picture in my mind

A Lymond post. Brotherly love is so sweet. ~melts~

There was a handkerchief rolled tightly in Lymond's lefthand, which he had used to stifle the coughing. With a brusque movement, his brother pulled it away and wordlessly flattened it between his brown, capable fingers. In streaks and patches, the linen was stiff with fresh blood. `Dear God, Francis,' said Richard Crawford, his voice suddenly stifled by the agony in his throat. '-Dear God, dear God, what do you want of me? Must I choose between my own child and you?' The silence stretched on. After the first momentof shock, Lymond's face was unreadable. But his voice when he spoke was deliberate and undramatic. 'I have promised to ride in the Mardi Gras procession two weeks from now. On the following day, I shall go home. Will that do?'

~ Queen's Play Page 212