bowmansdaughter:

Sigrid couldn’t help her smile, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. She chuckled softly, eyes bright with mirth. “Perhaps we shall just have to put that one down to youth, father…” she teased. “I have that one on my side, you see…” She winked at him, leaning back in her chair and taking a cup of the tea that had been set out for them. Stirring it slowly, she caught the note of guilt in his question and let him explain himself, even if he didn’t need to; she thought, perhaps, it might make him feel better. Tilda was growing impatient to see her father again and while she knew Bain understood his responsibilities, put on a brave face, it was hard for him to go from spending most of his time at his father’s side to hardly seeing him.

She smiled softly. “I know that, Da. And so do Tilda and Bain. They are well. Tilda… Tilda’s reading is improving, with her tutors, although she still seems to tear her dress at least once a day.” She chuckled. “Bain too continues his studies, more so than before, although he still spends most of his time on the range. He seems a little… lost though. I… I think he misses home the most. The… the way it was before.” She took a sip of her tea. “Please, do not feel guilty, Da. He does understand. But perhaps you can talk to him? I do not think it will be the same coming from me…”

_{“No, it will not be,” Bard agreed, drinking from his own cup with a troubled expression. “I shall speak with him tonight, after I put Tilda to bed. I think she would like that, don’t you?” He smiled a little, though it did not reach his eyes. He had promised himself this position would never take away from the time with his children. An unrealistic promise, in hindsight, but he should have done better, even so.}

_{And you, my darling?“ he questioned, breaking free from his reverie as he focused on his firstborn. "Are you quite well?” She seemed to be, but he knew that she had inherited his penchant for worrying and keeping things inside, when they should perhaps be spoken out loud. Sigrid had seen through him on more occasions than he could count, and relieved him from senseless burdens of the mind; perhaps he could do the same for her, now. She had been adjusting remarkably well to this new way of life, but Bard knew better than to simply assume Sigrid had no troubles of her own.}