Mortals: A Case Study (New Observations)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
43 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris
A few days have again passed since my last entry; this is a pattern of sloth that I cannot allow to continue, no matter what means I use to justify it. My study of Mortals must continue, if I am to fully understand what is needful. I confess that my reasons for starting this line of research have not changed: the love of a Mortal for me, my growing love for him in return, and the means to both understand its nature, and to rationalize its continuing.
Almost a sennight has passed since my betrothal to Cutch, and in that time we have been exploring what we notice from just being together and in closer company. One of the first things we observed thus far is the feel of Mortal flesh versus Elven, and the major differences between. Elven skin is very warm to the touch, when compared to Mortal; there is a chill to Cutch's skin that, while not unbearable, was initially uncomfortable for some time and took some getting accustomed to it. Cutch, in his turn, explains that my touch is warm and inviting, like a heated blanket on a cool morning. He finds that sleeping next to me, curled against my still frame, is soothing and comfortable; I still cannot say the same of him, yet.
Another observation is something that may not be part of the accounts in epic romances, but is something observable and tangible: odor. Cutch has told me several times that he enjoys simply breathing in my scent, particularly my hair; he describes it as being clean, fresh, and remindful of nature in its simplicity, washed and pristine (his poetic words, not mine). For my part I find the scent and aroma of Mortal flesh to be unsettling, and perhaps I used the wrong word to describe it to Cutch, when I said I smelled "corruption". I think what it is I experience is the fact that Mortals are, well, mortal; dying, always dying and aging, their hröar slowly falling into the corruption of death. For this betrothal and its eventual outcome, I must needs find a way to disregard this obvious thing, if a way can be found.
Which brings me to yet another observation, albeit not a physical one but a personal - and that is Cutch's penchant for spontaneity. On the evening of my previous entry, Cutch awoke in the late watches and invited me to my chamber to sit and rest by the fire. He had produced a bottle of wine and glasses, and sat me by the fire to distract me from my labors. While in the midst of relaxing, he sprung a surprise at me; he had colored his toes red with dye. The sight of this struck me as hilarious to the point of hysterical laughter. He also playfully warned me he was going to do that to me as I slept; I admonished him with equal playfulness, enjoying a mood of near-Elvish mischief.
So, there it is, I have been experiencing both the tolerable and the pleasant, the anticipated and the unexpected. But there is one thing that transcends all others, that causes my resolve to both examine and work through any potential difficulty to be all the stronger - and that is my deepening love for my Mortal suitor. Even as I wrote this, I heard him stirring in the bedchamber, surreptitiously padding down the stairs on his painted feet, and crossing the hall to his kitchen, and now the smells of cooking waft through the corridors. I go now to make a grand entrance, in all my Elvish loveliness (again, his words), and praise him in all the ways he deserves.
And I shall indulge myself in thinking I deserve him.
Next Entry: On the Topic of Futility