Who Goes There?
Artwork by Leanan. See more at Leanan's Page.
Glorfindel lifted his candle higher and stared with a mixture of shock and anger. And maybe regret. Regret for what might have been or could have been. But not now. Never again would the opportunity be his. It had passed him, the way the hint of a summer breeze caresses a cheek and is gone before one truly feels it.
He swallowed, knowing he should turn away. He could not. His feet were like lead, weighted to the floor with the lost opportunity. Had he but realized…
Elrond, Elrond. Why did you never tell me? His mind wailed even as tears splashed over his shaking hand. He shook his head to clear it. The image stayed with him. The candle’s flame cast flickering shadows over the rough stone wall and threw his grief stained face into sharp relief.
The small corner room, long disused and mostly forgotten, was a shrine that frightened Glorfindel beyond measure for it spoke of a love and devotion that went beyond comprehension. Surrounding Elrond were paintings, hundreds, it seemed, of Elros, the lost twin of Elrond’s youth. Each painting showed a stage of Elros’s life from his earliest beginnings to last days of his life. They were hung and propped in every available space. And in the middle lay Elrond, curled on his side like a child, on the floor. His long lashes lay like soot stains against his cheeks. Glorfindel could just make out the faint tracks of his lord’s salty tears.
He’d never guessed how deeply devoted to Elros his lord was. It had never entered his mind that the Noldor was so lonely for love that he’d come to pay homage to dusty paintings. Once he may have longed for someone to reach out to him, to comfort him and even to love him. But somewhere along the way, the signs had been misread, misunderstood and instead of receiving the love he craved, he found only servitors. Never suitors.
And Glorfindel, for all his years of wisdom had never seen it, never known. He’d longed to be at Elrond’s side as a friend and a lover for so many years. He’d never dared, never dreamed. Had he but reached out…
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Glorfindel’s
free hand reached out, as if seeking to touch the sleeping lord. A moment
later and the hand retreated. No, it was beyond him now. What he once dreamed
was as distant now as the moon. Elrond was beyond the reach of elves; or least
the living elves.
~*~ End ~*~
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