Dedication: for my own Ranger.

Sometimes, he drives her absolutely crazy.

There are times when she simply cannot understand what he's thinking, or why he seems so dense. He's an intelligent man, she knows it. But his inability to hang up his clothing, or his penchant for leaving his mugs on any handy horizontal surface, could drive her to distraction. Of course they have servants, but that's not the point.

And she knows she has a confrontational personality, that she sometimes genuinely enjoys a good argument. But he refuses to fight with her, and either ignores her anger, or insists they talk about it rationally. She's learned that if he does raise his voice, then the battle is hurting him more than her, and she needs to stop.

Tough and practical, that's her, and even though she'll squirm sometimes, or frown when he kisses and cuddles her in public, or announces he loves her in front of the Court, she still gets a thrill that he is so devoted, so confident in his feelings and in her that he could display his affection so openly.

There are times even now, after years of life together, that he still takes her breath away, like when he practices on the archery range, his long arms drawing the great bow so effortlessly, lean muscles tensing, his blue-grey eyes focused intently on the target, and then that moment of release when he suddenly relaxes and smiles. She watches him, smiling herself, and thinking, gods, he is absolutely magnificent!

Moments like that find her grinning foolishly at him, and when he notices, he smiles back, and drops a kiss to her lips, her cheek, even the tip of her nose.

He does his work quietly and conscientiously, and she's proud of him, even though she knows he dislikes it as much as he's disliked any of his positions. He does it because of duty, because it's right that he should do so, though she's sure he'd much prefer to wander the trees, enjoying nature and wilderness, to spin tales and adventures to eager ears, to raise hounds and children in happy laughing tumbles. Ruthlessness isn't in his nature, and since she knows it is part of hers, she tries to teach him something of the hardness she bears, like a shield, because it'll help him, protect him. Because when he falls asleep, exhausted, in his chair, she's the one who stares at him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, and wishing desperately she could remake the world for him. If she could, she would be his shield from all hurtful things, all the things that tire him and frustrate him and pull the corners of his mouth down.

Thankfully, those lines are not nearly as prominent as the crinkles by his eyes when he laughs.

And even when he drives her the most crazy, with forgotten plans or disarray, or he's so tired he can barely speak, and she must shoo him off to bed for his own good, she knows that as soon as they lie down together, he will turn to her, and draw her close, and kiss her sweetly. Never has a day or night gone by when they haven't reaffirmed their love for one another. She is his rock, and he is hers, and curled together, his warmth chases away her chill, and she would not have it any other way, dirty clothing on the floor or no.

END