Aesthetic Appreciation by Lferion

Aesthetic Appreciation

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It really was not fair, how many ridiculously decorative people -- male, female, and non-specific -- were here without tunics or any other upper garment on. (Some of them didn't have trews on either, though everyone did at least have braies or kilts or hip-wraps more or less covering the needful). There wasn't even any apparent reason for the relative lack of clothing -- it was warm, but not that warm, and had been so for a moon-cycle, so hardly novel. And while some were dancing or playing, others were merely walking, or stretched out on the grass like cats, bathing in sunbeams.

It was early afternoon, in the park opposite one of the Halls of Learning in Tirion, and though the light was from the Sun and not Laurelin, the scene looked remarkably similar to those of his youth. His first youth. *He* would not be removing his tunic today (not that he was ashamed of the scars that had stayed with him, but he did not want to talk about them, or even, today, deal with people looking at them. Or worse, elaborately not-looking at them. Or him. Easier to just keep his tunic on.) Besides, the day wasn't that warm.

But none of that meant he couldn't enjoy the view. Which he did. Looking harmed no one, especially when everyone was out in public and under no obligation of any kind. Why was he even thinking about obligation? *He* wasn't under any obligation either, to do or not do, to lead or follow, judge or ward or anything else. (And that still felt odd. To be only himself, not responsible for ot to anyone else in any important way.) Only himself, at loose ends. Amid a plethora of very pretty people, with a great deal of their prettiness on display.

He was supposed to be getting used to being embodied again, after all. Appreciation of beauty in many forms was part of that. And no one had yet recognized him. It was possible that no one would. This park was far from the heights of Tirion, and he had dressed quite plainly, with little in the way of jewelry, hair in a single unadorned braid. No house colors, no gold ribbons. Safely, simply anonymous, one Noldo among many. He found an unoccupied bench beneath a friendly tree, and settled down to simply breathe and appreciate the view, the cheerful atmosphere.