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It’s a small thing, and It wasn’t something he paid attention to at first. He was, well, enamored enough with Meryta herself as she dropped in and out of his life, a force of nature. There’s always something new going on in her life too. Another enemy, a new task, a new place she’d been. Fighting Garleans one day, auspices the next.
At some point, however, he noticed. No matter what she was doing, or what her tasks demanded of her, there was always flowers in her hair. It was usually different, lilies or cherry blossoms or violas or something exotic he didn’t recognize.
He noticed, especially because they ended up in his room. She took them out to sleep, or they fell out in a bout of their passion.
He smiles when he picks up a flower she left behind. It’s half withered, but it looked lovely in her hair, a pale yellow matching her strands. He plucked it out of her hair himself last night.
Somewhere, half-withered flowers had become part of his room, the sweet smell of them a familiar part of his home.