Alive… the elf was alive. Or so it seemed, for the portrait depicted a middle-aged man. An unbearably attractive man, with long glossy hair, dark like obsidian, and stunning grey eyes. Echtelion. Her greatest rival, holder of Laurë's heart. The only creature that could have stolen the golden warrior from her grasp without her putting up a fight…
Hands shaking, Elanor tried, and failed, at crushing the jealousy and despair that bubbled in her chest. Behind her, Laurëfindelë was frozen, his eyes wide, like a deer about to be run over. With a sharp exhale, Elanor centred herself, and allowed her aura to brush him. He did not react, transfixed by the portrait.
A day. Just a day. 24 hours of bliss, before…
Speared through the heart, Elanor gathered her courage and set her hand upon his cheek. His happiness was paramount, her first priority; she wasn't despicable enough to deprive him of his heart. Hence, Elanor resolved to contact Echtelion. The greatest proof of love; she would do anything for Laurë. Anything, including letting him go.
"Laurë ?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
Deep, blue eyes settled upon hers; his lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Do you want to return to him ?" she asked.
Her breath caught, eyes strained upon him as his pupils dilated in hope. Just a nod. An imperceptible movement of his blond mane. Elanor felt her heart melt, disappearing in the pit of her stomach to leave a hollow, dark pitch underneath her ribcage. The young woman swallowed, and nodded her assent.
Anything. I'll do anything for you.
Voice broken, she smiled. "Let us call, then."
Before she lost her courage, the young woman typed in the number on the landline, and waited. The buzzing tone almost amused her; she'd never called the US, and it felt like watching TV series. But every fraction of a second was an agony; Elanor's heart hammered like the tympani of the fifth symphony. Beside her, Laurë was not moving an inch; he looked as lost as a puppy abandoned by its masters. The tall, proud warrior completely at loss.
But no one picked up the phone. After the fifth attempt, Laurë gently set his hand over Elanor's, and laid the handset down. Then, he dragged her to the sofa, and gathered her in his arms. Grounded in the warmth of his embrace, the young woman wondered if she was dying. Could a half-elf fade ? Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, she attempted to rein them in; to no avail, they overflowed.
Laurë's lips landed upon her forehead, warm and kind.
"Elanor, melmë, tell me what ails you."
I should be happy, but the idea of losing your tears me apart.
The historian teacher only wept harder, and his hold tightened around her. He did not ask, acting as a sturdy pillar of strength when her whole world crumbled to dust. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to rage, to tear her hair, but she only managed to lay there and weep for the loss of something she didn't deserve in the first place.
Eventually, Laurë's fingers settled upon her chin and lifted her face up. Gently, he wiped away her tears, warm skin brushing them as his eyes bore into her.
"I feel our budding bond in turmoil, but I do not understand what ails you. Mecin ?" (please)
His pain permeated over like a sticky blanket, and Elanor struggled to master her own emotions. "I take it…", she started, only to pause.
Her skin hummed where his fingers kept caressing, and she stopped the motion with her own hand; he was so distracting that she needed some distance. Laurëfindelë watched her, completely open, and she marvelled all the same at the otherworldly being that sat beside her.
Man up, Ella !
Taking a deep breath, she uttered the fateful words.
"I take it you will want to break up."
Horror replaced confusion in Laurë's countenance, and she almost felt bad. But they needed to clear the air, and she didn't want him to stay to please her. No one deserved happiness more than he; Laurëfindelë wasn't meant to be shackled. Freedom would allow him to soar to heights she could never reach.
"You probably want to be back to Echtelion, right ?" she uttered with a painful smile. She was proud of herself for not stuttering more, but each word tore her throat like sharp thorns. "It's alright, I understand. You did not know he was still alive when…"
"Ma ?" (What ?)
Laurëfindelë looked so confused. Fresh tears cascaded down Elanor cheeks, and she wiped them out ragefully before setting shaking fingers upon Laurë's chest. His skin felt warm and inviting underneath the thin white cotton; a colour that emphasised his angelic features. Would peace return to him as he healed with Echtelion ?
She hoped so, for there would be none for her.
"He held your heart for so long," she explained. "I cannot compete."
Understanding suddenly descended upon the elves' features, and a smile lifted the corner of his sinful lips. Then, unexpectedly, Laurëfindelë started laughing. His amusement echoed in the confines of his chest, deep, liberating, like percussions dancing in the light.
The sound felt so at odds with her wretchedness that Elanor felt like imploding. Then she was swept in strong arms, and smothered in kisses.
"Elanor ! How I love you, melmë !"
Lifted like a rag doll, the young woman felt so dazed that she left the elf's effusions sweep her off her feet. He was warm, welcoming, and felt so very happy that his aura doused hers: his joy felt like a thousand fireflies warming her skin, penetrating in her heart to dance within. The darkness receded, replaced by his bright, blazing presence.
"Eleanor," he eventually breathed in her ear. "There is only you. You are the first one my Feä felt compelled to bond with, and you shall be the last of my existence."
Stunned, the young woman pushed against his chest to catch his gaze; his eyes shone like a thousand suns, so vibrant that it almost caused her pain. A kiss landed upon her forehead, and she frowned.
"But…"
"Echtelion never was my lover."
It felt like thunder descended at her feet; mind frozen, Elanor struggled to comprehend his words. Then, at last, the truth started to settle, and she blushed.
"Oh."
She'd dubbed him bisexual without knowing anything about him, thinking elves loved regardless of gender. And perhaps it was true, but the mistake remained tremendous; she had speculated when, in truth, he'd never been interested in such relations. She, that raged against all the people interpreting same sex friendships as homosexuality, had been guilty of the same preconceived notion.
Coming from a woman who called herself asexual, it was shameful, to say the least. Dancing eyes captured hers, laughing, and he dropped a kiss to her lips.
"Oh indeed, melmë."
Elanor dissolved in his hold, and buried her face in his neck.
"So, I get to keep you ?"
"Until the breaking of the world," he repeated his vow. "If you wish it."
Elanor nodded frantically; this time, she believed him. But before they could bond properly, Laurë still needed help with his Feä. And so, once the young woman had recovered from her self-imposed rollercoaster, they left a message to the elusive Community of the Trees.
No one answered the phone.
Mails did not receive a response.
There was no address.
But Laurëfindelë didn't seem miffed by it, and he serenely drew her to the kitchen to cook a pizza.
"Be patient," he chided her as she fidgeted. "Now, they know I am here."
But patience wasn't Elanor's forte. Yet, days blended, autumn laying its cool blanket over the world. Every moment with Laurëfindelë was a present she cherished, and the historian teacher wondered how the memory of elves could function. How would she sort through memories after centuries ?
The warrior that now lived by her side had seen seven thousand turns of the season, yet, he still marvelled at the slightest changes in the landscape. Even now, as she considered how long the tomato plants would still survive the night's freshness, Laurë's ocean eyes twinkled merrily, lost in the contemplation of the little hill that hosted their cottage.
Their little bubble of sweetness.
Elanor's eyes couldn't tear away from him as he stood there, like a captain of his own ship. Light seemed to infuse him, as if sunrays congregated to greet his silhouette; his hair was but a halo of gold, so bright that it might have shone in the dark. Laurë's strong features were peaceful, almost amused and she started when they captured hers.
"There he is."
Eyebrows climbing upon her forehead, the historian followed Laurë's line of sight. And, right there, on the path hidden by fallen leaves and dancing branches, she spotted a light frame adorned with long, dark hair. The breeze swept at loose strands, and Laurë bolted from her side to fly down the path.
Stunned, Elanor followed in a jog; Laurë's long legs coupled with a warrior's stamina distanced her easily.
She watched him barrel into the newcomer, sweeping the man off his feet in a bone crushing hug. Joyful words were exchanged in Quenya, exclamations that she did not understand. Eventually, Elanor reached the two men; Laurë set the dark-haired stranger on his feet, and she swallowed uneasily.
There he was. Lord Echtelion of the Fountain. Laurëfindelë's greatest friend. And even dishevelled, he looked as beautiful, as ethereal as her elf. His gaze was like an endless grey sky, warm and all knowing, serene. Unsettling. Except for those laugh lines at the corner of his eyes…
"By the Valar !" Laurë exclaimed, clasping Echtelion's arm. "You are old !"
The elf laughed, producing a melodious sound that reverberated in Elanor's soul.
"Yes, meldonia. So I am."