#Raenor's lute's origin story

[captainderyn]

[Fictober] 19. “Do we have a deal?”

Prompt: 19. “Do we have a deal?”

Genre: Fanfiction (LOTRO)

Rating: T

Pairing: Platonic M/F friendship

CW: Implied depression.

Summary: After the fall of Edhelion, Raenor returns to Imladris a broken man. A dear friend tries one last time to help move him past his grief.

--

Perhaps he should fade just as Edhelion was doomed to do. 

Raenor knew no peaceful rest since the Dourhands’ attack on the refuge. His home for decades, all gone. Wasted away to crumbled ruin. 

The battered and crushed corpses of those he’d considered his dearest mentors and friends haunted every wandering thought. He thought of them, trapped beneath that stone forever now. 

All to protect the shattered remains of a few relics now safely tucked in the wagons pulled in their caravan back to Imladris. 

    Talagan had died for those relics. Raenor had been helpless. 

    He rode in numb silence a few horses behind Elrond. He caught the worried stares of those who had accompanied the lord of Imladris to Edhelion as they cast sympathetic stares over the ragtag bunch who’d made it out alive. 

    He was now considered a survivor. 

    He wasn’t certain he wanted this survival, if survival meant his world being sucked from beneath his feet, tormented from all sides by foul memories. 

    Even if riding back into the valley he’d known for most of his life felt like stepping into a warm embrace. 

    “Raenor!” That bright voice broke through some of his haze, the arms of one of his oldest friends finding him almost as soon as his feet hit the ground. “Suilad mellon, I didn’t think I’d get to see you again!” 

    Nárissë held him tight, squeezing him so hard around the middle he swore his ribs would crack. 

    “Mae govannen mellon.” he murmured and she pulled back to give him a vitriolic stare. Her honey eyes flashed like bronze. 

    “Mae govannen mellon,” she mocked and stuck out her tongue, “We haven't seen each other for a few decades and suddenly you don’t know me at all? How still and formal.” 

    He couldn’t help his tired smile, even if his lips only quirked up in the slightest, “I see you haven’t changed a bit, Nárissë.” 

    “And you’ve been forced to change in many ways.” Nárissë finally released him and stood back, “How are you doing, mellon, honestly?” 

    This time Raenor couldn’t force a smile; he averted his eyes, “Tired.” he said simply. 

    Bone tired. Exhausted deep into his bones.

    -- 

Time passed. 

He didn’t know how. Nor how long. 

Hours bled into weeks. Weeks into something distant and further reaching. 

Nárissë let him have his time until his time began to slip away. 

She found him, curled on one of the chaise couches beneath a gazebo draped in flowering ropes of floral. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting down beside him. 

He buried his face into his hand, speaking into his palm, “Mourning.” 

“I’m losing you.” Nárissë placed her hand on his shoulder and he shook it off, “Have you given up?” 

He wasted away just as the ruins of Edhelion surely did. Creeping vines encroaching and choking out what was once beautiful snuffed out the light inside of him too. 

“I don’t know.” his voice was raw, barely above a breath. 

Nárissë shifted, fiddling with a bag she’d set at her feet. 

Raenor watched from the corner of his eye until she sat a beautiful lute beside him. He shook his head, waving it away. 

“I don’t play anymore.” he squeezed his eyes closed before the call back to song snuck its way back into him. He’d given it up the day Edhelion fell. Skorgrim had stolen that from him.

His friend insisted, pushing it closer. His fingers grazed the strings and he yanked his hand back as if burned. 

“I’m not asking you to play.” Nárissë said quietly, “Just give me a day. Paint it with me and in the end we can destroy it if you want. Take it out to the waterfall and throw it into the Bruinen.” 

Raenor opened his eyes, looking sideways at her with a frown. 

Her eyes were wide and pleading, “Please. Just one day. Try for one more day.” 

“And if I say no?” his voice was rough. He couldn’t help the way his eyes darted down to the lute. It was beautiful, intricately made. 

He’d always wanted to learn to play the lute. His harp had been destroyed in the many fires that had taken the refuge. 

“Then I’ll say farewell to you on the shores.” Nárissë’s voice shook as she held out her hand, “Do we have a deal?”