On Winter Nights (January 3009) {Mithiel}
Jun 18, 2018 12:11:17 GMT -5
Post by RUIVO on Jun 18, 2018 12:11:17 GMT -5
A clattering about as Mithiel searched for her scissors, uttering about misplacing them; it seemed that her grace had left her, and Ruivo could sense her upset at the slam of the drawer. Tired of his apologies. He knew she was, but would she be tired of his silence if he said nothing? Would she think he did not acknowledge his wrongs if he did not speak on them?
“Do. Not. Ever. Tell me where my loyalty should be placed or not placed. We are not vellyn any longer, you decided that for us without me. You do not have the right to say where my loyalty should be on such things. My loyalty is to you because I wish we still were vellyn! Because my heart beats half alive without you!”
Ruivo could not look. His eyes were closed, looking down and away from her as her voice raised in pitch; in sharpness, driven in her anger. He knew well the sound of her upset; though Ruivo never wished to push her so far, he was never sure when such a thing would occur. He had been speaking the truth. He did not hide the truth. He had never hidden the truth, that he felt unworthy of her attention. Of loyalty, for he had not been loyal himself. He felt himself slumping further as Mithiel's fingers brushed through his hair, touch returning. They could not stay long apart when they were together, and this night the pull was stronger than it had been the full of winter.
“Áni cene...Even if Melinyel means nothing any longer to you. My heart remains unchanged to you.”
She summoned his eye to her, and Ruivo complied, sitting up and looking at her as she spoke. As her lips formed the word 'melinyel' yet again. Her tone speaking the honesty of her words, and his eye trailed after her, tilting his head as she came around behind him. He felt the way her fingers traced up his spine, and he looked away from her. The feeling was almost unbearably pleasing, as he stifled back the low groan which wished to part from his lips. Ruivo held his breath. The ache in his body was torture.
“I should apologize for letting my control slip. I know your heart has changed….I’m sorry. I can’t change mine.”
Ruivo twitched, at the feel of breath upon his ear, the way her lips faintly brushed his skin. Her voice was soft; and he could feel the vibration of it against his ear. A tingle trailing from the tip of his ear, to the pit of his stomach, and a feeling unfathomable. The same desire that had filled him in years past ever lingering, always present when she was near. Ruivo nearly shuddered, and closed his eyes.
“I dislike quarreling with you… I shall pray to the Valar for strength to guard my heart for you and grace to walk alongside you without you having to bear my emotions. I am sorry Ruivo.”
The scissors now were clipping his hair, shedding the longer strands. He felt fingers working through his hair, measuring the length as they went. Even, and perfect as always, and when she moved into his line of sight, Ruivo's eyes was turned upon her while she worked.
“I truly do hope you like the gift. If not...you can smelt it down and I will not be upset.”
There was silence, and Ruivo did not answer, but gritted his teeth. Of course she would be upset; what was a gift to be given and then destroyed? The same way he had destroyed the rings that were meant to signify their betrothal, though they had been destroyed before they were gifted. Rejection in the purest form, to turn what was crafted back to melted metal. Ruivo recalled the one gift he had given Mithiel; the only one she had ever rejected outright. His heart had been torn when it was returned to him, though he understood why. He would not say he was not upset, but he understood.
Ruivo listened to the soft sound of scissors snipping his hair, feeling the strands fall and brush against his neck as she clipped them. Nothing but that and the sound of her breaths; for Ruivo could hear the way she breathed as one still upset; still holding herself back. There was nothing he could do for it. He paused a time listening to the swish of scissors, of fabric, as she moved around him. His hair fell to the floor in tufts. A few inches of length clipped off, falling to the floor as red embers. Often the silence between them was well content and would not trouble him, but Ruivo knew this was different.
He reached around to the side of his face where she was working, and grasped her hand, twisting the scissors from it, letting them clatter to the floor. He did not care if she had finished; if his hair was even. She was done. None of it mattered, and Ruivo turned, grasping her in a swift movement, a hand on each side of her waist, he pulled her sideways onto his lap and held her there, staring at her. His eyes were wide, for he had startled even himself at the motion, unplanned it had been. She was soft on his lap. Soft beneath his hands.
“I would never reject a gift from you,” Ruivo glowered, his eyes narrowing. “Do not suggest it again.”
“You may not be happy with... where we are. But I have always sought what was for your best. Before we were vellyn I did, and...” After. Though Ruivo refused to say the word. He felt the pulse of her hröa beneath his hands. The beat of her heart through all her body. They were still vellyn. He knew it, and she knew it. Though they shared no longer their hröar, for her own good, their fëar were as connected as always they had been. Ruivo could feel her soul; he could look into her eyes and almost read her thoughts, after so many years together they were not hidden from him. He had found no way to give them severance. Though he had spent twelve hundred years apart from her, her fëa had called out to him all the stronger.
Ruivo squeezed her waist, not harsly, yet securely, his lips downturned as he looked at her eye level and nearer than she had been in some time. His hands almost encircled the whole of her waist. Letpafinyo used to tease that he would break her, she was so slender.
Sitting still, his eye holding hers, Ruivo could not speak. His arms ached to draw her closer, but he held her at length, a space between them, and he blinked. She was still there, and he was not dreaming of her.
His hands released her waist, and moved up, cupping her cheeks. Six inches from his face he held her still. He could have drawn her against him in an instant, but the space remained, and he looked at her eyes; at her lips with a longing and desire. Once he would have grasped her this way to kiss her, though merely now he held her firm, as one holds a child who has been disobedient and needs their attention focused. At least, it was what he told himself, as his thumbs ached to brush over her skin, and his fingers called to delve into her hair. He resisted such urges, and simply stared, his voice lowering further. “Every word you say to me has meaning. Deeper meaning than you know. Do not assume they do not. You have never known me, Mithiel. Once you thought you did but… Never fully. Over seven thousand years, and I have not atoned. Promises I have left broken across the sea, since before you were born. If I had not been so foolish then, making such haste in decisions. If I had known you would be here… your name waiting in my dreams, I would have chosen differently.”
Ruivo's palms slid down from her cheeks, tenderly roving over her skin in a way he had for years avoided, until they rested on her neck. One had slipped behind her, to loose the clasp of necklace she wore, letting go of it, that the jewelry tumbled free to fall upon her lap, and Ruivo's hands strayed on her. His eyes roved to stare at the faint scar, and he let his fingers trace it, as they had many times in earlier days.
“Do. Not. Ever. Tell me where my loyalty should be placed or not placed. We are not vellyn any longer, you decided that for us without me. You do not have the right to say where my loyalty should be on such things. My loyalty is to you because I wish we still were vellyn! Because my heart beats half alive without you!”
Ruivo could not look. His eyes were closed, looking down and away from her as her voice raised in pitch; in sharpness, driven in her anger. He knew well the sound of her upset; though Ruivo never wished to push her so far, he was never sure when such a thing would occur. He had been speaking the truth. He did not hide the truth. He had never hidden the truth, that he felt unworthy of her attention. Of loyalty, for he had not been loyal himself. He felt himself slumping further as Mithiel's fingers brushed through his hair, touch returning. They could not stay long apart when they were together, and this night the pull was stronger than it had been the full of winter.
“Áni cene...Even if Melinyel means nothing any longer to you. My heart remains unchanged to you.”
She summoned his eye to her, and Ruivo complied, sitting up and looking at her as she spoke. As her lips formed the word 'melinyel' yet again. Her tone speaking the honesty of her words, and his eye trailed after her, tilting his head as she came around behind him. He felt the way her fingers traced up his spine, and he looked away from her. The feeling was almost unbearably pleasing, as he stifled back the low groan which wished to part from his lips. Ruivo held his breath. The ache in his body was torture.
“I should apologize for letting my control slip. I know your heart has changed….I’m sorry. I can’t change mine.”
Ruivo twitched, at the feel of breath upon his ear, the way her lips faintly brushed his skin. Her voice was soft; and he could feel the vibration of it against his ear. A tingle trailing from the tip of his ear, to the pit of his stomach, and a feeling unfathomable. The same desire that had filled him in years past ever lingering, always present when she was near. Ruivo nearly shuddered, and closed his eyes.
“I dislike quarreling with you… I shall pray to the Valar for strength to guard my heart for you and grace to walk alongside you without you having to bear my emotions. I am sorry Ruivo.”
The scissors now were clipping his hair, shedding the longer strands. He felt fingers working through his hair, measuring the length as they went. Even, and perfect as always, and when she moved into his line of sight, Ruivo's eyes was turned upon her while she worked.
“I truly do hope you like the gift. If not...you can smelt it down and I will not be upset.”
There was silence, and Ruivo did not answer, but gritted his teeth. Of course she would be upset; what was a gift to be given and then destroyed? The same way he had destroyed the rings that were meant to signify their betrothal, though they had been destroyed before they were gifted. Rejection in the purest form, to turn what was crafted back to melted metal. Ruivo recalled the one gift he had given Mithiel; the only one she had ever rejected outright. His heart had been torn when it was returned to him, though he understood why. He would not say he was not upset, but he understood.
Ruivo listened to the soft sound of scissors snipping his hair, feeling the strands fall and brush against his neck as she clipped them. Nothing but that and the sound of her breaths; for Ruivo could hear the way she breathed as one still upset; still holding herself back. There was nothing he could do for it. He paused a time listening to the swish of scissors, of fabric, as she moved around him. His hair fell to the floor in tufts. A few inches of length clipped off, falling to the floor as red embers. Often the silence between them was well content and would not trouble him, but Ruivo knew this was different.
He reached around to the side of his face where she was working, and grasped her hand, twisting the scissors from it, letting them clatter to the floor. He did not care if she had finished; if his hair was even. She was done. None of it mattered, and Ruivo turned, grasping her in a swift movement, a hand on each side of her waist, he pulled her sideways onto his lap and held her there, staring at her. His eyes were wide, for he had startled even himself at the motion, unplanned it had been. She was soft on his lap. Soft beneath his hands.
“I would never reject a gift from you,” Ruivo glowered, his eyes narrowing. “Do not suggest it again.”
“You may not be happy with... where we are. But I have always sought what was for your best. Before we were vellyn I did, and...” After. Though Ruivo refused to say the word. He felt the pulse of her hröa beneath his hands. The beat of her heart through all her body. They were still vellyn. He knew it, and she knew it. Though they shared no longer their hröar, for her own good, their fëar were as connected as always they had been. Ruivo could feel her soul; he could look into her eyes and almost read her thoughts, after so many years together they were not hidden from him. He had found no way to give them severance. Though he had spent twelve hundred years apart from her, her fëa had called out to him all the stronger.
Ruivo squeezed her waist, not harsly, yet securely, his lips downturned as he looked at her eye level and nearer than she had been in some time. His hands almost encircled the whole of her waist. Letpafinyo used to tease that he would break her, she was so slender.
Sitting still, his eye holding hers, Ruivo could not speak. His arms ached to draw her closer, but he held her at length, a space between them, and he blinked. She was still there, and he was not dreaming of her.
His hands released her waist, and moved up, cupping her cheeks. Six inches from his face he held her still. He could have drawn her against him in an instant, but the space remained, and he looked at her eyes; at her lips with a longing and desire. Once he would have grasped her this way to kiss her, though merely now he held her firm, as one holds a child who has been disobedient and needs their attention focused. At least, it was what he told himself, as his thumbs ached to brush over her skin, and his fingers called to delve into her hair. He resisted such urges, and simply stared, his voice lowering further. “Every word you say to me has meaning. Deeper meaning than you know. Do not assume they do not. You have never known me, Mithiel. Once you thought you did but… Never fully. Over seven thousand years, and I have not atoned. Promises I have left broken across the sea, since before you were born. If I had not been so foolish then, making such haste in decisions. If I had known you would be here… your name waiting in my dreams, I would have chosen differently.”
Ruivo's palms slid down from her cheeks, tenderly roving over her skin in a way he had for years avoided, until they rested on her neck. One had slipped behind her, to loose the clasp of necklace she wore, letting go of it, that the jewelry tumbled free to fall upon her lap, and Ruivo's hands strayed on her. His eyes roved to stare at the faint scar, and he let his fingers trace it, as they had many times in earlier days.