The Last Word
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,535
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,535
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Last Word
Title: The Last Word
Author: Erviniae
Rating: R
Pairing: Erestor, Glorfindel/Legolas
Disclaimer: No characters belong to me, all belong to
the esteemed Tolkien
Warnings: angst, AU, suicide,
Notes: When it is too late
The Last Word
Lying on his big empty bed, he found he could not sleep…again. The moonlight shone in shadows about his room, even as a light breeze gently blew the sheer curtains inwards as ghostly figures beckoning him to the balcony.
Answering their call, he elegantly stood from the bed and strolled into the darkness to his destination. His long dark hair wrapped itself around his torso like a much-needed embrace. He wore a sleeping gown of the thinnest burgundy silk, it felt always cool and as a lover’s touch upon his fevered skin.
Hearing quiet laughter, he was drawn to the sound of his desire—oh how he yearned for the golden one…so beautiful, so proud, so full of life, so opposite him. Now he would see that the rumors were true…
Staying in the shadows of the balcony, his eyes were drawn to the pair in the gardens below. He felt a lurch in his stomach at the sight. His head spun, he leaned to expel his light dinner into a potted plant on the balcony…. for below, his beloved’s head lay on the lap of the golden one from Mirkwood, the king’s own son. They were so much alike he and his beloved. He could see why they had fallen for eachother.
The Mirkwood Prince leaned down and placed a passionate kiss upon the golden one’s lips. A kiss that made the sounds of their moaning reach his ears on the balcony above. He wished to stop up his ears—he could not listen to this…it should be him. He should have had courage to pursue his heart’s desire, but he was a fool and lacked the strength, always thinking he had more time than he did. For what was time to an immortal one?
Backing up into his bedroom once more, with his hands covering his ears, his stomach twisting, his heart breaking, he went to his desk and took up his jewel encrusted mithril dagger. He laughed, for ironically it had been a gift from the very elf below him who was now engaged in that passionate scene. It replayed and replayed in his head.
Whimpering, he fell to his knees in distress, his body weaving to and fro…tears fell from those haunted brown eyes. *It should be me,* he whispered to the quiet of the room.
He heard a cry of pain and looked down to see darkness spreading down, soaking his gown, and pooling onto the floor. The dagger fell from his hands as he fell over to the side with a painful crash of his head upon wood. Lying on the floor of his chambers he could hear his fading heartbeats, erratic, unsteady. Smiling, he tried to speak, but it was useless, for his cut went deep into his larynx. As he lay dying, his fingers wrote the last word he would ever see on the floor with his own blood…*Glorfindel.*
The End
Author: Erviniae
Rating: R
Pairing: Erestor, Glorfindel/Legolas
Disclaimer: No characters belong to me, all belong to
the esteemed Tolkien
Warnings: angst, AU, suicide,
Notes: When it is too late
The Last Word
Lying on his big empty bed, he found he could not sleep…again. The moonlight shone in shadows about his room, even as a light breeze gently blew the sheer curtains inwards as ghostly figures beckoning him to the balcony.
Answering their call, he elegantly stood from the bed and strolled into the darkness to his destination. His long dark hair wrapped itself around his torso like a much-needed embrace. He wore a sleeping gown of the thinnest burgundy silk, it felt always cool and as a lover’s touch upon his fevered skin.
Hearing quiet laughter, he was drawn to the sound of his desire—oh how he yearned for the golden one…so beautiful, so proud, so full of life, so opposite him. Now he would see that the rumors were true…
Staying in the shadows of the balcony, his eyes were drawn to the pair in the gardens below. He felt a lurch in his stomach at the sight. His head spun, he leaned to expel his light dinner into a potted plant on the balcony…. for below, his beloved’s head lay on the lap of the golden one from Mirkwood, the king’s own son. They were so much alike he and his beloved. He could see why they had fallen for eachother.
The Mirkwood Prince leaned down and placed a passionate kiss upon the golden one’s lips. A kiss that made the sounds of their moaning reach his ears on the balcony above. He wished to stop up his ears—he could not listen to this…it should be him. He should have had courage to pursue his heart’s desire, but he was a fool and lacked the strength, always thinking he had more time than he did. For what was time to an immortal one?
Backing up into his bedroom once more, with his hands covering his ears, his stomach twisting, his heart breaking, he went to his desk and took up his jewel encrusted mithril dagger. He laughed, for ironically it had been a gift from the very elf below him who was now engaged in that passionate scene. It replayed and replayed in his head.
Whimpering, he fell to his knees in distress, his body weaving to and fro…tears fell from those haunted brown eyes. *It should be me,* he whispered to the quiet of the room.
He heard a cry of pain and looked down to see darkness spreading down, soaking his gown, and pooling onto the floor. The dagger fell from his hands as he fell over to the side with a painful crash of his head upon wood. Lying on the floor of his chambers he could hear his fading heartbeats, erratic, unsteady. Smiling, he tried to speak, but it was useless, for his cut went deep into his larynx. As he lay dying, his fingers wrote the last word he would ever see on the floor with his own blood…*Glorfindel.*
The End