An Invitation To Dance by Tilperiel

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Chapter 1

Sitting in the window, socked feet upon the fabric padding and hands clasped about his shins, Laurefindil watched as the fat white flakes tumbled past outside. Lazy and drifting in the sea- breeze which carried them to settle in piles in crevices and corners. Already the snows had been falling for a couple of weeks unabating and whilst that might have been a short time in the lives of those who lived days unnumbered; it was also oh so very, very long.

His wide blue eyes beneath the shock of unruly golden hair tracked the fall of one snowflake after another until they were beyond sight, unable to see the ground directly beneath the position he was sat in. No matter, it wasn’t likely he was going to run out of fresh flakes to watch for a while.

“There you are! We were about to send out a search party, we’ve been looking for you for hours!”

The door opened and the Lady Írimë swept inside, pushing the door softly closed behind her and Laurefindil, lost in thought jumped slightly, but roused himself, wincing in stiffness from the position he’d been sat in. He gave a soft sigh as he stretched out his long legs back onto the floor and shifted along the ledge so as to give her room if she wished to join him.

“Hello mother,” he greeted her with a smile, genuine in spite of the melancholy that had settled upon him, banishing it with a practiced ease to the further reaches of his mind. Little could keep his spirits down for too long, not even the harsh winter that had come upon them in these new and unfamiliar lands. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, many seeking his company to cheer their own flagging moods, if only to absorb some of his sunlight. His friends had taken to teasing with the epithet of golden flower, which he took with the good humour it was meant.

“Look at you, not even dressed and it’s going to take hours to sort out your hair! What have you been doing!” Írimë tried to look stern as she came over and stood before him, reaching to tug at a wayward lock, a mischievous smile rather spoiling the effect and she laughed, a bright sound. It was clear to anyone that the apple had not fallen far from the tree when Laurefindil had been born and he smiled wider in return, sweeping a hand towards the view outside the window.

“Ah, but see!” he exclaimed, “I would have seen if our noble guests had arrived and then of course, I would have not spared a moment in preparing myself and making sure I arrived suitably attired, hair and all. As it is, I do believe they may be late themselves, alas, waylaid by the snow.”

She looked to the view and her gaze became distant very briefly, as if touched by a shadow, but in another blink it was gone again, looking back to her son with an amused puff of air and roll of her eyes.

“Be that as it may, your absence has been noted already,” she chided lightly, “and you know full well you’re expected for the opening. I’m not going to be the one to cover for you when Ñolofinwë asks why you’re late, if you’re not there.”

“My humble apologies, I assure you, I have no intention of not doing my duties.” He didn’t quite catch her eye, though his smile remained undimmed. Truth be told he was only half looking forwards to the festivities, fearing the awkwardness that awaited. Until recently he’d had a stay of execution, as it were, from certain perils of courtly life. He had no issue with socialising, that wasn’t a problem in the slightest for he had plenty of friends and had little trouble with small talk. He was quite lucky in that regard. Rather it was the social matchmaking that he feared, as well he might. It made him shudder just to think of how many dances he would have to accept and how much his feet would ache by the end of the night. Mothers (fathers too in some cases), hoping that they might improve their status by winning a hand for their daughter of one from Finwë’s line.

Of course, his mother knew this and she knew her son all too well also, sitting beside him and placing her hand on his knee, giving it a light squeeze. Of course, this was part of the reason for his being found in an empty bedroom in a far corner of the palace, undisturbed and able to gain a few more hours of peace, away from the hive of activity on the floors below.

“I know you will do all that’s expected, I have little worry there,” she said and he covered her hand with his own, saying naught but looking down where they lay. She studied him for a moment quietly, an unreadable look upon her face.

“You know I met your father at a ball such as this. Our circumstances may have changed,” she shrugged lightly, “but some things still remain constant. Do not fret so much and let things happen as they might. You have a good heart Laurë, you deserve happiness.”

“Yes, so I have been told,” he said and looking up his eyes were bright when he met hers again, though he pulled himself together, sat up straight and nodded in acceptance. “You’re right and I ask you forgive me for my absence. Let us go, for I fear you’re right in another regard also. My hair is a dreadful mess!”

Garbed in white robes damascened in gold and green embroidery, a circlet shining on his forehead and indeed his hair had been tamed into intricate braids and held in clasps of bright gold. It wasn’t more than a few hours later that Laurefindil stood in place with his family at the front of the Great Hall in the centre of the palace; Lady Írimë to his right, his brother, Lord Aranwë and his wife with their son Voronwë, stood to his left.  The precocious ten-year-old was squirming about in his formal attire, pulling at his neckline and being chastised in hushed tones. Laurefindil bent down and whispered something in his ear, making the elfling clap his hands over his mouth and giggle, nodding vigorously to his uncle who grinned back at him as he straightened out, shrugging innocently in response to his brother’s wary look. 

Beside them were their extended family members; Turukáno resplendent in deep crimson with Itarillë now nearly fully-grown and more beautiful than ever, holding her hand lightly on her father’s elbow. Beside them, Írissë, looking proud and radiant, dressed all in white, right down to the fur trim on her robes. Findekáno stood next to his father in the centre, very much alike to Ñolofinwë in looks, if not in stature, though it would have been a brave man to have made such an observation within hearing distance. He wore the same blue and gold as the high king, though stood out through the gold thread that had been woven through his warrior braids.

None stood out more, however, than the tallest figure of them all, bright red hair and a somewhat stern appearance that invited any to make comment on his being there if only they possessed great bravery. Nelyafinwë was somewhat leaner still than he had been before, recovering but not yet fully from his ordeal, he held one arm smartly at his back, not wishing to appear any lesser than he was. Laurefindil stole a glance over at his half-cousin, watching as Findekáno leaned in and spoke to him, the Fëanorian giving a half-smile in return, something of a rarity.

Ñolofinwë stepped forwards and the crowd gathered for the festivities quietened down, all eyes on the High King as he smiled upon them.

“Greetings to you all! It is with great pleasure I welcome you here this evening and especially those of our neighbours who have made the journey through the winter that has surrounded us so thoroughly.”

There was a large number of Sindar who had joined the host of the Noldor for their celebrations and the decorations about the hall reflected that fact; wreaths of holly and mistletoe joining the stars and jewels in their finery, hanging low from the high eves above their heads. Ñolofinwë gave his speech and for a change it was thankfully short, for indeed as Laurefindil had predicted, they were late in starting due to the snows. Signalling that the ball begin, there was polite applause as the low murmur of many voices rose up to fill the room and almost immediately the musicians picked up the first song of the evening.

Almost unconsciously Laurefindil looked to where the players were sat as he descended from the dais, seeking out his best friend in the orchestra. Ehtelë was deep in concentration, eyes closed as his fingers moved lithely and with complete precision over the slim silver flute he held to his lips. The music wound into something soft and beautiful for the first of the evening, allowing those who wished to dance to find their partners and set up their lists for the evening. He watched him for a moment, quietly unobserved with others moving past him whilst he took little notice, until a voice called for his attention and he blinked, the smallest of sighs escaping before turning to see a lady before him, someone whom he had not before met.

“Good evening, my Lady,” he nodded and smiled, slipping with practiced ease into his role of dutiful nephew. He knew his behaviour would be witnessed this evening and he would do nothing that would bring disgrace, even though he would rather spend his time with his friends. He had seen them in the crowd and no-doubt they would have much to say when he next managed to catch up, though they were kind and caring enough so it would be worth their teasing. Often he had envied them for being able to slip away unseen and unlooked for when they pleased, unmarried lords or not, but there was little point in dwelling on it.

“Good evening indeed!” the lady replied, “my brother told me you were handsome, though I thought he might have been using that fact to convince me into approaching you. It should not be such a hardship as I had feared. You are Lord Glorfindel, are you not? I cannot think that name would be fitting for anyone else here tonight.”

As soon as she spoke he had to pay attention carefully, as his Sindarin wasn’t yet so polished, but though there were a couple of words that slipped through the net with her speed of speech, he certainly had no trouble in understanding.

“Hardship?” he asked, somewhat affronted. It was one thing to be approached by a stranger in the hope of a dance, quite another to be informed that your prospective partner was only talking to you under coercion, in quite such a blunt manor. Even if it was likely true for more than a few people.

She laughed, a quite mischievous look as she did and his eyebrows rose as he folded his arms. Damned be to any that would see him!

“Oh! Oh, please forgive me!” she placed a placating hand on his arm and he stared at it then her, wondering how much of a telling off it would be worth if he shook himself free and walked away. Thankfully though she took it back and her smile softened, though there was a bright twinkle in her eye. “I mean no offence, truly. You know my brother, Lord Egalmoth of Menegroth, I’m Lady Istin. He thought you might like some company for the evening.”

“Did he now-“ Laurefindil looked up and scanned the crowd; the throng of people too dense to really see many clearly as they were gathered in small groups and there was much movement. He wondered if Egalmoth was watching, thinking it highly likely. He pursed his lips and hummed thoughtfully. Lady Istin was giving him a wry look, something thoughtful and mischievous in her gaze and he felt rather self-conscious, steeling himself not to squirm as his young nephew had.

“Thank you and I shall be certain to pass on my thanks to your brother for being so thoughtful too. I can offer a dance, if you would wish…” he started, reaching to his pocket for his dance card and pencil, thinking that yes, he was very much going to thank Egalmoth for whatever mischief he was up to, but as he spoke the lady’s smile grew wider, making him wonder and he trailed off as she leaned in slightly.

The current song had come to a close and after the last notes faded out and the gentle applause rose around them, the next tune was started and this time was something livelier, a faster more regular rhythm that had people taking up partners, those who were sitting this one out making for the edge of the room to give the dancers the floor.

“Perhaps more than one dance?” she offered very quietly and as Laurefindil opened his mouth to make his polite decline, inwardly cursing Egalmoth now for whatever prank he had decided to pull (drawing his sister into it too! Of all the-!) her eyes flickered deliberately to the orchestral pit and back to his own, a smile in accompaniment.

Closing his mouth, he said naught, two high spots of colour on his cheeks the only outward sign of his inner turmoil at the dawning realisation of just what was going on and he hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He was saved his blushes however as another young lady approached, cleared her throat politely. Swallowing and closing his eyes briefly he tuned to her and gathering his sensibilities again, nodded and smiled once more in greeting.

He recognised her as the daughter of the high councillor, spotting her mother hovering, trying to be inconspicuous off to one side. “My lord,” she bobbed a small curtsey, “would I please be able to ask for a dance from you this evening?”

She was quite beautiful; her deep blue and silver robes complimented her eyes and her dark hair perfectly and it was all in impeccable taste. He knew he should be very honoured to accept her hand and seeing no reasonable excuse and already resigned to needing to take up many such offers for the evening, was already taking his dance card to write her in, when lady Istin stepped in smoothly and plucked it neatly from his fingers. He stared.

“Apologies, my lady, but the Lord Glorfindel has already a full card for this evening,” she held the closed, but very much blank card up and shook her head sorrowfully. “I do believe that the Lord Egalmoth, my brother, is on the look out for dance partners however and you I think,” she looked her up and down with a sparkle in her eye and smiled, “would be most welcomed.”

The lady in question (he didn’t even know her name and would need to find out to send an apology, for his uncle was going to have a fit when word reached him, no doubt) went rather pink in the face and a glance to her mother made Laurefindil wince.

Of course, none of this was helped by the fact that they were not in a private alcove and all of this was being observed. It would only take one minor mishap, a small word badly placed, for scandal to be made if not corrected swiftly. The fact that the Lady Istin was one of their visiting guests made the whole thing even more tricky; for public relations this could very well be a disaster in the making. To call her out on her lie could cause tension and a rift, one that he wasn’t about to make in any hurry. Though to add credibility to it would do his own position no good, for even as he stood frozen in his indecision two more ladies of equal nobility were waiting for their turn to approach. He groaned inwardly and wished profusely that he could have been born of a blacksmith or a carpenter. Perhaps just one of the advisors, yes, that would have been preferable about now…

“Oh, well, perhaps-“ the councillor’s daughter said and looked to Laurefindil with a tight smile, something of her expression suggesting she was quite humiliated and he felt bad for her, deciding he must seek to offer her some sort of recompense in due order. 

“Wonderful!” Istin clapped her hands together, “then come, I shall introduce you that you may better enjoy your evening my lady-”

“Talwen,” she gave her her Sindarinised name and allowed herself to be led away, somewhat reluctantly though kept her dignity, Istin having linked their arms already and not allowing her time to refuse. She looked back at Laurefindil, “I shall be but a brief moment, perhaps a drink?”

“Aye, a drink,” Laurefindil muttered and shook his head slowly as he watched her steer the poor unsuspecting Lady Talwen into the crowd, wondering just what had happened and how many ways he could repay his friend for such a kindness. The other two ladies who had been waiting were still there when he turned and offering him such looks as he knew meant that he would be a source of gossip with the upper circles for weeks to come. The high councillor’s wife was staring daggers at him too and he felt the colour return to his cheeks.

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, he gave the two ladies both tight smiles and inclined his head, before extricating himself from being centre of attention to seek the drink he’d been requested.

“Having a spot of trouble with the ladies so early in the night?” He was ladling spiced wine carefully into two cups when a rather amused sounding Findekáno appeared at his side and leaned in conspiratorially.

“I see you’ve managed to avoid them yourself, so far,” he returned with a small glance and one crooked brow, lifting his drink and turning to lean back against the table lightly before taking a rather large sip. “I would ask you share your secret, that I might also put it to good use.”

There were a good many couples elegantly taking their turns on the floor, the current song not calling for a formal step, for those would come later in the evening. The laughter and merriment along with the music gave a pleasant atmosphere, as well as allowing for more quiet conversations to go on without eavesdropping, when out of the main throng. Even so, it didn’t do to speak too openly, walls often had ears and regardless of the joviality that the occasion called forth, there were always those who were on the look-out to seize upon any minor slip that they might if it could gain them the upper hand in the political arena. Laurefindil found the whole thing completely exhausting.

“It helps to have our cousin close,” Findekáno nodded towards the other end of the long table, where a tall red-head was gathering morsels of food into a bowl. Nelyafinwë cut an imposing figure even now, the robes he’d chosen form-fitting and in a dark crimson as like to Turukáno, but with gold trim and a golden circlet upon his brow. Laurefindil had spent very little time with his half-cousin, rather intimidated by him before Alqualondë and Losgar, those events not exactly warming him in after days to try to make friends. He watched him for a moment longer, his disfigurement somehow making him even more imposing than less and he noted how people were giving him a wide berth.

“Yes, I can see how that might work,” Laurefindil murmured and took another sip of the wine, a pleasant heat from the sweet spices warming his throat and he licked his lips, savouring the richness and trying to relax. It was supposed to be a ball and balls were where you went to have fun, enjoy yourself. So far he hadn’t managed much of that.

“What troubles you so much Laurë? I noticed a rather beautiful lady paying you compliment and another three so far lined up for your company. Yet here you are, propping up the drinks table and looking for all the world like you would rather be absolutely anywhere else. I would have thought you of all people would have been one of the first to dance and the last to leave! You adore music.”

He wrinkled his nose and looked down at his cup, the depths of it not revealing any hidden answers, sadly. He sighed and shrugged one shoulder, gazing back out over the room, a quick glance and small smile at Findekáno.

“Oh, nothing much,” he said, proffering an air of nonchalance. “Maybe it’s just the weather lately, you know how it is. I’m surprised that you’re not dancing tonight yet either though, I would have thought your father would have had your card filled for you before the night began.”

Findekáno narrowed his eyes shrewdly, knowing all too well how Laurefindil was something of a master at re-directing conversation, but allowing it to slide. For now. “He did try, but I declined his offer. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own dance partners.”

“I’m certain you are,” Laurefindil remarked with a crooked-smile and Findekáno gave him another look, “but perhaps I can help you out somewhat, for my own card has been filled by the sister of a dear friend, so I could re-direct any further hopeful maidens to one who is not yet so fortunate.”

“How kind of you…” Findekáno shook his head slowly with amusement evident and took a drink of his own wine as Nelyafinwë appeared behind him, almost a head taller and giving Laurefindil cause to sober, his eyes finding his own, an unreadable expression in his bright gaze. Findekáno turned sharply and smiled brightly in greeting and Laurefindil noted Nelyafinwë‘s change in stance immediately, the atmosphere too. He swallowed his wine and pushed himself back to standing, suddenly feeling he should be elsewhere.

Thankfully the Lady Istin arrived at that moment, sparing any awkwardness that might well have arisen, immediately reaching around Laurefindil to take up the cup he’d filled for her  and placed a hand upon his arm. Both Findekáno and Nelyafinwë looked at him with surprise.

“Ah, Lady Istin! I had wondered if perhaps you had found a better offer,” Laurefindil said and switched to Sindarin. His tongue trying for the different words and feeling clumsy in his mouth, he placed down his now almost empty drink and brushed off his still immaculate trousers, feeling a little self-conscious.

“No no, still all yours and it was I who offered you, not the other way around,” she said with a sly look and he laughed and ducked his head.

“Indeed, my Lady. Please, allow me to introduce you; Lord Fingon, Lord Maedhros, this is the Lady Istin of Menegroth. She is sister to Lord Egalmoth, whom I think you both know.”

“Yes, he’s one of Turgon’s advisors for his plans, is he not?” Findekáno said, looking Istin over with an appraising eye and then staring at Laurefindil, a small frown evident.

“He is,” she nodded, “and he’s had nothing but good things to say about everyone here, so I’m looking forward very much to getting to know you all. I’m very glad to meet you both.”

“You’re staying then?” asked Laurefindil, unsure how he felt about this revelation. He was rather still reeling from their short meeting and unsure how to take her, the only other lady he knew who was so forwards as she appeared being Irissë and one of her was quite enough. A quick glance at his two cousins told him that they were of a similar state of mind.

She laughed lightly. “I am!” she said, “but come, we’re missing the festivities and the music is so different to that I know. Will you show me how to dance to this? I would guess you are a wonderful dancer, are you not Lord Glorfindel?”

To his side he heard a faint breath of amusement but he remained smiling at the lady, rolling his eyes in a good-natured fashion and sighing dramatically. “Alas, but you will find me fair to middling at best, I’m afraid. Perhaps you might aid me in improving my steps.”

She laughed and slipped her arm through his now proffered elbow and touched her other hand to it too. Laurefindil gestured to the room. “Then come, let us join the party,” and turning gave a smile and nod back at the two lords behind them who watched them go with twin expressions of surprise.

He did not therefore hear the whispered words between them when out of earshot, nor see the knowing glances on his back.

The music went on and as one dance turned to the next Laurefindil found he was smiling more genuinely and feeling lighter, the lady Istin proving much better company than he could have hoped. He thought he should be offering proper thanks to Egalmoth after all, for not only did she keep him in good humour, but he didn’t have to try to find his good spirits with the host of beautiful ladies that held no interest to him, that he had expected. That and besides, she made no move to anything other than to dance and bring them both to laughter, for which he was very thankful.

He caught sight of Egalmoth on a few occasions and each time he was taking a turn around with the Lady Talwen, giving Laurefindil cause to smile even more. Perhaps another friendship had blossomed this night.

Then came the point in the evening for the group dances before they would call the ball to the close. The lines were formed and those partaking all took their places. Laurefindil stood opposite a lady of his own house, one of his mother’s hand-maidens whom he knew well, who smiled at him brightly and he returned in kind. They waited to start, lords with their hands clasped behind their backs and ladies to the front and as the music began to softly fill the space partners greeted one another with bows and curtsy.

Stepping forwards and Laurefindil allowed his feet to take the steps, memory in them from hours innumerable of practice that he would not step on his partners toes and seem ungraceful allowing him to look around to see who else had joined. He raised his hand and took his partners, a turnabout and dropped it again, stepping back into line in the next place along with a bow and a flourish to greet his next partner. The steps were simple and allowed but brief time with each new person, scant enough for a small greeting as they came together for their turn before parting once more.

The hour was now late and there had been wine flowing all night, so this allowed for a few small discrepancies that he laughed silently to see. A stolen kiss or two from those who thought they had not been noticed, some now whispered in one another’s ears and laughter filled the air from several places. It was all in the spirit of yule and there would be very few repercussions, if any. Friends taking turns with friends, making light of the fact with pretence of curtsy from some of the lords and Laurefindil laughed loudly to watch Lord Rôg do as such with Egalmoth, a kiss blown cheekily in his direction when they turned on hearing him.

A flash of red caught his eye then and as he stepped back into his own place, in the next line across he noted that Nelyafinwë and Findekáno had joined the fun and were facing one another as next to join. He almost missed his own footing and earned a small huff from the lady who’s hand he held, but he couldn’t help but watch as the two lords moved, small and private smiles on both their faces, mesmerised by their grace. They spun about, cheek to cheek with hair flashing out; black on red and he might have sworn he saw- something pass between them, but no, they stepped back and bowed politely and moved one once more.

He stepped back to his own place and found himself staring at his own new partner.

“Ehtelë!” he blinked and the lord laughed fondly.

“Laurë, did you not think I might take a break?”

They bowed and stepped forwards and clasped one another’s hand at the shoulder, the other around each other’s waists. Laurefindil was all of a fluster and Ehtelë chuckled low against his ear as they came in close to turn the steps. His breath tickled and he felt the prickle of goose-bumps over his skin.

“I had not thought to look for you this evening,” he admitted quietly, “though I am glad that you did. Your playing has been a delight.”

“Thank you, I have enjoyed watching you dance and you looked very happy. It’s good to see you smile so much.” Ehtelë replied and when they stepped back Laurefindil thought he saw something of a tightness in his smile, a slight downturn perhaps, but before he could say anything their turn was passed and he had to move on.

He watched him for a moment more, but his face was unreadable with anything more than politeness as he greeted his new partner and Laurefindil was forced to do the same, though he was distracted enough for the rest of the dance.

The music all came to a close and the guests began to make their departures, some in groups and some alone and some holding hands or walking close together, already couples or perhaps soon to be. Laurefindil found his mother and bid her a goodnight, the rest of his family, close and extended he would see in the morning most likely. He caught up with the Lady Istin and thanked her very much for spending her evening with him.

“It was my pleasure too,” she said with a warm smile and clasped his hands in her own, looking him in the eye. “I had feared the advances of the Lords here, but no need. You were a perfect gentleman and wonderful company. I’m very much looking forwards to getting to know you lord Glorfindel. I do hope we can be good friends.”

Of course he felt his cheeks heat at the compliment and he gave her a bright smile, though tired, in return. She looked up and a mischievous glint in her eye made him turn his head and begin to question, but before he could she leaned up and kissed him upon the cheek, causing him to startle and she laughed.

“Mistletoe!” She pointed up, chuckling and shook her head at his bewildered expression. “Do you not have this tradition?”

“No, it does not grow in Valinor,” he said, still bemused but feeling his cheeks begin to cool.

“It is a tradition to grant a kiss to any who pass beneath it,” she said, “for it’s said to bring friendship and peace.”

“That’s a wonderful tradition, I think I shall certainly keep it,” he smiled and watched as Istin hummed and reaching up plucked a sprig from the branch and tucked it behind his ear. He could see the shine of the deep green leaves and the white berries from the corner of his eye and he blinked at her as she twisted her lips and nodded to herself.

He opened his mouth to ask what that was for but she shook her head minutely and leaned in. “It is also said to bring love,” she whispered and before he could say anything, she squeezed his arm and straightened out.

“Goodnight Lord Glorfindel, may the stars shine bright upon you until our next meeting.”

“Goodnight, my Lady, on you also.”

With that she left and he watched her go, touching a hand to the small plant that now adorned his hair.

He was headed out of the doors and waving his final farewells when he heard his name. He was one of the very last to leave and quiet had finally descended on the hall once more. The lamps in the corridor provided a soft blue light, enough to see by but casting shadows that left the corners in deep darkness. He stopped in his tracks at the call, finding Ehtelë approaching, silver flute in hand.

“I wanted to catch you to say goodnight,” he said, stopping before him and offering a small nod and a smile.

“We could sit and have a final drink, if you wished,” Laurefindil offered, feeling somehow a tension between them that had not been there before this evening. His stomach twisted and he did not know why.

“Not tonight,” Ehtelë refused politely, “I have played long and am in need of my bed. Perhaps another.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Laurefindil nodded, though couldn’t make his face smile as he would have liked. He shook his head and tried to clear it, wondering if he had drunk too much wine and it was making him see things that weren’t there.

Ehtelë’s expression was quite unreadable, though something passed over it before he reached and gently touched the sprig behind Laurefindil’s ear. “What’s this?” he asked curiously.

“It’s mistletoe,” Laurefindil said, “it’s-“

“Yes, I know what it is, Duilin explained it to me earlier,” Ehtelë interrupted his explanation, “I meant rather, what’s it doing in your hair?”

“I was told it was for friendship,” he shrugged and offered a small smile.

“I see,” Ehtelë murmured and bit his lip, a very small frown creasing his brow. Laurefindil wished profusely he could ask him what was going on in that head of his, but he knew better. Ehtelë could be quiet and private and didn’t like to be pushed. He would give him his space, just hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t spoil their friendship, for he valued it above all others.

Feeling that it would be best to go and find his bed, lest the weasels in his head had him making a fool of himself, he was about to say goodnight when Ehtelë leaned in and kissed his cheek, beneath the mistletoe. He gave a soft gasp and looked at him with wide eyes, holding his breath in the moment.

Ehtelë seemed to hesitate, unusual for someone so precise and gave him a long look, Laurefindil not daring to break the silence, though feeling exposed to the core under his gaze.

“Goodnight,” Ehtelë said and his smile was somewhat softer, something of the tension broken. Not entirely, but it was better.

“Goodnight,” Laurefindil returned and stood for a moment more as Ehtelë took his leave, reaching to touch the spot on his cheek where he’d now had two kisses bestowed upon him that evening. Then, turning too he headed down the way that would take him to his rooms.

 Unremarked in the darkness, two other people were yet to find their beds. They had thought to leave earlier but then Laurefindil and Ehtelë had stopped and they had found themselves unwilling and unable to interrupt.

“You need to speak to Laurë,” Nelyafinwë murmured once they were completely alone.

“Why me?” Findekáno asked, equally as quiet, for though the corridor was empty now it would not do to be complacent.

Nelyafinwë rose a single brow and blinked. “You know perfectly well why you,” he said.

“Yes,” sighed Findekáno, “I know and you’re right. I’ll speak to him.”

“Good. Better sooner than later, I believe.” Nelyafinwë smiled and looked up then back at Findekáno before leaning in and capturing his lips, humming softly before drawing back.

“Nelyo!” Findekáno hissed and smacked his arm lightly, “are you mad! Not here!”

Silently laughing, Nelyafinwë just smiled ruefully and shrugged, no shame in his expression. He looked up.

“Mistletoe.”

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