She froze when she caught sight of his mouth as he peeled the helm away, staring up at him, almost uncomprehending, as if some great truth of her world had been upset, up-ended. She processed the sight of him as he was until the infant in the crook of her arm moved helplessly, face squirming against her chest.

"Tell me they're mine," she breathed, half-command, half-plea, voice stretched tight around some unidentifiable emotion. With the skill of long and well-remembered practice, she pulled the second child from him, settled neatly against her shoulder.