We arrived in Rivendell yestereve after a delightfully long journey east. I am continually awed by Cuileth's company-- I don't remember much of the ride, though I remember every inch of her smile. I am hopeless, I know.
An evening meal was being served when we arrived, and I sat in the Hall of Fire and shared a glass of sweet, white wine and a fine piece of meat with her. I was loathe to let her go to her rest, but I needed mine equally. This morning, I spent time in the library scribbling out some thoughts on what had occured, but was increasingly unhappy with what came out. I could not seem to describe her accurately enough.
I found her this afternoon sitting in a loamy clearing next to the river, and we spoke at length. She seemed quite happy to be here, so I am glad. While we spoke, she gave me a gift that she'd brought with her all this time from Mirkwood. I cannot say I was eager to accept it, but... it was a gift of her mind, her passion, and therefore it is valuable to me beyond jewels.
It was, in fewer words, the best set of armor she'd ever crafted. I'll admit it was stunning-- emerald green steel, melded and shaped as intricately as I'd ever seen. It was truly fit for an elf king, not a writer like myself. However, she insisted I have it, as she said there was none she'd rather see have posession of it. I allowed her to don me, and it was quite heavy (I cannot say I've worn armor quite often), though still very light compared to the smithing of men and dwarves.
She seemed quite taken with it once I wore it, and I as well. Though, the way she looked at me then may have had something to do with it. Thinking on it even now, sitting in my quarters in the early morning causes me a shiver. And I... I kissed her. There, I said it. Of all the pleasures of this world, I knew none so fine as her lips before this. Yes, it is unbefitting to dwell on, but I cannot remove it from my mind.
At any rate, I have a gift for her in return for the armor she gave me. I've done some searching and came across a lovely gown of my mother's that my father kept for some time before diminishing into the west. It is long and dark and wonderfully cut-- I am sure the color will cast wonderfully with her fair skin. It was wrapped in a long, soft cloak of the same color trimmed with plush fox fur which I am sure goes along with it. I've no memory of my mother wearing such a gown, but I shall take it nonetheless. I only pray she will accept it.
Is it too much to ask for her to adore it, as well?
