Double drabble. Inspired by a scene in Sunrise, chapter 18, because I am totally in love with Fflewddur now.
Almost...
She nestles next to him like the most natural thing in the world, this child with her malnourished face and love-starved eyes, and where did she learn this trick? -this innocent cuddle against his shoulder, making him wish he'd listened to all those admonitions about producing an heir. Was this a taste of it, fatherhood?
Perhaps it isn't too late, after all...she has no family; she needs a home; his castle is small and drafty but it need not be lonely. How might it be, to bring home this ray of sunlight, this blazing temper and silver laugh? She'd shake up his crotchety staff satisfyingly, but would she be happy? He desires her happiness, but saw enough in that castle, heard enough of her history to know it might take more than four walls and a scatterbrained bard-king who's never raised a rosebush, let alone a daughter.
His turn on watch. He lays her gently upon his cloak; she sighs a name and it isn't his, but he smiles. Youth calls to youth, then; and her heart already knows what it wants, even if she doesn't.
He leans over, kisses the top of her golden head. Both greeting and farewell.