"May I braid your hair, Glosswen?"
„If you want to." What was it that made him so fond of her hair? He seemed just like a kitten, who could not pass a ball of yarn without playing with it.
The sun warmed her while she sat on the glade, the nimble fingers of the elf were gliding through her hair. Yes, that was what he was like, a kitten, a sweet little kitten, who played with her and tried to cheer her up. That had to be the reason why she liked him so much, for a child he was not, and the men she was fed up with forever.
„Ready. You have to see yourself, Glossswen nîn. I know of a pond nearby." He assisted her in getting up.
Her reflection in the pond was blurry, for the breeze made little waves in the water, so she could not see her wrinkles, and with the long braids of hair, she fancied she looked just like the maiden she had once been.
"That's pretty, Lalaithlanthir."
„Not pretty. Beautiful. You are beautiful, Glosswen."
She turned, slowly. „Why do you say that?" It confused her when he talked like this. Why did he put such bees under an old woman's bonnet?
"Because it is true, Glosswen nîn."
"And anyway, what does this "nîn" mean?" Maybe that would distract him.
"'Mine' it means. Snowmaiden mine I call you. Do you want to be?" His face was now close to hears, very close. His lips touched her brow. „Do you want to be my snowmaiden?"
„What do you mean by that?"
„What can I mean by it, Glosswen? Reject me if that is your will, but do not ask me foolish questions, for that hurts me. You do not want to hurt me needlessly, do you, Glosswen?" His face was earnest as it had never been before.
Her heart beat loud in her breast. She could no longer deny it: Lalaithlanthir didn't carry himself like the son she had never had, nor like a kitten...a male elf he was, which apparently was something quite different from the men she had known.
"No, that I don't want. And I do like you, too. But...but...you can't just...it is not proper...I am much too old for you!"
"Pray, how old, exactly, are you, Glosswen?"
"Seventy-seven years it now is."
He laughed a silvery laugh. „Oh, Glosswen nîn, that is a pity indeed, for in that case, I am too old for you. Seven hundred times it is now that I saw the niphredil blossom and wither, about ten times as old as you I therefore am. If, however, you still want me, I shall not care about that."
"But...but..." It was absurd, people would laugh, she was old and ugly, even if she was feeling like a young maiden again...but didn't she deserve a bit of happiness? Just a little bit? Should she send it away again, just because it came calling too late, like a maiden would send her lover away if he was late for the tryst?
No. She was not a foolish maiden anymore.
"If you want me ugly old crone, then you shall have me, Lalaithlanthir, then I shall be your snowmaiden."
His laugh was like warm rain in the spring. "You are kidding, Glosswen nîn, but I do not care. Call yourself an ugly old crone if you want to, but be mine." He drew her into his arms, kissed first her brow, then pressed his warm young lips on her withered mouth. "Be mine, Glosswen nîn."
She thought her heart would break from happiness, but not, it still beat, fast and so loudly that she could hear it.
Lalaithlanthir hugged her tightly, caressed her hair and showered the little white plaits he had braided with kisses.