The silence was the most telling thing. Though perhaps it wasn't silent at all - perhaps the world outside was exploding with fire - and his pulse was simply so loud that it drowned it out.
It wasn't that he hadn't held someone for comfort before. He had. Many times. But this wound was so deep that he had no idea, really, how to help. He knew it wasn't him, not really, that she wanted, and he also knew it didn't matter. All that was important was that he wanted to help, and that he would give her anything and everything that he could. His lips parted as they were bade, and there was a stillness - not a hesitance, just a stillness - before he leaned into the kiss and deepened it.
His hand moved as if by its own volition - sliding from her arm down to settle at her side, just above her hip, pulling her closer to him.
Whatever spell there was in stillness, in the gentle pressure of his mouth against hers and the taste of another person, the hand at her waist was enough to break it. She was more than reluctant to release him--it was and emotion near enough to call it fear--but for as selfish as she could be, she was not this. It was a feat of monumental will, but she parted their lips and, with excruciating gentleness, traced her fingers to his chin.
"You are too kind," Galadriel repeated and a watery smile turned her lips. She made no move to back away, nor to shift his hand from her waist. "I would not exploit you in such a way, mellon nin. That is a wound I would not inflict, not for all my sorrow."
These elves were mortal; what they lacked in the gifts of the Eldar they made up for with the strength of men. To do this, to use him as she desperately wanted, would have been a deep wound to the heart of any immortal elf. She had seen such injuries and the aftermath, she knew the pain they caused. Even if he was utterly mortal, if he risked nothing, she couldn't bring him harm.
Only a few minutes ago he had been afraid to touch her, consumed by blushing at her beauty. She had dazzled him and now she took advantage.
"I am poor company, but please, stay with me a while if you will."
He finally let himself breathe, properly, his eyes opening to find hers.
His skin was still hot, but not nearly as much as it had been a few minutes
ago, the flush fading even as his resolution grew.
"You aren't exploiting me," He said after a moment, his voice low and
careful. If he was nervous, he managed to shove it down so far that none of
it showed on his face, or could be heard in his voice. "My Lady--
Galadriel-- If all I can offer is comfort then I offer it, gladly.
Of course I will stay, but-- there is no wound I could possibly take, for
doing all in my power to comfort you. I know what I'm not. And I wouldn't
never impose- I don't wish you to think that I would, I just--" He was
stumbling over his words, because he couldn't express himself properly.
He took a breath, let it out again, and met her gaze.
Galadriel peered at Gavin silently, but found no duplicity in him. Her expression was already too open to soften at his insistence, but her smile was less watery in the wake of his words. He offered her comfort freely, he was not being bent to her will, and she was sorely tempted to take what he would give her...but some of his words snagged and Galadriel found herself drawn to them before all else.
"You know what you are not?" H did not wish her to think he was taking advantage, nor that he would demand physicality if she did not want for it, but that sentence was out of place. "What are you not?"
The flush returned - not fully - just warming his ears, despite his desire
to keep stoic. He offered her a sad smile and reached up - pausing - before
gently brushing a few strands of golden hair from her face.
"I'm not your husband, or your home, or anything of the things that your
heart is actually longing for," He said, trying not to be completely
embarassed and failing slightly. "I'm not a - I'm not a replacement, and
I'm not even really a desire." He hesitated there, trying to find the words
that were coming harder now. "What I am, I hope, is your friend," he
finally got out, his voice almost a whisper, but steady and sure despite
that. "And a friend that can be of use to you, even when it seems to be so
dark."
"Gavín," Galadriel's smile faltered with fondness and her weary heart clenched in her chest. She took his face, carefully, in both of her hands and smoothed her thumbs across the sweeping rise of his cheekbones. Her pale skin looked impossible and delicate against his own, like she was just some lingering specter, waiting to burst apart ere the wind whistled through the keep too strongly. Perhaps she was.
"I would not imagine, for even a moment, that you were anyone but yourself," she assured him quietly and tried not to let her gaze linger on her own hands. "I do long for these things, I will not deny it, but in this moment...in this grief, it is you that I reach for."
"You are my friend and dear to me, even if you are not convinced of it. I beg you, do not mistake my sorrow for disregard."
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It wasn't that he hadn't held someone for comfort before. He had. Many times. But this wound was so deep that he had no idea, really, how to help. He knew it wasn't him, not really, that she wanted, and he also knew it didn't matter. All that was important was that he wanted to help, and that he would give her anything and everything that he could. His lips parted as they were bade, and there was a stillness - not a hesitance, just a stillness - before he leaned into the kiss and deepened it.
His hand moved as if by its own volition - sliding from her arm down to settle at her side, just above her hip, pulling her closer to him.
no subject
"You are too kind," Galadriel repeated and a watery smile turned her lips. She made no move to back away, nor to shift his hand from her waist. "I would not exploit you in such a way, mellon nin. That is a wound I would not inflict, not for all my sorrow."
These elves were mortal; what they lacked in the gifts of the Eldar they made up for with the strength of men. To do this, to use him as she desperately wanted, would have been a deep wound to the heart of any immortal elf. She had seen such injuries and the aftermath, she knew the pain they caused. Even if he was utterly mortal, if he risked nothing, she couldn't bring him harm.
Only a few minutes ago he had been afraid to touch her, consumed by blushing at her beauty. She had dazzled him and now she took advantage.
"I am poor company, but please, stay with me a while if you will."
no subject
He finally let himself breathe, properly, his eyes opening to find hers. His skin was still hot, but not nearly as much as it had been a few minutes ago, the flush fading even as his resolution grew.
"You aren't exploiting me," He said after a moment, his voice low and careful. If he was nervous, he managed to shove it down so far that none of it showed on his face, or could be heard in his voice. "My Lady-- Galadriel-- If all I can offer is comfort then I offer it, gladly. Of course I will stay, but-- there is no wound I could possibly take, for doing all in my power to comfort you. I know what I'm not. And I wouldn't never impose- I don't wish you to think that I would, I just--" He was stumbling over his words, because he couldn't express himself properly.
He took a breath, let it out again, and met her gaze.
"... Whatever you need, I am here."
no subject
"You know what you are not?" H did not wish her to think he was taking advantage, nor that he would demand physicality if she did not want for it, but that sentence was out of place. "What are you not?"
no subject
The flush returned - not fully - just warming his ears, despite his desire to keep stoic. He offered her a sad smile and reached up - pausing - before gently brushing a few strands of golden hair from her face.
"I'm not your husband, or your home, or anything of the things that your heart is actually longing for," He said, trying not to be completely embarassed and failing slightly. "I'm not a - I'm not a replacement, and I'm not even really a desire." He hesitated there, trying to find the words that were coming harder now. "What I am, I hope, is your friend," he finally got out, his voice almost a whisper, but steady and sure despite that. "And a friend that can be of use to you, even when it seems to be so dark."
no subject
"I would not imagine, for even a moment, that you were anyone but yourself," she assured him quietly and tried not to let her gaze linger on her own hands. "I do long for these things, I will not deny it, but in this moment...in this grief, it is you that I reach for."
"You are my friend and dear to me, even if you are not convinced of it. I beg you, do not mistake my sorrow for disregard."