Some thoughts are just too blissful to ponder.
I find myself daydreaming far too often now.
He doesn't seem to understand why I want him. The reasons are far too numerous to count.
He was kind to me from the first moment. He allowed me to be kind to him in turn. A man sitting alone, drinking, facing the wall, his back turned to the world. He could have rebuffed my kindness, shooed me away, looked at me like a pestering, smiling fly whose cheer was offensive. He didn't. Dear, kind-hearted man, he let me in, one tentative step at a time, allowing me to explore the lonely darkness of his soul, taking a candle with me to cast its gentle glow on the shadows within. Such a strange and bemusing camaraderie we found in each other, the reclusive old man and the friendly, well-meaning girl. Even as I grieved for Lainric, he watched over me, gruff and hesitant in his compliments, always respecting the distance that had to remain between us, but never allowing me to walk home alone at night. He allowed me to nurse him when he was injured, and I think those tender hours were the first in which we both felt something stirring in the air between us. It made no sense, and it still doesn't, yet it remains, as real as the world around us. How steadfastly respectful he remained, only letting me know with his eyes, the subtle brush of his hand against mine, that he wanted me. One night, in the streets of Bree, amid hurt feelings long repressed, he finally declared that he loved me. Even then, he didn't overstep his boundaries, he didn't expect me to echo the sentiment, he didn't try to kiss me, he simply laid his heart open. He has honored my time of mourning, he has honored my wish to keep our relationship quiet for weeks and weeks, he has handled me with the utmost care. Even our first kiss was amid my weeping for the loss of Lainric, for my own loneliness, and the abandonment I felt from my family. The night I fell ill after being struck with the poisoned blade, he was there, as I knew he would be, though I begged him needlessly not to leave my side. He performed duties that shouldn't be asked of anyone but a nurse, witnessing me in my most helpless and pitiful state, which I still cringe to recall. There was no hesitation on his part, he guarded me selflessly for days, going without sleep, and never the tiniest hint of self pity or complaining. He has pledged to court me honorably time and time again, and though we've come so close to failing more times than I can count, he has never pressured me into surrendering my honor. His hands can smash stone and smelt ore, yet they handle me as if I were made of glass. His smile, when he looks at me, is nothing short of luminous. He exudes pride when I stand beside him.
And he wonders why I love him.
