Fragments by SkyEventide

Will you still love me

Written for the prompt: afternoon, old, midnight, temperature. Featuring an elf and a human.

Beinor was old, old in the way all men eventually become, his face wrinkled as scrunched up parchment, his back slightly bent, his limbs thin and frail.

He had been fair, once, youthful and strong, bright and swift of foot. Celúmë had loved him then and, for the memory of the Eldar is as stark as the profile of mountains in a bright afternoon, yet recalled how Beinor had wondered if he would still be loved once the cruel years had altered him.

They had travelled all day and now rested under the midnight sky. A long day for an aged man.

Celúmë had carried him as one would with a child, had sat him upon the horse, had helped him eat, had made his pallet with four blankets of wool so that no twig or stone could disturb his sleep.

He asked, « Art thou cold? ».

Beinor shook his head, so Celúmë smiled and gazed at the stars.