Darling & Commander

The Nymph: 2

Gallaleigha POV:

"I do not remember such well built men. The last men who tried to invade were built like string beans, but you are broad shouldered and quite rugged." I murmur in fascination. "But you do not see the good parts."

"I beg your pardon?" Brock's cold face turns red at my interest.

This man will drive me crazy, I am certain. The way he carries himself, like he's an emotionless wall; it makes me curious to break him. See what's inside. I believe he is like a geode; you have to break him open to find the true beauty.

"You do not see the wonderful things in yourself." I look up at him, my big eyes staring make his face turn redder. "As you really should. Most of the other men who have wandered by did not have such qualities."

"Qualities?" He parrots questioningly.

I nod slowly, examining his sharp and rough features.

"You do not see the strong body that I see. You do not see the tenderhearted man that I see. You do not see the heart that I see. The art of war takes a toll on even the strongest of men, and you have been burnt too many times." I shake my head. "You have come to the right place if you are searching for a place of comfort and peace. I will take care of you for your time here, I assure you."

He recoils, stupefied at my ability to find the best in what he believes himself to be... a heartless murderer. Which is acutely false, if I am being blatant.

"You," He breathes, caressing the small of my back. "Are the epitome of pure beauty."

My lips curve into a smile, laughing at the kind and compassionate man who people think so ruthlessly of. They are so mistaken it stands comical.

"And they call you the unregretful killer. I do not believe it... the man who has held me in the woods, made a nickname for me, and called me the epitome of pure beauty in less than ten minutes? They mistake you for the bull in a china shop, but the truth is that you are the shattered china." I cup his rough cheekbone.

"Nickname?"

"You called me Galla." My eyes twinkle, feeling playful.

"I suppose I did... and you would be the first to call me by my first name in a long time. It is... oddly refreshing." He says, astounded at how unbothered I am by his status.

"It really should not be, Brock." I watch as his eyes flicker from mine to the trees.

"Why are you so... sweet?" He says it like it tastes bitter on his tongue, but I know it is just his rough personality coming out.

"Why are you so bitter?" I counter. "Because it is who you are on the inside? That is yet to be proven true with your gentleness. I can sense danger from a mile away, general, and that is not what I felt when I saw you."

"What did you feel then, Galla?" It becomes his turn to find fascination in me.

"A broken man in need of a wing to be taken under." I reply, my head tilting as my hair blows in the wind. "Which is exactly why I am offering my help."

"I cannot accept it, as grateful as I am." Brock shakes his head. "I am here for a reason, and I suggest you leave if you do not want to be wrapped up in this war."

"I cannot, Brock... this is my home. I am devoted to taking care of it." I shake my head fervently. "Is that why you are here? Scouting? Because rest assured, hell will freeze over if I have to give this place up. You are not destroying it."

"I will not let it be destroyed." Brock says firmly, stepping away to grab his satchel. "I shall make sure of this much myself."

"Thank you." I smile. "At least let me a tour of my sector, or a meal?"

Brock seems to think this over, most likely wondering if I am to slip poison to his food, but he decides against it and nods.

"It could not hurt." He says, and I take his rough hand in mine as I guide him delicately over to my little hut. 

We walk over, my fingers gripping his as he does not make much effort to meet me halfway.

"Would you care for some chamomile tea? I do wish I had chai, but I am afraid the herb stock has been low recently... perhaps you could come with me on a walk to collect black tea leaves? I was meaning to pick some, but have not gotten around to it..." I ramble a little, studying the creases of my hands with mild interest.

Brock's cold gaze examines me, and I feel as though my soul is bare under his piercing regard.

"You would like me to collect tea leaves with you?" He scrutinizes, his thick eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline as he looks disinterested at best.

"Unless you like chamomile better. Or perhaps lemon tea, I have plenty in stock." I open the door to the little shelter, and let him sit down at the table in the center.

He is amusingly disproportionate compared to the wooden stools I have set, and almost as if he senses it too, I watch him push it aside and sit on his bottom. I smile to myself as I take my fine teacups out of the cupboard, and blink when I find Brock surveying my every move.

"Have you never seen antique teacups? Oh, they really are quite the joy to collect, see, every Saturday, the market in town has vendors come from all over to trade their fine commodities and exports. I have a particularly good friend whom runs the antique glassware establishment, and he is always telling me the most wonderful stories about the origins of my antiques. We trade all sorts of things, and have become well accommodated his trips. Oh, I should like to introduce the two of you! What a fine- oh, my apologies." I color when I realize his stare is bored and adrift. "I did not mean to ramble on. I get... quite zealous at times."

Brock's gaze rakes over me like he is searching beyond my surface, and instead of being uneasy, I let him. It makes life so much easier; to let things pass through you as nothing lasts.

"W-well..." I become uncomfortable when it becomes clear I have said too much. "Please feel free to leave whenever, general, do not stay on my account..."

His voice comes out gruff and clear when he sits up straighter, dragging his rough fingers through his hair.

"Do not call me that." He shakes his head. "Not you of all people."

I always found mortals silly for describing the flips and tousles of their stomachs as butterflies. It never occurred to me that I could find myself feeling the same way. By the way his windblown hair is left unkempt, by how his words come together like a demand, by the way his gaze is studying me unashamed. It is not elegant, or beautiful, or delicate as I have heard others describe the sensation such as butterflies.

It feels like they are stirring a storm, a tornado, with everything crisp and unbreakable. Rigid edges I want my soft fingers to meet, because he brings out everything I think I had forgotten.

"Brock." I speak just above a whisper. 

It is not a question, nor a demand. It is my call.

"Galla." He responds in his deep voice before his gaze fractures, just as soon as it had formed. "I will accompany you to the black tea leaf shrubs."

I do not know what has come over me. It is instant.

I will make him look at me in that way again.