Depths Of Misery: Dust And Ashes
Summary: 'Tor can't deal and reflects on what should have been. Part One of the 'Depths Of Misery' Story Arc, to be followed (once that Arc is finished) by the 'Height Of Joy' Story Arc!
Disclaimer: I don't own any elves, but the evil plot bunny is mine.
Author (my pseudonym): Construct a.k.a Léoma Céne, and my email is on my bio page.
Authors Note: Feedback is adored and if you want to send it directly to my email please do, but put 'DAAFB' in the subject box or it'll get deleted… and constructive criticism is adored, but flames (when people just hack at my story because they don't like slash) will be ignored. Warning: Character death 'Tor', Suicide, Slash (briefly mentioned), darkfic. Don't read it if you're looking for a happy ending. It just grabbed me and held on until I wrote it… then I thought of the Arc and then the one after. Blah is emphasis, blah is thoughts/memories.
Dust And Ashes
He watched from the shadows – always the shadows – as his life was destroyed. Everything he lived for was being taken away in one single night. Unnoticed, tears began to roll down his face in a silent flood of anguish. Hopes that had been closely held, never shared, were broken. Crushed as though they had never been.
Straightening, he left his darkened corner – and the room – without a backward glance. Memories played across his mind, memories that threatened to break him as surely as seeing him.
As though the merest thought was a summons, Glorfindel stepped out of a side door, stopping directly in front of him. Erestor froze, tear-tracks streaking his pale face, hurt shining in his dark eyes. Glorfindel stared at him from his position in the corridor, silent pleading filling his face.
"You do understand, do you not, 'Tor? Please, say that you do – I love her!"
"You said that you loved me!" Erestor shot back, venom in his tone, his chocolate eyes flaring with anger. "Was that a lie? All along did you lie to me?"
"No! I do love you, 'Tor, but she is the other half of my soul…I – I would die without her."
The rage that had been building vanished as Erestor heard his former lovers words. "I will die without you," he murmured, the fire of his earlier words quenched, knowing it was futile.
"You will love again 'Tor. I know you will," Glorfindel stated. He turned as the door opened again, letting light flood out and the sounds of joy and music wash over them. The hated female figure stood there, and Erestor narrowed his eyes in hate. She beckoned, and Glorfindel turned back to Erestor. Nervously he finished, "I – I have to go."
"I, too, must leave. Goodbye, Glorfindel." The blond stared concernedly back at the suddenly composed Erestor as he walked away. Erestor waited until the love of his life was long out of sight, and the door closed, before fleeing through the darkened corridors to his rooms.
Leaning heavily against the door, he began to sob uncontrollably. His shattered heart ached more that he had thought possible and – as he glanced towards the bed in which he and Glorfindel had shared many nights of passion – fresh pain lanced through him. Erestor sank to the floor, robes pooling around him, hugging his knees. His thin shoulders shook as his sobs continued and it was sometime before he could ring himself to look up again.
This time, a flash of light from the bookcase caught his eye. Confused and sniffling – welcoming any chance to take his mind off his pain – he pulled himself upright and made his stumbling way towards it. When he reached it, new tears rose in his eyes. It was one of Glorfindel's daggers – the ones he had left in Erestor's rooms when he visited right after patrols. Erestor reached out a hesitant hand and grasped the plain, leather wrapped hilt.
The other hand slid along the freezing metal of the silvery blade, caressing this reminder of all he had lost, and all the dreams that had been ruined.
As he turned the dagger, the play of light on the blade fascinated him and he watched with enraptured eyes as Ithil's light reflected back at him. Slowly, hand trembling, he raised the knife blade to his lips, feeling the metal bitingly cold against his flushed features. Erestor's eyes closed against the rush of memories, and his tears dried up.
A place where nothing can hurt me…a world when I held love to my heart…a place of dreams re-forged and hopes re-built…
Without opening his eyes, Erestor lowered the blade again slowly, resting it lightly against the skin on his wrist. Though fine tremors shook his body, his hand remained steady, unshaking.
Opening his eyes, Erestor stared a moment longer at the poised blade, wavering; could he do this? Then, something he had been told long ago came back to him:
We are all just dust and ashes – so to ashes and dust I shall one day return…
This thought strengthening his resolve, he took a deep, calming breath and sliced deep into the meat of his arm. Pain shot up his arm to mingle with his emotional anguish and hot, crimson blood sprayed outwards. A gasp escaped him but nothing more as – with difficulty – he forced weakening fingers to take the bloody knife. One quick motion and now twin rivers of his life-blood flowed from each abused wrist.
The bloodstained dagger fell from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter to the floor. Legs too weak to hold him up gave way under his weight and he collapsed to lie face up in a growing pool of blood.
As the room – and his sight – darkened, Erestor drifted away from his broken shell and remembered happier times when he had been loved and cherished. Times he had naively thought would last forever.
"Glorfindel…" he sighed, and died with the name of the one he loved on his lips. And Erestor, dark beauty, exotic mystery, was gone; from dust and ashes he had begun, and to ashes and dust he would return.
Ithil's light faded away, leaving the blood soaked body in darkness as the world wept for the death of an Elf.
The End
(19th September 2004)
