[He wants to be at home. At home in bed being held like this, and at least he can wrap both arms around her like he would if they were anywhere else. He can breath in her scent (six months without a nomad's life and she still smells like the road, like the wilds, not like the city at all), he can find some tiny thing to cling to for the rest of the night.]

You are yourself. I won't accept anything else. Nor will I accept anyone seeing you as anything but yourself. Everything else is...it is slight of hand. Enough to disorient, enough to confuse, enough to be armor should anyone's understanding be unclear.

[But most importantly:]

You're nothing to be used.