“I’m fine,” she insists, though every breath burns like a hot poker stabbing her through the chest where the great Other’s sword had caught her; Lucy’s cordial is effective at staving off death, but not pain.
“You are not fine,” Jon insists, pushing her shoulders back against the bed as she tries to sit up until she goes limp, stops resisting, “and you aren’t fine because you should have died - what were you even doing on the battlefield?”
Wearily, she stares up at him, wishing she had the strength to kiss him (wishing she had the strength to slap him), but barely having enough just to say, “Because you were there, you idiot, and I wasn’t about to let you face down a monster alone.”
If Someone Comes at Us, This Time I’m Ready
“You are not fine,” Jon insists, pushing her shoulders back against the bed as she tries to sit up until she goes limp, stops resisting, “and you aren’t fine because you should have died - what were you even doing on the battlefield?”
Wearily, she stares up at him, wishing she had the strength to kiss him (wishing she had the strength to slap him), but barely having enough just to say, “Because you were there, you idiot, and I wasn’t about to let you face down a monster alone.”