[littlemanpoet]

The moment had passed. Uien walked by Falowik's side; though he looked ahead toward the stable roof, the lodestone on his periphery had all his awareness. He would treasure that moment for the rest of his days. She had offered him her name, the key to her soul. Uien. Though he had known her name, she was so far above him that it had not been his to use. Then she gave it to him, a gift freely given, nothing required in return. It was not lightly given, nor lightly received; but a lightness filled him with the use of her gift. Uien.

She had laid her hand on his arm to reassure, and stepped into the space between them; he could breathe in the scent of her. The breeze had blown her hair back from her exquisite face, and as he gave his voice into her name, her eyes had closed with pleasure, and slowly opening, showed the desire of her heart.

It was one thing for him to be full of gratitude for her healing touch the night before, for him to treasure her and stoke the Light within her by his adoring words and deeds; it was quite another for her to respond with open hearted love! He had not sought it, had not expected - nay - had not dreamed such a thing could be! It was more than he could have hoped for, and it was too much for him.

Unable to receive all that she offered, he had looked down at her hand resting on his arm. He had raised her hand in his two, wondering if he dared to bring it to his lips. He was not worthy. Last night he had hardly dared to face her, to touch the hand that had rested on his shoulder, warming his heart. She was an Elven lady; surely there were Elven men, even lords, who were more fitting for her. Yet she had deigned to become his Luthien, even though he was no Beren; far from it. Beren had been a warrior, so the legends ran, hunted and lost, never having lost his noble heart and of a great lineage. Falowik was just a poor wanderer, chancily born, born in shame, raised in dishonor by the town at large, for his mother had not survived his birth, and his father was unknown. He was no Beren. Why did she open her heart to him, a mere Man, and at that no better than a stray dog of a man, prettied for the moment by unfamiliar soap and bettered for these passing moments by the gift of herself?

They came to Derufin who was preparing for the chore. Falowik took a moment to put his thought into words, but before he had drawn breath to speak, Uien spoke for them both. Derufin spoke concern of whether Uien was up to the task, which took Falowik by surprise, considering that it had been Derufin's idea in the first place. Falowik caught Derufin's glance his way, and it occurred to Falowik that between breakfast and now, there had been a shift in the balances between Derufin and Uien, and between Derufin and Falowik; yes, Derufin could readily see that the Uien looked at Falowik in a way she had not before. Was Derufin jealous? Falowik could not blame him; this wanderer the upstart, wedging himself into things so quickly. For all Falowik knew, Derufin cared for Uien in ways Falowik had not even considered yet.

Falowik was startled by Uien's willfulness. She had been so warm and soft - and gentle - with him, and now she behaved as one who defies a parent. It was unsettling, at odds with just moments before, and even more at odds with what he had seen in her the night before. Maybe she was a deep, interior, retiring and quiet, yet kind Elf woman under the stars, but vivacious and willful beneath the sun. He knew so little of her!

"Remember now Uien," Derufin was saying, "Try not to throw anything at Falco from the roof." There were more words, but Falowik raised a brow, wondering why Derufin found it needful to say such a thing to her. Was Derufin trying to cast her in a bad light? Then dry sarcasm slipped out of her mouth, and it stunned Falowik, witty as it was. Falco was dense with hobbitish provincialism to be sure, but the disdain that accompanied the words were too like what Falowik had endured in Breeland before he escaped. It was more than unsettling.

"After you," she said to Falowik, and he climbed the ladder ahead of her, realizing that all that had gone between them had been begun by her; not a thing by him. Not one. It was disturbing, and brought on a rain of questions. Why would Uien want to throw shingles at Falco? How could she let such disdain live inside her and at the same time be a Light so pure and cured by whatever suffering she had faced? It made no sense. Or had he seen wrong last night, and been wrong about what she had done for him? Was she enchanting him? There were stories about Elven maidens and Men, not all so high and grand as that of Beren and Luthien. He looked at her with new eyes as she and Derufin joined him on the roof.

He busied his hands with the task of shingling while his thought was busy with questions. Uien kept close to him, as if she needed to be close to him, even while working at something so mundane as shingling. Was it out of need to be with him for who he was, or was it to keep an enchantment in force?

Stop it, old man! You have no cause to think such misthoughts of her. He needed answers, but did not want to offend. He sifted among his many questions and found the one least threatening; perhaps it would lead to other answers. He would have to do so soon, for Derufin had said that the mid day meal would be coming not long after they began their work.

"What means this name, Laurëatan, Uien? I like the sound of it, but I would know what it means."

[ August 29, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]