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Author Topic: you can't look back too many times  (Read 5823 times)


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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.


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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 »

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


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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #17 on: June 17, 2019, 08:18:37 AM »
“Dramatics?” he protested, though he was less offended than amused by the word. His expression displayed an effort at mock insult, an unwitting display of just those dramatics he’d been half denying only a moment ago.  Perhaps it was that he had never considered it to be an apt description of himself, who had always seemed so very boring compared to everyone else… even his brother.

And yes, even to Tintalde, who had always seemed to him to be so much more comfortable in her own skin than he had ever been.  He was not certain she would agree with such an assessment, but Tintalde had always been so fully and unwaveringly her while Elrohir still struggled day by day to fully reconcile his heart with his head and…

By the Valar, he was being dramatic, wasn’t he?  The sudden realization in his face might have been almost comical had he not forced it away so very quickly.

Instead, he turned his thought back to her words, his own fingertips rising to mirror the touches she so gently bestowed upon him, fingertips daring to pass barely the whisper of a caress along the tip of an ear, the line of her jaw.

He found it soothed him, to indulge so freely in even this simple exploration, to offer the simple affection of a caress rather than only what formality and propriety would have allowed him before.  There was peace in such honesty of expression, a vast contrast to the tumult of unacknowledged longing that had plagued him for so long.

“Forgive me, my love.”   My love?  He’d said it without meaning to, and yet it drew from him the faintest hint of laughter, hardly more than a breath, and yet so full of emotion he had only barely begun to comprehend. Amusement at himself for being suddenly so bold, and relief that he had managed the words without worrying over them until he’d made them impossible to speak aloud.

“I do not mean to speak so ambiguously.”  What had previously been only the hint of humor blossomed fully into something of a cheeky grin.  “But I fear that must be another curse upon my house.”

“No, I do not think he would mock me,” he answered, his tone turning momentarily sollumn, though the sparkle of humor had not fully fled from his eyes.  “And it brings me joy that my father already knows and loves you well.” 

“It is only that, at times, it can be a bit trying to have a father who is never wrong.”  He smiled faintly, feeling a bit odd about making such an admission.  “At least, never wrong about anything important.  And I think he already knew long ago that I would make the same choice as he did.”


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Re: you can't look back too many times
« Reply #18 on: November 09, 2019, 02:15:40 AM »
It was impossible for her mind to not attempt to analyse every stray, contradictory interaction-- both with herself and others, and with others and their interaction with others. Thankfully, she was no mind-reader, or there might have been far more to chew on, or more likely, argue over than what Elrohir simply presented in his words and miens. He thought her comfortable in her own skin, but in Tintalde's mind, it was simply sheer stubbornness at times that made it as such. It was almost defensive, in the same way her attempt to analyse everything into a neat, if sometimes still bewildering, box was-- and in a way, sometimes, she feared that was more difficult to deal with than simply overthinking, or under-thinking, what was being said and what was being presented to her by someone before her.

In truth, she only did either of those things not so much because she didn't notice, but because she noticed too much. And so often, even with the most stoic and practised of elves, what was said and what was presented was either contradictory, or unnecessarily elusive. And with age, she'd rather begun to find herself growing less tolerant of allowing it to go on. Had only, really, developed a better understanding consciously of others and their whims (and grievances) because that ageing intolerance had sent her abroad, away from what was familiar and easy to hide among.

Though by that count, it made her rather limitless tolerance of one such as Tinuvagor, or the lordling now holding her comfortably, rather...well, contrary. But, well, there were worse things to worry over these days, and though such fears and contradictions and all other such bewildering, personal topics would no doubt arise again with this transition from friend to lover, the only thing of particular concern to Tintalde at present (beyond travel-worn clothing) was how blank her mind went at the rather hefty, if easily spoken, endearment and the silly manner in which her heart stuttered at words, and what she felt was an odd sense of guilt even as Elrohir talked his own anxieties down to manageable levels.

"Loves me, does he? That's comforting." She couldn't help the wry mouth twitch, wondering just how well Elrond would love her when it came time to talk of certain matters-- such as, for example, family matters. She was well aware-- how could she not be, in the years that had passed?-- that as far as relatives went, whom she'd adopted in place of absent blood kin...and whom she'd fight hard for, more so than ever now she was here, oddly content and buoyed despite the stir of being in love...might be questionably received. thing at a time. That was always the most prudent thing to do. And for now, the one thing she wanted to do was just...process. Process years of second-guessing, and then process how...well, easily it had come to fruition. 'And without a touch of tragedy in sight.'

She still wasn't a fan of the Valar, even years after that painful, baring discussion with Tinuvagor, but she'd thank them for this at least.

"You're in a bit of trouble then, lad." The fingers that had been touching his jaw so gently now moved to tweak Elrohir's nose. "Because I rarely think I'm wrong either. And I think that, just for now...let's just let it be. You wanted to hear my stories, and I've still yet to reacquaint myself with Imladris."
« Last Edit: November 09, 2019, 02:17:04 AM by Tintaldé »

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

Tags: elrohir t.a.2938 

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