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enismirdalTitle: Violets
Author: Me
Pairing: Lindir/Rúmil
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All of Middle-earth and all the Elves belong to Tolkien, no profit being made, etc.
Summary: Scents can evoke the most vivid of memories.
Notes: Every time![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tuxedo_elf gets writer's block over a drabble, I seem to get bunnies. Some kind of warped karma, I guess. I really need to wake up some bunnies for some lighter, cuter and more quirky fics but for now you'll have to deal with pseudo-profound emo tripe. Sorry.
***
Pain, pain, and the scent of violets.
So he remembered the day when the troops of the Fëanorians had torn through his family home, long ago. When he had lived on the seashore with his mother and sisters, in a cottage that had looked out westwards towards the setting sun.
The violet-scent had been rich and heavy that day, rising up from the flowerbed his oldest sister had so loved. Violets were her flowers, the colour of the gemstones she wore as a necklace and the shawl she took out when the wind grew cool.
His parents had fallen that day, followed soon after by his elder sister. Lindir had taken a deep knife-wound himself and, terrified and bleeding, had scooped up his younger sister, still barely more than an infant, and fled.
Since then, seeing or scenting violets only brought that pain back, bringing it shooting outwards from the white scar that still remained on his hip, twisting his heart with remembered grief.
Until now. Until this sweet evening, as Rúmil placed the posy of sweet violets in a vase on the windowsill before passing him the letter from Elrond, containing the news that his elder sister had been returned and was in Rivendell awaiting him.
Then Rúmil smiled, poured scented oil on to his hands and ran them over Lindir's tense body, affectionate, purring and sensual. Their perfume matched that of the flowers by the window; no longer would the fragrance symbolise only loss and hurt. Now, it could also represent hope and happiness.
He lay in his lover's arms, contented, beloved and happy, and let the gentle aroma breeze over him.
Joy, joy and the scent of violets.
In other news, today is the first anniversary of me getting Rubisco. Wheeee!
Author: Me
Pairing: Lindir/Rúmil
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All of Middle-earth and all the Elves belong to Tolkien, no profit being made, etc.
Summary: Scents can evoke the most vivid of memories.
Notes: Every time
tuxedo_elf gets writer's block over a drabble, I seem to get bunnies. Some kind of warped karma, I guess. I really need to wake up some bunnies for some lighter, cuter and more quirky fics but for now you'll have to deal with pseudo-profound emo tripe. Sorry. ***
Pain, pain, and the scent of violets.
So he remembered the day when the troops of the Fëanorians had torn through his family home, long ago. When he had lived on the seashore with his mother and sisters, in a cottage that had looked out westwards towards the setting sun.
The violet-scent had been rich and heavy that day, rising up from the flowerbed his oldest sister had so loved. Violets were her flowers, the colour of the gemstones she wore as a necklace and the shawl she took out when the wind grew cool.
His parents had fallen that day, followed soon after by his elder sister. Lindir had taken a deep knife-wound himself and, terrified and bleeding, had scooped up his younger sister, still barely more than an infant, and fled.
Since then, seeing or scenting violets only brought that pain back, bringing it shooting outwards from the white scar that still remained on his hip, twisting his heart with remembered grief.
Until now. Until this sweet evening, as Rúmil placed the posy of sweet violets in a vase on the windowsill before passing him the letter from Elrond, containing the news that his elder sister had been returned and was in Rivendell awaiting him.
Then Rúmil smiled, poured scented oil on to his hands and ran them over Lindir's tense body, affectionate, purring and sensual. Their perfume matched that of the flowers by the window; no longer would the fragrance symbolise only loss and hurt. Now, it could also represent hope and happiness.
He lay in his lover's arms, contented, beloved and happy, and let the gentle aroma breeze over him.
Joy, joy and the scent of violets.
In other news, today is the first anniversary of me getting Rubisco. Wheeee!
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Date: 16 Sep 2008 05:42 (UTC)HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RUBISCO!! :)
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Date: 16 Sep 2008 18:28 (UTC)Thank you for reading! I always wonder about posting these little sillinesses when I am never sure if they're actually any good, but I figure if one person reads and enjoys, then it's worth doing it. So yay!
And Rubisco says thank you! I'm glad I've been able to give her a happy home where she's all loved and stuff...as she was a rescue hamster who was dumped with her brothers and sisters in a plastic bag or something, it's clear that at the start of her life she didn't have someone to love her. :( Fortunately for her, that's changed!