"Then, that's enough. You're doing a great job already." He doesn't budge from his spot, not even at the slightest. Still comforting, still embracing, willing the past few days away. That despite his own words to Inigo, Roland will never truly erase from his own heart the imprint of guilt, a constant squall, heavy and unrelenting. Inigo getting hurt, blood on his temple, forced to go through a fight he wasn't ready for. All for what? Roland's temper?

He can't apologize for the tremor that wracks his limbs, slight and soft but present all the same.

"I'll cherish it. Whatever you give me, whatever story you'll tell. I'll listen. Just don't force it if you're not ready, not for me. My feelings won't change no matter what. I'll keep cheering you on until you become strong enough to tell me the words I want to hear." Roland, I don't deserve to be bullied!

Father, I deserve to stand up for myself!

Eventually his embrace loosens and his eyes creak open, moist but with no tears. He pulls away, readjusts Inigo's clothes from the force of his hug. Pats his hair down, fixes what he can to give the boy a semblance of dignity - not that he believes Inigo would find this embarrassing. He offers a smile, not quite creasing the corners of his eyes, and his hands finally fall back down to his sides. He waits patiently for Inigo to come back too, and from there, they'll move side by side once again. Forward. Always, forward.