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Author Topic: you can't look back too many times  (Read 3612 times)

Elrohir

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #15 on: August 20, 2018, 05:47:51 AM »
Why?  It was an excellent question, mostly because even after thousands of years, Elrohir could not adequately explain those feelings regarding his father, unless it was to admit that the bulk of it very likely existed only in his own mind, an ancient jumble of self-constructed worries born of a youthful sense of rebellion he’d never fully outgrown. It was his hope, at the very least, that Tintalde’s affection for him might more easily help her to forgive his foolishness for still indulging in thoughts he should have outgrown centuries ago.

His expression softened, soothed by the affectionate patterns her fingers had begun to play out along his back.  There was something moderately sheepish in the way he smiled, an expression that clearly spoke to how well he knew that there was something a bit childish in the explanation he was about to give. Fingers that had been resting in her hair trailed away to place a faint brush of fingertips against her cheek, overwhelmed with the need to demonstrate such small signs of affection lest he burst from holding it back any longer.

“When I was young, I was something of a rebel, at least in my own quiet way.”  That sheepish grin returned, a faint hint of color in his cheeks at the admission. “There are so many expectations that come with being my father’s son that, for quite a while, I was determined that I should do the exact opposite of what he expected of me.” This had involved much shirking of duties in order to hide amongst the trees, vanishing for the length of the day with a book, rather than attending to those things that one might expect of a dutiful son. The smile he wore turned almost melancholy.  “I would have told you then that I wanted to prove that I could think for myself rather than adhering to all of the things father wanted me to be, but really, it was nothing more than simple bloody mindedness.”

Fingers traced a feather light path along her cheek, his thumb brushing once across her lips, before his hand came to settle at last upon her shoulder.  Leaning in until their foreheads met, he chuckled softly.  “I know it all sounds silly, but even though I know I’ve come to this choice on my own, and though it was a choice made entirely for you, telling him will feel like admitting to my father that he was right all along about me.”

He took in a deep breath and released it, sending with it, at least for the moment, all of those silly insecurities that only saw fit to surface at the most inopportune times, and in their passing, a teasing glimmer returned to his eyes.  “I suppose now you’ll find me less saccharine and more sour. I hope you’re not terribly disappointed.”  There was a brief attempt at holding back a grin, but one that he failed in mere moments. It burst forth not only full of humor, but also practically beaming with a joy that not even the admission of his childishness could dampen.

Without giving her the chance to admit her disappointment in him (teasing or otherwise), he drew her in nearer, stealing another kiss.

Tintaldé

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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #16 on: April 23, 2019, 04:47:12 PM »
There was any number of things she could, and might have, said in response to his confession (confessions?), but Tintalde held her tongue-- difficult though it was for her to do for at least some part of it, for Elrohir had the right of it when he'd called some of what he mused silly, and assumed from some experience or other with her that the elleth they'd begun calling Sehkhem-Miw-- and now his beloved too and my did the titles keep growing (she'd be overwhelmed swiftly if she thought on it too long)-- would find it as such.

But for that same reasoning and then some did she stay silent, with little more than an incline of her head as she opted to listen-- because it was the respectful thing to do, the sort of respect Tintalde herself wished to be shown (and so modelled so much of the foggy morass that was social interaction after), and the fact that it was for one she'd already respected even before she'd loved him only reinforcing the wisdom of allowing him to talk.

But then, well, he was kissing her again before she actually could form words, and though there was rather a need for comfort from the gesture, it was still with a little wrinkle in her brow that Tintalde found herself forgetting for a moment what she'd been thinking and intending to say aloud, and with such a...little gesture too. Not quite sure how to acknowledge that yet, and the heavens forbid it be anything more-- impassioned, as it had been before; she wasn't sure she'd be quite able to accept what that did to her mind in one night. In time, yes, in all the time in the world--

But...back to what they'd been discussing. Or confessing.

"I've never thought you saccharine, 'Ro. An occasional flair for dramatics, maybe, but I fear that's simply a curse upon your house." That was said with a hint of her more usual wry glint returning, the finger tapping Elrohir's nose blithely mocking even as it succumbed to what had only been allowed with a Healer's professional touch before the urge to touch first the stray strands of hair on his cheeks, before moving, if with some hesitancy borne from the instinct of a species who recognised the hair of another as a sensual, fascinating, alluring and even intimate thing, so that the tips of her fingers might wind lightly through the rook-black locks near but not quite upon one of his tapered ears.

"I still can't fathom ambiguity well-- try not to forgot that, even now-- but as the story of Elrond Peredhel is no secret to the world, I suppose you're referring to his knowing the place you would choose in this world. Yes?"

This time, the smile on Tintalde's face was...almost grim, knowing without being bitter and even sad a little without being guilty, a sort of newness to the aged quality to it that had not really been all there before she had taken her sabbatical through the lands of Middle Earth; that journey that had been a journey and a rite of passage in all ways, it seemed. In enough ways, she would hope on nights when she could not sleep, that she would be worth the reality that was loving a son of a bloodline that was as much myth and legend as it was real and truthful.

"I think you're right; it is rebellion on your part...maybe more, but not with Elrond. For unless your father is a different Lord to the one I've called pengolodh-nya* these last seven centuries, I do not feel he would mock you for a choice such as this."

Tintalde cocked her head, considering a moment before admitting more quietly, an echo of an old pain in her voice that would never quite leave, "Mine certainly would not have, and I do not think there would be much difference between a great lord and a common soldier-turned-forest-warden, not in this. We're not a fickle race where Love is found, and those who ever were were punished by the Valar."

--

pengolodh-nya* - "my teacher", as in a teacher of a craft or lore, a master.
sehkhem-miw* - "the keen-eyed cat".
« Last Edit: April 23, 2019, 04:49:48 PM by Tintaldé »


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