A small, nearly unnoticeable sigh of relief escapes his lips-- He was, of course, happy she was in a well enough state to speak, but... Something had happened to her, something that he wasn't there to protect her against!
Guilt clawed into his kind heart like a pair of hawk’s talons, sharp and merciless.
"Yes, uhm... Don't you worry, good lady. We'll head back to the Parish in just a second. Tea sounds wonderful right about now, thank you."
He sounded more worried than delighted, as his pretending skills were a bit preoccupied, being replaced with his insufferable fretting about, making sure she's alright... He lifts her mask up just enough for his hand to clear the rust-coloured blood that had caked itself on her face, and...
He was doing it again... looking at her as if she were a beacon in a storm, as if he was silently thanking her for existing and being alive and still human and... merely gracing his presence.
It was a horrible habit (in his eyes, at least), but no matter how rude he thought it was... in this moment, he couldn't stop.
After he finally mustered the strength to look away, he mumbled a slight apology and picked her up, letting the back of her knees buckle and come to rest on his arms. He allowed her head to lean against his breastplate-- Nevermind that it’s probably not the most comfortable place for an injured head to rest-- He would let no more harm come to her.
Thankfully, their journey back was uneventful. Siegmeyer’s knack for finding the paths less traveled pays off every once and a while, did it not?
He quickly scanned his narrow line of sight as he sauntered into the church.
“Seems we’re all clear,” he sighed, placing her down on one of the rickety pews and kneeling at her side. His hands came to the sides of his helmet, and he pulled it from the base of his neck, messing his neatly-slicked hair just by a few strands. The subtle change in lighting was enough to make him blink before looking back down at her.
“No need to worry, no need to panic-- We’re back at the church, my lady.”
He sounded comforting, at least, but even someone in Marlena’s dizzied state could see past his jovial facade. He was concerned, perhaps deathly so, about her condition. But he said no more, as not to overload her senses... No, he merely kept up his smile, eager for a response-- eager to find out a way to help her, if there was any. She only had to ask him.