Mortals: A Case Study (An Hypothesis)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
13 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris (compiled from recollections, and notes written in Bree-town)
Dawn of a new day - not merely in the sense of the rising of the Sun, but in the sense that this is the first day that I awaken to life with a beau. Could I ever in any wild imagining have thought this might happen??
I truly did not know how to greet a new day like this. My mind was awash with thoughts and feelings I would never have indulged in, or even permitted my own indulgence at the expense of my analyses and calculations. The giddiness of the previous days has put my mind on a wild, tangential curve of euphoria (did I just write that?)...
In dressing myself for the day, which included meeting Cutch once again for a shared meal, I elected to forego my scarlet gown for a different look. Whereas my scarlet is a brilliant color with a dropping neckline revealing a great deal of skin, I chose today to wear my crimson gown; a higher neckline, more frill around the wrists, with simpler lines. Satisfied as to my attire, I set out for the Mess Hall kitchen once more. Upon entering the place, there in his now-accustomed place was Cutch.
I confess that I was as happy to see him as he was so obviously pleased when I walked in. He now has the habit of dropping whatever he is doing at the moment and rushes to my side. When he embraces me, I can feel no sense of possession on his part, just the desire to feel closer - to which I don't believe I shall ever object.
As we broke our embrace, Cutch told me with an eager smile that he had a surprise to share. We left the Mess Hall and walked a short way through the town market to a produce vendor - and there, I saw some of the skill and dedication that marks his prowess as a culinary prodigy. He began selecting foods and victuals for a picnic lunch, asking my approval of specific things, inquiring as to my own tastes, and indulging in his own. I observed he chose his ingredients and elements of the meal much in the same way I would choose the components of my own craft: quality of parchment, shades of ink, size and shape of quill, essential oils - so much more in common, with this perspective.
Soon Cutch had everything he needed, and we set out again, he carrying a basket laden with foods, I carrying a set of flasks and bottles. We walked a little further down the lanes of Bree and, to my surprise, we entered a sheltered lawn - a park, right here in the middle of a Mortal town! The lawn was screened on three sides by a tall hedge, the fourth side marked by a stone wall; two gates allowed entry to the space. The grass was uncut and not landscaped in any way; the entire lawn was left untouched in its original state from when the town sprang up around it. I would not have thought Mortals might do such, leaving this site undisturbed for the enjoyment and contentment of nature.
We crossed the lawn to a shady spot beneath a towering oak, and I watched as Cutch laid out a picnic blanket and set up the fare in a precise layout, each part of the meal in a specific place. I sat down on the grass, and he offered me first a glass of red wine (he already caters to my penchant for the color), explaining that he wanted to put Mortal fare on display, in its best light for me. Amused, I beheld his art as he offered each course, each dainty, each treat with a carefully wrought description - each of which expounded on the origins, virtues and reasons for the delicacies. His knowledge of the lore of his craft is utterly impressive!
As the picnic progressed and the day wore away, the weather being fair with clouds marching across the face of the Sun in due times and measure, we spoke of innumerable things, some trivial, some inconsequential, some deeper and more thoughtful - but always in a careful comparison of Elvish ways versus Mortal ways, and their similarities of approach. It was a meandering stream of thought, flowing around and through so many courses that, after a time, it was nigh impossible to remember just how we arrived on the current topic from the previous one. By the late afternoon, with the Sun westering over the rooftops that could be seen above the hedgewall, I realized I was having the most relaxing and intellectual discourse I had shared with anyone in my recent years. Here, in this grass-covered space with the boughs of a tree for a pavillion, Cutch was giving me more than just the gift of a picnic; he was giving me a memory, a pleasant and lovely day together.
As we were talking through the hours, we both without thinking kept scooting onto the blanket, inching closer as the conversation flowed. I found myself so close that I actually shifted round and leaned back into Cutch's embrace, my head resting in the crook of his shoulder, the two of us watching the Sun vanish and stars begin to peek into the sky. I felt his one arm encircle my waist, the other hand cupping my shoulder as I nestled into him, and I could sense he was breathing in the scent of my hair.
I felt so at ease, so content in Cutch's arms that my next impulse even now feels justified: I turned my face to his and, caressing his cheek with my palm, I drew his face closer and brushed his lips with mine. There was a sharp intake of breath (mine or his, I still cannot tell), and I felt his arm tighten around me. The kiss lingered, then broke, and our eyes simply did not leave the others'. My fingers found his ear, and traced the oval edge; his fingers found mine, and ran up and down the long lines, around the point in a soft caress. I nestled back into his shoulder once more, and as more stars began to appear, I spoke softly:
"It would appear that my initial hypothesis was correct. You are not in love alone - dear one..."
Next Entry: Planning for Time
