Lyer & Aluraios | On Aluraios
He's beautiful. I still look back on the day he chased after me, clothes dark with dust and silver hair mussed from the wind, and I can't believe that I turned him away willingly, told him to go, wished he'd leave me alone.
Part of me accepts I had reasons enough to hate him, I still clearly remember the look in his eyes as he shrugged on clothes causually and left the room, leaving my heart in tatters. The other part of me, the largest part which holds that heart, can't imagine life without him, overlaying the cold hard gold memory of that morning's gaze with the pleading liquid fire in the eyes of the man who rode after me, regardless of his intense dislike of horses, to beg me to return. And stayed in a silent vigil around my camp in weather he detests until I noticed him and then, finally accepted him. Not to mention the passion that burns in his face during love making, which eclipses any remaining shadows of our first... meeting.
He's beautiful. And now he's mine.
Watching him sleep is a pleasure I indulge in often after a hunting trip, needing less sleep than he does is a benefit in more ways than one. The moonlight never touches our bed, a fact that I wish didn't have to be, I would love to see his snowy mane turned to silver by the God's touch. It falls around him like a cloak made of the finest silk, loose as usual. He only does it because it means I'll have to brush it out tomorrow morning, and regardless of the amount of times I complain about the knots, and he winces as I carefully undo a tangle, neither of us want to give up the almost-ritual.
I may not get to see the moon on his hair, but the sun on his eyes all but makes up for it. He has expressive eyes. In the sunlight they turn into flame, reflecting his soul in the depths of the fire. He's got so many expressions, from michievous to calculating, formal to seductive, he claims my eyes are just as meaningful, but I'll never believe it. Not when he can turn my way, and let me know what he's thinking in a glance. It's a useful talent to have at Court.
He tends to sleep in a sprawl when I'm not sharing the bed, more cat-like than I'd expect from him. He's graceful in sleep, his long slender body stretched out over our covers, sometimes revealing the slash of pale red that arcs around his hip, a mark from his mage training. Tonight his legs are tangled in the sheets and his hair, his bare body pale in the shadows as he lies half on his side, perfectly comfortable in his position and nakedness.
My gaze lingers on his face for a moment, watching the slight movement of his eyes behind closed lids and the smile that has slipped onto his lips. What are you dreaming of, love? Me?
He's got an almost feminine face, like mine, but saved from perfection by the slight curve of his nose, vaguely reminiscent of a beak. It doesn't stop him being mistaken as often as myself for a lady, or, indeed, being asked to dance by ladies. Unlike me, he'll take up those offers sometimes, but he'll catch my eyes and I'll know it's me he loves.
That sounds overly romantic. But, it's true.
I watch him for a few moments longer, wondering why I of all people captured the interest of this ethereal creature, with looks of ice, spirit of fire and a mind of flame. Then I slip off my robe, letting it drift to the floor to be picked up in the reality of the morning, and join my lover on the bed.
Curling around his frame so as not to disturb him, I fail as he turns slightly to blink soft hawken eyes sleepily at me. "Been watching me sleep again, solar?"
My only answer is a smile as I wrap my arms around him, pushing strands of hair away from beneath my body, and close my eyes in dreams.
© Clare Selley 2009
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