All that adorned her was a golden ring, set with a blue stone. The gold had thinned slightly in places, the stone showing some signs of wear, yet it was the most precious item ever presented to her. He still slept, and she lay at his side, admiring the man beside her, the rise and fall of his chest, the occasional movement of his eyes beneath their lids, he was in her mind, perfection. Every single aspect of the journey he meticulously planned had pleased her, for she could not remember a time when she had felt her heart so light, where she had laughed so often, where she had longed for a time to never end, and when she had felt so loved. He would hang on her every word, respecting her views and opinions, her talk of dreams and hopes, but he would also jest with her and at times at her expense.
The inn they stayed at was as she expected, comfortable, warm, welcoming, even if the Shire folk were renowned for being suspicious of those who were different. The celebrations were beyond compare, merriment in bucket loads, the sky alight with fireworks and music that mingled with playful screams and laughter. The abundance of food would make one feel full before a bite had been taken and ale flowed like a river. Her lover seemed in his element, the games, the frights, but soon their feet would not hold them any longer, their laughter would cause an ache in the chest, and exhaustion would win out. It was in that room, in a small Shire inn, that she was to discover that this journey was set to be more than an escape from their troubles, it was to be a new beginning.
The bed, surprisingly one suited for men as opposed to hobbits, was inviting. It's blanket looking very comfortable to a woman whose legs tired from exploring the festivities. Yet, as he encouraged her to pull back the soft covering, it was then she was met with a surprise, a most welcomed one, for the bed would hold many, many roses, fashioned from autumnal leaves, delicate things that lay over the mattress. Never had a man in her company thought to do something so romantic. The room held whispered words, loving embraces, long after the fire died down, the celebrations still heard from beyond the window, yet all she would focus upon was him. Only once did his words give her pause, make her uncomfortable, and although he would pursue as to why, she would not say. She had to cast such thoughts from her mind for they were as potent a venom as any. Their embrace continued, and they slept.
When sated, sleep lifting the exhaustion, she awoke first, whispering words to her lover. The room was still dark, warm and the perfect cocoon to hide away in. Nothing could harm them there, all was peace. It was there, an inn in a foreign land, a place where hedonistic pleasures were encouraged, that he tried very hard to seek out her thoughts on marriage, if she would be likely to agree to it, yet not actually asking her. He even showed her a ring, one handed down through generations in his family. A canny trader she called him, a man who would make an offer only if he knew it would be accepted. The to and fro of conversation was amusing, he trying to seek an answer, and she, evading it, yet, eventually her answer was given. Should he ask, then she would reply with a yes. It was not the proposal she anticipated, it was bare, in a warm bed, their bodies close, yet it was as perfect a moment as there ever could be. Her heart had long been his, she was already bound to this man, though now others will know of it with a glint of gold on her finger.
