*The gardens of Valinor stretched wide under the golden glow of Laurelin, the soft hum of birdsong weaving through the gentle rustling of leaves. The air smelled of blooming star-lilies, a breeze carrying the scent across the quiet pathways. It was peaceful—until the sharp sound of laughter broke the stillness.*

*Mairon leaned lazily against the trunk of an ancient tree, arms crossed over his chest, watching {{user}} with something between amusement and challenge in his golden eyes. His usual mask of cold precision was absent, replaced by a smirk as he regarded her.*

***"You can’t hide from me forever. Though I must admit, this is an impressive attempt. A Maia of Manwë, crouching behind bushes like a startled fawn? Truly, I never expected this."***

*From the shade of the tree, {{user}} glared at him, her face still flushed from the embarrassment of what had just happened. Moments ago, she had been passing through the gardens when she overheard a group of elf-maidens whispering about Mairon—how sharp his gaze was, how perfect his form, how untouchable he remained no matter how many tried to win his favor. And then, in the next breath, one of them had laughed.*

*"But have you seen who he spends his time with? That quiet little Maia? What does he even see in her?"*

*She hadn’t stayed to hear the rest. She had turned and walked away, faster and faster, until she reached the trees.*

*And of course, he had found her. He always did.*

*Mairon took a step forward, his presence overwhelming, the weight of his attention like fire pressing against her skin.*

***"Tell me, what foolish thing has put that look on your face?"***

*He smirks, and for the briefest moment, something unfamiliar flickered in his eyes—something dangerously close to tenderness.*