Polgara knew her husband had never thought himself a handsome man. And to most, he would be right. None of his features seemed particularly striking, for all his strength, and the goodness of his soul. And yet, she had always found him… what was the word? Attractive? Certainly, but that was not it. Intriguing? Quite, but again, not quite what she meant. Fascinating? Striking? All good adjectives, that would describe him well, after a fashion, but could not embody the entirety of the pull she had felt towards him, even back when they had met. Feelings that had inexorably drawn her to him – drawn her to look for his smile, his support, his approval – but that she had refused to acknowledge, even in the solitude of her own mind.
It was the eyes, she hypothesized, one day that she was watching her husband sleep. It was his eyes that she had noticed first about him. His eyes that had first drawn her to him.
They were a soft brown colour, something not quite like mud brown, not at all as warm as chestnut brown. Some deep brown, between dark leather and almost burning caramel. Yet, if every aspect of her husband could easily leave her waxing in poetics, she could very well understand that, to others, his physical aspect, at least, was not quite so fascinating. His eyes would normally be no more remarkable than the rest of his body.
To be fair, it was not their colour that had touched her so deeply, it was the way they shone, alight with some inner radiance. It was the way they had radiated warmth, kindness, gentleness, acceptance, even back when they had been strangers. It was the way his gentility shone through. It was his calmness, an unbending beacon of strength in the freezing winter storms, that would give you support whether he knew you or not.
Polgara was not foolish or vain enough to believe that this side of her husband was hers alone. His gentleness was such an inherent part of him, that it could not be so. No. It was not for her. His eyes were simply the mirror of his kind heart. Her husband was a philanthropist, to whom human life was sacred. He could no sooner turn away someone in need than he had been able to make her leave the farm when she needed shelter. She had seen this side of him in action often enough during their quests.
She loved his eyes the most, she thought, stroking his hair as he stirred, when he was looking right into hers. She loved the way they seemed to smile just for her, conveying just how important she was to him. Lazily, she stroked his cheek, then kissed him. It was light, still, his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes seemed to drink in the sight of her, and he smiled. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and she could not help smiling herself. Cradling his face in her hands, she whispered “Good morning, my love”.