"Very well, Sir. I will return shortly."
It was trouble brewing, he could feel it. People are trouble, be they Man, Dwarf, Hobbit, or Elf. Then leave and be free of it. He remained by the tree. One did not leave lodestones easily.
His eyes were closed when she returned, a rod of light coming toward him, capturing his awareness. She had chosen, and gone out of her way, and spoke now many words to coax and cajole; and none of her words were bitter to the ear. Not a one. A scamp? Queen of scamps then. The fresh smelling soap seemed fitting of this Queen.
He had never been more afraid in his life. And never more willing to be so. I do not lightly take what others pay for. And now she had placed him squarely amid just such a choice, and knew what she did. He could see it in her eyes. He would not take. Not lightly. But these would not be paid for by another if he did not take them. She offered freely of her own. He would take, not lightly.
It was not in Falowik's mind to tax Vanwë's patience, forcing her to hold the bundle between them. Twice he chose to reach and take, but his arms did not obey. Long schooled were those arms and hands in keeping close to side, for near the body they could not be struck away. But she offered freely, openly. Why? Mere succor. Her eyes, her face, bespoke nothing less. Her eyes did not leave his. He could not take his eyes from hers as she humbled herself to kneeling before him. Almost the King of scamps he felt. They were kindred somehow, though Man and Elf. He chose to reach a third time. His hands closed around the bundle, careful not to offend by touching hers.
"My thanks, Fair One." His voice choked and he looked away, and pulled the bundle from her hands. "Please -" He needed to not be seen, the dam having cracked ever so little. But he could not ask her to leave. Kindness. Even thinking the word cracked the dam yet further. He turned away from her and made to open the bundle and spread it over him. The knot in his throat did not go away. Nor did she, yet.
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