For hours, nothing was said. Nothing had to be, for Phinn knew in his heart, as he hoped Rhae knew in hers, that no spoken words could capture how much these hours meant, doing nothing but enjoying the touch of another that had been yearned for, patiently and painfully. For him, it was the sweetest morning given in twenty years, and he was happy to just enjoy the silence. At first he didn't sleep, being so unused to an actual bed, and that was fine, for this rogue did not want to waste time sleeping that could be spent feeling her slim body against his own. Eventually though, the safety and contentment that flowed into him from every part of her lulled him to sleep, one of the very, very few times Phinn had ever fallen asleep while not holed up in shadows.
Sleep came, and dreams with it. He dreamed of times long ago, of watching Bart, the only father he had ever known. He was a young boy again, too young to realize how destitute he was and how unhappy he should be. That young Phinn sat up in the rafters of Bart's Thieves Guild, watching the older children spar, relaxing to the familiar sounds of taunting and metal on metal. He saw Bart as he had back then, a large man, built like a barbarian, yet agile enough to call himself a thief. To Phinn, Bart was a mentor as well as a father, representing everything he wanted to become. Little did the boy know how much of Bart he would take with him. The joking, sarcastic, grinning mannerisms of the man had become his own, and they still were today.
He dreamed of Myrna too. Poor, sweet Myrna, only seventeen when her relationship with Phinn led to her death. The dream was of an earlier time, though, when both of them were but children, running underfoot of the 'grown ups' they had lived with. Neither knew their parents very well, and the two had bonded, both needing a playmate and someone who they knew would always be around. He saw Myrna as that child again, all pale ice blue eyes and blonde hair. A dream of a better time, before his association with the Thieves Guild would cause their twelve year friendship to end in tragedy. Even as children they had talked of getting married and growing old together, had always just assumed it would be so. That sentiment had only bloomed brighter as the children grew into young adults, bloomed until the day Phinn had to flee Waterdeep, leaving his love buried beneath her favorite bed of roses.
These visions of love lost and promises broken faded as he felt Rhae stir against him due to her own dreams. Squinted gray eyes regarded a sight they had never allowed themselves to expect to see again, someone truly cherished entangled in his arms. He leaned gently towards her, getting close enough to inhale the scent of her hair, becoming momentarily drunk on his feelings for her. Even after their entire morning together, Phinn still could feel every part of her that touched him radiating that electricity felt in their first true touch. Knowing that such energy would never fade made him realize that this was another moment he would always dream about, regardless of what happened next. Memories of Rhae would fill his sweet dreams the way Bart and Myrna did, and he could hardly believe she had effected him so in such a short time. But as he smiled down at her sleeping, peaceful face, he knew such an amazing girl having the ability to change him wasn't so surprising after all. Suddenly he wanted to kiss that face, but would not risk waking her. Let her sleep, he thought, she will have plenty to worry about upon waking. And for now her touch was more than enough.
"You're my second chance, Rhaena," he whispered, lightly as not to disturb her slumber, before gingerly disentangling himself from her. Immediately there was a sense of loss, of a hole within his heart that would only ever be filled when his arms were wrapped around her. He heaved a regretful sigh, knowing that despite that hole, there was business yet to be done this day. Phinn rolled off the mattress, stretching soundless as he stood. The scent of so many flowers surrounded him, Rhae's contribution to his loft. But no roses, she already knew him well enough to know better than that. The absence of roses reflected the loss of his own irreplaceable rose decades ago. That void would always remain, not even Rhae could change that. But because of his newfound happiness with her, this was the first time he was beginning to feel comfortable with that.
He retrieved his cloak, which had been draped across his large, heavily padlocked chest. When that chest is full, he had promised himself, Phinn would find a way to travel back and forth from Faer?n and Rhy'din, and truly start the business he had been contemplating since his banishment here. For now though, the chest was forgotten as he searched through cloak pockets until he found a scrap of paper and a charcoal pencil:
Dove,
Out to pick up a bottle for Alma. Wouldn't do to have my arms ripped off so soon after finding something worth holding onto.
Phinn
He looked at her sleeping so soundly in her long sweater and polka dot nylons, and thought it must be the most beautiful sight in Rhy'din, and at that he picked up the pencil again.
PS
All the flowers you've brought here are not even half as gorgeous as you.
The note was left, in typical Phinn fashion, embedded into the door with a throwing knife. Only then did he slip the mask back over his face, which transformed him into the man everyone else knew, a sarcastic, wise cracking rogue just out for a quick thrill or a quicker coin. And with that mocking grin settled on his face, he struck out, heading right for a glassblower's shop he had cased a day before. The owner of the shop was old enough to be seasoned in his craft, and, lucky for Phinn, also old enough to be quite deaf. Any who saw him make his way toward his destination would see exactly what he wanted them to see, a small man of questionable morals out on the prowl, and none would know that while that was indeed true, there was something much more dear to him residing in his heart.
Sleep came, and dreams with it. He dreamed of times long ago, of watching Bart, the only father he had ever known. He was a young boy again, too young to realize how destitute he was and how unhappy he should be. That young Phinn sat up in the rafters of Bart's Thieves Guild, watching the older children spar, relaxing to the familiar sounds of taunting and metal on metal. He saw Bart as he had back then, a large man, built like a barbarian, yet agile enough to call himself a thief. To Phinn, Bart was a mentor as well as a father, representing everything he wanted to become. Little did the boy know how much of Bart he would take with him. The joking, sarcastic, grinning mannerisms of the man had become his own, and they still were today.
He dreamed of Myrna too. Poor, sweet Myrna, only seventeen when her relationship with Phinn led to her death. The dream was of an earlier time, though, when both of them were but children, running underfoot of the 'grown ups' they had lived with. Neither knew their parents very well, and the two had bonded, both needing a playmate and someone who they knew would always be around. He saw Myrna as that child again, all pale ice blue eyes and blonde hair. A dream of a better time, before his association with the Thieves Guild would cause their twelve year friendship to end in tragedy. Even as children they had talked of getting married and growing old together, had always just assumed it would be so. That sentiment had only bloomed brighter as the children grew into young adults, bloomed until the day Phinn had to flee Waterdeep, leaving his love buried beneath her favorite bed of roses.
These visions of love lost and promises broken faded as he felt Rhae stir against him due to her own dreams. Squinted gray eyes regarded a sight they had never allowed themselves to expect to see again, someone truly cherished entangled in his arms. He leaned gently towards her, getting close enough to inhale the scent of her hair, becoming momentarily drunk on his feelings for her. Even after their entire morning together, Phinn still could feel every part of her that touched him radiating that electricity felt in their first true touch. Knowing that such energy would never fade made him realize that this was another moment he would always dream about, regardless of what happened next. Memories of Rhae would fill his sweet dreams the way Bart and Myrna did, and he could hardly believe she had effected him so in such a short time. But as he smiled down at her sleeping, peaceful face, he knew such an amazing girl having the ability to change him wasn't so surprising after all. Suddenly he wanted to kiss that face, but would not risk waking her. Let her sleep, he thought, she will have plenty to worry about upon waking. And for now her touch was more than enough.
"You're my second chance, Rhaena," he whispered, lightly as not to disturb her slumber, before gingerly disentangling himself from her. Immediately there was a sense of loss, of a hole within his heart that would only ever be filled when his arms were wrapped around her. He heaved a regretful sigh, knowing that despite that hole, there was business yet to be done this day. Phinn rolled off the mattress, stretching soundless as he stood. The scent of so many flowers surrounded him, Rhae's contribution to his loft. But no roses, she already knew him well enough to know better than that. The absence of roses reflected the loss of his own irreplaceable rose decades ago. That void would always remain, not even Rhae could change that. But because of his newfound happiness with her, this was the first time he was beginning to feel comfortable with that.
He retrieved his cloak, which had been draped across his large, heavily padlocked chest. When that chest is full, he had promised himself, Phinn would find a way to travel back and forth from Faer?n and Rhy'din, and truly start the business he had been contemplating since his banishment here. For now though, the chest was forgotten as he searched through cloak pockets until he found a scrap of paper and a charcoal pencil:
Dove,
Out to pick up a bottle for Alma. Wouldn't do to have my arms ripped off so soon after finding something worth holding onto.
Phinn
He looked at her sleeping so soundly in her long sweater and polka dot nylons, and thought it must be the most beautiful sight in Rhy'din, and at that he picked up the pencil again.
PS
All the flowers you've brought here are not even half as gorgeous as you.
The note was left, in typical Phinn fashion, embedded into the door with a throwing knife. Only then did he slip the mask back over his face, which transformed him into the man everyone else knew, a sarcastic, wise cracking rogue just out for a quick thrill or a quicker coin. And with that mocking grin settled on his face, he struck out, heading right for a glassblower's shop he had cased a day before. The owner of the shop was old enough to be seasoned in his craft, and, lucky for Phinn, also old enough to be quite deaf. Any who saw him make his way toward his destination would see exactly what he wanted them to see, a small man of questionable morals out on the prowl, and none would know that while that was indeed true, there was something much more dear to him residing in his heart.