A full day out, without joints of muscles screaming in agony, had done wonders for his mood. If no proper meat was to be found in local markets, he would hunt. For his body craved a substantial amount of high content protein intake, and iron. And, being an elf, Laurëfindelë acquiesced to his body's needs without thinking twice.
The sad discovery that, in this world, most meat was tainted by their poor upbringing conditions – and even worst killing circumstances - had brought more sadness and anger. Hence his need to hunt; wild game would, for sure, be spared the stress of human buildings, and the terror of knowing their imminent death. Fear spoiled the meat, realising all sorts of toxins into the bloodstream. Thus, no elf would consume something that would not nourish both his body and Feä.
Elanor had offered to get him a bow. Sweet Elanor… he saw so little of a Feänorian in her disposition; she gave so much that it sometimes overwhelmed him. And he dreaded greatly the day he would have to reveal her ancestry. The more time passed, the angrier she would be. Yet, he could not find the courage to alienate the only person he felt at ease with in this world. A cowardly move, perhaps, one he did not delight on. But their relationship brought him so much solace that he was loath to indent it with feuds of another world.
And yet, Elanor would have to know. Someday, he would explain. Kinslaying, murders, banishment from the Valar due to despicable deeds, two new rounds of kinslaying, elflings abandoned to starve and the sound of steel against steel, or a blade in one's kin's flesh. A lineage of murderers. He might fear Elanor's anger towards him, but her sadness he dreaded more. His heart clenched at every tear she shed, his feä struggling to accept the tiniest of wound upon her body.
And thus, he pushed back that hypothetical 'someday'. Yes, he would tell her.
But not today.
He had declined the idea to buy a bow, of course. For one, he knew her finances to be decreasing due to his arrival. She'd bought clothes for him, fed him, and taken upon herself to provide for his unexpected arrival. He refused to be an additional burden, given he could not work. Despite her protests that his care of the garden improved the state of her bank account, Laurëfindelë knew the high prices of a good bow.
Secondly, he would not call himself an elf if he ignored how to craft one. It took him a good fortnight, and of course, it would never be as beautifully done as a Sylvan elf's weapon, but his bow was now ready to sing. And, in the thread, were braided a few of Elanor's fiery tresses. A token of luck.
Laurëfindelë scaled a tree like a squirrel, oblivious to the stirrings of his heart, happy to know that even though Elanor was in town, a part of her would always be by his side, embedded in the string of his bow. The weapon would accompany him should he find a way back to middle earth. And she… would she consider following ? He was loath to part with her own brand of light, and most of all, dreaded what would happen to her if she stayed behind.
Madness… and a difficult life. But a life in her own world, with rules she mastered and a motivating occupation. Being a history teacher brought her happiness.
The elf sighed; he ignored what her choice would be. He had intruded upon her life, and she seemed pretty happy here, in her remote cottage. Would it be fair to uproot her from the comforts of modernity to throw her into a violent, medieval life ? Stepping into Arda would meant abandoning pizzas and chocolate, the TV and hot piping, hospitals and surgeries. Everything, in Arda, was more intense. More beautiful, more dangerous, more time consuming, more difficult as well.
Elanor couldn't sew to save her life, couldn't cook on a fire, and relied on modern technology. How would she survive ? Unless she could find her birth family and then… a grimace painted on his face as he settled on a high branch and stilled. Even in Valinorë, even though most Feänorians were dead and buried, he wouldn't trust anyone related to them with Elanor's health.
Which meant…
A breeze rustled his hair, and Laurëfindelë tensed as the air brought with it the smell of game. At last ! His patience was rewarded; he couldn't wait to introduce Elanor to proper meat !
The long wait did not bother him, and he remained hidden until the grazing animals came within range. Then he fished an arrow from his quiver with grace only elves could muster, and drew the string taut; the wood bent beautifully, the balance almost perfect. Laurëfindelë held his breath and chose his prey; a buck with antlers high enough not to be too young, but neither too old. The meat would be delightful.
A memory of hunting parties in Valinorë played at the back of his mind as he waited for the animal to shift in the perfect position. A dull ache started to play in his arms, but the elf ignored it, too focused on the animal to mind the pain. When the moment came, the former lord of Gondolin did not hesitate; the released arrow flew towards it prey, and Laurë grabbed the string to prevent the familiar 'twang' to alert the buck.
Less than a second later, the animal collapsed in the grass, sending the rest of the hoard scrambling away. Their hooves played a mighty cavalcade upon the earth, a mad dash for life that resonated all the way up Laurëfindelë spine, and sent birds and all sorts of animals flying in fright.
The elf descended the tree in three leaps, a tall figure of doom standing in the high grass. His heart thumped in his chest, strong and fast from adrenalin, and he approached his kill with trepidation. He'd just dealt death from the first time since he crossed worlds. Silence descended around him, like judgment, and he felt his hands shake when he knelt beside the animal.
It wasn't dead yet. Hind legs twitched in the tall grass, seeking purchase, but the intense bleeding was already taking its toll. Echtelion would have scolded him for it. Laurëfindelë pulled one of Elanor's kitchen knives he used as a dagger to finish off the buck, but the animal caught his eye.
Freezing on the spot, the elf watched the crimson trail stain the earth, pumped away by the deer's still beating heart.
Death.
The smell of urine and bowels reached his nose, and he collapsed to his knees.
Death.
All he could see, now, was death. Rivers of blood, soaking the earth, marred with less savoury fluids. His friends, his charges, butchered and bleeding upon the moonkissed pavement of Gondolin. The battle of Unnumbered tears, where so many of his house had fallen. Burnt to a crisp by Balrogs and Dragons alike, disemboweled by orcs and all manners of creatures.
And Gondolin, proud, stout Gondolin with its towers of shining stone, desecrated, burnt, sacked by evil. His hands were sticky, his brow, marred with sweat and blood. Some of it, his. Most of it, foul smelling stench from orcs and werewolves alike.
Death.
Echtelion fighting Gothmog, sacrificing his life to save theirs.
Turgon, overwhelmed in the King's square, begging him to protect his daughter and grandson.
So much death, without hope. So many of them slaughtered in the streets as he called his forces back to him to protect those who could flee through the secret passage. Elleth screaming, ellons pushing them further, faster, with orcs hacking at their heels.
And that bloody dragon that levelled half of his house in one sweep, the heat of fire upon his face, singeing his hair. Tears he could not shed, too numb to acknowledge the grief of seeing those beloved faces marred and scarred, those bodies broken beyond rendition, the guilt of leaving some of them behind without knowing which could be saved, and those who were condemned.
The carnage, a mess of bones and flesh, and his heart still thumping as he urged his forces in the mountain pass.
Echtelion, dead, drowned in the fountain as he fled. Leaving him.
Death.
And pain. So much pain. His, and his men. His house. Scattered, mourning, decimated.
When Laurë emerged from his trance, the buck was dead beside him. The dipping sun sent golden sunrays in his eyes, coaxing him back in a safe place. Blood coated his hands, a warm flow that soaked the bottom of his tunic. Elanor wouldn't be pleased, he thought.
Elanor. Her face materialised in his mind, a safe anchor to hold on to.
She was probably worrying.
Mind in turmoil, thoughts in a haze, Laurëfindelë retreated, the buck loaded over his shoulder. One step after the other, he did not remember how he made it back to the cottage.
Made it home.
"Oh my god !", a voice exclaimed when he unloaded the animal on the stone table outside.
Elanor was there, a frown marring her lovely features, watching him warily. Her hand hoovered over his, coaxing him to let go of the kitchen knife he had yet to release. When had the temperature dropped so dramatically ?
"Laurë, are you alright ?", she asked.
He found her eyes, wide and worried, and did not find the strength to lie. The elf shook his head, shivering. Her little hand reached for his and squeezed, offering a lifeline for him to follow.
He allowed her to drag him into the bathroom. To undress him, throwing his soiled clothes aside, and wash his legs soaked in blood. The tunic, she probably kept for modesty purposes. Elanor wrapped his shivering frame in a fluffy, soft plaid. How did she know he hated the cold ? The starch reminder of crossing the Helcaraxë, all those lives lost to icy winds and treacherous crevices ? She plunged his hands in warm water and scrubbed at his nails, chasing off every last inch of blood.
Then, without a word, the young woman led him to the sofa. There, she coaxed him to lay down as she sat beside him. His head settled in her lap; Elanor unbraided his hair softly, removing the beads and tie he'd used to keep it away from his face. Slowly, gently, she dug her fingers in his hair and brushed it over his scalp, diving into his mane in a soothing manner. Then, her voice rose, and he recognised the lullaby she'd sung to him that first day in the hospital.
"Down by the flowery garden my love and I did meet.
I took her in my arms and to her I gave kisses sweet
She bade me take life easy just as the leaves fall from the tree.
But I being young and foolish, with her did not agree."
The elf's mind perked at the words; it was a beautiful, peaceful song that worked its magic through the tensions of his muscles. But to hear, now, the signification of Elanor's words threw him into another world of considerations. Rather than mull over death and loss, the lullaby dragged him out of his despair, to plunge him into the recesses of his heart.
And, as Elanor gently caressed his hair and sung to him, Laurëfindelë found himself entranced by the expression of her inner light. Eyes closed, he soaked up her gentleness, her inner beauty, filling the cracks of his Feä with the balm of her soul. Her elvish side was showing more and more, and even though there was absolutely nothing wrong with her human side, Laurë felt a kinship form when she tapped into this particular heritage.
She was beautiful in every way.
Oblivious that the elf's turmoil had shifted to inner musings, Elanor kept singing. At some point, Féline pushed her way in the room, and settled upon his belly to start a steady round of healing purrs. For a long time, neither of them moved as Elanor's hands caressed the silky waves of his hair, marvelling at their softness. His weight upon her lap felt so right, his warmth draped over both the sofa and her thighs; it was the most they'd ever touched, but it felt like he belonged here. Minutes passed, and his breathing slowly evened, the short heaves of anxiety turning into deep, long draughts.
Had he fallen asleep ? The young woman sighed, marvelling that this proud warrior would allow her such an intimate proximity. But she could feel how badly he needed to be anchored; Laurë had never been shy to express his needs. It truly was a wonder to catch a glimpse of elvish society through him; no misogynistic tendencies, and no need for males to appear strong and emotionless. Was it because eternity taught them life, or simply a natural sociologic pattern ?
Or perhaps, it was simply Laurëfindelë's way to live. Eventually, the elf stirred and Elanor's fingers stilled over his scalp, sliding when he shifted to face her. Féline hopped out of the sofa with an indignant sniff, and scooted away without a look backwards. Amused, Elanor watched the cat snub them before her gaze returned to Laurë. A set of bottomless ocean pools opened to stare at her, and she felt her heart clench at the intensity.
"Hantan lye", he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.
Frowning, Elanor kicked herself to let go. Her fingers wanted, so badly, to dance along his chiselled jaw… The lines of his face had relaxed, now, but she couldn't chase away the horrible sight of him not half an hour earlier. He had seemed so utterly lost…
"What happened ?", she murmured, unsure whether she should ask.
Laurë coiled his strong muscles and sat up, the movement so flawless that he could rival Féline. Unbound waves of gold settled over his broad shoulders as the plaid gathered at his waist. Dishevelled, Laurë looked deliciously domestic, especially with his bare legs tangled in the fluffly fabric. Elanor would have swooned had his eyes not been so sad, his shoulders so burdened.
"Memories", he eventually sighed.
"I will listen, if you want to speak about it", Elanor offered.
The elf watched her so intently that she felt like combusting; what was he searching for ? What had crippled his mind so badly that he would break down ? His lips pursed, and he shook his head.
"Nay. You have done much already."
Elanor's heart oscillated between disappointment and relief.
"Alright", she said.
She must have sounded sceptical, for she felt his aura brush gently against hers when his hand landed upon her forearm.
"Mára ná, Elanor. Now let us handle the deer." (all is well)
The deer ? Oh damn ! I had totally forgotten about that.
He left the sofa, straight faced, diving into his room for comfy pants before he fetched the carcass of the huge animal outside. The elf dragged it in her garage as if it weighed nothing, and she suddenly wondered how much his species could bench press. As he expertly skinned and collected the meat, Elanor felt his aura settle and his light return. The repetitive task, it seemed, brough forth many good memories.
Féline danced around his feet, mewling to her heart's content and Elanor marvelled that, even in the deepest throes of distress, the elf seemed to naturally dance around the cat without missing a step. As if his inner being was aware of every creature that revolved around him.
"Meow, meow !", insisted her annoying companion.
"Féline !", Elanor hissed, annoyed.
Laurë snorted, and held aloft a piece of raw meat for the cat. But before the snake like paw could snatch it, he pulled back and addressed the animal a fierce look. Feline's ears plastered back in chastisement. Amazed, Elanor watched the silent display of dominance play out before the elf was satisfied, and tossed the demanding feline a few pieces of raw meat – liver and lungs.
Silence returned, only disturbed by the sounds of flesh being parted and knife cuts. Once most of Laurë's kill was left in the freezer for later use, he showed her how to cook and season the meat for the evening meal.
While he prepared two filets over her old stove, he started talking. Elanor did not interrupt him, too eager for his confidence.
"We were not meant for war. From the moment we set foot in Valinorë, our existence was peaceful. The only blood was spilt in hunts, and accidents."
Elanor hummed, wondering what kind of paradise would allow so many people to live blissfully, without any murder or violence. Anytime she forgot that elves were fundamentally different from humans, a reminder popped on her doorstep. No human community had ever managed to remain conflict free for centuries.
"My first battle was messy, I had no idea how to fight", Laurë admitted. And it seemed almost strange, seeing how he'd sketched himself, poised and ready in front of this monster of a Balrog. A seasoned warrior.
"As a Vanyar, especially, I never was belligerent like the Noldor who learnt how to use the blades they forged. We crossed the Helcaraxë with very few weapons, and what awaited us when we set foot in middle earth…"
The elf swallowed heavily, his hands stilling over the meat. Eleanor's breath caught in her throat, tasting the heavy silence on her tongue. The only noise was the sizzling of the meat before Laurëfindelë sighed deeply.
"We were ambushed in Lammoth by horrible beasts. Orcs, they called them. Creatures of Morgoth."
A man would have shivered at the memory, but Laurë remained stiff like a board, displaying the full control of the warrior he'd become over long years of war. But his eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the stove.
"It was a carnage, Ella. Mass murder of what remained of us. So many died, and it was only the sacrifice of prince Arakano that saved us."
Elanor felt her heart clench painfully when his voice broke.
"And even then, it still hurt to kills those beasts. We were never built to take lives."
That last sentence conveyed such grief that it broke all her restraints. On impulse, the young woman circled Laurë's frame from behind, and closed up around his waist in a mighty hug. His shoulder blades cushioned her head, his hair tickling the skin of her cheek as she held fast, allowing him to draw strength from the embrace. Tears leaked from her eyes; the manifestation of his inability to shed them.
At first, the elf did not move an inch, so stiff that hugging him was uncomfortable. Then, little by little, his posture sagged until Elanor melted against his back. When his head dropped forward in mourning, she only squeezed harder. Laurëfindelë laid the palette he was using with measured gestures and, once his hand freed, laced his fingers with hers. He dragged their entwined hand upon his chest and exhaled a stuttering breath.
Beneath their joined hands beat his heart, strong and fast. A song of life, amongst all this death.
"I'm sorry", Eleanor eventually murmured. "I'm sorry, Laurë."
He did not respond, but his warmth and hers mingled, as did their auras in this moment of joined remembrance. Minutes passed, or hours, Eleanor could not say, too lost in the moment to understand what feelings belonged to him, and which came from her.
Eventually, Laurë switch off the stove, and declared the meat ready. When he turned to face her, his face betrayed none of the earlier grief except from that ageless flicker than always danced in his eyes.
"Let us eat", he declared, once more a bright beacon of light in the land of the living.
Eleanor nodded and smiled.
"I'll get some good wine, eh ?"
Deer, it turned out, was sinfully delicious. Nothing like the poor fare she usually ate out of obligation because she felt depleted. She understood, then, that the quality of one's food wasn't only resumed to calories and protein intake.
There was a whole world of elvishness out there that she longed to explore; feeding her energy according to its vibration was only the first step.
And feeding Laurë with warmth while, in turn, he granted her his trust was the icing on top.