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Despite the fact that Hector often bemoaned how difficult it was to move in his heavy armor, you were both thankful for the extra protection it offered - especially on days like today, when your enemy blindsided you for a change.
The mage had come seemingly out of nowhere ('Then again', you thought, 'did that other unit nearby have the necessary skill to swap places?'), taking advantage of the distance and Hector's comparatively low resistance to magic to inflict a heavy burn on the lancer by superheating his breastplate.
If it had been an attack on bare skin, or even on less-thick plating, you'd be doing more than just applying medicated burn ointment to your beloved's wounds.
"I'm just saying, it could've been a lot worse," Hector insists, "it's really not that - ow, ow, ow-!!"
He'd been doing his best to convince you that the massive burn covering 90% of his right pectoral and upper rib area was really nothing, but every time you hit a particularly tender spot, he'd have to do his best to power through a wince in the name of keeping up the facade.
It wasn't working.
"I know it could have been worse, Hector. You could be feeling nothing at all while I'm doing this, and I can't even tell you how hard I'd be panicking right now if that were the case." You struggled to keep your voice level - this was the first time in a long time you'd seen Hector sustain enough damage to break through his armor on the field, and you'd started getting used to the (admittedly foolish) idea that he was... Well, invincible. Today was a dreadful reminder that your boyfriend was still very much a mortal man who could get hurt. Very hurt. And could potentially die if you weren't more careful.
You'd set about patching up the other cuts and lacerations before tending to the burn - lucky for him you'd been picking up basic medical skills from the healers, such as suturing. A long, thick black line of stitches along his upper arm caught your attention for a moment before you returned to the angry red patch of skin. It wasn't something you liked doing, considering your own severe discomfort around needles, but you would rather know that you could do this for him.
"Well hey, I'm not dead yet, right?" He chuckled, trying to ease your tension with a joke, but your lips pressed into a thin line and he got the feeling that you might need more than humor to ease whatever might be struggling inside your brain.
Hector fell silent, watching you as you smeared ointment onto the last of the burn and began the painstaking task of bandaging him up. You had been so careful with him, as if you were afraid you'd damage him further. While you certainly had the ability to cause him harm with those suturing needles, he couldn't help but think of you as someone who was completely incapable of willingly hurting another person, especially himself. Perhaps it was because of how tender you were in these moments.
One hundred seventy-four stitches in various places. Three burns. More bruises than he could count, and here you were taking care of everything you could do yourself. Magic was effective, but better used on the field when quick fixes were necessary. The fact you sought to tend to him yourself was possibly his favorite thing about being with you.
He lifted a hand and gently carded his fingers through your hair, snapping you out of your focus long enough to coax you to look up at him through your lashes, and he marveled at how much emotion your gaze could contain.
Fear. Sadness. Devotion. Love. Concern. It swam in your eyes like stars in the galaxy, coalescing into tears that pooled and clung to the delicate arches of your lashes like dewdrops in the wake of those that fell.
He gathered you up in his arms, unable to put his affection for you and your compassion into words - poetry was for the heart, not the tongue. Not his, at least, and he held you as you cried on his unaffected shoulder.
"I'm so sorry I forgot." You sobbed, voice broken, and he was lost to your meaning but he stroked your hair anyway and pressed a kiss to your temple, intent on soothing his love through the waves of emotion.
It was a good several minutes before you could articulate well enough to clarify, explaining through hard swallows of emotion that you forgot he wasn't untouchable, that you lapsed in your judgement and didn't guide him as well as you should've, and maybe he wouldn't be so injured now if you had just been better at watching out for him.
"You're already forgiven," Hector murmurs against your ear, lips nestled close to the shell. "It's kind of flattering, you thinking I'm some sort of untouchable combat god."
You choked out a laugh. A small victory, in Hector's mind.
"But listen to me. I'm still alive. I might be banged up a little, but I made it. You pulled through for me, and we've been through closer calls than we were today and came up swinging." He pulled away from you only to wipe the tears from your cheeks and kiss the dampened skin, soothing away the deep ache in your soul. He did have a point, you had to admit - there had been points when he was the last one standing in a battle, and even then he was barely able to take out the final enemy.
"You're not mad?" You mumbled, absently pawing at the bandage ravelled around his chest to make sure it was secured.
"Not in the slightest. How could I be mad at someone who's trying their best for me?" Hector smoothed your hair, smiling gently, and you finally let yourself relax.
He was safe. He was alive. And you were together.
Nothing else mattered.
"I love you, Hector."
"I love you too."