Laurëfindelë woke up to the sound of birds chirping merrily. At once, he remarked that something was different. There was very little humming of machines dulling his senses, the harsh veil that kept him both awake and slumbering in his own mind absent.
Had they crossed the border between worlds ? Had Eleanor found a way to return him to Arda ? A swell of hope bloomed in his chest at the thought, but he quelled it at once. Better not to get carried away rather than handle the deception. This world, so far, had shown it could eat away his sanity. A soft, known scent wafted to his nose and he found himself relaxing. He knew that scent. Eleanor smelt fresh, and unadorned with the stench that many nurses wore on their skin.
How they handled such strong perfume was beyond his ken. Here, the air felt pure, the ground vibrant under the foundations of the cottage. Even the stones that surrounded him hummed with life. Not at the level he'd known in Gondolin, of course, but still... After the past weeks spent in this dead city, the environment was like a breath of fresh air after battling a Balrog.
Laurëfindelë shuddered, the memory of malevolent flames licking at his skin too vivid for his taste. The movement caused pain to flare through his back and shoulder, and he bit back a groan in favour of relaxing in bed. The mattress was plush, welcoming of his tall frame. The duvet of feathers kept him warm, and he closed his eyes to plunge into a meditative state. A known technique to avoid panic amongst warriors; one he'd disdained for decades until this blasted Balrog took his life.
Every breath encouraged his heart rate to decrease, and the abused muscles to relax. The previous' day activity had taken a toll on them. He recalled last night; they flooded his mind, crystal clear, and no less confusing. Eleanor had clad his frame in a strange jacket to preserve him from the biting cold of spring's nights. Why he'd felt so vulnerable to the elements in the first place baffled him; this place's temperature was child's play in the face of Gondolin's harshest winters.
Why he felt it so acutely was a mystery. Perhaps because he was unable to heal; this earth scarcely fed his energy levels like Arda used to. But here, in this place, he felt the ground more willing to share its essence. Perhaps, then, he wouldn't end a cripple.
Blue eyes shot open when Eleanor's grumbling reached his ears. A slight shuffle, then her breathing evened out again. The door was barely open, but he could hear her clear as day. Yesterday evening, when he recoiled at the idea of climbing into the enclosed metal contraption she called car, she'd told him many words he didn't understand, and a few he did. Trust. Eleanor takes care of Laurëfindelë. All is well, which she had seconded in Quenya.
And just like he'd calmed her after their escape in the corridor, she'd done the same for him. Then his mind had blanked when her machine sped up faster than Gwaihir could fly. He remembered lights, lights, and so many dwellings, even in the night. And the stifling impression of enclosed places. She had opened his window to allow him to breathe, and reached for something between them. A few push of buttons, and music rose in the air.
The old Laurëfindelë would have jumped at this, but he had now a basic knowledge of machines. And those blasted screens that people kept in their pockets, ringing all the time, didn't faze him anymore. The music, incredibly composed, monopolised his senses with enough efficiency for the rest of the drive. It reassured him, somehow, to know that beauty existed in this world.
They passed a crossing of sorts, then ended up on a path that reminded him of a few back roads in Gondolin. Then, the forest, the night, and no annoying light, no horrendous noise. Nothing but the small cottage, a dark mass hidden from sight, a beacon that promised peace and comfort.
At this stage, Eleanor was so exhausted that he just nodded when she indicated the bed. The next thing he knew, a glass of water was laid by the side of his bed with a pill of pain killers. He thanked her gratefully, earning a pleased grunt before she disappeared somewhere in the next room. Laurëfindelë awaited for her breath to even out before he fell into the first, restful slumber of his time in this world. For once, no one came to interrupt his rest to check on 'vitals'.
Hence his late awakening, way past dawn. Perhaps, even midday, judging by the light. The pain, manageable, was slowly increasing and he wondered if Eleanor had a stock of those pills they gave him in hospital. He was in the process of turning to his side when something light touched his bare feet. Something that MOVED.
The elf recoiled, muscles screaming in agony at the sudden move, only to find himself face to face with a feline of unknown nature. No bigger than his forearm, its eerie eyes watched him with suspicion. A hundred stripes adorned its fur, triangle ears popped upon its head, elegant paws ready to spring upon the intruder. Laurëfindelë cocked his head aside, pulling a muscle in his neck. The animal imitated him.
He'd never seen such an elegant, but diminutive beast. Its luxurious fur rippled over coiled muscles as he advanced upon the elf. Laurëfindelë held his breath, wondering if Eleanor knew of the animal's presence. Slowly, the feline prowled to him, then sniffed one hand and another. Then, as if it belonged here, it sprawled upon his lap and closed its eyes. A moment later, a strange, purring sound rose from the animal.
The elf cocked an eyebrow, finding that the soothing cadence of vibrations lessened the pain of his wounds. What a strange creature ! It just laid there as if he owned the place, and he was a cushion. For a long time, the only sounds that disturbed the cottage's peace were Eleanor's soft breaths and the feline's purring. Laurëfindelë enjoyed the moment like an elf only could, all senses alert and light of heart.
Until the need to relieve himself became too dire, and he tried to dislodge the animal from his lap. The feline jumped to the ground with an indignant 'meow', and hopped away to the living room. The elf rolled on the bed and set his feet upon the ground. Then began the difficult process to push himself upwards; his hips still screamed bloody murder, but he could at least move around now.
Careful steps took him to the privy that resided right in front of the bedroom. Then, once that matter was settled, he retreated to the main room. It was a small, but welcoming dwelling that Eleanor inhabited. Another meow brought him to a secluded area where an old sofa held a mop of red hair.
Laurëfindelë frowned, realising that Eleanor had slept on the couch. No wonder the sheets smelt like her; it was her room he'd stolen ! The little animal was in the process of pawing the young woman, and she groaned unhappily. The elf smiled at her grouchiness; evidently, a sleep deprived Eleanor was not a happy woman. He did not allow his mind to dwell upon the similarities with a particular friend, in Gondolin, that tended to grouch when awoken.
"Féline !", Eleanor eventually grunted, chasing the animal away.
A hiss responded, causing the mop of hair to move with a sigh.
"I know, I know," she groaned, speaking to the animal. Could she understand what it said ? Was it a usual occurrence ? Eleanor rolled around and groaned, moved her head from left to right with a wince before she went on. "It's way past feeding time. But I was… oh."
She stopped short when her eyes caught his, forgetting the animal altogether.
"Are you alright ?"
"I am well," he responded. "But… medicine ?"
"Oh, right ! I have some more, I'll just…"
The young woman jumped from the sofa, long legs on display as she rushed to the bathroom. The animal followed, pawing at the door with pitiful mewls.
"Féline!", she scolded the furball. Then, a string of words he did not understand, with something like wait, and racket. It seemed another woman entirely that emerged from the bathroom, with trousers on, and a messy bun. Eyes more alert, Eleanor handed him the pill, and rushed to the kitchen to withdraw water.
"Tea ?"
"Yes, please," he responded.
So far, this was the only hot beverage acceptable enough to swallow. Nothing like the herbal blends he was used to, but the slight tang of bitterness pleased him. Eleanor busied herself boiling water to the right temperature, showing him how to operate the boiling device. Then, she took a metallic ball, rinsed it, and plunged it in the teapot.
"3 minutes," she said, holding her fingers. "No more, no less."
The time was written on the pouch, and he nodded, taking a seat at the high table with only mild difficulty. This slight gain of mobility brought him much satisfaction. Little by little thanks to physiotherapy and their incredible medicine, recovery seemed attainable. While tea steeped, Eleanor cracked eggs and used a contraption he'd never seen to heat it up in a pan. She added herbs, used another machine for toasts, and picked up jams from her fridge. Busy like a bee, he almost had to close his eyes to avoid his head from swimming.
The pill's effect was starting to settle, stiffness leaving his limbs. Intend on helping, he stood from the stool. Eleanor sent him a playful glare.
"Sit. You must rest."
"But…"
Her little fingers wagged before his eyes. "No buts. More rest, and you will heal."
"I … want help."
"You help when you are healed."
Defiance shone in her eyes, stronger than a general's stubbornness. Laurëfindelë accepted defeat – for the time being – and soon found himself drowned in a breakfast fit for Kings. His mouth watered at the sight of fresh fruits, eggs, toasts, jam and butter.
"Bon appétit," Eleanor stated as she sat.
Meow.
Rolling her eyes, the young woman hopped from her stool to feed the annoying animal. Triangular ears perked at the prospect of food, and the feline soon buried its head in a bowl of rounded pieces that cracked loudly under its razor teeth.
"This is Féline," Eleanor told him as she returned to her seat. "I hope she didn't disturb you. You can push her away if she does."
Disturb ? An unknown world, to file up with the long list he was writing in his mind.
Forgetting the strange animal that seemed to be a companion, Laurëfindelë picked up a piece of egg and started eating; flavours exploded in his mouth and he almost forgot his line of thought. He swallowed both the mouthful and his contempt; he, who had believed this world incapable of feeding him, found himself surprised to enjoy breakfast. He would have to ask, when he mastered the language, why he'd been fed such low quality fare.
Eleanor presented him with a green fruit cut in the middle.
"There, have a kiwi."
Queewee, he noted.
She scooped the flesh with a spoon, and he endeavoured to do the same, albeit his arm range was still limited. Sweetness and acidity mingled upon his palate, battling for dominance, and he decided he rather liked that strange fruit.
They ate in companionable silence, he wondering if both the food and place might have a chance to help him heal. He would not ask why Eleanor brought him here; he was well aware to be intruding upon her home, which meant she believed the danger still present. Until they could converse casually, he would have to make do.
Instead, his mind returned to the furball who had just hopped onto his mistress' legs. Or rather, claimed her lap as a resting place as if he owned her. Clearly, the animal believed himself master of the place. Was it ? Did Eleanor report to it ?
"What is it ?" he asked, pointing to the triangular ears that scarcely shown above the counter.
Eleanor blinked in surprise, the iris of her hazel eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"A cat ?"
Her tone indicated he should know, that it was impossible for him not to. Had she not understood yet that he came from another world entirely ? Perhaps not. Bracing himself, Laurëfindelë decided to be truthful.
"I don't know… cat. No cat in home mine."
Agitation took hold of the little human woman, and the cat jumped from her lap with a hiss as she ranted something about everyone, and cats, and impossible. Eventually, her gaze pinned him into place.
"Laurëfindelë," she asked, detaching every syllable. "Where are you from ?"
"Arda."