Warnings: Icky stalkerishness
Disclaimer: Tolkien wrote the nasty, I just tried to get inside its head.
Author's Note: For the new character challenge. I don't think I've ever written him before, and getting inside his head made me feel a little nasty. Not in a good way.
The men of this land, his countrymen, smelled of sweat and grime and horse, but she did not; she smelled of clean wool and flowers and clove oil. She smelled, to him, of desire; of perfection.
She had not long left her rooms and her bedding was still warm, still bore her delicate scent. He slid beneath the heavy coverlet and curled there wantonly, imagining her ice-pale flesh beneath his hands, her soft breath upon his skin, her sweet voice uttering his name.
Soon, all he had been promised would be granted. Soon, he would have no need to imagine.