[Nimavel Mynendil]

“She would like that.”

The elf lord agreed. Despite the impenetrable psyche that the assassin feigned, his thoughtfulness was oftentimes perceptible through his words, words that, while spoken half-heartedly, nevertheless communicated something deep about the feelings he buried inside. Like Ly’sarion, Nimavel’s father, the assassin would never convey his love for any of his children –not verbally at least. But he would do so through his devotion, dedication, and actions.

They would understand one brightening.

“There is one other thing.”

Nimavel cryptically began, returning Calairiel’s kiss with one of his own while he continued to cradle her in his grasp. His fingers fell delicately upon her rounded hip, and his other hand grazed her smooth backside.

“I have…business to attend to next season and I won’t likely be home very often, but I should be returned by Ioannes.”

He purposely avoided looking at her then. He knew that his absence was sometimes hard on his beloved wife. She was wonderful for accepting his demanding lifestyle, but even a woman of Calairiel’s fortitude could know sorrow and loneliness at times. Nimavel too, as much as he hated to admit it, was equally depressed whenever he was away from the Arwen Gil’dae, but that was an unfortunate reality that he knew that they both had to accept.

"Have you plans for summer? The weather will be much warmer by then..."