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The Relationship Table Meme!
♡ Get together all the characters your character may consider dating. (Or possibly befriending, allying with, etc.)
♡ Put their names together for organizational purposes.
♡ List all the PROS and CONS of dating/allying/befriending.
♡ Post them here and watch the travesty unfold.
♡ Check back later to see if you're datable. No one is late. (✿ﾉ◡‿◡)ﾉ *:･ﾟ
no subject
Before Legolas knows it, he's moving as well, reaching out a hand to grab at something. A wrist, the fluttering cloak, that threads of gold that he was admiring only seconds ago, anything at all, but his hand grasps at air, comes back with nothing at all. He stumbles on his feet, hesitating in his pursuit to make sense of this behaviour.
Yet his words may yet reach Celegorm's ears. Tone most lost, most confused, unbidden by the earlier uneasiness. ]
Wait?! I do not understand-
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But at the cry, he stops short of pulling himself up, fingers flexed against the bark. ]
I don't know what possessed me, to think that you might! That somewhere among all the other things that bound us, affection too might be one!
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His lips part, tremble and still is he too startled to truly think things through. Why is he out here, chasing the one who unmade him so? Tested, tempered, gave him strength. ]
You desire affection, yet you ask me to shear off your hair. You ask a cruelty of me that I am not capable of.
[ Not now, not in a thousand years, but he does not repeat that. ]
no subject
It wasn't... I wasn't asking a cruelty.
I was telling you... what you are to me. And if even that couldn't make you understand...
[ He sucked in a hitched breath, and let his body have the last quarter-turn it needed to face Legolas fully. Both of his hands tilted toward those of Legolas, palms up. ]
Slide your hands into mine.
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His pulse still quickened at the memory, so vivid and clear.
He glances down at the hands offered to him, the strong, beautiful fingers that he had once fought claw and tooth from putting a brand of fire on his skin. That, after the test, had stroked his hair, soothed him into fitful rest.
It all catches up with him now too, where he is, who is standing before him and what he asks of him now. ]
My body has not forgotten...
[ Neither had his soul, in fact, Legolas says first in the delay before he actually reaches out with trembling hands into the pair extended towards him. ]
no subject
The radiance returned to Celegorm slowly. Like a flower slowly unfolding to turn to the light. The realization that he was not beyond all hope here made him more careful.
So he moved gently, the pads of his thumbs following the heart-lines on Legolas' palms, taking the smallest half-step back, using the gentle contact to draw the other elf toward him. Between them, his voice is very low, and soft. ]
I am not asking you to forget. Nor do I desire that you do.
no subject
He still is too, but there is something here at play now that overshadows it. To have such attention from someone quite like this. Celegorm is still a Noldo, tall and beautiful, bright with sacred light that Legolas could never dream to possess. His hands stained with the blood of their kin and Legolas's own to boot.
The careful touch tickling enough that it makes his fingers twitch and he lightly tugs his lower lip into his mouth to wet it, to worry it with his teeth lightly. Then, at last, Legolas takes that step forward, lured into the dizzying proximity. Already this little is sending his body into panic, though against all that he squares his shoulders. ]
Then you must understand...
[ Why his hands shake, why his gaze remains cast to their feet, why his breathing grows shallow with anxiety and anticipation of the worst and the reluctance bordering on subconscious repulsion rings so clearly in all that he does. ]
no subject
I do.
And you trust me.
[ Slowly, with care, and patience, he begins to lift Legolas' hands towards his face. His own curl under Legolas' palms, so that the other elf's fingertips follow the line of his jaw.
The flush rose from his throat to his ears, his cheeks, which burned. His blood felt like molten metal, and his throat throbbed with the frantic tempo of his pulse. But like any hunter worth his salt, he remained still. Watching. ]
Look at me...?
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Is it trust? Or is it instinctive terror beyond logic and reason? Where he does as told in fear that disobedience will come with more pain? Here now, there is no one to save him and it is him and him alone who put himself in this situation. Or perhaps it's a little bit of both; for the one who had first pushed him to the edge of ruin, wrathful and cruel in a way that Legolas had not known all his life until now, is the same one who has saved him, and further yet gave him what he needed so very desperately to find some direction in his life again.
Fleeting thoughts, and his fingers are not a limp weight over Celegorm's hand, but blindly Legolas strokes the line of the jaw, the cheek, brushing a corner of a mouth. ]
Against the better judgement, as many would tell me.
[ Dry, desperate humour, to find the courage to lift his gaze. Hesitating, flickering there and back, as if climbing slowly, growing bolder each time, wavering. It hits him then just how tall Celegorm is, for on his own eye level Legolas is still staring just at the bottom of his throat, flushed darkly.
Finally though, head tipped back just a little, he meets the eyes so intent on watching him, fighting claw and tooth for his composure to remain as it is. Ah, but it makes him flush in turn to have all this attention on him, the scorching intensity fixated on him and him alone. ]
You tell me too, is it wise?
[ To trust you, Celegorm. ]
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And like a cat, those pale eyes open again, slits of colour beneath black lashes, drinking in Legolas' attention. ]
Must a thing be wise to be good?
[ It has the rub of a tease, thick and slow and low as a purr, and his fingers smoothed down Legolas' hands, lightly touched the backs of his wrists. ]
It was no more wise for me to save you, after making a sure enemy of you. It was no more wise for me to seek you out. But how much of life grows only out of wisdom? Is passion any less valuable?
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His eyes widen briefly with the thought, dots connecting in his mind and drawing lines that make up a peculiar picture, a bemusing realisation.
Gradually the trembling of his hands ceases, though his touches are still uncertain, like one would touch a wild cat that demands affection yet gives no certainty as to whether it will strike or not.
Legolas can't hate him, he finds, it's a revelation he had known for a time already, had said so to Celegorm himself. Though a part of him wishes he could, for it would make things much less confounding for him. Things could make sense then, unlike now when he feels this odd elation at this touch, at the way Celegorm so obviously enjoys the attention he gives him. Though this thought makes him feel guilty, for wishing he could feel hate at all.
No, it's what it is now. ]
Wisdom is most valued amongst the Eldar, is it not? [ He shrugs a shoulder, dismissive of the concept and his small smile further proof of it. A woodelf through and through. ] I do not understand myself anymore, this is why I ask. And I cannot grasp you...
[ He sighs, his hands grow slack with a feeling of sudden foolishness, like an elfling far too smitten with a star far beyond his reach. ]
no subject
Beauty, I thought, was most valued. Wisdom, too, certainly... But ours are spirits which grow ever-colder under the grinding weight of time as it marches over us. Passion is a warming thing, a burning thing; and like my father before me, perhaps, I would rather go hotly into the night, a bonfire rather than a spark!
[ The curve of his mouth goes a little smug, then, seeing Legolas watch him in turn, and at last he touches their foreheads together. ]
Why, I can grasp you. You come to me as handsomely as an eagle to the wrist after a hunt. And I wait here for you to reach for me, only a breath away.
no subject
Not until Celegorm rests his their foreheads together. The golden hair spills forward and tempts him further, to raise a hand and touch it, run fingers through it from roots to the very tips, feel the silk part between the slender digits, feel it pliant when twirled. Legolas wants to fold beneath this earnestness, this sheet emotion, he wants to allow himself to crumble and fall against the tall elf before him. ]
Passion... [ He shivers, there is a reason, after all, for why the woodelves have a reputation different than all other elves remaining on Middle Earth. Less wise, more dangerous. Legolas cleaves to the wisdom, to his father's teachings, yet the nature of the woodelves burns strongly within his veins. ] I know passion, I know the way it sweeps you away. Like a fire, like a great hurricane, like a swell of a tide on a stormy sea.
[ He has felt it all before, love for every little thing in life. For his bow, for his trees and the sea, for the stars, for the motion as he steps from a branch to a branch in a mad chase after a retreating threat or a prey, for bright green leaves in the summer or the snowed tops of trees and how easy it was to shake off a pile onto an unsuspecting victim. His laughter always rang clearly in the Woodland Realm, no matter the shadows that loomed above them.
And even now, it paints a smile on his lips. One brighter than all those that Celegorm might have witnessed on him, directed at him. Fond of memories, most dear, soothing his nerves. Eyelids heavy, Legolas breathes out, finally too he gives in and raises that one hand, silky threads of hair bunching up against his palm and knuckles. ]
I fear you... I fear what will come of it.
[ Once Celegorm's fire already scorched him, set off something which now burns within him, sparked into a flame greater each time they see each other, each time they speak. And Legolas fears that this fire will consume him whole. He's never felt this way. ]
Why me?
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Sweeps me away, sometimes, like a paper boat set upon the crashing waves.
[ The sentiment rises in him that Legolas understands like a riptide, his skin prickling with a rush of giddy warmth. And he bends toward the lifting hand, his own eyes lowering at last, relieved, impossibly relieved. The fingertips which had been plucking at Legolas' tunic hook over the leather of his belt, tugging him the last small distance until they are pressed chest-to-chest, and he can nuzzle against the wrist of the hand stroking him as if he is a great cat. ]
You know why. You know why without thinking, without asking. You feel it in your bones; perhaps you've felt it all the while.
It's because you know me. Somewhere in that golden heart, you don't need to struggle to understand me.
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And yet it's that saviour is who seeks salvation now. ]
I let it take me, at times, and I seek it at others.
[ He combs fingers through Celegorm's hair, both hands now wound into the long locks, fingers on one side nudging against the pointed tip of an ear. He inhales a trembling breath, neither denying nor confirming Celegorm's words out loud.
They both of them know them to be true. ]
No matter that I am without the light?
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He feels barely able to pay attention to Legolas' pragmatic questions. His words are a soft rush, like a swift stream tumbling over smooth stones. ]
But your eyes are full of light, Legolas.
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He moves his fingers down now, through the long strands that spill over Celegorm's chest, and they offer no resistance, not a single tangle mars the perfect smoothness of it. His gaze follows the motion too, until he's at the tips and raises a lock to his lips as if to kiss. His lips never make contact though, before he shies away and just twirls it around his index finger. ]
I have never felt it...
[ Any of it, more over so with such an underlying thread of terrible fear that comes with the want. ]
That you would want me, that I would want you.