A/N: Written for a Tumblr Anon who requested: Duende - Unusual power to attract or charm
She has never been able to explain what it is about him, but there is something, something undefinable, that she cannot quite put her finger on. Is it the way he moves? No, it cannot be. She was drawn to him before, when he was only a voice. Is it his voice? No. It is remarkable, true, and it makes her heart flutter to hear him sing, or to speak in his thoughtful, considered way (less so when he is talking in a rush because then he's either angry or upset or in a panic and it is more critical that she soothe him than let herself be attracted to him). What is it? How he looks? He is not a handsome man, by any means (and not handsome is something of an understatement for how he is). But there is something about him, something in the way that he holds his hands, wears his pocket watch, the line of his throat, the creases around his eyes. For all his faults and his faults are legion there is a beauty in him too, an old wisdom in his soul that draws her in.
And yet she was drawn to him before she ever saw him, when he faked being an angel to get her attention. Well, it certainly worked. There is no denying that, though she knows that even had he presented himself to her as a man in the first place she would be drawn to him too. She knows that with a bone-deep certainty, the same as the one that assures her of his love.
Perhaps, perhaps it is Fate that has drawn them together. Fate that attracts her to him, charms her. Fate that leads her to kiss the corner of his lips, Fate that has led to her loving him. Well, even if it is Fate that does not dim her love for him. There is nothing in this world that can change that for her.
Her love is real, so very real, burns true in her heart, but she would not be overly surprised if that was placed there by Fate too. If what they share is written in the stars, she would not object.
It is her voice that drew him to her the first time. That he knows. Her voice, the traces of emotion lying buried in it. He tended that voice as if it were a garden, made it a project, and now look at her! She is the Queen of Paris, and he has helped her there.
He is her King, though nobody sees him. And is better that way, for everyone. He is not jealous, merely proud of what she has become, and that pride in her is one he cradles close, and nothing will ever be able to take it away.
He will not hesitate to say that he was drawn to her right from the very start. She is not conventionally attractive, true, not lauded for her looks. She is too Nordic, her eyes reflecting the ice of her homeland, but his heart stirs every time his eyes fall on her. Stirs and aches to take her in his arms, to hold her close forever and press soft little kisses to her forehead. No. She is not conventionally attractive, but she is perfect in every way, and what does it matter if they do not see that? If it is only her voice that draws them to her, as it drew him at first? He knows what she is really like, the heart that beats in her chest. And she is his wife, and he loves her dearly. And though her voice is what drew him to her first, it is not what keeps drawing him back. That is the fact of her love, and if he is getting sentimental in his old age he will not object, not so long as he can hold her in his arms. A little sentiment never did anyone any harm, and when she smiles at him like that, her icy eyes silky soft, he suspects that sentiment has proven to be a very good thing.
With infinite gentleness, he bows his head and presses a light kiss to her lips, feeling her lips twitch into a smile beneath his. Sentiment has done good things for them both, indeed.