3. engulfing masks

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The days passed on peacefully once again. Now he would sit on the porch watching you in the garden, your stance on him not being healthy enough to help you an impregnable wall that you would not let him pass through.

Every time you looked up, expecting him to be asleep with how still he was sitting, you would meet his hands tightening on the armrest slightly as if awakened from a deep trance. Sometimes you would shake the dirt from your knees and go to him with a fresh tomato in hand.

He began carving wood. It happened after he noticed you sneezing a day after the mishap at the lake and, despite your objections, went to the woodshed for some more wood. After setting the fire you sat together before the hearth, the heat making your tired limbs slump.

You awoke with your head on his shoulder and his hands slowly working on a small piece of wood, an old knife in his hand. You watched him until the fire gave out, heart calm and content, his smell and presence a blessing.

You opened the doors to the cottage, shaking the droplets from your coat and breathing in a sigh of relief at the smell of cooking porridge.

"I'm back! You wouldn't believe the rain that caught us!"

You went to the kitchen taking off the boots, dirty and wet from mud, before paddling barefoot to the bedroom to change.

"It came so suddenly that the vendors had to assemble their stands and run back home. I was lucky—," you said while taking off your shirt and loosening the skirt, "that Bethany met me first and I managed to grab us some bread and honey. I think we can eat some berries tomorrow. Oh, and I asked Addam's girls — the one with the mill, remember? — and they said the colour should be a little bit darker but it's fine to eat—"

You jumped up, noticing his presence in the doorway, as he leisurely leaned against the door with arms crossed on his chest. You managed not to stare at his lean form for too long.

You huffed under your breath, unconcerned with your husband watching you in your underclothes. The medallion slid from your undershirt and jumped against your chest as you turned fully towards him.

"You could have said something, and not have me screaming bloody murder across the house, you know?" you said with a hand on your hip. "But it's good you are here."

Under his heated gaze, you went to the basket you left on the bed and took out a large cloth from between the jars of honey. You played with it in your hands before making up your mind and turning to him.

With three large steps, you closed the distance between you.

"I have something for you," you admitted lowly, foreign embarrassment flushing your cheeks and neck. He pushed away from the doorframe and stood straight before you with a low hum. "I noticed how you took to carving lately and thought—"

Your eyes were glued to the buttons of his light shirt.

"I— ugh," you groaned and pushed it against him, at a loss for words and unwilling to blush even more.

For a moment he was still, his head tilted to the side with... surprise? confusion?

You couldn't tell.

But the intake of breath as he unwrapped the knife made your nerves melt into the pit of your stomach into something pleasant.

Carefully he picked up the handle, one you commissioned to be made from hardwood and fitted for his hand so that the grip wouldn't slip even on his worse days.

You never commented when his frustration bled over the weaker muscles of his fingers than before. You knew it was making itself more nagging, when on rainy days, the cramps in his muscles have bothered him even during mundane tasks.

evil eye | Aemond TargaryenWhere stories live. Discover now