Words
by moredread
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all of the characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This fanfic was written for entertainment purposes only, and I'm not being paid for it.
I came so terribly close to hating you, yesterday.
You came into the library, and I was reading, and you were so cheerful, so bright and full of life. I tried so hard to be like you, and to be cheerful in return, but I could not.
It made me angry, to be like that. It is only a miserable pretense for me to act happy when I am not, and to welcome you when I only want you to go away. I was frustrated by my efforts, by my false cheer, by you. I was frustrated by the way you are genuinely happy when you smile. I cannot smile as you do.
Yesterday, I wanted to hurt you. And I did.
I did not think you could be hurt, not by me. You should have shook off what I said, laughed, smiled, frustrated me even more. That is what you should have done. It would have served me right.
You did not laugh. You just... subsided. I felt as though I had seen a flower, resented it without reason, and then trampled it underfoot.
Why did you care? Why did my words matter to you? And why does it matter to me, that I have hurt you?
You wound your yellow hair around one finger, and tilted your head to the side, and looked at me. As I know your smiles are genuine, I know the expression in your eyes was genuine too. That was how you hurt me. Your expression told me that I had cut you to the quick, and that you forgave me, even if you did not understand why I had turned on you as I did.
I do not deserve your forgiveness. I never even deserved your friendship. You came to befriend me because you are drawn to the outsiders, the ones who stay away. You wanted to help me, and I drove you from me as viciously as I could.
I never cared, before, when my tongue wounded people. I am not a clever Elf when it comes to things that other Elves excel at, and sarcasm is my one weapon. I never thought it was something to be ashamed of. But people who kick puppies are not much revered.
It is silly to compare you to a puppy, really. You are so much more than that. I know that you have suffered so much, and yet you still embrace life, acting as though it will never hurt you again. I cannot understand that. I cannot understand why you allow yourself to be so vulnerable. Is it your vulnerability that allows you to enjoy life in a way I do not?
If I could, I would take back everything I said to you yesterday. But I cannot, because what I said to you yesterday, I meant with my whole heart.
I told you the truth, but it was a cruel truth, and cruelly spoken. It is the cruelty of it that I regret so much. I wish that I had told you gently, made you realize that none of this is your fault: it is all mine. It is my fault for being the Elf I am, an Elf who cannot trust the world to be kind.
Why must I hate and love you?
No, that is not true. It is less than love, and less than hate. It is a conflict within me, a conflict that concerns not only you and my unkind treatment of you, but the lightness and darkness of my heart.
The door opens, and you enter the library. I see a new wariness in your look as you approach me. I think that you want to treat me in the way you treat life. You want to pretend that I will never hurt you again. But I shall. We both know it.
"Lord Erestor?" you ask.
"Lord Glorfindel?"
A smile brightens your face. You are still cheerful. At least today you are not bouncing around the room. "I am sorry that I annoy you," you say.
'Annoy' is a word that hardly begins to describe it. 'Annoy' does not cover all the hours I have spent being frustrated, angry, and confused because of you. But it will do for a beginning.
"I am sorry that you think I am arrogant and foolish and irritating," you continue. "But might you overcome your feelings, and lend me a certain book?"
I look up at you. Your blue eyes are bright and penetrating. A request for a book has never contained so much meaning.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why do you care what becomes of me?"
"Why must you ask?"
"Because I do not understand you, Lord Glorfindel."
"But is it not wonderful to be the friend of someone you do not understand?" you ask. "I do not understand you, but I want to know you."
"I will be your friend," I say softly, "but only if..."
I pause. I had been going to say, 'but only if you let me hate you sometimes'. But I cannot make that a term of our friendship. That would be no friendship at all. Why must I always seek to make a beautiful thing ugly?
You are a moth of flame, and I am a candle of empty night. Something in my strangeness draws you closer, does it not? My darkness would destroy you. I see the future as if in a vision: I see my hate twisting you into something new and terrible.
I sit at my desk and look at you silently, words turning to ashes in my mouth.
"Do not be afraid," you say. I look at you, and I realize that you understand so much more than I thought you did. "There is hope for you," you say. "There is light in you. So much more light than you think. I want to help you become bright again."
Perhaps what you tell me is true. Perhaps there is hope for me, and perhaps I can be the Elf I was before. All I know is that I need you.
I came so terribly close to hating you, yesterday.
Today, it seems possible that I may love you, that I might be your friend.