Cambra is giving a preemptive defensive glare at everyone around them, but this is perhaps counterproductive as they get further from the table they were sitting at and the neighbors didn't see the original scene.  On the other hand, glaring does seem to be their default state?

Well. They should figure out where they're all sleeping, but first he's just going to duck into the nearest private-looking storage room so Khalida can get a proper hug.  Assuming she still seems inclined to do that, and assuming Cambra and Ferrer don't decide something about it is unacceptable.

She hesitates just barely perceptibly at the door, but there's no one in the hallway right then to see them, and she follows him in, shoving down the imaginary grandmother in the back of her head (still after all these years) saying to be careful of her reputation (and a paladin is basically your cousin anyway).  

Ferrer glances in at the storeroom - it's full of anonymous barrels - and says "Hm.  No blankets in this one.  Cambra, go check down the hall."  The younger man looks mulish for half a moment, but as Ferrer settles his shoulders against the opposite wall, he accepts the pretense and goes (with one final glare).  Ferrer pulls his belt knife to start paring his nails, in the attitude of weary guards everywhere, out of eavesdropping range if the door is as thick as it looks but not out of hollering range.

Khalida gets a bit of a wry look at the level of protectiveness on display, but closes the door on them firmly.  She doesn't immediately fling herself into Marcus's arms, though; she's regained some self-consciousness along with her composure, and fidgets with a loose thread on her glove, not quite meeting his eyes.

(Ferrer gets an appreciative look for his self-assigned guard position -- this is a situation in which Marcus would prefer to have someone nearby, for many reasons that he doesn't particularly disentangle in his mind.  It's not exactly propriety, but it's making sure you're not creating a situation someone would misunderstand, or one that could be irresponsibly unsafe without looking obviously different.  The things propriety was created out of, before much of it became something else.)

Well that won't do at all.  She's just going to get wrapped in a firm hug before she can get too self-conscious about it. 

He rubs her back and murmurs reassurances.  "I believe you, and it does matter what you did, but... it's history, it's information, not a stone to be dragging you down all your life."

Khalida melts into the hug, turning her face into his leather-clad shoulder.  She wraps one thin arm around his back, clinging as tightly as she can, and folds the other up in between them to bite down on a knuckle.  This close, she smells of sweat and horse and clean wool, the soft voile of her scarf crinkling under his chin.  She doesn't speak for a while, but nods slowly against his chest once in response to his words, shoulders shaking occasionally with what might be either sobs or hiccups.

Marcus holds her tighter when she clings.  He can stay here, steady and quiet and warm, for as long as she needs.  (It's clear in his body language, somehow, that he's not going anywhere.)

And Goddess, she really did need this.  He's so glad they managed to have the conversation that got them here, however strangely routed it was. 

They might need to have more of it, but that should be Khalida's decision, to be made once she's soaked up enough simple physical comfort to want to do anything else. 

She needs it for kind of a while, but eventually her cling lessens a bit and she wipes her eyes again, then cautiously scoots the arm from between them around to hold onto his shoulder, rather than disengage fully.  

"I didn't," she mumbles into his chest, "didn't have no other choices.  Not better ones, but.  I had choices.  I just- chose, um, this."

He loosens his hold on her to match, shifts his arms when she moves, doesn't let go.

"I figured that," he nods, solemn.  "Everyone has some choice.  And it's not as if it wouldn't have been better, if you had chosen differently."  He couldn't pretend otherwise, and he doesn't think she'd want him to.  "Just... you look at what happened, learn what you can, think of what you'd do if you were choosing again. And you move forward."

She takes a moment to parse the sentence out, and makes a small discontent noise into his chest but doesn't argue or unhug.

After a few more moments, she ventures, "I don't- wish to become someone who chooses Law over magic, though.  Or even Good."  That second person is easier to imagine wanting to be, maybe, but that way lies the confusing tangle she's trying not to poke at in case she accidentally repents too soon.  

"I have better choices now, I want to, to keep them, to- put myself in the occasion to have them-"

The idea of choosing anything over magic gets a soft laugh again.  "I would imagine not!"  But he listens to her keep talking.

"Yes, exactly.  I don't mean-- think of what you'd do if you were choosing again, and convince yourself of the decision your priest or your father or the nearest paladin wants, as if you were a child told to think about your choices in that tone that means you should already know the answer.  I mean, really think about it.  About which things you'd do again and which you wouldn't, and why, and where you hate both options, and how to make a life where you have choices you will be happy with."

More quietly, after a moment – unsure if that is the piece that's missing, but it seems like it might be:  "You're allowed to want things."

She makes a little noise in her throat, not quite a 'huh', and sniffs.  Something about that is confusing in a way that's hard to put into words, or even get clear in her head, and what she comes out with in the end is "Are you ought to be saying that?"

That takes him a moment, to understand her question and consider it.  He doesn't pull away, but he tilts his head until he can see a bit of her face at an angle.

"I think... the Goddess would say something better, but I don't know how to do that.  What do you think I ought to be saying?"

She nestles a little more snugly into his shoulder. "Hadn't you ought say I ought choose the Lawful Good choice?  Or one of the two,"  she catches herself before she says 'you're a paladin', that's definitely rude, and amends it to "you're not Rahadi."

He's much more used to hugging someone who's crying than hugging someone he's having a conversation with, but he's hardly going to stop.  It's so clearly good for her, and she feels so cozy like this under his arm...

"I... Hmm."  She is right, in a sense, but it doesn't feel right, why is that... Oh. "The Goddess doesn't use us against our own ends. I ought not to either, I think, or at least not when I'm giving you personal advice, or-- doing anything else that, hm..."  He doesn't usually think through the Law in small personal interactions this way, just does it by instinct, and it takes him a moment to find the shape of the answer, "that would obviously go better if this was predictably so? Something like that, I think. I haven't thought through it before, and really I should ask someone who has, but for this conversation it seems clear enough."

"Isn't She goddess of doing the most Good, though?  What if one's ends were evil?"

"Ah, I meant She doesn't use Her people against their own ends, not nobody at all. And you're... closer to my people than not, I think, for this."