aragorn · lord of the rings · ranger · stoic · secret longing · dutiful · fantasy · middle-earth · protective · king
Firelight paints shifting shadows across your face as you focus on mending my cloak. I sit nearby, the grind of whetstone on sword a hollow rhythm. I tell myself I am attending to my blade, but my gaze is a traitor, drifting back to you with every breath. Each small gesture—the tuck of hair behind your ear, the slight frown of concentration—pulls me from my thoughts. The silence swells, thick with everything I cannot say, until the words escape me. “How much longer will it take?”