Title: One Dark Night
Author: Edward Uwnhai Silverfang
Type: FP LotR
Characters: Glorfindel, surprise character
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, only the story line.
Warnings: Extreme emotional distress, and Cutiing.
Beta: LadyHawksShadow
Summary: Glorfindel watches as a close friend mourns in the night.
Author's Note: I'm joining this to a series of fic's all written listening to a song, this one was 'Lucky' by Britney Spears. This doesn't necessarily mean the story carries a similar essence to the song or some other such, it just means I was listening to it and it inspired me to write this story.
SSSSTTTTAAAARRRRTTTT
A dark shadow crept across the gardens, and through the trees, off into the blackness of the forest. A lighter one silently followed behind. Glorfindel had seen the other elf doing this every night for years, but this was the first time he had decided to follow to see what the other did.
The other elf was beautiful, he was tall and slender, but bellowing robes hid his strong, well-schooled form. He played the politician well, but he was first, and in heart would always be, a warrior. Glorfindel knew this, but had never seen the other practice with his blades, though they hung in his office, perched on a set of hooks in the wall behind his desk.
He watched as the swirling silk black hair followed the other like a pitch cape. He knew the other's face; memorized it so well that he saw it in his dreams, imagined what the other would look like in a passionate moment, or when asleep and vulnerable.
He thought of his friends pale complexion, his smoky eyes, and stony gaze. He also thought of a time when he had become enraptured with a conversation, how his eyes had lit up, and his cheeks had flushed with excitement. He imagined his body would flush becomingly like that when aroused.
He soon came across the other elf stripping off his robe, and his shirt, followed by his soft leather slippers. He wore only woolen breaches, which were tight around his body, accentuating his buttocks and thighs. His friend pulled his thick hair back and knotted it together at the nape of his neck.
He picked up a pair of knives and then knelt down in the middle of the clearing, closing his eyes, breathing deeply a few times before slowing his heart rate and resting. His muscles relaxed-- loose-- but also waiting, ready to be called upon.
Glorfindel froze, knowing that if he moved at all, or breathed to loudly, he would alert the other to his presence. So he watched, waited, and was nearly startled when his friend lunged up, one knife raking out to his left, the other arching back the opposite way. He was on his feet and lurching forward; the blades whirled around his body in a beautiful, but deadly dance.
He watched with bated breath as the other swayed and rocked to some unseen music, the blades swirling around him with a silver sharp sheen. With the moonlight shining down on his dark, smoky form, and the blades twisting about him, his body moving to its own music he resembled a savage nymph, or a mystical creature that seemed to be sinful for him to observe, as if he were unworthy of it.
But he couldn't help it, frozen in sheer shock of the allure the other presented to him. He continued to watch as the other fell to his knees, gasping for breath, collapsing on himself and choking out sobs of heartbreaking intensity.
He dropped the knives onto the earth in front of him and curled forward, his head on his knees and began rocking, his arms tight around his body, and his head pressed tightly to his thighs.
Glorfindel could hear him whispering 'why?' over and over again, like some kind of mantra, something that would answer itself if repeated enough. But Glorfindel got the feeling that it had been said thousands of times before and the answer was not forthcoming to the broken soul before him. He now felt horrible, knowing this was a sight he was not meant to see, but still, his feet refused to budge.
He watched as, after many minutes his long time companion sat up, and looked up at the sky. He could see the trails the tears had left in the dirt collected on his face from his foray a moment before. He still watched as that friend pulled up a knife and cut a thin line across his upper arm, where Glorfindel could see there was a magnitude of other thin white scars.
He gulped and tried to turn his head away at the sight, but his body was still not his own. Erestor set the knife down, then stood, walked over to his clothes where he dressed, then retrieved his weapons, which he sheathed, and finally left the clearing, wiping at his face with a billowing sleeve.
It was many hours before Glorfindel could move again, and he knew that this night would haunt him for millennia or more.
-End-