Fields of gold

Beads

"Oh, there you are, I was getting worried. There's some fruit left for you."

Unsurprised to find Elanor awake, Laurëfindelë struggled to keep his countenance as he shed his boots by the door.

"I needed a morning walk."

No foe, neither disturbance, but the one in his heart. That long patrol had uncovered more secrets than he had been ready for, but he now knew what to do in regards to his relationship with Elanor. There was no other choice, lest circumstances snatched her away.

But between them still stood that secret, and it baffled him; should he speak his heart first, and explain the truth of her ancestry afterwards ? Or, on the contrary, allow her the truth at the risk of shattering their easy companionship ? Would she hear him out, after discovering his lies ? Trust his words ?

"Laurë ? Are you alright ?"

No matter how many times she proved how deeply she cared for him, it still left him stunned. Not than his family or friend had been remiss in any way, but the depth of her regard always touched him so deeply.

Elanor stood before him now, wrapped in a soft shawl, long hair still damp. The elf took a deep breath; well, no time like the present, Echtelion always said. And even though it suited his ever reckless friend, Laurëfindelë found his advice sound enough. Summoning a smile, he tugged upon a loose strand gently.

"What If I braid your hair in the style of my people ?"

Hazel eyes widened a notch, and she was quick to agree. Laurëfindelë shed his coat, and ordered her to sit on the couch while he rummaged about his room to find the remaining beads of his house. They rolled in his hand, silver, gold and one of mithril from King Finrod of Nargothrond. Untarnished, and carved with the sigil of the house of Finwë. Tokens that had travelled across the great sea; beads that his mother had set upon his hair when he departed in Fingolfin's host to join Fëanor's at Alqualondë.

A lifetime ago.

His heart thumped wildly in his chest when he realised the enormity of what he was about to do. And sweet Elanor, who waited obediently in the living room, had no clue. Laurëfindelë gathered his courage, and crossed the threshold that separated him from the main area. There she sat, back facing an empty space, creamy skin exposed under her fiery strands.

He swallowed once, and settled behind her; she passed him the brush with a smile, and relaxed when he started taming the long mane she inherited from Fëanor's wife, Nerdanel. Damp strands snatched here and there, intent on making things difficult for him.

So Laurëfindelë took his time. This was, after all, one of the most important moments of his long life. For thousands of years he had lived without the urge of touching anyone, of nurturing an exclusive relationship with a female.

An eternal bachelor, just like many of his peers, whose aim in life was to shed joy and take it in every way the Valar saw fit to grant it. Then came the darkening, and years of grief and trial where finding a spouse was the last of his worries. If some married in Gondolin, so very few entertained the idea of bonding themselves in such dangerous times.

War was no place for a wife and elflings.

Some might argue that earth wasn't a peaceful place either, and that middle earth probably was as dangerous as it ever was. If they crossed back – should Elanor accept him – ensuring her safety would create difficulties. But one couldn't ignore the call of one's heart, and he now knew why he'd never found his match on the other side.

Because Elanor was here.

Echtelion would tell him to seize the moment, and even though that reckless fool had leapt to his death in his attack on Gothmog, Laurëfindelë dedicated him that moment.