Hail.
He really was lost, and he knew that if he lived three hundred years he'd never figure out how someone as amazing as Alys had chosen him. She met his eyes directly, a smile that outshone the sun on her lips, and she gave back just as good as she got. With the tables so adroitly turned on him the familiar heat rose to his neck and ears, but he was far too pleased to mind, or even to care if Alys saw the blush that she could still coax to his brown skin after all these seasons.
He tilted his head down without thinking as Alys came close, turning it just enough so his lady's lips brushed the corner of his mouth. His happy grin spread even wider as he wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his side so she could rest her head on his shoulder if she wanted to. The Spillwave was a gentle sea with a gentle sky to match it, and he really only needed one hand on the tiller.
He didn't have her magical affinity for reading emotions, but luckily he didn't need it. Every look she gave him, every smile and laugh, every time she held his hand or leaned into his shoulder or kissed him spoke as loudly and clearly as her words - which she was just as open with. He knew he was loved, bone-deep and without reservation. No matter they didn't always agree, he had learned that she loved him regardless. He was the luckier of the two of them, in a way. Even though he wasn't very good at putting his feelings into words, he no longer had to wonder and hope that she knew how much he loved her. He knew that she could feel it, and he was incredibly grateful that she had developed that power.
Even if he was sometimes a little worried that he was the reason she'd needed to, and never mind that magic didn't work like that.
"I love you, too," he said, savoring the words which tasted just as good now as they had the last few hundred times he'd given voice to them. "So, y'been thinkin' about anythin' y'want t'do in Deepfrost?" It was just around the corner, and theoretically his work might slow down for the first half of the season, at least.
He really was lost, and he knew that if he lived three hundred years he'd never figure out how someone as amazing as Alys had chosen him. She met his eyes directly, a smile that outshone the sun on her lips, and she gave back just as good as she got. With the tables so adroitly turned on him the familiar heat rose to his neck and ears, but he was far too pleased to mind, or even to care if Alys saw the blush that she could still coax to his brown skin after all these seasons.
He tilted his head down without thinking as Alys came close, turning it just enough so his lady's lips brushed the corner of his mouth. His happy grin spread even wider as he wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his side so she could rest her head on his shoulder if she wanted to. The Spillwave was a gentle sea with a gentle sky to match it, and he really only needed one hand on the tiller.
He didn't have her magical affinity for reading emotions, but luckily he didn't need it. Every look she gave him, every smile and laugh, every time she held his hand or leaned into his shoulder or kissed him spoke as loudly and clearly as her words - which she was just as open with. He knew he was loved, bone-deep and without reservation. No matter they didn't always agree, he had learned that she loved him regardless. He was the luckier of the two of them, in a way. Even though he wasn't very good at putting his feelings into words, he no longer had to wonder and hope that she knew how much he loved her. He knew that she could feel it, and he was incredibly grateful that she had developed that power.
Even if he was sometimes a little worried that he was the reason she'd needed to, and never mind that magic didn't work like that.
"I love you, too," he said, savoring the words which tasted just as good now as they had the last few hundred times he'd given voice to them. "So, y'been thinkin' about anythin' y'want t'do in Deepfrost?" It was just around the corner, and theoretically his work might slow down for the first half of the season, at least.
