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Author Topic: you can't look back too many times  (Read 1091 times)

Tintaldé

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you can't look back too many times
« on: February 19, 2017, 11:37:10 AM »
timeline: Third Age, two years before the events of The Hobbit.
tags: Elrohir.


~sometimes on the edge of sight, something moves which isn't there. you turn to look but it's gone, it's gone -- was it ever really there? yet it touched you, softly touched you, so you can let it begin again~

The early evening around her was already enough of a cliche as it was, and so though the words of a song that was almost tragic lullaby in nature filtered through the quiet activity of her mind, Tintalde didn't sing them aloud.

It did not, however, prevent her from appreciating the sentiment of the words, and in a way she never had before. Before her travels, she had appreciated their aesthetic value, in that naive way of the young Elf. An appreciation touched by sorrow and melancholy, mind, hence the feeling of tragedy in the supposed lullaby -- for she had known the song first from her sire as an elfling, loved it then even despite the haunting quality of the melody...and then hurt even as she was filled with love of it, for it was one of many a reminder of a world bereft of her parents and one where she was alone. Lonely. Orphaned. Unwanted, whether she simply felt so or t'was true. The mind was not a rational thing, after all.

And yet Tintalde smiled, if a little wryly, as she hummed the refrain quietly to herself. The wryness was for the sheer perfection of a Rivendell evening come early Autumn, though -- so perfect, really, that it was almost ridiculous. Practically calling her from the confines of the Halls and her unpacking and the very few living souls whom she had announced herself to, almost overwhelmed by their delight in seeing her even as quiet was cautioned, so as to let her set her mind to being home again before she dealt with the conundrum that was still, for her, too many other living souls in the one place.

Some things didn't change, much to her chagrin, and no amount of travel to any place, crowded or no, could change that. And yet it was an amused kind of chagrin rather than something embittered and exasperated, a feeling new enough still that Tintalde was both unsettled and calmed by it all in one. Ultimately, she chose simply to huff softly, and allowed herself the comfort of leaning against who she'd come to visit when the evening that was not quite ready for moon rise and yet still lingered in brisk twilight had called her out. The little, pigeon toed dun huffed quietly in kind, clearly unperturbed by anything but their return to the pastures of Imladris and thus for her, the return to what was heart's home.

"Happy to lend me your opinions but not your wisdom, melamin?" murmured Tintalde tartly, though there was solidarity and thus affection to be found in the mare's deep breathing, the manner in which she allowed her elf-mistress the support of leaning over her back, arms hanging briefly over the other side of that round horse belly with the illusion of laziness before they came to rest upon the top of a rounded, travel-muscular rump. Tintalde laid her head to rest on them then, eyes half-masting with something approaching sleepy serenity now rather than the excited wariness of returning finally to home--

--that was just it, really. What was both unsettling her and comforting her, had brought her here to the little mare that had been faithful travel partner even better than Tinuvagor had been in the times he'd been with her. The idea of home. Home: a feeling, rather than a place.

And Tintalde wondered, when exactly, that Imladris had become so to her itchy-footed, woodland realm soul.

If it was indeed so.

Old habits were hard to shake, after all, and for Tintalde, the feeling of displacement was almost friend, enough so that it did not banish with a single song and the quiet of an evening in this haven.
« Last Edit: February 19, 2017, 11:38:50 AM by Tintaldé »


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #1 on: March 08, 2017, 05:27:38 AM »
If they were to be dealing in cliches that evening, Elrohir might have much to contribute, for he’d been living in near constant reflection on the idea of fondness nurtured by absence.  Never one to be discomforted by solitude, he felt it keenly at all those times when he was at some task in which she would have indulged his presence, even as it was little more than the sound of another living soul turning a page, or breathing in the silence as if such serenity might be stored for want of it later.  And it was through such quiet reflection that Elrohir came to realize he had missed her companionship, not merely her company.

Even when his own duties had taken him from the city, it had not been for so long, and hunting orcs had always proved to be useful distraction from thoughts of home, and even more from thoughts of those who waited there for his return.  This was why a part of him wondered now and again if she ever thought of him, or if her adventures had kept her far more entertained than his teasing ever had.  Was he even worth the effort of much thought when there were all the wonders of the whole wide world to compete with?

He looked almost not quite himself this evening, for he bore none of the wear of his more martial duties, nor did he bear the grass stained, half-disheveled evidence of the hours spent hidden away in the garden just that morning.  Rather he looked more the lordling he was, his father’s son right down to the autumn russets and golds of his robes, colors so often favored by Elrond.  He’d been expending all his best energy engaging in conversation with several travelers in the Hall of Fire, but looking forward to nothing more than slipping away into the quiet once the night had sufficiently worn on.

Yet it had been by some blessing that his appointed guests had begged his pardon, departing to find rest and solitude of their own and allowing Elrohir the luxury of slipping away before he could be once more corralled into some discussion of poetry or trapped by a host’s duty to listen to some newly composed melody.  He hadn’t the stamina for it this evening.  There was no fully silencing the nagging voice that told him he ought damn well learn, after all these years, to play along more, but it was easier to dismiss the notion than it had once been.

There was no tangible force that turned his steps towards the stableyard, and his eyes were on the darkening sky, noting the earliest of the stars had made their appearance, old familiar friends, easier to spot out here, away from the light of his father’s halls.  Faintly he could hear voices drifting down into the valley from those who still gathered in the Hall of Fire, the faint murmur of song on the wind.  He paused a moment, more than happy to listen from afar, but rather than wisps of song, he detected another voice, nearer, words little more than a soft murmur, but blessedly familiar all the same.  And enough of a clue to enlighten him to both her presence and her hiding place. 

He ought to have been able to think of something clever to say, or at least something resembling meaningful , or maybe poetic, but what came out was almost embarrassing in its simplicity.  “You’re back.”

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #2 on: March 13, 2017, 03:12:47 AM »
"Yes."

Not the most eloquent of responses (an eye for an eye, really), and yet Tintalde was curiously removed from the usual sense of discomfort that came with navigating the waters of interaction with others. She viewed it too, with an odd sense of...not quite detachment, but not quite (if closer to) the realms of warm curiousity, in much the same way as she viewed the fact that her ears had pricked to the sound of footsteps and registered them so easily as those of one of her life's oldest and most faithful of companions, despite the many years she had been absent from Rivendell (and by extension, the greater world of the Elves).

"I'm not coming inside. Just so you're aware."

Ah, there was more of the old Tintalde, though wry amusement dominated more now in great green eyes than veiled hostility at the thought of being forced into a situation, nay, a place with a larger group of people (even if they were fellow travellers) before she was ready and willing to do so. The warning was there though, half playful and half serious, in the lines of her body-- ready, poised and willing, should the need be presented, to leap upon the back of the steed she leaned so companionably against and risk being bucked off in an excess of indignation so long as it presented her with an escape from a situation she had no wish to be part of.

Elrohir did not seem inclined to force her into anything though at present, lest it be a staring contest. Though even that Tintalde could only hold against for so long, before her eyes naturally slid away from his to noble cheek bones, hawkish nose, mouth, and finally to robes the very spirit of Fall in spirit before they met the colours of true Autumn over the land and through the valley. A slight smile touched her lips again then, as odd as the one that had graced the valley moments before, when it had only been her and her horse.

"Unless, of course, you're only here because my stories have been missed in the Hall of Fire, and so you've come to glut on those like the obsessive scholar you pretend you aren't." At this jibe, Tintalde lifted her hand-- an offering to place it wherever Elrohir pleased; his elbow, his own hand, or simply as a symbolic acquiescence that he would be followed and she would grant him all of her company and attention. Never mind, of course, the willingness of the gesture in an elleth that by her very nature, did not like to be touched often.


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #3 on: April 13, 2017, 05:08:49 AM »
There came no attempt, not even for the sake of politeness, at hiding the broad smile that appeared at her greeting, so well suited to her that he might have predicted it given a moment to think it over.  And it came so easily, as if stepping into an old, comfortable pair of shoes, to give tit for tat.

“Well, I’m not going inside, either.”   He’d only just escaped and he was not at all keen to share her company with anyone else.  It had been far too long.  Where he might have, in years past, been more willing to politely step aside so that Tintalde might spend her focus where she wished, tonight he had already determined that he was not too well-behaved be selfish for once.  It was a gift he granted himself far too infrequently. 

In determining to be selfish, it seemed he had also forgotten about propriety, for he had made no attempt to hide the joy in his eyes, his gaze almost unblinking as if he were afraid that the simple split second of it might cause her to vanish.  As if he were not old enough to know better than to stare, as if he were not well trained in the skills of propriety and diplomacy that he could not bend his own eyes to his will.  Yet they drank her in eagerly, searching out what might have changed in her, if there were any such changes to be found.  It was only as her gaze slid away from his that he realized the intensity of it all and his own eyes fell away so that he might master them once more.

He might have managed it, too, had it not been for that jibe.  It brought home all those things he had not even realized he’d missed so very keenly.  How few knew him well enough to deal such a precise blow?  And how many of those who had the knowledge might have never dared it?  It was as clear a demonstration as one might ask of the depth of his affection for her.

 “Well, if you knew me so well as you pretend, you would see I am fleeing the Hall of Fire, myself,” he returned a jibe of his own.  “And now I find myself in the enviable position of having your stories all to myself.”  He offered his own arm so that she might take his elbow, and should she accept that offer, she would find Elrohir’s other hand coming to rest gently atop hers. 

“Besides, your stories are only a small part of what has been missing,” he added, all full of sincerity and earnest affection.

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #4 on: April 25, 2017, 11:31:08 AM »
"Smart little lordling, aren't you."

That was said with the slightest of grins, though the spareness of it was only in the lack of real movement about her mouth. Tintalde's eyes glinted with the hue of sunlight breaking upon the leaves of a forest canopy on a clear day, and were about as successful at keeping the nibble (if not the actual bite) of tart good humour at bay as the canopy was itself at keeping the leaves underneath from reaching for the warmth of the sun in the sky.

There was, though, the smallest twitch of relief in her face. She truly did not, all joking aside, fancy the presence of strangers when she had spent much of her time among the very same these years past, challenging herself daily out of a reticence that was as much bred into her as it had been cultivated by the experiences of several life times. Not even strangers who, no doubt, shared the strange bond fellow travellers enjoyed with one another. Let Elrohir manipulate her attentions as he pleased -- his selfish desire, self-professed as it was, to have her stories to himself the moment kept her in comfort and fam--

--iliarity.

Tintalde didn't quite stiffen at the honesty of the remark that followed, though the pause in features that were mobile until that moment was as telling a physical response to the way in which her thoughts had screeched to a halt, paused a moment longer, and then gone...curiously blank. Curiously, traitorously blank

"Uh...huh."

She had enough foresight to at least keep herself from gawping at him like a Dwarf deprived of his ale, though there was no stifling the colour that stole over her cheeks, the hue a curious shade of palest violet amid the fae glow that was elven skin in the evening hours, slowly come upon the physical miens of their kind even as the sun slowly faded with the day. Whether it was at his words though or her own response entirely devoid of eloquence was hard to say, and Tintalde wasn't likely to provide a shred of clarity on the matter. In the end, it would be up to her companion to decide the exact moment she had succumbed to blushes, and then make what he wished of it from there.

Tintalde herself eventually recovered some of her equilibrium, enough at least to nudge Elrohir playfully with her elbow, though the roughness of the gesture was rendered impotent by the fact that he was still, in fact, close enough to slip an arm comfortably through the crook of his, and then some. If nothing else, the gesture was rendered completely without rancour and roughness-- more like something born from rough tenderness, really, for the small, blunt-fingered hand underneath his own still curled some into the folds of Elrohir's autumnal hued sleeves.

"You say that now, but you won't thank me for the stories I spread with quite the most cheerful malice about yourself and Elladan," she murmured sedately, though her nose crinkled some against another grin that threatened.

"But go on, get off your tongue what I can practically see dripping from it already-- what, or rather where, would you like to hear of first?"


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #5 on: June 03, 2017, 07:27:27 PM »
It may not have been his precise goal to see the color rush to her cheeks, but it was not wholly unanticipated, nor would it be fair to say it did not please him, at least to some small degree.  In part, it was because it marked a victory of sorts, to be able to leave her momentarily unable to assail him with some clever remark (though she regained that skill quickly enough), but moreso because it was evidence that his sincerity had not been misplaced.  That she had not verbally brushed aside such a declaration was a sign, at least in Elrohir’s thoughts, that his somewhat awkward expression of affection might have been returned in kind. 
 
With Tintalde’s arm now tucked in the curve of his own, he led her forward.  There was no particular direction in mind, only that the path led yet further from the warm lighted windows of his father’s house.  Had his father even noticed yet that he’d slipped away?  Was he missed already in the Hall of Fire?  Such concerns, if they could even fairly be called concerns, flickered for only a moment at the edge of his thoughts, not nearly enough to alter the course of his footfalls. 
 
“No worse, I am sure, than the tales my dear sister has spread about us through the Golden Wood.”  Even such an accusation as that was made with no shortage of brotherly affection, for was it not Arwen’s duty to prevent Elrohir from becoming too full of himself?  And his adoration for his sister made his forgiveness far too easily earned in that matter.  “It has never ceased to amaze me that you came out of Lothlorien thinking anything other than that we were insufferable braggarts, my brother and me.”
 
But such tales were the indulgences granted to those in the world whom we love best. 
 
That silent concession somehow set his heart to pounding, for he knew quite well of all the things he’d spent long hours plotting and planning to tell Tintalde upon her return. Yet here, in the moment, he hesitated, for despite all the clever examination he’d given his own feelings, he’d never quite gone past the fear of speaking out of turn.  He’d fully overthought all of it, and here he was suffering the consequences of it all.
 
Fingers tightened around hers for an instant, the first step down the lengthy trail of working up the nerve to say all of those things he’d overthought.  But instead of that, he pushed ahead with what was admittedly the second most pressing thing on this mind, for behind all of that over-planning, he did want very much to hear everything she had to tell about her travels.
 
“Tell me,“ he paused in momentary thought.  “Tell me of the most beautiful thing you saw while you were away.”

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #6 on: June 09, 2017, 03:39:40 AM »
"Oh please." Tintalde snorted. "Lorien is hardly the rest of the world, and your sister, sharp though she is, is far sweeter than I shall ever be. She'll never embellish slander as I would, if she speaks it of you at all."

Not that this was about Arwen, mind. None of it was, really, even as the evening star itself came to her slow, inexorable wakefulness in the darkening sky. And Tintalde was surprised, really, to not feel the shred of frustrating, inexplicable guilt (frustrating because it wouldn't be explained usually, least of all by her) at the turning of attention on herself and away from others, least of all beloved relatives of which she had none herself, yet had never found it in her own heart to begrudge the sons of Elrond for at the least.

(Well, perhaps not quite true, and she thought of Tinuvagor briefly with that kind of exasperated, fond gratitude that she imagined came with loving another as one did their blood.)

Tintalde could not, however, find that sliver of guilt for her selfishness. Varda forgive her if that was a sin, but she truly could not. It was a contrary manner of thinking, but like the cat who flicked his tail at company and then sought it hungrily in equal measure, Tintalde was as coloured with 'contrary' as could possibly be -- too drunk, it seemed, on the weary sense of accomplishment travel brought a soul, to observe it for what it was. And nor did her companion seem inclined to discourage such notions, for though the mention of his sister had been his own, it had passed by swiftly, and attention was turned upon her in the form of what was easiest read as intent curiousity in his dark gaze.

"The most beautiful thing I saw..." Hm." The finger that touched her bottom lip seemed an exaggeration of thoughtfulness, but on her, it was entirely the usual (and of course, entirely unconscious in its affectation, for she'd gone so many centuries now attempting to compensate for the lack of physical response from her that had unsettled its fair share). It meant, at the least, that she was taking the question seriously, oddly intimate though it was indeed. Tintalde appeared to have not noticed, though, for when she finally found the answer she considered most appropriate (and least likely, she rather thought, to elicit dissatisfaction or interpret itself as too grandiose or cliche), the elleth's voice was mellow.

"There was a breaking of stars one eve', when we camped with Carahdras in our sights. Seemed to shower the mountains, they did." Tintalde smiled, slight and a little sad-- for his sake, not her own, for she remembered with some small regret even as she put forth the memory that Celebrian had passed through the Redhorn Pass in the mere hours before her kidnap.

"It frightened the Dwarves camped nearby, but...I confess I couldn't quite find it in myself to read omens from such a display. Superstitious fools believed they saw orange among it, but we both know full well they breath so loud they were probably blinded by their own fog. It was ought but silver and gold and...raw. Silver, gold and raw. It's a harsh word, but it feels apt, Elrohir. There was nothing affected, nothing cultivated about it, save where the stars chose to burst."


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #7 on: July 04, 2017, 08:37:36 PM »
“Were I so blessed in eloquence as you are, I would never stop speaking.”  His words were almost wistful, if he were the type to show such an emotion.  He hadn’t even intended to voice that observation, but her words had stirred something in him that was only ever stirred by song and verse and the other writings which he adored but could never manage to duplicate.  And though she was wise to realize that there was animosity in his heart for Caradhras, it was not a thing especially rare to find beauty even where it was unlooked for. 
 
“That old malcontent has never seen fit to put on his best for me,” he chuckled, though it was just as likely that he had long ago lost the ability to see the world as she did.  He crossed that pass often, recently, in fact, and it had only ever seemed bitter and cold.  “I wish I had seen it with you.” 
 
Whatever his misgivings about his own eloquence, it was not that which kept him from steering his words where he mosted wanted to direct them.  It was only one thing to come to peace with his own feelings, to understand at last what he wanted to say, but it was another thing to say it.  To risk causing her discomfort, or worse, to risk rejection.
 
But then… better to know now than to continue to exist in a perpetual state of limbo.
 
“The stars here must seem quite dull by comparison,” he began, seeking in some roundabout way to avoid simply blurting out the entirety of it.   And even as he spoke, the evening began to deepen and more stars appeared above, though from where they walked the horizon lay hidden behind the trees, hiding away the last pale remnants of the day where they faded away beyond the mountains.  It was on a whim that Elrohir altered the direction of his steps, leading them upwards into the higher places within the valley, where they might stand more freely beneath that vast tapestry stretched out above them.
 
“Even so, I do hope you will choose to remain here for a while, or do you find yourself eager to set out again into the world?  There must be so much else you still wish to see.  Would it be enough to keep you here if I were to say I missed you greatly while you were away?”  And lest things become too serious too quickly, he embellished, over-exaggerating out of fear that too much sincerity would ruin the moment.  “Or would you leave me again to waste away with hardly a soul in the world to care?”

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #8 on: July 08, 2017, 02:51:12 PM »
"Well if I've taken to poetic eloquence in my absence, you've taken to dallying about with your words."

It was said tartly, and far more so than she'd originally intended. The regret that flashed in her eyes spoke as much for the diminutive elleth, though it was replaced by annoyance reasserting itself once more. To be fair to Elrohir, he wasn't entirely beating around the bush, but so too was it never more evident than when among those she was most comfortable with Tintalde's learned intolerance for 'would' and 'maybe' and hypothetical rhetoric.

And maybe, just maybe (damn 'maybe' to the darkest parts of Mandos's Halls), it was because part of her was fearful. Fearful of the place such rhetoric came from, and the uncertainty that littered that path even as another part of her had already resigned herself to it, far longer ago than Elrohir himself might ever dare to consider. And perhaps even if he did consider it, it would be hard to believe, for Tintalde's very being some days seemed to be made up of resignation. Of settling. Of not being good enough, and only being good enough to drive for the very one thing that had ever been constant for her: her craft.

Everything else, everyone else, had proved to be inconsistent or ephemeral, or impossible for her to wrap her mind around.

Perhaps that was the problem behind her newfound tartness, too.

What a mess.

Tintalde sighed, and though she'd released herself from his arm to place her hands on her hips when she'd uttered her brusque not-quite-challenge, a visible effort was made to soften her miens where very few others, if any at all who still lived, would have been given only stubbornness and short shrift.

"Why would you say that, though, Elrohir? That hardly a soul in the world would care?" Her voice quietened considerably as she spoke now, full lips thinning some even as the expression down to her gaze turned almost black in the dusk gloom practiced impassiveness.

"You shouldn't joke about it." Certainly not to me, of all people. "Of course others would care. You still have many -- living, and here on Middle Earth -- who would be devastated to lose you." Not like me. They've all left me. The one I've found I had to find myself, and even then, I managed to find him barely tolerated by others.

"...and yes, of course I would be one of those." Tintalde took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and it seemed even as it was a relief of tension that it carried with it far more semi-consciously than she herself knew. Or likely, she did know, and had simply grown accustomed to it. "You've made yourself a constant, one of the very few I can name as such. For however long you choose to be so. I'm...happier for it than I've been...well, for most of my life."


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #9 on: August 07, 2017, 12:55:49 AM »
She disengaged from his arm and he grew still, unsure of how to move forward, but knowing that the longer he dallied, the longer he risked botching the whole thing all together!  He knew the words, knew exactly what he wanted her to know, but he’d somehow suddenly become a coward.

“I would go on being a constant for as long as you would have me, and it comforts me to hear you say it, though I never had cause to doubt it.”  His doubts of late had been irrational, a thing he knew very well, but knowing had not stopped his head from concocting any number of impossible scenarios in which she would turn away from him, in which he would ruin what they had by seeking to make it something more.  And yet his heart knew the truth of it.  Had known it for far longer than his head.  “And I do hope you will forgive my poorly chosen words. I’ve indulged far too much of late in those melancholy tales of old they so often sing in the Hall of Fire.” 

“I…” he hesitated once more, but only for the span of a heartbeat.  “I have come to a decision while you were away.” 

“Being parted from you brought me to the realization that,” turbulent eyes sought hers and locked there, and even as it emboldened him further, it also roused his heart, and the pounding seemed to echo in his ears as if at any moment it might beat its way free from his chest.  “That the last thing I want in this world is to be parted from you again.  And I do not mean that so simply as it may sound.”

The pounding of his heart grew louder, thundering so heavily that he was sure she must have been able to hear it herself, and it struck him as something of an absurdity that his own body conspired to distract him now that he had finally overcome the obstacles in his mind.  “I suppose I’ll have to beg forgiveness for years to come for the mess I’m making of this,” he observed with a light chuckle, finally deviating from whatever carefully planned words he’d been turning over and over for so long..  And that, it seemed, freed him from whatever nonsense he’d imagined a moment like this was supposed to sound like. 

The histories he’d spent his life studying had never done him the favor of detailing moments like this, after all.

“I missed you terribly while you were gone, and I know I’ve said that already, but hear me out.”  He bit back another huff of nervous laughter, fully committed, it seemed, to making a damned fool of himself.  “And I felt in my heart that, were you ever to truly be gone from me, it would feel as if a vital part of myself had gone with you.  And I thought that must be what my father feels every day, and I realized that if you were to ever choose to sail, I would not be able to follow you as I am now.” 

Pausing a moment to breath, he drew a step nearer, reaching out for her hand so that he could clasp it in his own.  “Please, Tintalde, allow me to pledge myself to you and I will count myself among the Eldar and never again will I leave your side.”

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #10 on: August 20, 2017, 06:32:40 AM »
There wasn't a doubt in the world that she'd remember it later (and he'd pay dearly for it), this stuttering, shifty-eyed miens that was before her. For Elrohir had always been calm to most and actually meant it, whereas she had been the one guilty of attempted calm when instead she was so anxious and wound up underneath that she could only cope with her mind's over thinking ways by shutting off to social stimuli.

For once, though, Tintalde was completely bereft of words, tart or no. Her mouth had opened, but no sound had escaped and so she had closed it. When it had opened again-- though lips parted was perhaps a far kinder way (to the ego at least) to consider it over say, gawping like a fish on a hook-- it was only to swallow hard, looking away almost instinctively for her at the metaphorical onslaught that was not only his words in that moment, but the haunted, tormented look that crossed Elrohir's gaze as he spoke of...well, all of it.

Fear was a familiar and justifiable response. Tintalde had indeed seen the look that passed over him before, and not only through Elrond; she'd seen it in full-fledged, exquisite detail the moment her father had passed on, knew the entirety of what Elrohir intimated even as it was practically a shadow in comparison to what she understood in sudden, overwhelming clarity had felled her mother, felled others...felled even the King of the woodlands that were her birth place, even as he still walked and spoke and ate. But they were all mechanical actions, forced upon the being by the needs of the body; they didn't really count as living.

It was only a shadow. But it was a shadow of what could be, a terrifying thing no matter how well-adjusted an elf was (and she certainly wasn't)...and Elrohir was speaking as if she was the only thing in the world that would keep it at bay. Looking at her, when she finally won against natural inclination to look up at him-- not as if she was the sun (that was too cliche for anybody sensible to handle), but...well, in the same way he had spoken. It was a novel thing to her -- no matter how many years she had played the role of healer, nobody had ever quite looked at her in such a way.

With everything about their very existence between you and them.

She didn't know what to call it, really, because even that didn't fit. She had chided him for his dallying about even as he'd teased her for her unusual eloquence, but he'd had the right to it somewhat. Tintalde was not poetic, and never would be.

Which he didn't seem to mind.

He never seemed to mind.

It was an interesting...state of being, one might call it, when it finally came over her. Not sudden, for Tintalde realised even as she suffered under the illogical nature of it that it had been there, slowly creeping up for who knew how long...waiting only for her, in her conscious state, to withdraw teeth and claws and every barricade between those and allow it through.

She still didn't have words to call it, only that it wasn't what one would call a state of calm. It was too close to shock for that, though it certainly wasn't that either. But it was still, odd and yet not unfriendly. It was what allowed her to accept fully that for once, her inability to articulate prettily was not a burden or a flaw. And so though she gulped a little again in the half second before she moved, Tintalde let it be and chose only to act instead, the small distance between her and this son of Elrond closed when she stood on her toes and kissed him.

 It was definitely more than a tad awkward on her part, and she knew she'd probably accidentally caught his lip when she'd done it. She certainly had no idea what to really do with the rest of her body (that wouldn't seem even more awkward), only that her fingers wished to touch and so used cheerfully the balance placing themselves on his shoulders granted her.

It wasn't graceful, or magical, or smooth. There was no music to be played or choruses to be sung. In fact, the only sounds, really, were the snort of her horse in the background and the staccato of the waterfalls. But it was somehow the most right in her skin that Tintalde had ever felt.
« Last Edit: August 20, 2017, 06:35:01 AM by Tintaldé »


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #11 on: September 02, 2017, 06:42:42 PM »
Perhaps the first shock of it all was that he hadn’t botched it completely.  That despite his stammering and poorly chosen words, she had understood him, and more even than that, she had indeed felt the same, no matter how clumsy the admission had been on his part.  In that first instant where she drew nearer, grasped his shoulders, and kissed him, he hadn’t been sure what to do in return.   Obviously he knew to kiss her back, but true to form, Elrohir had also hesitated at what to do with the rest of himself, seemingly intent on overthinking every last piece of it all. Luckily for them both, he managed somehow to shut off his damnable brain long enough to trust in pure instinct.  His brain had gotten him in enough trouble already!

Eagerly he wrapped both arms around her waist, drawing her near, practically lifting her off her feet in his eagerness to do so.  It was an embrace made out of all of those emotions he’d held so tightly to himself, even before he'd truly known they were there, not just the relief of having his feelings returned, but also the pure, unfettered joy of finally allowing himself the demonstration of those feelings.  In all of his thousands of years of living, he could not think of a single moment to match it.

Though he might have, in that first instant of overwhelming joy, squeezed a bit too tight, he was able to regain enough sense to loosen his hold, keeping her close by not suffocatingly so, a task he found far more difficult than he had anticipated.  That impulse to hold her too tightly, to make up for all the years previous in which he’d dallied, wasting his chances, as if the fierceness of this embrace might compensate for all the years wasted… Keep your wits about you, he silently scolded himself, though he knew damned well there was little hope of that.

When he broke away from the kiss at last, he drew back only far enough to allow a gasp of breath, perhaps almost a nervous chuckle, a breath so utterly filled with relief that it managed to release entirely those last remnants of hesitation on his part.  Their faces still pressed close, he spoke in little more than a whisper.  “Are you going to tell me now what a mess I made of it?” There were hints of breathy laughter in that question, part admission of his own failing and part affection in knowing of the teasing to come.  “Or will you forgive me and perhaps let me try again?”

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #12 on: September 06, 2017, 11:35:47 AM »
Her mind had gone blank when he'd kissed back, which was certainly nothing even remotely like what was described in the love struck ballads they'd all grown up with at some point. Even her, one curious ear to what the elfling her had dubbed 'love stuff' with a kind of disgusted nonchalance before demanding more important things of her few friends...like ensuring they ate their greens, as an example.

Not that kissing her would allow even Elrohir to escape such things, and it was such an absurd thought to accompany...well, all of this really. This blankness that was nothing like what was described and yet was everything, because Tintalde couldn't remember a time when her precious mind had ever been blank, ever allowed itself to be so...had ever felt safe enough to do so, and let itself and the body it was encased in be handled so directly and so without...distress to mar the occasion.

Ultimately, all she could do-- of all those absurd things and absurd thoughts-- was laugh. Laugh, and fail at that, because the blankness that was somehow wonderful rather than distressing and unsettling wouldn't let her exert herself any further than it took to convey the minimal response she was capable of...and somehow, that was okay too. For once, it was okay, and when the huff of amusement subsided, the best and only right thing Tintalde could do that wasn't exerting herself was to let her forehead fall gently-- exactly against where the groove of Elrohir's collar bone lay and where with the same exactness, her temple would come to rest against the line of his jaw. Even if it did deprive him of what he wished to improve upon through trial and error once more.

"I'll spare you now and be sure to file it away for later, when I've use of it," she murmured, "Perhaps when I decide to grow cross at the excessive amount of sighing I've become prone to in your presence."


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #13 on: October 31, 2017, 04:40:18 AM »
No one ever talked about what happened after the moment, when the words had been said, the sentiments accepted and returned…  The ballads all stopped too soon, and despite all those years of his youth pouring over the stories and tales, Elrohir was painfully afraid of stepping beyond their scope.  Yet time did not stop simply because he was unprepared, and when they finally drew apart from the kiss and Tintalde settled herself against his shoulder, he released his own contented sigh, an unintentional reflection of her words to him. 

Had he really been so afraid of this?  As it turned out, it was far better to come to a choice than to agonize for eternity in fear of choosing wrongly.  As if there had ever been any real doubt in his heart that this was not the right choice. 

One hand lifted to rest gently in her hair as he turned to rest his head against hers, pressing a brief, gentle kiss into her hair.   “I will gladly take the blame for your sighs,” he answered, the words half whispered into her ear, if only because they were already so very close.  “And you may scold me as often as you like, and I will still say I am blessed for it.”  It was his turn to laugh, though it was little more than the subtle shake of his shoulders, but still enough to jostle her somewhat.  He was not a bit sorry for it, either.

Even as he laughed in delight, his thoughts turned all too quickly to the future, despite having no idea of what the future may hold.  Certainly there were plans to make, but that could wait for a time until they were ready to delve into the odds and ends.  But there were more immediate plans to make, and the thought of them caused a bit of nervous churning deep within his gut.  “I suppose I’ll have to tell father in the morning,” he mused, unreasonably uncomfortable at the thought of it, not because he was uncomfortable with his father, but rather because he had some sense of the importance of this moment, and there were few things that set him on edge more than being at the center of something so very important to his father. 

Absently he found himself wishing yet again that his mother were still there.  And he found himself speaking aloud again, even before he had thought better of speaking of it.  “My mother would have loved you.  I am sorry you will have to wait to meet her.”

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