Fields of gold

Firewood

Who can resist a shirtless Glorfindel ?

Twack !

Two pieces of wood fell to the side, perfectly cleaved. Who knew that that old axe could become such a powerful weapon ? Laurë had taken just a look at it, and sighed as if the word was ending. His disappearance, for hours, resulted in a bright, shiny new edge that allowed him to transform uneven trunks and logs into perfect kindling for the cold season.

Autumn was right at the corner. Leaves, already, were turning orange, some of them littering the ground in a thick carpet.

How time flew this summer. They had searched every place; libraries, the internet, finding sorcery books and magical rituals. They had gone to strange circles of so-called magicians and new age practitioners that told them a thousand stupidities about Laurë's very nature; a few unsettling ones not so far off the mark. One, even, an old man, had guessed right away that he wasn't from earth. Hope had been short-lived, a moment later, he was droning on alien abduction and spaceships.

No solution came forth as to how to recreate that portal, and return to middle earth. As they hopped from dead end to dead end, Elanor watched Laurë's resolve falter; he was trying to accept that, maybe, the Valar had dropped him here for a reason. The truth was that they were comfortable in her little cottage; his presence reinforced the bubble of sanity she'd created for herself, aloof on this little hill of freedom. What if the elf couldn't return home ?

Laurë once confessed the people of middle earth considered him dead; the fall of Gondolin had seen his last heroic deed. Perhaps that here was where he meant to be. Hence the very domestic task of wood splitting. Ironic, given he never approached the fire.

But, by the gods, he was powerful ! Half-hidden behind the glass, steaming cup of tea in hand, Elanor watched those limbs lift the axe high over his head. Each time, the same movement, timed like a metronome. Precision and skill, packed in a body built to enhance its power. There was not a drop of sweat at his brow, even though he only wore a short sleeve t-shirt in the chilling weather.

Fully healed now, Laurë handled the exercise like an Olympic athlete. The muscles of his arms rippled and tensed, an anatomy board she longed to draw. A self-depreciative snort escaped her; it was always the best looking guys that were gay. Or unavailable.

Pff. My luck, I just have to live with a drop-dead amazing gorgeous man who loves men. Or perhaps he could love both?

She wondered if he could... want her ?

Her heart thumped at the thought, breath catching when another resounding thump resulted in more wood splintering under the blow. His aura, sometimes, seemed to be dancing with hers, caressing her own. Was he even aware his amazing light guided her, reassured her ? When nightmares hit, at night, she could feel him from next door, soothing her agitation.

To think she always considered herself asexual, allergic to close contact – she had stopped hugging when her grandma died. But she craved Laurë's presence, his smiles, his warmth... the smell of his skin. The strength of his arms when he returned an innocent hug.

Stop it, you pervert ! He is mourning.

His grief had not abated, even though he hid it skilfully. But it danced in his aura, muting his brightness when he thought she wasn't looking. If this world didn't kill him, the sadness would for sure. How long could an elf mourn ? Was he at risk to... fade ?

Elanor shivered, and her resolve strengthened; she needed to find a way for him to get home. But to remain inconspicuous while looking for a magical portal was difficult. Elanor wasn't a geek, she had not idea how to hide her tracks on the internet, and worried the government would find them through her research.