withweightedhand
They had served two lords come now. Although the halls of Thranduil reminded him of Menegroth that was where the similarities ended and nothing from his past compared to the dark forest even after its purging. Life there was so different from Doriath; everything was so raw and real – peaceful folk with a lifestyle comparable unending war. Then there was their golden king who fought like the Ñoldor yet moved with Vanyar elegance and drew without bias allies from near and far. Lord Elrond and his boys who eerily resembled Finwë over their close relatives were amongst those who frequented these woodlands, more so than the Dwarven families or Thranduil's dark-haired son and Gimli.
Beleg couldn't tell which Mablung preferred less.
All of it now nothing more than a memory but Beleg could still describe every detail in the wild clothing. He could still taste the too strong of wine and smell the smoke of the fires which kept light through the darkened hours of the day, the celebrations that seemed to be without end, and the strange music of the Silvan Elves.
He dreamt often of those times since their decision to move on for good and those dreams came so vividly that, until he were fully awake, he was left questioning whether they had left at all and whether the trees he were looking at were only but a clearing in the forest. Much like today when he and his partner stowed away into the hollow of a tree and found sleep upon them. The dreams were so much more real when he could feel the wind but he blinked reality back into focus, groggy and tense from the rest he hadn't yet managed to get.
Beleg leaned forward as much as he could without potentially disturbing the (possibly) still sleeping Elf curled in his lap, Mablung's longer legs bent beneath his knees and their ankles crossed over each other's, to peek out at the peaceful world still so new to them both. A watchful habit, one that woke him only a couple hours in. When he settled again he fussed gently with long hair, working loose strands so carefully behind Mablung's exposed ear; it always ended up everywhere when he slept and Beleg wondered just how he managed it in times like now when he'd moved so little.
He had been softly stroking the other's head with his thumb, hand having rested atop it after he'd satisfied himself with Mablung's hair, and bent down after another moment of that to press a soft kiss to his cheek.