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The afternoon is warm and pleasant, as most afternoons in Valinor are.
In another life, Maeglin might have felt strange or anxious about lazing about in a grassy field.
But instead of restless or uneasy, he simply feels...at peace.
It helps, he thinks, to be thousands upon thousands of years removed from all the blood and death and tragedy of the First Age; the Fourth Age is infinitely preferable thus far, especially now that he’s had a decade or so to acclimatize to re-embodiment.
It also definitely helps that his head is currently in Glorfindel’s lap, and that the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower is gently carding his fingers through Maeglin’s hair.
Maeglin had never really experienced anything approaching contentment in his first life, but it’s something that he’s slowly become more and more acquainted with since leaving the Halls of Mandos, and it’s largely thanks to Glorfindel.
Thanks to Glorfindel’s forgiveness and stubborn unwavering love, and the life they’re building together now.
“I have something to give to you,” Maeglin says now, because as comfortable as he is he did ask Glorfindel to come out here with him for a reason.
That reason is currently sitting in a thin lacquered jewelry box, resting up against his heart inside an inner pocket of his tunic.
“Oh?” Glorfindel’s tone is curious. “A gift?”
“Of a sort,” Maeglin replies, opening his eyes and moving to sit up. “It’s also something of a proposal.”
Glorfindel scratches lightly as Maeglin’s scalp for another moment, then lets him rise. “A proposal,” he repeats, expression somewhere between fond and faintly confused. “What sort of proposal?”
A thrill of nervous anticipation zings through Maeglin’s chest but he forces himself to take a deep breath and set aside the sudden burst of jitteriness. “It’s an old Avari custom,” he tells Glorfindel now, pulling out the box and flicking it open so that Glorfindel can see the contents: a shimmering necklace of amber and polished glass that gleams in the afternoon light.
“Avari don’t exchange rings the way you Calaquendi do, or do handfasting ceremonies like the Sindar,” he goes on, heart thrumming in his chest like a hummingbird’s wings. “Instead they do this. We do this,” he amends, because for all that he avoids thinking about his father as much as possible, Eöl had been half-Avari and so Maeglin is Moriquendi by blood and culture as well, despite the fact that he’d only met his grandmother Lhosseth a handful of times before she’d vanished off to the east and taken her knowledge of Avarin traditions with her. “A necklace of amber is a proposal, and also a promise. When someone gives a necklace like this to their paramour, it’s a declaration, of devotion and loyalty and the desire to go through life’s adventures together.”
Glorfindel just stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and expression slightly awed, before giving the brightest and most joyful smile that Maeglin has ever seen. “This is a marriage proposal,” he realizes. “You’re asking me to marry you!”
“If you’ll have me,” Maeglin replies.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Glorfindel responds, “of course my answer is yes.”
Maeglin can’t quite help the little grin that tugs at his lips. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Glorfindel looks back down at the necklace and his smile somehow gets even brighter. “Help me put it on?”
Maeglin’s heart gives a happy little flip in his chest. “Of course.” He shifts position slightly, sweeping Glorfindel’s hair to the side so he can loop the necklace around his lover’s neck and secure the clasp. “How’s that?” he asks once he’s done.
“Perfect,” Glorfindel replies immediately, twisting around and pulling Maeglin in for a kiss. “Absolutely perfect.”