Go to him, that desire in her ear flourishes as soon as he seems relieved to see her. She can see that he's been fighting, if not physically than mentally. She had regretted it the second she'd said his name, saw the way it hurt him, but she loved that name. Loved the people who gave him that name.

"It's me," she replies, her feet carrying her to him unbidden and she reaches up to touch his cheek, to ground him to her. "Whatever you're fighting, we can fight it together." She had made that promise, after all.