Summary: Why is Lindir always just beyond Elladan's reach?
Categories: FPS > Lindir/Elladan, FPS, FPS > Elladan/Lindir Characters: Elladan, Lindir
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 678 Read: 980
Published: August 10, 2012 Updated: August 10, 2012
Written for the Lindir Group Halloween drabble challenge.
1. Chapter 1 by Laur Melyanna
Chapter 1 by Laur Melyanna
Elladan watched the sad eyed elf with such torment. So much agony was in the elf's green eyes, he felt it as well, Elladan knew it was reflected in his own. He was so beautiful, standing with his harp in hand, exposed before all eyes, and yet so hidden from the world.
Lindir was so beautiful; so, so beautiful. He was the most gracious definition of ivory, with delicate skin that reminded Elladan of fresh milk...and looked so soft to the touch. His hair was like recently fallen snow, with eyelashes almost as pale. He had no expression lines, nothing that indicated age besides the innocence his wide eyes seemed to lend him; an innocence that did not fit with the agony in those orbs.
He was pristine, like porcelain. Even Lindir's lips were too pale for the Peredhel's liking, and he wondered if perhaps, heated by the right kiss, they would suffuse with color like a rose in bloom. The only oddity among all that white was the green. The piercing green eyes saw through their souls, but built up a barrier against any who tried to see into his.
The minstrel was lonely. He had no friends, and although always graceful and polite with all who approached him, the only one he had ever been seen talking to more regularly was Glorfindel. And they were not friends...it was as if something drew them together, a common reason. They both had the look of one who lingered too long where they did not wish to be, but no comfort the Slayer offered seemed to ever be enough.
And it pained Elladan to watch the cold and empty existence his Lindir led. Like a piece of art that wandered out of the limits of its frame into the world, but forever carrying the emotion the artist painted in him. The dark haired elf had wondered if the elf kept himself for someone; he had to. No one so beautiful could resist flattery long enough without a reason.
He had wondered if the elf had a trauma, some sad or dark past. They had all seen him flinch away from any mention of touch or approximation, of the barest affection or a simply misguided brush of skin – hardly ever truly misguided. All that mystery only increased his curiosity, his desire.
As time passed, life surprised Elladan nicely. Yet he learned patience must be a virtue for those with too much time to them...he had waited for Lindir. He had tried incessantly to come close, to talk. And finally he had. Years and years and even longer decades of just sitting and watching the minstrel practice. A privilege given to few, or to be truthful, none other.
Later came the long afternoons together, singing and talking under the shadows of a tree, in the beautiful gardens of the valley. The best part of it all was knowing no one was closer to his Lindir than he was. But the worst was seeing the sadness grow as they grew more intimate.
Elladan had declared his love, and he had seen, Valar! He had seen it echoed, mirrored, in Lindir's eyes. But then why? Why?! Could he not be one single step closer? Hold his love...fulfill their destiny, their desire...That was what he tried – in all his distress – to find out now.
"Why do you do this, Lindir? Why is it always this way?! I love you...I know you love me. I just want to touch you...hold you."
"And I wish you could." The minstrel sighed. Elladan would never understand. None would ever understand, yet none would ever want to have him as he was able to be had...they would all want more. And this...was how it ended.
"Lindir, do not do this...do not make it difficult. Why...?" Elladan reached forth, unable to hold back a moment longer. Unable to respect Lindir's limits, he reached to the elf, into the elf....enveloped by his very core, gray eyes wide, he watched all the beauty of his life vanish before him, like a ghost.
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