[ Her answer puzzles him. Doesn't she know that he would bring her comfort, any sort of comfort he was capable of, without asking anything in return? She does not need to serve him in all things. She already serves him in innumerable ways. He is nothing if he lacks her affection. Beyond taking her to wife, taking her to his bed, he imagines there is a wisdom in her which knows him deeply no matter what secrets he keeps to his own heart, that the caress of her finger along his jaw is a kindness and an understanding that he had never looked for in the one whom he must eventually marry, for the production of heirs. He catches her hand in his, turning his face to kiss her white palm. ]
I dreamed too.
[ The words are heavy, for he remembers from his sleep the beloved faces of those that slipped away from his hands and the burden of sorrow. Asgard's golden peace does not bring him the easy, laughing solace it did when he was younger. More and more, he turns to the company of his wife for that. His hands wander, gentle, over her skin, more for the pleasure of touch than the intent to arouse. There are many mornings when he wakes with desire so hot in his veins he must have her at once, have her with her legs wrapped tight around his waist and her voice whispering wicked things into his ear, but there are other mornings when the urge to lie entwined with her is contenting enough. ]
So you see, there was tumult written into the night.
no subject
[ Her answer puzzles him. Doesn't she know that he would bring her comfort, any sort of comfort he was capable of, without asking anything in return? She does not need to serve him in all things. She already serves him in innumerable ways. He is nothing if he lacks her affection. Beyond taking her to wife, taking her to his bed, he imagines there is a wisdom in her which knows him deeply no matter what secrets he keeps to his own heart, that the caress of her finger along his jaw is a kindness and an understanding that he had never looked for in the one whom he must eventually marry, for the production of heirs. He catches her hand in his, turning his face to kiss her white palm. ]
I dreamed too.
[ The words are heavy, for he remembers from his sleep the beloved faces of those that slipped away from his hands and the burden of sorrow. Asgard's golden peace does not bring him the easy, laughing solace it did when he was younger. More and more, he turns to the company of his wife for that. His hands wander, gentle, over her skin, more for the pleasure of touch than the intent to arouse. There are many mornings when he wakes with desire so hot in his veins he must have her at once, have her with her legs wrapped tight around his waist and her voice whispering wicked things into his ear, but there are other mornings when the urge to lie entwined with her is contenting enough. ]
So you see, there was tumult written into the night.