He felt numb, both from the inside out cold that had slapped him, but from the fact that he really did have to accept several things at once. Namely, that Henry had been dead and if he had tried that ritual again instead of wallowing in self pity, they could have done this earlier and maybe saved him. He could have died right after the last time he'd made contact, the time he'd heard him in his dreams, and Rhys would never know. There was no doubt he'd died alone and hurt, but there was really nothing Rhys himself could do about that. He wasn't coming home. What should he do with the haven?
He was distracted from his whirlwind thought processes by the squeeze to his shoulder. There was an awareness that Amadeus was going around the room cleaning things up and he could guess why he was leaving the room after that, but he didn't say anything. Ah, he had been crying, that's what that feeling on his face was.
He probably should have burst back into tears when Joseph came in a moment later, kneeling in front of him, but he managed to keep it back, mostly, frozen fingers reaching up to caress his love's cheek. Did he look a mess? He must, but it wasn't something he really cared about. Part of him wanted to scream at it all, maybe make all of this disappear, but he held himself still, the trembling subsiding for the most part now. Was this what it felt like to thaw out? Once he did, would it hurt again, or would he be okay? Probably not okay, but not wrecked, either.
When his lover looked over towards Amadeus, his own green eyes followed the line up to his mentor. Life would continue. Unlife. He'd continue to train. Continue to learn.