Half Done with Draft One.
My goal had been to finish before going to bed tonight (er, well, this morning?). And... that didn't happen. I'm about halfway done.
Problem? I'm definitely at 23 pages. And not quite halfway. So... *scratches neck and clears throat* Yeah. It's going to take a lot of editing, but I'm pretty sure this story is going to be a helluva lot longer than intended.
I'm still hoping to finish this before the week begins, but I'm not too sure anymore. I think I've gotten past the hardest parts. Being a fluff-writer, getting the muses to actually angst and yell at each other took thought and effort. But the rest should be fluff, and that's my forte.
Since angst is one of those things that draws people in, I'll tempt you with an excerpt and hope that it's enough to make people forget how huge this story is getting.
Erestor could not sleep that night. He tried. He sat on his bed and burrowed under the covers. But the pillowcase smelled like Glorfindel. He tried sleeping with no pillow, but it was an even stronger reminder that Glorfindel was gone. So he had sat up in bed only to see gold ribbons trailing across the room, and he felt frustrated. Then he went to his vanity, only to see the lovely sculpture of eight flying reindeer, and he smiled sadly.
He sat at the window seat and looked outside. Everything was still and quiet, the snow having stopped falling and even the wind having taken a rest. Not a single creature stirred in the cold darkness, and the only movement was the twinkling glow of the stars.
His mind replayed everything that had happened. The argument. The sound of Glorfindel pleading to see him before bed.
Before bed. He gasped and felt his eyes sting as he suddenly realized with terrible clarity just how cruel he had been. Gondolin. You idiot, he told you his last words to his father had been in anger, and then you refuse to let him make things up before sending him away for the night. His eyes slid closed as he leaned against the window and realized, in that sort of epiphany that only comes two hours too late and in the dead of night when you have nobody to share it with, that the demon that was haunting Glorfindel was more of a demon than normal.
Glorfindel had been allowing him in, he understood as he jumped from his seat and left the room with the cloak from the hook by the door around him – Glorfindel’s cloak. It had been the balrog, it had been Mandos, it had been history that was pushing him out – not Glorfindel; never Glorfindel.
He stopped at Glorfindel’s door and knocked. Four times, he smiled shakily. There was no answer and he leaned against the door. “Fin?” he whispered, not wanting to disturb anyone else. “Fin, darling, please. Please, I’m so sorry.”
It was quiet and he slapped his palm against the door. “Fin, I was wrong. I’m so terribly sorry. I understand. I understand, Fin, I do. Please, open the door?”
There was utter silence inside, and Erestor slumped against the door as the tears fell from his eyes. Waiting a few minutes in desperate hope to get an answer, he finally stood and glided back to his own rooms where he collapsed on the divan and stared at the mistletoe, silently crying until he fell unknowingly into sleep.