Tuor returned her kiss gently, but as she rose to begin her tasks, he stayed seated on the bed, showing no sign whatsoever of wanting to get up and head to his ship. In fact, he was still in his nightclothes, barefoot, his golden hair mussed from sleep.
He watched her for a few moments, trying to think what he should say to her, what he could say or do to make things better. He didn't want to just apologize, although he was sorry that things had happened as they had. An apology was just words, and he had a feeling that whatever was going on was going to require more than a few pretty apologies and a reiteration of his love for her.
Itarillë might not have been the first woman Tuor had been with, but she was the first one he had loved, and he felt on very uneasy footing. What if he said the wrong thing and she cast him aside? Was that even a danger?
"Itarillë," he said quietly, his voice a bit softer than usual, but firm. "Would you sit down? I think we should....talk."