TM: Prompt #201
Oct. 20th, 2007 09:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namo(This is from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
milliways_bar canon where Námo has a mate (Gorlim the Unhappy) and children.)
The castle chamber he and Gorlim had taken as theirs a year ago was quiet. The fire crackled softly in the grate, and the wind outside the window rustled dry branches. Autumn was slowly giving way to winter; the air was chilled when they ventured outside the fire-heated rooms.
Every winter, though, Námo became reclusive, withdrawn, and melancholy. His children didn't approach him as openly, Gorlim treaded carefully around him, and the other inhabitants of the castle kept their distance.
In his chamber, Námo laid on the expansive bed, hands laced on his stomach and his eyes closed. His breathing was even, silent, and the untrained eye might have assumed the body on the bed wasn't living. But it wasn't an untrained eye that gazed upon him. It was a very well-trained eye that roamed over his figure with a slight pout gracing an ageless face.
"This is what? The third year?" Gorlim asked, arms crossed over his chest. "What is it that preys upon your thoughts? You shield them from me, keep the pain to yourself."
Námo cracked an eye and glanced at Gorlim. "I do not know what it is you speak of." The lie was awkward on his lips, and they both knew it.
"You're in my head, lovely," Gorlim said with a knowing grin. "Can't lie to me. Never could."
"It is during the winter that... Lee..." Námo took a deep breath and let is go slowly. "We lost him. We lost him and that still hurts."
Gorlim crawled up on the bed, brushing back his mate's dark hair. "I know," he whispered. "It'll... always hurt. But, you can't let the hurt take hold of you every year. Mourn it once, then let it rest, pretty heron. That's the way it should be. He's gone. Out of our reach. Away from our hearts." Tears glistened in Gorlim's eyes as he relived the pain the loss of his brother still caused him. "We survived it. Don't pick the wound open year after year to see how deep it still runs."
Námo took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Gorlim, drawing the Man down onto the bed, curled against his side. "We know how deep the wound runs," he murmured.
"Then stop prodding at it. Making it bleed again."
They were quiet then, taking the moment to mourn something they had lost. Something beautiful and precious and gone forever.
After a few moments, Gorlim poked Námo's side. "Are you done?" he asked with a teasing chuckle.
Námo couldn't help but laugh quietly, Gorlim's light-heartedness contagious. "Do I have any option available to me but being through with this?"
Gorlim sat up, his unruly birch hair falling around his face as he looked down at Námo. "I could kick your ass some."
"Eru forbid," Námo said, sitting up himself. "What would your mother say?"
As they stood and headed for the door, the melancholy of the moment buried in the past where it belonged, Gorlim shrugged. "Prob'ly say you deserved it."
"Aye," Námo agreed, closing their bedroom door as they headed downstairs for supper with their large, adopted family. "Nerdanel would say that, would she not?"
Muse: Námo
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Word Count: 529
milliways_bar canon where Námo has a mate (Gorlim the Unhappy) and children.)The castle chamber he and Gorlim had taken as theirs a year ago was quiet. The fire crackled softly in the grate, and the wind outside the window rustled dry branches. Autumn was slowly giving way to winter; the air was chilled when they ventured outside the fire-heated rooms.
Every winter, though, Námo became reclusive, withdrawn, and melancholy. His children didn't approach him as openly, Gorlim treaded carefully around him, and the other inhabitants of the castle kept their distance.
In his chamber, Námo laid on the expansive bed, hands laced on his stomach and his eyes closed. His breathing was even, silent, and the untrained eye might have assumed the body on the bed wasn't living. But it wasn't an untrained eye that gazed upon him. It was a very well-trained eye that roamed over his figure with a slight pout gracing an ageless face.
"This is what? The third year?" Gorlim asked, arms crossed over his chest. "What is it that preys upon your thoughts? You shield them from me, keep the pain to yourself."
Námo cracked an eye and glanced at Gorlim. "I do not know what it is you speak of." The lie was awkward on his lips, and they both knew it.
"You're in my head, lovely," Gorlim said with a knowing grin. "Can't lie to me. Never could."
"It is during the winter that... Lee..." Námo took a deep breath and let is go slowly. "We lost him. We lost him and that still hurts."
Gorlim crawled up on the bed, brushing back his mate's dark hair. "I know," he whispered. "It'll... always hurt. But, you can't let the hurt take hold of you every year. Mourn it once, then let it rest, pretty heron. That's the way it should be. He's gone. Out of our reach. Away from our hearts." Tears glistened in Gorlim's eyes as he relived the pain the loss of his brother still caused him. "We survived it. Don't pick the wound open year after year to see how deep it still runs."
Námo took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Gorlim, drawing the Man down onto the bed, curled against his side. "We know how deep the wound runs," he murmured.
"Then stop prodding at it. Making it bleed again."
They were quiet then, taking the moment to mourn something they had lost. Something beautiful and precious and gone forever.
After a few moments, Gorlim poked Námo's side. "Are you done?" he asked with a teasing chuckle.
Námo couldn't help but laugh quietly, Gorlim's light-heartedness contagious. "Do I have any option available to me but being through with this?"
Gorlim sat up, his unruly birch hair falling around his face as he looked down at Námo. "I could kick your ass some."
"Eru forbid," Námo said, sitting up himself. "What would your mother say?"
As they stood and headed for the door, the melancholy of the moment buried in the past where it belonged, Gorlim shrugged. "Prob'ly say you deserved it."
"Aye," Námo agreed, closing their bedroom door as they headed downstairs for supper with their large, adopted family. "Nerdanel would say that, would she not?"
Muse: Námo
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Word Count: 529
