Fields of gold

Cats

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'.