He was silent for several moments, holding her close and almost absent-mindedly stroking her hair. At last, resting his chin on the top of her head, he said in a low voice, "It's not your duty to help Alain, or Bert. Or me, for that matter. That's my place, not yours." His fingers tangled for a moment in her hair, and he closed his eyes, breathing slow and steady, as if by being close he could pass on some of his hard-won steadiness.

He wasn't even going to touch her mention of Chris. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, that'll be one less thing she has to worry about. Even if part of him wanted to stride off to the gaol right this moment and put a shell through the man's head, he had the sense to know that was a terrible idea. If only because she seemed to need him here. If only because he needed her here, too.

"I'm the one who brought you and your kin to Gilead," he reminded her instead, not pulling away. "And the one who chose to follow you here. It was my choice. My responsibility. Grieve for it, but don't carry it as your own." It isn't as though it's so great a burden to carry, he added silently, with a black kind of humour, not when it's on top of all those generations since the Eld, lost under my watch.