Côhithiel

Luckily for them both a nose against his knee wasn’t made into an additional topic of conversation in the very near future. He hushed her twice over as his hands worked free a stray petal from the girl’s hair, “What is it?” Before he could ask if she’d fallen the cause of her tears was made known and all he could find in himself to do was smile.

His reassurance was heard, but Côhithiel also felt sadness for the petals in her hands, and those he was drawing from her hair. What happened to them?

Pinks lips slightly curled inwards trembling. Argon had scared her, but she did not want to get him into trouble for doing so; she had abandoned him and their playdate, after all, and she felt sorry for that as well.

Since he wouldn’t need to make an appearance until quite later on Anairë hadn’t thus far gotten hold of his hair – the prince was rather tidy until it came to that. He’d comb and comb, but for all he tried he couldn’t, for the life of him, manage a proper up-do. There were always bulges or loops, and somehow or another he always worked loose a section, maybe two. A worry for later! He always had great help. For now, however, as they lay there together he had busied himself with the ties of her bliaut for little other than to have something for his hands to occupy themselves with. He rested beneath his wife’s chin with her arms around his neck, bright eyes closed in warm content.

A peace that wouldn’t last.

Usually quiet voice came in hitches and whimpers of ‘Atto’ over and over until she pulled back just enough to show the crushed golden flowers in her trembling hands.

“I did not mean to,” she said with genuine sorry. “I was gentile the rest of the time, I promise I was…” Such a sensitive child, she did not ever wish to harm anything, even something so small as these flowers, and she hoped that she showed that in her expression.

However with the way Côhithiel were studying him with something that seemed to reflect his own interest the only thing that would dissuade him from trying to understand it was her father.

It hadn’t been the best of decisions to leave his hands free he realised for the longer she stared at him the less he was able to stand still. Down again he cast his gaze, eyelids lowered as he preened slowly at his clothing and picked at loose threads in the silk closest to his hands. Lucky she’d given him the opportunity to tie back his hair or his hands would be in it instead.

Thranduil hadn’t realised how much time, however little in reality, had passed between being given the two names and Galadriel’s voice cutting back in. He perked up a little and raised his head to look over at her, a brief distraction but a distraction nonetheless which meant a moment to recompose himself. It came with a modest smile as he looked between them, taking the time to backtrack over what had been said.

She understood the movements of nervousness on his part, nerves that she too might have on any other occasion had in meeting someone new, but in that moment she could not feel it. This stranger, Thranduil... Thranduil did not make her feel those nerves. No, the drawing attraction she felt, whatever that attraction was, overshadowed that in her.

His question drew forth a faint frown of her brows, and bowing her head her hand slipped from her breast to resting in her other hand, softly pressing her palms together before lifting her gaze, though her head only slightly so.

"I do not, Thranduil," she replied simply, also an excuse to say his name in return. "I came at the call of Galadriel to aid those in need. I traveled not a day behind the exodus... No, I do not reside in any rooted place."

She could not say she truly had a place she lived for an extended period of time in a long while, not a place that was hers.

She watched as he knelt, the golden tresses slowly being pulled into a more tame state, and when he stood once more her gaze remained fixated. She didn’t understand this shock, but it was warm, and it filled her…

Thranduil, son of Oropher. Thranduil… The name repeated through her head like a cymbal as a name she knew she might never forget. Regardless of the proper tone in which he addressed her, the thought brought to her the faintest smile at the corners of her lips, and resting a hand at the center of her breast, she responded in like.

“Côhithiel, daughter of Fingolfin,” she replied. “I’m afraid I have made you uneasy. I cannot say this is the first time I’ve done so to another.”

“Though it is the first time that you admit so, cousin,” Galadriel stated, somewhat surprised at the fluid and frequent nature with which her usually quiet kin was speaking.

Had they met before? No... No, she would have remembered such a sensation in her very being.

"My cousin often preferred the company of Beleg Cúthalion," Galadriel replied for Côhithiel when she did not speak, her cousin looking to her with a smile that was knowing; it was far too knowing. Côhithiel looked to Celeborn, as if to ask for some assistance in her moment of confusion, but he seemed to only offer her a smile as well.

"I prefer the feather reed," she said in her own plight, or perhaps to be contradictory, though her tone even and soft as she looked back to the stranger. She wanted to get closer.

Pulling her hair over her shoulder once more, she removed one of the ties from it before approaching him, and with lithe, pale fingers, she offered it in one hand; her gaze was unwavering from his as she did so, examining what it was that might have caused the jolt within, or at least trying to find it in his eyes.