standing silently at the foot of the bed, watching the scene unfold between father and daughter. Ser Barristan had sent Stark men to find Jon and to bring him here as well.
"I'm fine, Sansa," he tried to assure his eldest daughter while still holding her close to him.
"I know now," she sniffed, slowly pulling back so that she could meet her father's eyes. "I never stopped praying."
"And I'm thankful," his hand was brushing some of her hair out of her face. His grey eyes looked over her shoulder and for the first time he noticed him.
He immediately straightened up. Domeric then bowed his head, "Lord Stark."
"Domeric," Lord Stark responded kindly. "I was told the two of you were instrumental in running the household while I was unconscious. I am proud of you."
"How are you feeling, Father?" It was clear at that moment it wasn't her father's appreciation she wanted, but his reassurances that he was well.
"It'll be some time before I can walk without a limp," he admitted with a sigh.
"What does the king intend on doing with the kingslayer?" Domeric asked respectfully.
Lord Stark grimaced. "His Grace has decided to go on a hunt."
"What?" Domeric couldn't believe it.
"I have been reappointed as Hand of the King," Lord Stark continued, "It will fall on me to continue to run the kingdoms while the king is away."
"And of the Lannisters and Tullys?" Domeric had heard disturbing reports circulating in the capital about the bloody skirmishes that were happening throughout the Riverlands. It was rumored to be under the orders of Lord Tywin Lannister.
"Justice will be had in the Riverlands," Lord Stark told him firmly.
Domeric was thankful that someone in the capital was doing their duty and responsibility in upholding the laws of the realm.
"But that is not why I summoned you," Lord Stark looked at them, "the capital is no longer safe."
Was it ever? Domeric wanted to reply, not having to think about their recent encounter with the Prince and how helpless they truly were here. A feeling he didn't want to have again especially when Sansa's protection was his responsibility.
He had failed her then. I will not again.
"Father?" Sansa sent him a questioning look.
"You are to leave." Lord Stark looked between them, "All of you, Jon, as well."
"Not without you," Sansa sounded insulted at the suggestion of leaving without him.
"No, child," A sad look crossed over his features, "I must remain here."
"When would you have us leave?" Domeric asked.
"Dom," a look of hurt marred Sansa's pretty face, while her blue eyes shimmered in disbelief at his intentions to leave the city without Lord Stark.
He couldn't help but squirm where he stood. He had never seen her look so hurt and for him to be the cause of it, a strum of guilt went through him so intense he had to fight the urge to shudder.
"Sansa," Lord Stark's soft voice drew his daughter's attention back to him. "You must leave. It's not safe for you here, my child."
"And what about you, Father?" Sansa pointed to his bandaged leg.
"I'd suffer a lot worse if it meant you and the others were safe," Lord Stark declared firmly. His grey eyes were solemn, his face stoic.
"Father, you can't," She moved to wipe the corner of her eyes.
"I won't be able to settle matters here if I'm worried about your safety." Lord Stark took her in his arms.
"But you'll be alone," she protested feebly, not willing to surrender to the idea that she had to leave her father behind.
"No, he won't be," Jon was standing in the doorway. "I'm staying with him."