Autumn lay back in the warm July sun, staring at the clouds. “I don’t need wine and roses,” she said, mostly to herself. “I’ve never been the sort of girl that asks for that, or the sort of girl that men give that to.”
She swallowed a small lump of bitterness at the feeling. “And I don’t need love songs; the boys that sing them are generally silly, anyway.”
There had been the one, a beautiful bard with a voice like a dream. He had written music for her, sung to her after lovemaking, brought her roses, brought her wine. He had been something else… but he was the sort that didn’t travel well, and she was the sort that never stayed in one place.
“I heard a song the other day,” she continued, to the silence near her. “Something like ‘I don’t need the whole world… I just want to be the only one you love.'” She laughed shortly. “Hypocritical, wouldn’t it be? But sometimes,” she turned to look at him, her heart in her throat. “Sometimes that’s what I want, Tatters.” Or at least a name to call you by.
“Lady Fall.” His eyes were serious, though his tone was light. “What you want of me, you have but to ask.”
“You and I both know that’s a lie,” she countered angrily. “Don’t I deserve better from you than lies, at the very least?”
He flinched. “It was not my intent to lie to you, but simply to…” He gestured, and his tone changed. “I wanted to give you the roses and the wine that you want, though you say you don’t. The poetry. But I have never been a grapes and thorns sort of man, I’m afraid.” His tone changed again, as if he was dialing himself down. “I’d give you romance if it was in me, Autumn.”
He paused, as if looking for the words. “I can give you mead and leather, if that’s enough.”
She studied him for a moment, her heart twisting. “If that is what you have,” she answered, wondering if she was lying, “than that, my love, is enough and more than.”
The song she is misquoting is The Band Perry’s “All Your Life.”
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