milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The Vala looks much improved.

Well, at least where his face is concerned. A full day's rest and the bruises have healed, and his lip only has a small cut in it.

Can't say the same for the rest of his wounds. But no one can see those, and he is careful about moving.

At the moment, he is sitting in a booth -- stiffly sitting, must be careful of the stiches ... he's a bit afraid of Martin -- sipping tea and reading a book.

He would not mind company.

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He slowly sits up on the table -- it would be difficult to look at his wounds in a booth. With deft fingers, he unties his tunic and bares his wound-riddled chest. Bandages cover the worst, and the smaller, shallower wounds have all mostly healed.

"What will be fine, Gorlim? Have you injured yourself?" he asks as he begins to remove the various bandages. Well, the ones he can reach, anyway. There is the one on his back from where Melkor's sword had exited his body.

He pretends not to hear the question. He presses his lips together and consentrates on the wounds, leaning close to inspect the stitching. He can smell some form of medication on them, which is good. He touches the skin around the wounds, pressing gently about an inch away -- not enough to tug at where the skin is held together, but to test if the area itself is in pain. "Does this hurt?"

He winces.

"Gorlim, they are deep, piercing wounds. Of course they hurt. Martin did his best for the two in my shoulders, but those I have to slowly knit myself. Ramon inflicted the damage in such a way as to shred the skin and muscle. Stitching would have been impossible."

"I know." Using his left arm only, he helps pull the shirt closed and rests his hand over a space where no wounds were. "I will do that now."

Námo's piercing gaze captures Gorlim's.

"Answer me, melmë," he demands quietly, daring to use the endearmant. "What have you done? Why will you not use your right arm? My wounds are fine -- no infection, no unnecessary bleeding--"

The shoulder wounds would not stop seeping, but he couldn't do much about them.

"I am glad... they are continuing well." He takes a deep breath. It should be easier to force the tears not to show. He does it, but it's hard. It shouldn't be this hard...

"I... it was..." He wants to lie about it -- but the stories he comes up with are shallow and implausible. He doesn't want Namo to be angrier with him than necessary, so he says the simplest truth he can find: "I hurt. Had to make it... better." Only it just made things worse.

Unreadable.

His face is completely blank as he regards the Man.

"Why do you hurt?" he finally asks, not needing to ask how Gorlim had tried to 'make it better'. He'd been in the Man's mind -- he has a pretty good idea.

He can't find in himself the right way to explain what's more than just a single emotion or need. Instead he asks -- "You're going to leave, aren't you?"

He looks away.

"It was a thought of mine, yes."

The words are hollow and without emotion.

"That is part of why. I have made you need to. I have harmed you in a way even Vala magic cannot fix. Hel says you think I hate you. And Sooty reminded me of something I had forgotten. You didn't wager my soul, you fought to get it from who already had it. I didn't understand that. And I still don't understand..." He pauses and looks at Namo with eyes that are not accusing, though he seems to be trying to give that impression -- but more like a child in the face of a parent who has broken a promise. "Why did you leave me out there after the duel? I could have taken care of you. Did I ever mean anything or was it just winning over your brother that counted?"

Námo stares into that face and feels the light fingers of anger.

"Gorlim, you told me you were no prize to be fought over, not a bauble to be claimed. I fought. I won. When you came to my side, you did not even speak to me -- you barely touched me. I could hardly see straight and I needed to rest. What was I supposed to think? Everyone had informed me what an ass I was to challenge him in the first place, and after everything was said and done, I figured it would be over."

And what would be over is not in question.

He pauses.

"I heard your thought. Telling me to fight well. Mind you, I only heard it after my mind was put back in order, but I still heard it."

"I couldn't see you. I thought I was dead. Maybe I almost was. Arithon had a spell on me so I couldn't k--" He cuts himself off. He doesn't like having to face this part of himself. "...kill myself. I didn't want to hurt you, but I couldn't see where you were wounded. I wish I had understood, I'd have stayed, or tried harder. I've disappointed you. I've done so many terribly wrong things to you. If you have to go, I'll understand, but..." He bows his head so his hair covers his eyes, and clasps his right arm where the unseen cut lies. "I love you, pen lithvain."

"Why can you not look at me to say those words, melda?" he asks softly.

A sigh. Long and deep.

"You have not disappointed me. You have not wronged me. You have done nothing of the sort. It is I who cannot seem to walk this path correctly, and as such, I end up causing you pain where I would rather there be joy. And my thought to correct this was to leave you in peace."

"You are. I just... didn't know. I cannot see far enough into these things to realize why you did what you did. I said I trusted you when I did not. I do not know my own heart, it seems."

He nods once and begins to retie his tunic.

"I did it because it was right to. I wished you to be free to choose your own course and not have a shadow haunting your footsteps. I did it because I love you, and that alone was enough for me to want to see you freed."

Now he looks away, at a point only can see, really.

"And since you do not know your heart, and I only compound the confusion, the logical course is to leave. Remove the sword and the wound will heal."

"You are not what hurts me." There is a long pause, and a desperate whisper.

"Please don't go."

The eyes return to the Man.

"Then tell me, melmë, what does hurt you? I cannot change what I do not know!"

His own quiet voice is just as desperate, needing to know what he has done and how to repair it.

"I don't know. Just let me take care of you. And don't leave. Please?"

He steps closer, reaches for the Vala's hand, stops. "DO you still want me?"

What a stupid question for the silly Man to ask!

And Námo's eyes show that thought quite clearly.

"Of course I do! It was you I thought no longer wanted me. I have done little to remain in your good graces, melindo."

"Then seek what you want. Do not banish it from you by running to your Halls."

He stares at Gorlim for a long time before raising his hands to cup the Man's face.

"And if it is you I want?"

"Then stay with me. Let me take care of you. Just... don't leave and forget me. I couldn't stand that." He presses his hand over Namo's and squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

Though he cannot see it, Námo nods solemnly at Gorlim.

"As you wish, melda."

Then he dares to press his lips softly to the Man's, not demanding Gorlim return the gesture, but needing it for himself.

He allows this, even returns a little, shy and hesitant. "Do you want me to be with you tonight?"

He does not wish to look too eager.

"I would if you have no where else you must be."