Chapter 6

The next day, Faroniel seldom left this side. The healer expressed his amazement many times as he examined and re-examined Laurehér’s injuries for they had healed so much during the night. Though the man was nice enough, Laurehér was relieved when he finally departed.

“Faroniel,” Laurehér asked from the bed where he lay propped up on pillows. “How unusual is my body’s ability to heal itself? It is nothing remarkable to me, yet the healer could not stop talking about it.”

Faroniel looked up from the table where she sat mixing dough in a bowl, flour dusting her dress. “He was becoming rather annoying, wasn’t he? It is very unusual. You were a swollen, bloody mess yesterday, covered in purple and blue splotches, and one of your eyes was nearly swollen shut by the time I got here. If you could see yourself now and understand how much you have improved. It is as if a week went by overnight.”

“I am sorry,” he said softly.

“You are sorry you are getting well so quickly?” she asked, her voice filled with concern as she set down the bowl, wiped her hands, and came over to sit beside him, taking his left hand in her right.

He gave a small laugh, squeezing her hand as he replied, “No, I am relieved I am healing so quickly. The pain was unbearable yesterday. I mean I am sorry for…for all of this.” He gestured with his right hand to encompass many things. “I was foolish in wanting to go to the village. Then when I ended up with honest work I still nearly got myself killed by Belegon. This has been so very unfair to you.”

“No, it has not.” She sighed and smiled back at him a little sadly. “I was foolish for thinking I could keep you contained here. You must be bored with me by now. I am not surprised you craved the company of others. It was wrong of me to deny it to you for so long.”

Her words surprised him so much he did not know what to say. Why was she apologizing to him? She had been protecting him and was the reason he lived even now. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it in gratitude. Then he was surprised even more when the sudden flush of color in her cheeks stirred him deeply. The tanner was right; she really was very beautiful with her kind, bright blue eyes, and her shimmery silver hair which seemed to defy being contained by braids and bonds. He held her hand against his bruised bare chest.

“Please do not think that I have grown bored or weary of you. I enjoy your company very much,” Laurehér pressed her hand flat against his skin. “I feel comfortable and safe when you are near, for I know that even though I am the last of my kind here, I am not alone. You were concerned about me and rightly so, as I had to learn the hard way,” he grimaced as he shifted his position.

“If this is what a week of healing for a Mortal feels like, then I pity that smith even more for what he must be enduring even now only two days after receiving his injury. You were being wise and I was the one being foolish, wanting to go to the village to see what it looked like. Will you forgive me?”

She smiled and this time the joy on her full, rosy lips reached her eyes. “Yes, I will forgive you, but only if you return to the village when you are well and help the smith again.”

“I will return to the forge as soon as I am able. I am grateful to you for encouraging me in this. My spirit rejoices in working with the metal almost as much as it rejoices in being outside among the trees.”

She regarded him with a curious expression, shaking her head, “You are a marvel to me, Elf Man, you truly are.”

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek as she had done so many times before, but he turned his head and briefly met her lips with his. Gazing into her very surprised, suddenly shy eyes, he placed his right hand on her flushed, warm face and whispered, “As you are a marvel to me, Mortal Woman. As you are to me.”

They remained thus for a few awkward moments, her breath warm on his lips, then she nervously backed away and returned to the mixing bowl at the table. He covered his face with his hands and turned away, wondering what he had just done and why.

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For the next few days, they kept their distance from each other. If he happened to come into contact with her in the course of the day, the brush of an arm as they moved about the cabin or the touch of a hand passing food across the table, she always looked at him questioningly and he always bowed his head and turned away. The day he felt well enough to return to the forge, he rejoiced for he could put this awkwardness at home behind him. Unfortunately for him, there was awkwardness at the forge now, too.

“How are you working again already? It has been four days – only four days, Laurehér!” Angadan kept saying all day long. His sentiments were echoed by the baker and the tanner whenever their work allowed them time to slip away and visit with him.

“I am an Elf. I heal quickly. That is the way of it. Just accept it and let me do my work,” Laurehér finally said when the three had gathered yet again to gawk at him and comment.

“You were a bloody mess when we hauled your carcass away,” the tanner replied. “How can you possibly be lifting a hammer again so soon and your face be perfect again, not a scratch on it?”

Laurehér smashed the hammer into the hot metal resting on the anvil, despite the pain it actually was causing his still bruised ribs, pretending it was the annoying tanner’s head. “I am very fortunate,” he finally said through gritted teeth.

“So am I to have you around again,” the smith agreed from his chair, “but I am also jealous of your sorry hide, recovering so quickly when I can’t even bend over to fasten my shoes yet.”

“Faroniel has taken good care of you for you to be back here so quickly,” the tanner observed.

No thanks to you, Laurehér thought irritably. If I had not listened to you, then I would not have noticed how lovely she is and would not have kissed her and caused the uncomfortable situation I have at home now. I am afraid to speak to her because of you. I am afraid to be near her because of you. I am afraid that if I touch her, I will want her nestled close in my arms because of you.

Laurehér said none of this aloud, but pounded his hammer so hard it broke the piece he was molding. Swearing loudly, he threw the broken pieces down, dropped his hammer, and walked away to shake out his arms and get a drink of water. He rubbed his side as he drank, the pain in his ribs growing from his efforts of the day.

“I think you should clean up and go home, Laurehér.” Angadan said, rising from his chair and walking over to place a hand on Laurehér’s shoulder. “You can start on the piece again tomorrow. I can tell that you are in pain and it is affecting your concentration. “

Laurehér nodded, for he did indeed hurt and was ready to stop. “Thank you. I will return tomorrow morning.”

The smith helped put away tools at the forge as best he could, for which Laurehér was most grateful. When the work was complete, Laurehér took his cloak and his satchel with a water skin and some bread left over from lunch, and walked into the woods rather than follow the road back home.

He wandered for a time, listening to the voices of the trees which were awakening from their winter slumber. Their calm sleepy voices welcomed him, speaking of sunlight and the warming earth and skittering squirrels. He smiled, thinking of what concerns a tree holds and comparing them to the troubles of his own heart. The trees definitely had an easier time of things than did he.

It bothered Laurehér greatly that Belegon hated him so much just for being an Elf. Never had the man even tried to get to know him. From the very beginning, Belegon had despised the Elf his sister-in-law had taken in. After the beating he took at the man’s hands, Laurehér feared what might happen if Belegon returned to Faroniel’s cabin. And why had Faroniel’s sister never come to visit since he had been there? Was she forbidden to do so by Belegon? Was she afraid of the influence of an Elf as well? Briefly he wondered if all of the Elves in Beleriand had been treated this way by Mortals, but he dismissed the idea, considering all of the Mortals he had encountered spoke an elvish language and not some other mortal tongue.

Thoughts of Belegon made him wonder further about his dream about his eldest brother who drew a sword on their other brother. If the incident with Belegon had happened in Valinor, would the Valar have passed judgment on Belegon for what he did to him as they had passed judgment on his eldest brother? Or would his king have passed judgment?

Again he wondered why the king of his people had not judged the sword-drawing transgression. Was it not the place of a king to keep the peace in the land? Yet Arafinwë and his brother both seemed to feel that the king would not have judged fairly even if he had been asked to pass judgment. But why? Clearly the brother who drew the sword should have been held responsible for his actions. Yet even now…Arafinwë knew in his heart that the one he respected as king of his people never would have judged the incident fairly at that time.

What had pushed Olwion to be so mean and so cruel to their brother? Why did he hate him so? Olwion had been kind to him and encouraging of him in the dream memory from the ship. He had taught Arafinwë to sail and prove himself a worthy sailor and fisherman. And Olwion was very specific in stating that their atar would be pleased with these skills in Arafinwë.

Now he was very confused indeed! Why would a Noldorin lord want his youngest son to… yes, Arafinwë was his atar’s youngest son, he felt certain of that. So why would a landlocked lord want his sons to know how to sail on the sea and haul nets? That made no sense. Besides, Arafinwë felt he had a good relationship with Olwion. So, what happened that he felt such contempt for him by the time of the incident with the sword?

Then something else occurred to him. What if he had more than just two brothers? If so, then perhaps there was another who was vile and was the one who drew the sword. In his heart, he knew he had been very close with the brother who had been threatened. He also knew he had been very close with Olwion as well.

He swore out loud, startling some birds. What was the threatened brother’s name?! He wished he could remember it.

Laurehér stopped walking and pressed his forehead against the trunk of the nearest tree, breathing hard. He rubbed his side where it ached from the work of the day. His head hurt now, too, from the effort of remembering. Tears came to his eyes as he again recalled that he was the last of his house. These brothers who he could barely remember and couldn’t even properly name were dead anyway. Two of his brothers died in battle long ago – both the one with the sword and the one who was threatened. He felt certain of that. But what of Olwion? What became of Olwion? He truly did not know and his heart revealed nothing more.

When he regained control of his emotions, he patted the tree and thanked it for lending him support. He needed to get home. The sun had already set and Faroniel would be worried about him. He sighed and sagged against the tree again. What was he going to do about her? What was he to say to her? What could he say to her?

He had kissed her and he did not even know why. No, he finally admitted to himself, he did know why. He wanted to know what it would feel like to press his lips to hers. He kept blaming the idiot tanner for calling his attention to Faroniel, but in truth…in truth he had noticed things about her before – her hair, her eyes, her lips, her soft curves, the way she moved. And if he were most truthful, he would accept that from the very beginning, it seemed right to him that he should have a silver-haired maiden at his side. He honestly did not know if she was the silver-haired maiden who was supposed to be with him, but he knew he belonged with one.

He pushed away from the tree determined to actually leave this time and forced himself to walk in the direction of home. In the book Faroniel had with the conversation about Finrod Felegund, Finrod had said that the joining of Elf with Mortal was only for some high purpose of doom. Those seemed to be some rather strong, haughty words. What ellon would be so arrogant as to look at the one he loved and declare that he would wed her, but only because Eru had decreed that their unbegotten child or children were to be great and glorious? That was ridiculous!

Then again, perhaps Finrod was trying to make Andreth feel better about his brother not marrying her. If he himself had been in Andreth’s position he would have been insulted by the implication that the love between Andreth and Aicanáro was not significant enough in Eru’s eyes to be worthy of their joining. Upon further contemplation, he had to wonder if Finrod had advised his brother against the union because he did not want his brother to die of a broken heart later when the Mortal died of old age or illness. But in trying to spare his brother pain, he obviously had denied his brother and Andreth all happiness. According to Faroniel, they both died alone and unfulfilled. And Finrod had died, too, in a dark dungeon after sacrificing himself to save a Mortal who was in love with an Elf.

Then realization suddenly dawned. Finrod had sacrificed himself in part in apology for what he had done to his own brother. He enabled Beren and Lúthien to be together perhaps to assuage his guilt over keeping his brother and a Mortal apart.

Perhaps if two people love each other, then they should be together and their races should not matter. Did not all love come from Eru? He had heard that somewhere long ago and believed it then. Why should he not believe it now?

So…did he himself love Faroniel? He could not say. He felt many things for her, but he was not certain if love was one of them – at least not yet. She might be his only true friend and his only source of comfort and joy, but too many things still troubled him and too much that he should know lay hidden. When he felt more comfortable with who and what he was, he would consider his feelings again. For now…for now he would do what felt right and hope his heart would guide him and that his head would keep him from doing anything else impulsive and potentially damaging to his relationship with her.

When he finally arrived at the cabin, he opened the door and set his things aside. Closing the door, he turned and she was there with words of welcome. Without thinking, he took her into his embrace, holding her close and resting his cheek on the top of her head. She smelled of smoke from the cooking fire, and the room was fragrant with the scents of the dinner she had kept warm for him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

It was good to be home.

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