Heart thumping wildly, the young woman watched this god like creature, disbelief marring her memories at the idea that, one day, she had feared him. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, mane of gold and eyes deeper than the ocean, more vivid than mountain skies. Features carved in marble upon freshly knitted skin, strong forearms, exposed from his work in the garden.
And, as if his physical perfection wasn't enough, Laurëfindelë possessed a level of intelligence unmatched, as well as a soul as bright as his wit. Gentleness, wisdom, skills to the thousand…
"Nalyë maravë (Are you alright ?)", he asked again, his musical voice bringing her the peace she so badly craved. Taking a deep breath, Elanor tried to ground her mind into something mundane, watching the little dirt littered at his feet upon the wooden floor.
"Yes, fear not," she responded, avoiding his eyes. When he made no move to retreat outside, the young woman found the strength to look at him.
"Did you need something ?" she asked.
"Potatoes."
Elanor blinked. "Eh ?"
A relieved smile lifted the corner of Laurëfindelë's sinful lips.
"We need potatoes for this evening's stew. You mentioned the market was to be held today."
"Alright, I can go shopping."
"I want to come with."
There was little argument to be had, for this beautiful creature she called friend was as stubborn as he was handsome. Still stunned from her earlier epiphany, Elanor did not even fight him.
And so, he climbed into her old Vauxhall and they made for the local market, his hat firmly in place to hide the mane of golden silk and pointed ears. The rest of him, well, the rest of him was akin to a model's body, but his other worldliness wouldn't register on security cameras. Aura didn't show on screens.
Once at the market, Elanor allowed herself to fall in the soothing routine of supply hunting to sooth her distraught mind. While Laurë watched around like a puppy discovers a field of wild flowers, the history teacher used her nose to pick up the tastiest fruits and vegetables. Smell was her strongest sense, after all.
"Looks can be deceiving," she told her companion as she sniffed at melons. "But smells never lies."
The elf nodded, ageless eyes carefully hidden beneath the rim of his Borsalino unless one stood close enough. Many had tried, today, but Elanor remained in proximity, fending off those bold enough to approach. Even though half his face remained in the shadows, Laurëfindelë gathered a little crowd of admirers.
Men and women alike. And amongst them, the less likely ones, children. If Laurë did not react an inch at women addressing him blushing smiles or flirting comments – which only confirmed he was gay - he seemed flummoxed by the attention of the little ones. She wondered whether it was the extreme sensitivity of children towards his bright aura, or because Laurë was transfixed by the existence of so many children around him – elves did not procreate in times of war, meaning very little elflings in Gondolin, except for Eärendil.
A little girl, probably five years old, was currently chatting his ear off about modern TV shows he probably couldn't understand. Her blond locks danced around her head, and the lollipop in her mouth slurred her words.
The elf seemed equally overwhelmed and awed, and Elanor set her hand upon his upper arm to call for his attention. The contact seemed to jolt him out of his trance; Elanor ignored purposefully how such a simple touch made her hand tingle with warmth. Laurë's eyes, almost grey without direct sunlight, pinned her into place. Her breath caught as the deep, intense longing that danced within.
"There," she smiled, handing him a crate filled with apricots and fresh plums. "For the food preserves you wanted to make."
The tall elf grabbed the crate as if it weighed nothing, using the load to deftly push away any admirer as he inspected the fare.
"These shall do," he approved almost haughtily.
Elanor bit her lip to suppress a giggle. It seemed that Laurë was well aware of the effect he had on women, and she admired his subtlety in handling it; he remained stoic and polite, neither cold, nor approachable… but completely out of reach. The pangs of jealousy burnt to death in her gut, replaced by marvel as she realised the privilege bestowed upon her; Elanor was the only adult he allowed to invade his personal space.
Better yet, he seemed to welcome it, and in turn, she accepted to play the part. Even though he would never love her, desire her the way she wanted to, Elanor would fend away the outside world by playing the spouse. And so, she remained close as she dragged him through the market, relying on soft cues and half-shielded questions, allowing him all the time he needed to quell his curiosity. Elanor carved this memory into her mind, marvelling at its peaceful domesticity.
As they neared the butcher's stall – Laurë had mentioned needing meat -, the elf strongly recoiled.
"No," he said, voice commanding. "This is not suitable."
His feet seemed to be rooted to the spot, and Elanor didn't question his abhorrence and dragged him further. Every meat seller raised the same reaction from him.
"That meat is… dead, Elanor. It was scared, and not cared for properly, and its killing…"
A shudder ran up his spine, and the young woman paused, biting her lip. Was it the reason why she never managed to buy meat at the supermarket ? Its taste always felt wrong in her mouth, and she had often wondered if her upbringing with two strict vegetarians had warped her. But perhaps something different was at play here; she would ask more details later.
Dragging Laurë further away, she came to the poultry lady, knowing her hens were at least, cared for properly and killed in a respectful manner. She watched avidly Laurë's reaction as his nose twitched, and he nodded his assent. The poultry lady, a stout woman of maybe fifty years, addressed Elanor a wink when she wrapped the chicken.
"Here you go dear, enjoy your week end."
The history teacher refrained from rolling her eyes at the blatant innuendo. At least, it was nicer than the nasty looks she received from a few jealous women. With their basket now filled up with groceries, Elanor and Laurë retreated to their vehicle, and loaded their bounty in the boot. The elf dropped his hat, carding elegant fingers in his blond locks.
"I meant to ask, Elanor…"
"Yes ?"
"Why is the fare in the hospital so bad when there is so much fresh food at the market ? How do they expect people to heal if they do not nourish them ?"
Instead of laughing at this very naïve, but to the point statement, Elanor banged her forehead with a hand. Trust Laurëfindelë to point out how sorry, how stupid this world was.
"Money," she sighed. "So much is absurd in this world."
"Money is absurd," he responded, nailing the issue on the head. Before Elanor could delve upon that last statement and launch into a lengthy debate about the use of money in middle earth, he added: "What does your Lady Mother eat ?"
Lady Mother. The title was sweet, considering there was no royal blood in her mother's side of the family… except from her grandfather, perhaps ? For a moment, Elanor wondered if he had any inkling about who that ellon was… but he would have told her, right ? Throwing the doubt away, she shrugged, feeling guilty, once more, for abandoning her mother in a psychiatric hospital.
"The food is better. But I occasionally sneak her stuff."
"We will make jam for her."
Elanor considered the determined look that danced in her friend's eyes, and smiled. Laurë's jams were to die for; no doubt Elya would be delighted.
"That's sweet of you. She will be happy."
He just nodded, and she started the engine.
"I need a little detour through the supermarket, we're out of… many things."
Toilet paper including. But it was not something she wanted to discuss, at length, with her elvish friend. No doubt elves wiped their asses with something soft, or just willed the waste away from their beautiful skin with a song. Who knew ? Laurëfindelë always looked so pristine, never quite dishevelled after working with his hands in the soil. Hell, even when he lay in his hospital bed, burnt and bruised, he had looked … regal. Much better than her after a session of spa and make-up.
The history teacher couldn't ignore, though, how ancient civilisations treated that certain type of cleanliness. The word that came to mind was 'creative'. Lips quirking, she parked in front of Tesco and steeled herself for a half hour of overstimulation. How Laurë handled it, with him being a full elf, was beyond her ken.
So concentrated on keeping noises, buzzing and the swirl of people at bay that she failed at anticipating the crisis coming. One moment, they were chatting leisurely while picking rubbish bags, sponges and other necessary items, and the next… Elanor wasn't prone to forgetting the otherworldliness of her new friend, but he had adapted so well into her world, handling the TV, electrical appliances and modern language that she was less compelled to overthink. And she was now regretting it very, very badly.
The moment Laurëfindelë spotted the gardening section, his constant curiosity took him away from her side; Elanor allowed him this little leeway, knowing she wasn't far. And still… his presence was sorely missed. As if, with his aura, he'd protected her from the usual nuisance of the modern world upon her senses.
Elanor finished her perusal of the shampoo section, trying to push away the annoying buzz of static electricity and wireless network that needled her brain, before she went in search of her wayward elf.
She found him standing in front of a shelf, hands clenched into fists, his whole body coiled. There was horror in his gaze; his face was so pale she feared her would topple over. Before him laid a full stack of poisons destined to animals. Moles, insects, field mice… there were a thousand creative ways to kill them, all of them cruel enough to bring a compassionate elf to tears.
"Shite," Elanor spat under her breath, watching her friend tremble and heave. How Laurëfindelë had managed to take on a Balrog was a mystery when the simple thought of harming animals defeated him so badly. "Let's get back to the car," she coaxed.
But Laurë refused to budge, his tall frame unyielding. Panicked, Elanor spotted a few curious stares, and her anxiety climbed a notch; they couldn't afford a scene. Nibbling on her lower lip, she grabbed Laurë's hand and tugged.
"Mára ná," she murmured. (all is well)
A muscle ticked in his sharp jaw, and Eleanor took a deep breath, enclosing his hand between both of hers. The touch, warm and soft, seemed to ground him. Only then did he allow her to drag him away and into the sunlight. She pushed his tall frame to fold in the car seat, offering a bottle of water to help him gather his wits.
Eventually, his stormy eyes turned to her, eyebrows dipped in a mighty frown. A sigh of relief escaped Elanor's lips at his responsiveness, even though the pain that danced in his eyes broke her heart.
"Your world holds great beauty," he slurred, as if drunk. "And even more madness… Ella, I cannot make sense of it."
The nickname should have made her proud. Giddy even. But the grief that radiated from him was too much to bear, and she gave him a rueful smile, squeezing his fingers in sign of support.
"I know. Neither do I."
