Fields of gold

Rotund

Three days passed, sometimes tip toeing around each other as the cottage wasn't built up to accommodate guests. But overall, their routine was satisfactory enough, and Laurëfindelë learnt new words every day. Time flowed differently for elves, but he was getting frustrated with his inability to communicate properly. And life, here, seemed to hold some urgency, as if the very ground, the stars and sun pulsated more quickly than at home. This unknown sensation felt strange; he'd never faced it before and couldn't characterise it well. Yet, it affected it.

Was home accessible somewhere ? Had the portal who brought him held on for his safe return, or was it lost to him forever ? Until he could explain, in details, how he arrived on earth, Laurëfindelë was stranded. So every hour not employed to stretch and heal was dedicated to learning. Unfortunately, aside from a few books, knowledge seemed to be enclosed in an awful contraption called a computer.

Eleanor used it way too often; he recoiled every time she powered it on, fleeing the energy that tried to ensnare him. The elf refused to use the machine of hell; it radiated evilly, scrambling his thoughts just like the machines at the hospital did. Even the screen with the moving images – the telly - tended to affect him, but he could sit at a reasonable distance away.

So when Eleanor left this morning to go to work, the elf navigated the channels in hopes of finding programs that taught him more about this world. He wasn't disappointed; the national geographic channel exposed marvels and wonders unseen in middle earth. From the very bottom of the ocean to the highest peaks of their mountains, Laurëfindelë watched avidly as Eleanor's world unravelled.

It still lacked magic, and the glorious brilliance of Laurelin and Telperion; how he missed the trees and their light ! But this world held much beauty. The view, alone, from Eleanor's cottage sometimes sent him in raptures, especially when, in the morning, light mist settled at the bottom of the hill, bathing the surrounding forest in a whitish veil.

And, surprisingly, Laurëfindelë realised that he was allowed to relax, since nothing was expected of him. Here, he wasn't a captain of Gondolin. The burden of protecting the city against Morgoth, the time ticking clock hanging over their heads as they hid from the darkening lands of Beleriand was absent. The pang of guilt remained, though; what was happening to Arda, now that Gondolin had fallen ?

Had Tuor, Irdil and little Eärendil managed to escape Morgoth's beasts ? How did they fare, his people, now cast in the wild lands populated with wargs and orcs ? His death, though, haunted him. He had done enough, hadn't he ? Dying for one's people, didn't he deserve some peace ? Laurëfindelë sighed, feeling the pain creep up his spine. He wouldn't judge Echtelion as harshly as he judged himself.

Who had sent him across the veil of the worlds ? Did he have a purpose, here, other than be a burden to Eleanor ? For the moment, his only goal was to heal. She was the provider of care, protection, and shelter. It almost shamed him.

How difficult it was to step down; Laurëfindelë realised he had not shed the mantle of responsibilities since Valinor. Where was the carefree elf, the one whose blond locks and bright personality were renowned from bringing light into the world ? One of the Calaquendë – those who had seen the light of the trees, and Aman – was fading into darkness. The Valar wouldn't be proud of him.

Meow.

Feline settled in his lap, providing much-needed warmth. The fire had died during the day, but Laurëfindelë would not tend to the flames. Whenever he tried to gather his courage, his steps faltered and sweat gathered at his brow. He, that used to enjoy a good bonfire on the village square, could not approach the chimney with a ten foot pole.