#beleg queuethalion

A violent sneeze shook your body and rattled your bones as you lay curled up in your small makeshift bed on the sofa. The groans signalled the quake your bones were experiencing from the roasting fever and vibrations from the endless shivers. Eyes teary, nose stuffed, sore throat, head pounding and nausea, you suffered the epitome of the flu on one of the worst days and weeks possible. It was your one-year anniversary with your beloved Beleg, and you were most pleased and excited to share a custom from your human traditions with him. He had no idea about celebrating anniversaries for courtships, so like you, he was ecstatic to celebrate a memorable milestone with you.

Crying out as tears flowed from your eyes at the pounding headache, you snuggled deeper into the blankets pile, hoping the softness would provide some relief. You felt the world spinning as the fire from within grew and the migraine increased. It didn’t matter what herbs or tea concoction you brewed; your pain wasn’t subsiding. The only thing you could do was to sleep it off and pray to whatever higher powers were responsible for healing to ease your discomfort, and you hope it would disappear today so you could meet with Beleg. It wasn’t every week the Chief Marchwarden got time off to return home and spend time with you— it was a blessing he got time off around your anniversary.

Shivering and shutting your eyes as the headache travelled from your temples to the forefront and settled in your sinus, you cried out, “Please, please, please, go away!” Your hands had risen to gently cup your head and rub your sinus while you chanted your mantra for it to disappear. “I ha-…have important things to do today…” you whined while slowly shifting in your spot to face the back of the couch. Over the past two days, you became a fruit bat and resented the light; you even threw up extra sheeting over the curtains to block out any that slipped through the cracks.

Though, your motion, no matter how gentle it was urged your headache to activate your nausea and prompted your stomach to churn. Forgetting that your head was thrashing and your body aching, you leapt off the sofa and bounded for the washroom. The horrid sounds of your stomach emptying echoed throughout the little hut you called home— it was home thanks to Beleg throwing it up for you upon your arrival and acceptance into Doriath. Your stomach heaved as you brought up all the contents you had consumed since the day started until there was nothing left and your throat became sore. You were vomiting air, coughing and choking at the same time with the inclusion of the nauseating headache searing. If only you could remove your brain and rest it down for the entire duration and not have to deal with the annoyance it brought.

“Dammit! Ah— would you just stop hurting for one minute?” you swore.

Silence fell when you ceased your last heave and shut the pail's lid. Squatting beside the bucket, your head drooped against the cupboard door in agony. The distance sound of the birds singing and squawking, folks passing in front of your house, metal clanging and wood being sawed sounded like an alarm blaring beside your head. Even the bothersome knocking against your front door followed by the call of your name sounded like it was near your ear. Wait, knocking? Your name? …Beleg!

His voice was muffled by the mahogany but still seeped through the cracks like sweet music to your ear. Immediately, your pain and worries slipped away, and warmth enveloped your body. Alternating your inelegant body through the house and fighting to arrive at the door in one piece, you fumbled with every structure for stability. Pulling the blankets around your frail body, terrified that when the door was opened, the chilliness of the air would send you into a frenzy. You were saying a solemn prayer from the washroom to the front door, “Dear whoever-is-in-charge-of-removing-this-flu-that-I’m-suffering, please do not let the wind knock me down.”

Arriving at the door at last, the final knock resounded before you coughed a calm down which caught the attention of your eager lover on the other side. Reaching for the knob, you cringed at the coldness before using all your strength to twist the knob and crack the door open just a few inches. Refusing to show your face, you spoke from the shadows, “…mae govannen meleth-nîn.”

You were met with silence on the other end. Beleg stood quietly as he analysed your voice, it wasn’t normal as far as he understood, and it wasn’t…right. Blinking a few times, he readjusted his posture and shuffled lightly on his feet before placing his right hand on the door and giving it a gentle push, calling out to you, “Meleth? Is everything alright with you? If something is wrong, you know you can inform me, I wouldn’t judge?” Attempting to apply more pressure against the door to widen and allow him to slip in, you shouted out at him to stop.

“Wait!” your throat burned at the exclamation, forcing you to cough before resuming, “I’m…I’m fine, just a little…” but you never finished your words as a sneeze snuck up and sent your body stumbling backwards, leaving the door unguarded for him to make entry.

Standing tall and vigilant, he scoped the room for any signs of threat while shutting the door without a hint that it was closed. Eyes falling on your mountain of blankets, loose rags on the floor and haphazardly thrown sheets over the curtain, he turned to glance at you in the furthest corner of the room holding your head. Unwell. Hanging his head with a shake, he removed his boots and placed the bouquet of carnations and lilacs on the table before strolling over to embrace your shaking figure. “Meleth,” he quietly chastised in his motherly tone, “why didn’t you tell me you were unwell?”

Unable to answer, you nuzzled into his chest and found comfort in his presence as the pain alleviated. All the slow creep in your sinus and temples were retracting and your aching bones were lighter. You had heard and experienced the wonders of elvish medicine before, but this was an entirely different form of treatment you were beyond fortunate to experience. Softly whining a series of unfathomable words, he still understood what you were attempting to project and did not hesitate to reach down and lift your body. Walking you over to your bedroom, he cautiously carried you as though you were a baby and delicately placed you onto the bed. With a quick fix and tidy, he adjusted your body to lay among a fortress of pillows and blankets.

Within half an hour of his arrival, Beleg tidied up your house and made a fresh batch of herbal tea and soup. Sitting on the edge of the bed with your body propped against the headboard, a spoon or flavoured water and vegetables were being held to your mouth. “I’m not hungry Beleg,” you croaked.

“Not buying it, your stomach is singing right now…and it’s not happy songs. Now open…say ah,” he counterreplies with a snicker.

Feeling like a child, it didn’t matter how much you fought against his command, you ended up obliging with a scoff and a roll of your eyes before opening your mouth. The moment the liquid touched your tongue it had no taste; your buds weren’t picking up any flavour at all. Rearing your head back to stare flabbergasted at your lover, your frowned, “Um…did you forget to add salt, or herbs to season the soup?”

“What do you mean? I added more than five different herbs including thyme and rosemary,” lifting the spoon to his mouth to sample, he nodded once the flavours hit his buds, “hmm, there’s flavour. Maybe your taste buds aren’t working right now…with the fever and all.” Still lifting the spoon with a fresh batch of soup and veggies, he brought it to your mouth for you to consume.

Making a face at the tasteless food, your appetite wasn’t kicking in the direction to consume anything, but the melody your stomach was playing took away your will to refuse. You were left to close your eyes and silently eat his hearty meal with much gusto. With every spoonful, you were hoping to taste at least a bit of salt to kickstart your taste buds, but all you did was devour bland food much to your disappointment. Though, as bland as it was, you still managed to sense the love and dedication behind the preparation of your meal. It was just like everything he did, with utmost care and affection. Perhaps you understood why his presence affected you to the extremities from the simplest action to the most ostentatious. Beleg was a simpleton elf, and yet everything he did in his power when it came to you was miraculous and extraordinary. This little moment shared between you both was a core memory for you, just seeing how engrossed he is with caring for your little mortal self, brought images of your future.

It was impossible to imagine an elf falling in love with you despite your mortal status and being an old, wrinkled potato one day. Here he was showing that it didn’t bother him, not even your runny nose or vomit would make him run for the hills. He had seen and faced worse than something natural as your illness. To him, this was a joy; showing you indirectly that he would care for you until your last.

“You know, I’m grateful for you,” you squeezed out before inhaling deeply, “I don’t know what it is about you and your…presence, but you make me happy after all these m-months. Just being here with me, not judging or being scornful…just loving me.” You gave him your best thousand-watt smile at the end of your confession, even though you felt a dry cough creeping up your oesophagus. The tears were already blurring your sight from the sentimental gesture.

Bowl in hand and spoon frozen midway, Beleg was astonished. Many words had been exchanged between you both over the many twelve months gone by, but this was new and beautiful. You were grateful for having him in your life, and those were the best words anyone could be told in their entire existence. His emotions were everywhere all at once, he didn’t know if he were to cry or jump and kiss the moon or run around Doriath like an insane person. “What…made you say so? Not that I’m displeased, but more curious. I’ve never heard you express…so openly,” he questioned calmly with a loving smile and a light chuckle. It tinkered through the air and blessed your ear, filling you with love in your heart.

“…this that’s happening right now. It just feels so different from every other moment we’ve shared,” you shrugged with a nonchalant laugh, “makes me realise that you don’t have a problem seeing me as some old, wrinkly potato one day.”

Raising a brow at your words, his eyes never left yours as he reached over to the nightstand and placed the bowl and spoon down before turning to give you his full, undivided attention, “Who said I wouldn’t see you as an old, wrinkly potato?” his finger lifted to bop your cold nose, “you’re my potato.” He joked knowing how much you always complained about getting old and becoming unattractive before his eyes. Growing saggy and helpless, needing to depend on others, he understood how much it bothered you through your humour, but never to him.

Rolling your sore and reddened eyes at his forever and ongoing reply, you watched as Beleg excused himself from your bedside with a ‘dawn of realisation’ look upon his face and left your room. He was silent as he departed, leaving nothing for your ears to discover as he picked up the bouquet of flowers and returned. Standing in your doorway with the red roses behind his back, you observed as he cleared his throat with a hint of nervousness in his eyes. For the first time, you saw Beleg’s figure shake and tremble. Taking a deep breath, he ushered to stand again before your bedside.

“I know that this may seem sudden in your culture but not to mine…and I couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass when the moment is perfect, so here we go… From the day I met you, not a day went by where I didn’t spend every hour, minute and second thinking about every little thing you do— it brought joy to my life. I knew you were the one for me and your race never once hindered me from loving you. If anything, it made me love you more and there is nothing you can do to change how I feel about you…even if you turn into an old, wrinkled potato, you are still engraved into my mind, heart and soul. So here I ask you, my love,” he shuffled one foot forward and knelt before you, revealing the roses and silver ring decorated with small vines, “will you marry me?”

Silence settled in the room where a pin dropping could be heard. Your calculated breathing was the only sound heard as you processed his words and question. “…Are you being serious?” you asked breathlessly.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Your smile slowly crept onto your face from one end to the other before covering your entire aura, creating a glow that came once in a lifetime. A light that represented unconditional joy, love and mutual support. He was typically sneaky when it came to impressing you with elvish traditions or culture on your dates, but this was the last act you envisioned he would whip out on a day like today, let alone while you were unwell.

Unable to contain the happiness of a thousand suns radiating from within, you ignored any aches your body produced and threw yourself into the arms of your patiently awaiting beloved. He caught you with ease but allowed himself to tumble back onto the floor for dramatic effect. Your voice chirped in his ear, screaming yes enthusiastically hundreds of times over and over again. Your shorter limbs were snaked around his body, holding him hostage to your physical affections of kisses and deadly hugs, but Beleg recognised no pain or discomfort. In fact, there was no longer pain and discomfort within your aching joints. His actions were enough to dissipate your illness.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. My original plan was to propose by the waterfall, but you got sick, and I didn’t want the opportunity to be missed,” he chuckled before leaning down to plant kisses across your forehead, leading down to your lips.

“You are too sweet meleth,” you cooed as you leaned in to nuzzle his nose.

“As are you…bess,” he replied with a dazzling grin at the new title you would soon-to-be addressed as.

“Well, I hope you know I’m no longer feeling unwell. My body is no longer aching, so we can do something to celebrate,” you beamed as you pulled away from his lips and fought the urge to suppress a cough, but he saw right through it.

“Hmm, I agree, we should do something…like staying indoors and cuddling because you’re still unwell. Now back in bed sicky,” he commanded while he snatched your body in his arms, bridal style, and carried you back to bed.

“Put me down, I am not sick!”

“Your dry cough and runny nose say otherwise.”

“That’s rude!”

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