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Blue

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The tunic lay on the bed, as if mocking him silently. Glorfindel wondered how cracked he was to think that of a piece of cloth, but considering the events surrounding his life right now, he knew it was justified. The clamour outside his rooms reminded him he had a limited time to prepare. He sighed, walking over to the big four poster bed before touching the soft silk. It seemed each golden embroidered swirl was sewn with love, and he knew already it was a perfect fit. He'd had days to prepare for this ceremony, but he still felt he would never be ready for it.

He undressed, carefully removing his shirt so his hair was not disturbed. He would be strung up, Glorfindel thought with a slight grimace, if any of the fine braids were damaged. They held the blonde hair back away from his face, and kept the thin, white gold circlet in place. It was by far the simplest sign of his office that the warrior could have chosen, and even that he wasn't fully comfortable with.

He turned to face the gilded mirror on one side of the room, besides the wardrobe and saw an elf that didn't quite look like him. "Would you be proud of your son, Adar?" He touched the mirror, smiling faintly, wistfully, fingers tracing the blue eyes reflected in the glass, so reminiscent of his father. He supposed he looked quite the lord right now - from the boots all the way up to his intricately braided hair, clipped with adornments studded with gems. Despite the striking appearance he made, Glorfindel couldn't stop feeling like it didn't fit somehow. This wasn't his place, it was his right by birth, but he should never have been in this position.

His father had been a stern, but fair and loving father. They had had their arguments from time to time, but that was in the course of nature. He had never, ever imagined his father gone. Aníralendon was an excellent soldier and a very benevolent lord over his house - everyone respected and adored him. Glorfindel was uncertain if he could even ever begin to fill the very large footsteps left behind.

He remembered his brother, tall, strong - all smiles for his younger brother. Sparkling green eyes, so bright, so very full of light, life and laughter. Glorfindel remembered his laugh, full throated and pleasant, with a pang. He had worshiped Naegion from the time he was a small child. He'd pull on the long brown hair touched with hints of the sun, begging for a bit of his attention, and when he received it, nothing made him happier. As Glorfindel matured and grew, the worship turned into a deep-seated respect and fondness. In the unlikely event that their father had died, Naegion had been taught how to carry on the Lordship of the House.

Glorfindel himself only had cursory formal tutorage in the area of ruling. He was an artist, looking for the beauty in the new, amazing world they were in, but he picked up the sword partly because of the Darkness and partly from a desire to follow after the footsteps of Naegion. He was naturally quite clumsy, except when a paintbrush was in his hand, but after a time, a finely honed skill emerged. His bouts with Naegion lasted far longer and out of all of the times they fought, he won more often to Naegion's teasing dismay and Glorfindel's pride.

He had been there for the blonde when one of his first relationships fell to pieces. Glorfindel remembered that well, he had thrown his heart into making it work, but he found that the idea of commitment varied greatly, and his heart was tossed aside. His brother had held him when the tears finally fell, Glorfindel still trying to find out what he had done so wrong.

They were close, despite the age gap which ceased to matter much when Glorfindel had matured. He still felt the loss keenly; the bright charming brother that had always been there now was gone. He could've never imagined Naegion not being there and yet here he was and the only thing he wanted was to be able to talk to him, ask him what he should do, but he was gone and Glorfindel was left to find the answers himself.

He started violently when a slim, pale hand touched his shoulder, so deep in his memories had he gone. "Son?" The high and clear voice of his mother reached his ears and he turned from the reflection in the mirror to smile at her, something that didn't truly reach his intense blue eyes, but he tried for her sake. He took a moment to study his mother’s face. She had always been classically beautiful, the loveliest female he had ever met, but then he was clearly biased. It was said he had gotten some of his looks from her, the elegantly high cheekbones and light hair, but most importantly the sweet smile.

Dark brown eyes met his, but he couldn’t help but feel somehow that she wasn’t completely here, she carried an air about her of distant attachment concerning the world, and Glorfindel had only succeeded in breaking it a few times. She was so thin now; almost a wraith, a faded image, so different from herself after his father had passed beyond the realm of this world. She kept going for her son, Glorfindel knew and it pressured him to be the best he could be. He had gaping holes he had to somehow attempt to fill and it stretched him almost to the limit while trying to handle the Lordship.

"Are you ready?" Sídhaew asked, running a hand lovingly down the front of his tunic, straightening out the few wrinkles - a movement that reminded him back to the days in Valinor vaguely, when he was young. Glorfindel looked over at the mirror again, taking in the grand, formal but unfamiliar version of himself. Breathing deeply, he gave his mother a tight hug.

"As ready as I will ever be, Mother."

Sídhaew looked at him for a moment then returned his hug with all her strength, the amount surprising him almost. He closed his eyes, his hands resting in her soft, fair hair. They stood there in silence, the memories drifting between them both, memories of a time cherished, but lost now.

Glorfindel walked hand in hand with his mother down the long ornate hall, it felt as if he was walking towards something entirely new. This wouldn’t be easy for him but he promised to himself that he would do his brother and father’s memory honour. As he pushed the door opening unto the bright candlelight room and the sea of expectant faces before him, he knew he was passing from one stage of his life into the next.
 

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Finis

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Beta: Keiliss

Sídhaew – bird of peace
Aníralendon - ready to journey
Naegion - son of pain