The interaction was difficult to watch, his companion visibly struggling to  breathe as if her throat had been closing more by the moment. Rhoynar felt he had tried everything bar running out into the street and yelling for a doctor. All seemed to be failing until Illinfer finally found the words in her voice. He listened to broken words and strained sentences until her reasoning became clear. The reality of her grief seemed obvious now, as it seemed to cascade over the edge and through spillways that had clearly been tightened closed until this moment. Perhaps she needed this? This gentle break from an internal conflict, one she'd hidden so well. 

Rhoynar chose to remain silent during her emotional outpour, uncertain of the best course of action. There was no comfort between the vague friends they may have been, not beyond what may have been acceptable by culture. Her grip loosened on his wrist, allowing the blood to rush into the patches of skin that loosened in colour. Raising a hand, he placed them both on her now free hand as she spoke, seeking out an apology as if she had been in the wrong only moments before.

"Forgive you? What do you need to seek forgiveness for?" The gentle tone remained in his voice as he spoke, as he hoped it might continue in bringing his companion back to the fold. "Illinfer, there's no weakness in grief, if that's what you're experiencing. Grief is an unfortunate part of our lives. Its the one thing that binds us all. From the mainland to islands beyond the Sun and the horizon."  Was this sorrow a weakness in Illium? A place where strength held a far higher importance than passion? It had felt so different in Astipor, a city of varying culture and delight, foreign from the rest of the country. 


Yet, Rhoynar would have been a fool considering such a notion wasn't custom in the dust of the Second East. Cities of passion and fortune on the surface, yet each floated on a sickening pool of politics and deceit, where all that mattered was strength, in all its definitions. One's power in gold, not just by the sword or words, held far more importance than the zeal for life.

"I'm not forgiving you for something you haven't done wrong." He paused, as his mouth focused on the brief pronunciation of who she had muttered. "Jurlath? Perhaps you can honour him at a temple before we leave. In that way, he had be here too." He gently squeezed her hand and let go. "There are more than a few here that by remembering the pain of grief keeps those we miss alive." There was a heavy sigh as he turned to look out of the small window by their heavily decorated corner of the tavern. 

"I don't think any less of you, I'm sure you'll be a competent fighter when the time comes." There was a smile in his words, though his expression still read that of concern. Illinfer was a shadow of herself, a husk as the inner world swirled and span in a place he could not see. "Take your time, we'll head out when you've caught your breath."