sorry but tonight i'm thinking about this. slightly dopey-eyed long-lashed awkward too-quiet and then too-bold boy from a burned down village. staring at you with those wide, half-dreamy half-blank cow eyes, mouth half-open when he searches for a correct phrase. who takes your cruelty, takes your spite, takes your pelting and your beating and your hissing remarks that he should trot behind your horse like a good dog. and he saves your life, once and twice, with those eyes staring at you like he's half in love in love with you at all times even when his fist makes contact with your cheekbone. he's your champion even when you make a fool out of him. he's your champion and he smells like herbs and blood and then you fall for him, and every time you see him, he's bigger, he's fatter, he's stronger, he's more confident and learned and yet still. god have fucking mercy. he still looks at you with those eyes. no world exists for him but you, even though he's seen so much of it while you haven’t seen shit. he's decked in full armour now wearing the colours of the royal hetman's bastard, easy in the saddle, bold, and he still. looks at you with those eyes.
