Disclaimer: Tolkien created the Silmarillion
Pairings: Aegnor x Andreth
Characters: Aegnor, Andreth, Finrod
Warning: canon-compliant AU, mentions of war and violence (barely there), angst, old people love (sort of)
Song: We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together
Words: 1,079
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
older (adjective): distinguished from an object of the same kind by being of an earlier date; more advanced in age or years
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/older
It felt like the blink of an eye.
They had parted, their hands lingering just beyond the reach of the other, only thick empty space holding them apart. And how he had desired to kiss her, to take her up in his arms and twirl her around, to plead for her to stay with him forever. How he wished he could erase the sad little frown from her brow, the heartbroken lilt of her lips!
But it was not to be.
Logically, he had known this when he had first fallen for her in the reflection of the moon-glistening lake in the mountains. Even by elven standards she was enchanting, this daughter of the House of Bëor, but it was not her soft heart-shaped face and classical beauty which drew him, entrapped him helplessly in her innocent web of glory.
It was her eyes. Deep, dark eyes. Eyes filled with kindness, pure and good, untouched. This woman had seen the horrors of the world, of war and hatred, but she still had hope, still cared for those around her. She still had that special light, a brush stroke of the Flame Imperishable striped across her soul.
Like a divine creature from above, she fell into his world and took over at the foundations. Every soft touch to his face and hair, every tender, affectionate little smile on her soft lips of rose petals, every laugh rising like breathy bells, sweet and uplifting in the distance, they cemented his conclusion--that this woman was his One and only, the One he was meant to spend his eternity with, joined in bliss.
Except she was mortal.
Except he was not.
Except there was a war growing in the distance, hanging over their heads like a thunder storm waiting to break into screaming silence over the land.
He had turned away from her, away from her light, the light that fuelled his every breath and step. Aikanáro did not dare glance back, not for a moment, because he knew that he would not be able to take the next step with her eyes piercing through him, begging him, pleading with him to change his mind, to renounce his words, to take her as his bride, to allow them happiness in the darkness that fell upon the land like great stormy waves upon the broken shoreline. No power on earth could make him deny her a second time.
No, he dared not look back.
---
To Aikanáro, three decades was not much. His beautiful mortal woman would be over fifty, but fifty was little more than an infant to his people.
At fifty, a mortal's life was more than half over.
He had not meant for to see her again. The temptation to take her up in his arms, he knew, would be overwhelming in its intensity, damn the consequences. Though he loved her more than his own life or the lives of his kin, Aikanáro could not afford to let personal affairs seep into his life as a warrior. It was his job to fight for his people and nothing else.
But there she had been.
Her face was lined, no longer smooth and creamy. Crow's feet perched at the corners of her eyes, laugh lines drawn at the edges of her lips, still as soft as rose petals and just as lush and pink. Her hair, once the deepest of browns, long and thick, was now lined in gray, branching out from the roots to leave silver frosting her mane.
She was older, and she was beautiful. So beautiful she took his breath away.
The elf lord bit his lip and watched her walk, watched her talking to his elder brother, watched as they conversed with vibrant hand gestures and resounding voices, a wise woman and a wise elven prince as equals, as friends. From the shadows, he hid and observed, silent and still.
How he longed to go forth, to greet her, to kiss her until she could think of nothing but him.
How he missed her.
Before the temptation could consume him, Aikanáro fled. Andreth had not even seen him standing in the distance, half-hidden in the shade of failing day. And perhaps that was for the best.
---
When she finally did see him again, it had been another three decades. She was over eighty. Eighty!
To an elf, eighty was barely out of childhood. To a mortal, eighty was the evening of life, the first frost of autumn before winter's chill.
The laugh lines had deepened. Her body was frail and slightly hunched but still slender. When he looked upon her hands, they were strange, foreign things, veined and wrinkled. The mane of dark locks he had once wished to write poetry upon for hours was now white and softer than snow, laying about her shoulders in flurries.
And she was still beautiful. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Nauren," she greeted him in the softest of voices, changed but still as strong as it had been in her days of youth. Stronger, even, but wiser as well. "I have missed you greatly."
He gripped her hands, almost afraid to touch them for how delicate they appeared. But then they squeezed back against his hold, a firm grip of muscle and tendon, and he lifted her knuckles to his lips--damn propriety!--and pressed kisses against the craggy joints. Raggedly, he breathed of her scent and felt his world tilt.
Her power over his emotions had not dulled in the slightest. He loved her so much it hurt to breathe apart from her, away from her side. Now that he was with her, touching her...
"I missed you as well, meleth-nín," he whispered, eyes closing tightly.
A long moment passed, and they slid open, glancing upwards, and met her gaze. It had not changed. Deep darkness, sweet and rich like the earth, filled with honey and kindness and unnamable beauty. Though her body had grown older, her spirit was still young and sweet.
She was his One, and that would never change. His love for her had only grown stronger and richer with the years, like an ageless wine.
He did not thing he could turn from her a second time.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
Never again.
"I missed you, Andreth."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'll leave it up to you to decide what happens after this. For now, anyway. In any case, I still love this pairing. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for them to be so in love and yet be unable to stay with one another, to start a family with one another, just because of a war. It's tragic that such a law would even exist. After all, elves live for forever, or as close to forever as a living, breathing creature can get, but humans have fleeting lives. Over in the blink of an eye.
I was listening to Taylor Swift, actually. My sister introduced me to the song We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together today, and that's what I've been listening to. I'm not sure it has the right mood for the piece, but I'm not sure that matters either. I enjoyed it nevertheless.
Today's vocabulary is Sindarin! Isn't that bizarre?
Nauren: my fire
Meleth-nín: my love
Now, I am going to bed. I'm exhausted. It's been a very long day.
No comments:
Post a Comment