Each day that passed was a torment greater than the one before. He wanted to leave, to be free...to be taken. As the soft green grass kissed his bare feet, the crushing of each of those leaves releasing a scent of fresh wilderness brought his mind back to where he wished to belong. To whom he wished to belong.
He had long ago declined his soul's request, for all the wrong reasons. He had thought the great warrior would be the saving of his life, would be a breath of fresh air, a chance to be where he had always wanted to. But longing was a force to be reckoned and he had not known such, back then.
Erestor had always thought what attracted him in the woodland king was how beautifully and perfectly the word 'exotic' befitted him. No truer words could be said...he was a lion, the king of the dark forests, buried deep within its protection, but ready to protect it in turn, with fierce claws. He was imposing, impressive, calm, but suspicious. He was dark and light merged, the perfect shadow of mystery that the advisor wanted in his life.
He had given up on that, to be who he was now. He had given up the exotic, the uncertain, the risk, and the thrill, the imagination. He had given that up to bask in the glory of his hero, the light of his wisdom and joy, of his greatness, only to discover, he now lived in the shadows of his accomplishments, a shadow so different from the one he wished to live in. He had given all up, for Glorfindel.
It was not love, it was the adventure, it was always it adventure. It was safe. The Balrog Slayer was an old soul who had experienced so much, seen even more...he was rich of spirit and mind. Ah but if the world thought the blond warrior was the epitome of adventure, of danger to a taken heart, all that an elf could desire...they did not know his woodland king. Erestor's Sindar king.
Erestor had done it for the stability. Belonging to Imladris because he had what to bind him to it, belonging to the safe place in his mind where he could pretend there was no temptation of leaving all behind for one elf...one ideal of love...of desire.
He had chosen a broken, frail safety, a false one. There was no love, there was no pretense, and that is what made it even more comfortable to stay, to pretend it would be too hard, too straining to start anew, to apologize, to be humble and humiliated upon the light of his mistakes. He knew – in the daydreams of his mind -that he would be accepted into open, warm, strong and possessive arms, he knew he would be forgiven, for this had been a mistake upon himself and not to his king. - Yes...his king.... – but it would not be without a measure of suffering, of unspoken punishment. A balance that would rid him of any guilt, to never feel unworthy when he was taken back, to never regret. He had it all thought out in his mind, how it all would happen. All he had to do, was take the first step.
Perhaps it was the predictability of it that stopped him from such. He hated the obviousness of certain people, certain events. If the image of his wild love fell into that chasm it would be forever lost to his interest. And perhaps that was what held him back. He knew how it would be, and although he longed, craved to be surprised, to be mistaken if his fantasy of being forgiven were wrong, then there would be rejection. It was a path of emotional confusion he did not wish to cross.
Erestor needed thrill, but he lived in comfort. He was confined within his proper life, not daring to cross its lines because he knew what would happen if he did, and all he wanted, was to not know. Maybe that was why he had so many fantasies...maybe that was why he could not let go of this old one. He needed the hope of having freedom right at the reach of his fingers...and even though he could not take it, for it would all fall into fastidious monotony all too fast for his thirsty soul...it was what kept his mind alive in the reality he chose to live.
Or perhaps, he was only too afraid to take the leap...and find out, he could not anticipate the future as much as he thought. He feared the disappointment of knowing, he feared the failure of being wrong. A deep sigh issued from his thin, slightly pale lips.
He looked down along the path and spotted the two golden haired muses of his deliriums. Glorfindel and Thranduil walking side by side. Closer than they should, farther than they wanted to. Exchanging words that by the mere tilt of each others heads, closer to one another, showed show eagerly they wished to hear them. Neither of them knew, Erestor had given up on his high dreams for the dark king, to fantasize half heartedly about the hero. Neither of them knew of his choices and of what he had given up. Neither knew the irony of seeing them together now, as the most unexpected outcome to Erestor's mind. No one knew, it was all a fantasy.
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Story notes: I haven't written in a long time, had a sudden urge and simply became to type, this is what came of it, I hope you enjoy. ^^
