Fynn’s amused look turned to one of concern. “Come on, Sebastian,” he said, ignoring the formalities of calling him ‘my lord’ or ‘sire’ as he stood up and walked over to his side. Wrapping his hand firmly around Sebastian’s wrist, he took the heavy broadsword that he was holding and led him up the stairs.
“I can manage fine by myself,” Sebastian said with a scowl. “I’m not a child.”
“Let me help you, my lord,” Fynn persisted, not letting go of his grip on Sebastian’s arm. “You’ll fall if you try to get back to your chambers by yourself.”
Another wave of exhaustion fell over Sebastian and reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Just get me back to my chambers. I have things to do.”
“Alright,” Fynn said, stumbling slightly as he began to walk up the stairs, leading Sebastian by the hold on his arm.
Halfway up the staircase, Sebastian turned around. “My helmet,” he croaked, trying to shake free from Fynn’s grip. “I need to go get my helmet.”
“I’ll get it,” Fynn offered, releasing the hold on his arm. Hurrying down the stairs, he jogged to the side of the arena and grabbed the helmet. When he turned back around, Sebastian had collapsed to the floor.