Beauty

She sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing a bit of metal with a soft cloth and sweet-smelling oil. A fire crackled in the hearth near her, the flames casting shadows that twisted around her. Carefully she worked the oil onto every tiny bit of the metal, before, satisfied, she set it down and picked up another.

In a plush chair behind her, a man sat, his shadowed eyes watching her work. "Why don't you ever try to get the dents out?" he asked after a long stretch of silence.

She turned, a lock of hair falling into her eyes as she smiled up at him. "Because it shows where you've been."

"But don't you think it looks ugly, dented like that?"

"Not at all," she replied, returning to her work. "It adds character. The dents, the scratches... they show that you've been somewhere, and that you made it back."

He shifted in the chair, frowning down at her. He'd never seen it that way before. Piece by piece, she oiled and polished. Every time she finished, she would gently, almost reverently, place it on the floor before plucking the next from the steadily shrinking pile.

"Don't you ever get tired of polishing it?"

She paused, her hand hovering above the cool metal surface, and then shook her head as she went back to work. "No. I like to take care of it. This armor has seen a lot. It deserves to be cared for."

She was polishing the breastplate now, and he could see her fingers brush a large scratch. If it were worn, it would have been right over the heart. He grimaced and rubbed his chest, a remembered pain coming back to him. As if she could see his movements, she leaned back briefly, resting her head on his knee.

"The armor may look banged up and ugly, but its purpose is beautiful, and that's what makes it beautiful to me." Her thumb traced the scratch before she once again took up the cloth and oil. She finished the breastplate and set it to the side before picking up the helm, the final piece. Of all the armor, this was by far the most damaged, but she tended to it just as lovingly as she had the others.

As she worked, he reached over to inspect a vase she'd repaired. At the time, he hadn't known why she'd kept it when it broke. Now, though, he could see that each crack had been mended with gold; the vase was whole, though no longer what it had once been. The firelight reflected and made it seem to shine, and he smiled. "I think I see now." He gently set the vase back down. "You care, because it has a rich history, and it's all the more beautiful because it was damaged, but it's still strong. Is that it?"

She rose and set the helm on the floor before she bracing herself on the arms of his chair. Her hair framed her face as she looked into his eyes. He could see her smile, the compassion and love that dwelled in her heart. "Yes," she said simply, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.