as it was

When Gwenlhian laid her head on his chest, his breath seized cold in his throat. She didn't seem to notice. 

He decided to ask a question to give his heart a moment's rest. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I had a beard like your father's?"

"No," she replied. His name, he had told her, was Elfwyrd; it sounded more like Alweard in her accent. "Never change, Alweard. I like you just as you are."

"I'd be careful what you ask for," he teased her, whisper soft so no one outside their little world could hear them. 

She didn't answer, already asleep without a care, and he could not bear to wake her.

I am the artist.