"My wife is older than me, too," you murmur, still rubbing small circles with one hand, "And while her magic slows her aging…seems to just sort of be a thing for most magic users, it's still true. So there's a worry. Plus, I've made enemies. Being my family at all makes them all targets one way or another. I have to keep fighting, keep working against my enemies, because I know the moment I try to take myself off the board is right when my family will need me most – because that's the way this damn world loves to work. You know what, though? I've been bruised, battered, and cut apart a thousand times. But I keep getting back up, to protect them, Ostland, the Empire. And you know why?"
She shakes her head just once, her face towards your chest,
"Because I have to. I need to. It's…what I'm for. It's what I can do. And so long as I do, more lives might be saved. Forgive me for assuming, but I think your father knew that. Would he have been Eldyr, Hero of Tiranoc, if he hadn't marched out to Tor Dranil?"