[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]
“What’s going on, Thordin?”
He froze, damning her ears. He hadn’t lit the lamp on purpose and he’d known exactly where to go to find what he’d come for, but somehow he’d must have made just enough noise to wake her. Slowly, he looked back over his shoulder, seeing her eyes gleaming in the dimness. The window in the back wall of their room was covered, though a little light still filtered through, limning her hair in gold. Thordin’s heart ached.
Christus, she’s so bloody beautiful, even like this. He could see Sif was drowsy, her eyes half-lidded even as she studied him, laying on her side, head slightly lifted from the pillow.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “You need to sleep.”
“What’s going on?” Sif asked again, her brow furrowing. Thordin sighed, crossing from the door to the edge of the bed. He dropped to a knee and was abruptly nose to nose with her, meeting her sleepy gaze.
“It’s probably nothing,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke her hair. His heart rose up into his throat, threatening to choke him. “Just a bad storm rolling in.”
“But you came to get your weapons,” she murmured. One of her hands inched out from under the covers, fingers brushing against his cheek and jaw, encountering the stubble of the beard he wasn’t sure he was going to keep. “You don’t do that for no reason. Not anymore.”
“Training with Matt.”
“Liar.” But she smiled, fingers stroking his cheek. “What are you afraid of?”
“That you’re going to want to get up and fight if there is one. I hope there’s not going to be.”
Sif watched him for a few seconds, her lips thinning slightly. Her fingers went still against his face and her expression softened.
“I love you,” she whispered. Thordin closed his eyes, exhaling softly as he covered her fingers with his, holding her hand against his face.
“No more than I love you,” he whispered back, then sighed. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I promised you,” she said. “I’ll keep that promise. Trust in that. Forever, Thordin. Forever. Don’t forget.”