@glorycrowned:
"You did what?" Laslow asks, continuing to wrap the bandage around his liege's hand. He knows full well what happened. It's been explained to him, after all. This doesn't stop him from either his coddling or his scolding. "What possessed you to block Lord Leon's Iceblade with your hand?" he continues, brows furrowing. The healers had seen to Marx's hand, but Laslow wasn't taking any chances, taking the medic's directive to 'keep the hand warm' to the letter.
Gloves would be finding their way onto Marx's hand once the bandages were fully applied, and perhaps a few pairs too many to make the hand actually usable for the foreseeable future.
"Yes, you were wearing your gauntlet but that too froze and it’s still frozen," Laslow adds, pausing his fussing long enough to point to the aforementioned piece of equipment, still encrusted in a thin sheen of ice. "Honestly." He shakes his head, gray hair falling into his eyes with the motion. "You'd have blocked it with your bare hand wouldn't you? What was wrong with using Siegfried?"
He shouldn't comment, he knows that. Laslow has no business butting his nose into brotherly affairs, but he can't help but feel justified in making a few comments. Marx was his prince, after all. It's his job to care for him, even if he doesn't do the most splendid job of it at times.