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Title: Under A Red Sky
Author: Enismirdal email@example.com
Pairing: ?/? (Let it be whichever two Elves you prefer!)
Warnings: Solo (Wank-fic!)
Disclaimer: The good Professor invented the Elves and Middle-earth, which inspired the muses in my head and resulted in this fic! No insult intended to the Professor's ideas, and no profit made, of course.
Summary: A red sky dawns on an Elf alone.
A/N: When I wrote the fic I had two original Elves in mind, but I've left it ambiguous so the reader can visualise whatever Elves they like. Doing so sort of fits the story anyway.
A gentle breeze ruffled the light curtains at his window, bringing him instantly to wakefulness. The interruption to his rest was not, however, altogether unexpected; he had never fully adjusted to sleeping alone and thus never managed to relax completely under such circumstances. His muscles were stiff from sleeping whilst still tense and, even now, he had a faint urge to call out for another or leave the plain room, seeking the company of anyone else who would tolerate his presence - but dignity kept him stubbornly silent.
Instead he slid from beneath the blankets and walked to the window. Feeble light crept through the crack between the curtains, highlighting the muscles of his well-toned body. The moon was nearly full, he discovered as he drew them apart; it was growing close to dawn and a rich reddish hue crept across the sky. The omen could probably be interpreted by various visionaries in countless different and equally fateful ways, but he just found it starkly beautiful, though the wide, open expanse of sky only served to emphasise how alone he was.
The morning was cold and he shivered slightly. Privately, he longed to be held, talked to, right now. He wanted the comfort of knowing someone was near, to share laughter or grief as the occasion required, but he knew full well that no one would come to him tonight.
Closing his eyes, he submerged himself instead in imagination, visualising slim, strong arms creeping around his waist from behind. A lock of heavy black hair would then fall over the crook of his elbow, tickling his bare chest and stomach. Then, as always, a kiss would press to the back of his neck and he would smile - distantly, with his eyes more than his lips.
But not tonight.
He sighed and found his most precious keepsake, a lock of that beloved hair. It was stored safely inside an exquisitely embroidered silk purse, a gift from the owner of that hair. His fingers caressed the smooth strands tenderly; it was only ever in private like this that he would permit himself to show such affection, but it was always there.
He carried it back to the bed, immersing himself in the flood of memories evoked by the small symbol of his dearest treasure. Both the good memories and the bad he clung to, as forgetting them meant resigning himself to this empty life of grey coldness and the prison of these four stone walls.
The lock of hair fell to the pillow, curling slightly just as it would have had its original owner merely laid down his head for a rest.
Lost in recollection and the warm embrace of the past, it was only his gasp that brought him back to the cold, bare room. The sound had shattered the silence at the same moment that the cascade of memories had reached their peak, and a hard shudder ran through the Elf's form. Blinking, he glanced down at his hand, and then lifted the damp, sticky fingers to those lips which had betrayed his indulgence.
It was not the first time that remembering kinder times had brought forth his desires, nor would it be the last. Memories were all he had, aside from that single token on his pillow. It was only in memory that he would glimpse those beautiful dark eyes with their ever-present alluring sparkle, framed by those thick lashes that always seemed impossibly long. The embraces and caresses were only to be experienced in the depths of his mind.
As seemed to be his ultimate destiny, he was alone.