@thoselittledespairs sent “You are not the villain. You once held my hand,” from finduilas
They did hold hands, once. Children playing amongst the trees, content with their nomadic lifestyle and the attunement to nature of their upbringing. Even as a child, his grip was strong, always a warrior in the making. And as he got older, his were the hands you could cling to for support, or for comfort, only strengthened by time and experience.
Once. But not anymore. His left hand – the one more commonly grasped – is decaying somewhere, replaced with glistening metal in the shape of a hand, and the right is concealed by a thick leather glove, as if far too precious to taint with real use.
Deep down, he sees the kindness in those words, he knows what Finduilas is implying: that nobody she had known since childhood could be so horribly far gone through her eyes. She always was kind, too sweet, altogether good.
But she’s wrong. Sweetness in childhood, in young adulthood… it doesn’t change who he is now. Lost to the title, every part of himself concealed with Orlesian fashions, face unreadable behind a mask. It’s easier to play the villain, somehow, but harder to admit around someone who actually knows him.
“I hate to break it to you, but that doesn’t change anything now, does it?”
