5/10/14.


Few things in Vilkas' life had come easy.

Childhood hadn't been easy; not when he was merely some orphan the Companions had taken pity on, not when Jergen left and didn't come back, and certainly not when he was obviously smaller than his brother. He'd had the Companions, he'd had Farkas, and he'd had Tilma, and sometimes that was enough. Sometimes having Tilma there was enough to make up for the fact that he had no mother, and sometimes Askar or Kodlak's words of wisdom made up for Jergen's disappearance, and sometimes Farkas' presence made up for the scorn he endured from the other children.

Taking the beast blood had been harder still. He'd suffered nightmares, resisted the call of the blood as much as he could, and still ended up hurting people he'd cared about. Lycanthropy made his already sour nature worse, and ridding himself of it was the only wise decision he'd made in regards to it at all. He swore it had ruined his ability to sleep straight through the night for the rest of his life.

Raising children didn't look to be easy, either. It was difficult, finding a way to balance sternness with warmth, holding back his impatience when he really had no idea how fathers ought to act. He wanted to spoil them all, he wanted to be strict and teach them well, but most of the time he ended up a mess on either end, as keeping them out of trouble was enough work as it was.

But this, where he was right now, this was easy. It was so simple, he often wondered why it took him so long to realize it.

Right now, it was the middle of the night. He hadn't the faintest idea as to why he was still awake, but he wasn't complaining. Rarely did he get moments of complete peace. But now, he could just lay in the silence the night offered, with his wife curled up beside him. Ria always slept that way, with her head on his chest and her leg folded over him, even though the bed was large enough for her to spread out. The only break in this routine was during the later parts of Ria's pregnancies, when she was too large to lie comfortably that way. And in those months he missed her, though she was still right beside him, because he felt as though she belonged there, much in the same way his arm belonged wrapped about her back and holding her close, and the way his hand belonged clutched to her shoulder and his fingers belonged brushing over it.

Yes, it seemed so simple, now that he knew it. Falling in love with her, that had been the simplest thing he had ever done. And lying beside her in the middle of the night, huddled together and not saying a word, simply being there, that was his key to happiness.

Not that there weren't other things that made him happy. His children made him happy. Fighting alongside the Companions made him happy. But the quickest route to bliss, the simplest solution to all of his troubles, was feeling her heart beating against him, rubbing his thumb absently over her shoulder, and leaning his face down to press gentle kisses to the top of her head. It was better than training, better than sex (though he was not one to complain whenever he accidentally woke her and she ended up straddling him within the next few minutes). It was, without a doubt, the happiest he ever felt.

It was so perfect.

And it was so simple.