For samtyr: disquietude (legolas, glorfindel, pg)
disquietude
written by: *kalypso (koulagirl666 / raise_the_knife)
for: samtyr
characters: Legolas, Glorfindel (gen)
rating: PG
summary: Legolas grows restless after the Council of Elrond.
notes: thank you to empy and caras_galadhon for letting me play, and to J for the beta. Happy holidays!
Legolas grows ever more uneasy with each day that passes. He is not familiar enough with the land around Imladris to ride out and scout, like so many others, but he is unused to being idle; it is unsettling also to be aboveground without the protection of the trees. A month is little but a blink in the course of eternity, yet it seems that time itself has slowed for those who remain and wait for news.
He practices his art until the noon-bell each day; he is careful not to split his arrows, but his targets show signs of even wear. After luncheon he grooms and exercises the horse he rode here, not his own, but one of his father's fleetest stallions. He came alone, riding night and day; he doesn't long for companionship, but familiarity, something tangible from home. The songs in the Hall of Fire don't resonate in his heart, and thoughts of what he would be doing if the creature had not escaped are difficult to cast aside.
He's distracted when Glorfindel sits beside him, and stays quiet; he follows, though, when Glorfindel leaves, for even in silence he can feel the unrest ebb from his fëa. The wind is cool and blows to the south, only enough to nudge leaves to a faint rustle.
It's in privacy that Glorfindel asks him to go with the Ringbearer. There is a reason, and another, but Legolas doesn't hear them before he says he will go; though he thinks of what his father will say and how long it may be until he sees the shadows of the Mirkwood once more, home holds only another kind of restlessness, and none would be fool enough to slight Elrond's wisdom.
Glorfindel laughs at his eagerness, not unkindly. It reminds Legolas of something that he has realised, only just; the names he knows from legend, who live here, have their own doubts. They are as real as the leaves on the packed earth and the stars that cast light onto his face no matter from where he looks at them, and they speak like he is an equal to them.
There's a strange fire in his heart now; unlooked for it has woken, as if Glorfindel has given him strength through some touch or gesture that was missed. The stone bench feels more textured and the air a little more crisp; he can tell colours even in shadow. It's not unfamiliar; it's the way he feels when he sees the first strands of a spider's web, or hears the telltale scrape of iron on wood.
"It would be an honour," he hears himself saying; Glorfindel has offered to train with him. He breathes in and relaxes his mind, drawing in his newfound awareness. He will not sharpen his white knife in the morning, and the targets will have some rest. He wants to know Glorfindel more, beyond what he can learn and his blade can draw; he wonders why Glorfindel smiles only slightly when he suggests to rest until dawn.
Elrond appears, then, near-silent. The songs begin to wane, and the sky is at its darkest. Glorfindel nods, and Legolas stands; he walks under the shelter of the Last Homely House and falls asleep to the sound of rain.
written by: *kalypso (koulagirl666 / raise_the_knife)
for: samtyr
characters: Legolas, Glorfindel (gen)
rating: PG
summary: Legolas grows restless after the Council of Elrond.
notes: thank you to empy and caras_galadhon for letting me play, and to J for the beta. Happy holidays!
Legolas grows ever more uneasy with each day that passes. He is not familiar enough with the land around Imladris to ride out and scout, like so many others, but he is unused to being idle; it is unsettling also to be aboveground without the protection of the trees. A month is little but a blink in the course of eternity, yet it seems that time itself has slowed for those who remain and wait for news.
He practices his art until the noon-bell each day; he is careful not to split his arrows, but his targets show signs of even wear. After luncheon he grooms and exercises the horse he rode here, not his own, but one of his father's fleetest stallions. He came alone, riding night and day; he doesn't long for companionship, but familiarity, something tangible from home. The songs in the Hall of Fire don't resonate in his heart, and thoughts of what he would be doing if the creature had not escaped are difficult to cast aside.
He's distracted when Glorfindel sits beside him, and stays quiet; he follows, though, when Glorfindel leaves, for even in silence he can feel the unrest ebb from his fëa. The wind is cool and blows to the south, only enough to nudge leaves to a faint rustle.
It's in privacy that Glorfindel asks him to go with the Ringbearer. There is a reason, and another, but Legolas doesn't hear them before he says he will go; though he thinks of what his father will say and how long it may be until he sees the shadows of the Mirkwood once more, home holds only another kind of restlessness, and none would be fool enough to slight Elrond's wisdom.
Glorfindel laughs at his eagerness, not unkindly. It reminds Legolas of something that he has realised, only just; the names he knows from legend, who live here, have their own doubts. They are as real as the leaves on the packed earth and the stars that cast light onto his face no matter from where he looks at them, and they speak like he is an equal to them.
There's a strange fire in his heart now; unlooked for it has woken, as if Glorfindel has given him strength through some touch or gesture that was missed. The stone bench feels more textured and the air a little more crisp; he can tell colours even in shadow. It's not unfamiliar; it's the way he feels when he sees the first strands of a spider's web, or hears the telltale scrape of iron on wood.
"It would be an honour," he hears himself saying; Glorfindel has offered to train with him. He breathes in and relaxes his mind, drawing in his newfound awareness. He will not sharpen his white knife in the morning, and the targets will have some rest. He wants to know Glorfindel more, beyond what he can learn and his blade can draw; he wonders why Glorfindel smiles only slightly when he suggests to rest until dawn.
Elrond appears, then, near-silent. The songs begin to wane, and the sky is at its darkest. Glorfindel nods, and Legolas stands; he walks under the shelter of the Last Homely House and falls asleep to the sound of rain.