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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"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."