It’s cooler on this beach by the dream-version of the seaside cottage in Nunia than it is on their tropical island, and he shivers as he wishes for another blanket, which the heartlanding grants.
The cool breeze and calling of seagulls take him back to summers as a child when they would visit this beach. His grandmother loved it here. Most of his strongest memories of her are here. The little cottage behind them was hers. Mother preferred the larger house with more modern luxuries, but Grandmother never was too sure about those gas lamps and copper pipes.
One thing both women agreed on was that pebble beaches are far superior to sandy ones.
Father humored them, but he always took off his stockings to feel the sand between his toes when they visited other stretches of the Nunian coast.
The memories leave Rominy feeling nostalgic and sentimental, which is fitting for a morning like this, as he wakes with the slight stickiness the briny ocean water left behind after Elowyn ran her magic over him last night.
He heats at the memory as he itches to reach for her where she curls against his chest, but he doesn’t want to wake her. Not yet. Let her sleep.
Now he’ll always associate that memory with this beach, though. This cottage. And it will be their secret to keep. A memory shared between them, meant for no one else.
He was hoping to wake here in the heartlanding the morning after their first time together. To have that buffer between what they shared here and the real world, where privacy is nonexistent for them at the moment.
Hopefully, she won’t mind waking here beside him in the heartlanding like this. At least not this time.
It doesn’t take long for her to stir in his arms, and he holds her as she regains her bearings.
Then she rolls to her back and looks up at him. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Her toes are warm on his legs, and it’s a surreal sensation. He’s always heard about icy feet, but Elowyn is pure fire, even when she’s not catching fire, and he won’t complain.
“You are perfect,” she eventually whispers as she runs a delicate finger across his brow and down his cheek.
He stares at her. “Of all the things I thought you might say this morning, that never crossed my mind. I’m hardly perfect, El.”
“Perfect for me.” She pulls him into a gentle kiss, and he tries not to set her on fire in case she needs more time to recover from last night.
“How are you feeling?” he eventually asks, and she sighs.
“Still a little tired. I fear trying to reach you in the real world took a lot out of me.” She looks away, and he pushes his fears aside. Tharios said she’ll pull through, and he needs to trust Tharios.
“You’ll probably hate me for this, but I think we should take it easy today. Let you recover.”
He waits for her to groan in frustration or dive into the water, but she just looks off toward the waves for a few moments before speaking.
“Will you rest with me? I’m not very good at—”
“Always.” He draws her to his chest, and she clings to him. “You’ll be so tired of me before the day is through. I’ll be like glue at your side.”
His response makes her laugh, as he hoped it would. Of course he’ll be here with her. Where else would he go?
But that’s not what she’s asking, and they both know it. She needs his help to not self-destruct in the quiet moments.
“Do you want to visit my grandmother’s cottage?” he asks when he lets her go. That seems like a pretty low-key adventure.
Her eyes light up. “Is that where we are?”
He nods. “I came here with Mother and Arisanna for a few weeks most summers until my grandmother passed away when I was ten. I think it was harder for Mother after that, and we didn’t come as much. We always stayed in the big house, but my grandmother lived in this little cottage by the sea when she wasn’t with us in Levina.”
“Your mother’s mother?”
“Yes. I don’t remember my other grandparents.”
“Like me,” Elowyn says softly.
It’s an odd thing to have in common. She’s an elf, after all. That only one of her grandparents still lives must be unusual among her people.
“I’ve never met Grandmera’s parents,” Elowyn says.
