silverdefender | Open RP Post

Lingering in Kirkwall is ever the chore.

Skyhold had been a harsher clime, removed from the spheres of men and mortals of all creeds, but there had been something singular about it, something in the way the stars stretched around it like the open ocean. Kirkwall, to its credit, had the open ocean in abundance...but it was in constant motion. There is constant noise and chaos around her; on the best of days it is a cacophony, loud and just violent enough to disrupt thought, like ripples across still water that never cease.

She regards the courtyard in the dim morning light and already it is filled with people. The parties return from their latest excursion and, according to Thranduil, they bring a number of new Rifters with them. Galadriel almost pities the lot of them, just as she nearly pities all those who linger here, but it is not her place to question such designs, only to work to aid this world.

She considers running again, as she has for the last week, and rebuilding her strength. Her limbs ache still from the marathon of constant motion she inflicted upon them and she dismisses the thought. Her presence is known now, though with both Thranduil and Beleth in power, she is not currently under watch.

She wonders at how long that shall last before it is overturned.

The caravan of soldiers and forces agents come up the steps of the Gallows and Galadriel watches them from the shade of the colonnade. In truth, she does not expect to see anyone familiar among their number, nor among the approaching rifters--she begins to leave but, as she turns, a glimmer of white and silver catch her eye. The color is familiar enough that he spares a glance for it and all but freezes in place.

She sees him before he sees her and, for a moment, she is certain she is asleep and that someone has conjured this image to placate her. When his gaze finally lands on hers, her heart jumps painfully in her chest and, before she even realizes it, she is running across the courtyard. He will think her mad, surely--it has been hardly any time at all, they have been parted for longer on simple journeys, and yet it had felt so much longer without the promise of return.

But he is here--

"Celeborn," she says and throws her arms around him, clutching him desperately.

A few years after the sons of Fëanor claim their territories in East Beleriand, Curufin is camped in the woods on the east bank of the River Aros. Aros separates Doriath from Himlad. Curufin has been exploring the hunting trails that lead deep into the wedge of forest between Aros and its tributary, the River Celon. Curufin and Celegorm keep a watch on who fords the river further north at Arossiach, but they don't try to prevent travelers from crossing their lands. (Unless they are Orcs or trolls.) Especially not this far south in Himlad, where it is not unusual to meet mortals, Dwarves, or even Elves from Ossiriand. Or for that matter, Curufin's twin borthers Amrod and Amras. What he doesn't expect to see is anybody from Thingol's realm.

He is just returning to his camp amongst the pines and oaks, after fishing the nearest stream. He cuts some firewood and makes a cooking fire, cleans and spits the fish, and then sits back to think over the recent past. He's a little obsessive about this, being right across the river from the thick forest of Region, that is, eastern Doriath. The brothers had been given "permission" to dwell in the Marches, by King Thingol, long ago a friend of their grandfather Finwë, but now thought of by Finwë's Fëanorion grandsons as a real ass. When Angrod brought them the news that Thingol would permit them to pioneer in the Marches, they had laughed uproariously and replied that they would do as they pleased. They had said it in front of witnesses who would hopefully have reported their insolence to Thingol himself.

Curufin is in his old hunting clothes, dark green and black, and his weapons are by his side and near to hand. Bow, quiver, spear, sword, knife. The knife was just used to scale a fish, and he's currently cleaning it. He hums a tune and even sings a few bars of it in his low, melodious voice. His long hair is braided and its dark mass lies on his shoulders. His dark gray eyes gleam in the firelight.

It's dangerous to keep bonds open, even those between parent and child, or husband and wife. Less so, now, maybe. But though Morgoth is defeated, Sauron is at large, fled from Eonwe rather than taken into custody.

(The Valar, as ever, remain careless with their own kin, and hers will doubtless be the ones to pay the price)

The Silmarils, too, are gone, and with them the last of her cousins, and Beleriand is crumbled beneath the waves.

The world has changed, and is changing, but some things remain the same.

It's not unusual for elven partners to walk apart, she knows it well. Even her own parents spent at times several years apart after their children were old enough to fend for themselves. But here, in Middle-earth, she worries, as no one in blessed Valinor ever had reason to. She has had no word past the time he promised, and she dare not open the bond, not when she has no idea what she might find on the other end. What use are her vaunted strength of mind now, when it is too dangerous to use? Even her Mirror is not helpful, clouded by her own fears.

Surely, at least, she would know if he died.

(But there are worse things than death, in Arda Marred. They learnt THAT lesson in the First Age)

Is he captured? Is he wounded?

Surely, she would know if he died.

All she can do right now is smile for their daughter, smile for their people, and watch the borders, anxiously.

She's recovering in Lindon. While her physical wounds had healed, the darkness was still there. It was like it had seeped inside every part of her very being. Into her pores, her bones, her blood... her mind. She half expects to see Sauron out of the corner of her eye, lurking in the shadows. She knows why he had stabbed her the way he did - purposely missing her heart. He had hoped to infect her with the crown, hoped that he could change her and make her his. But he hadn't expected how strong her will was.

She's restless as she paces her room. Her hand constantly going to Nenya, needing to make sure that the ring was still there. She wants to be back out there, ready to fight. Looking for Sauron again. Because she can't stop, she doesn't know how to stop. She had lost so much - Finrod, Celeborn, ~~Halbrand~~... if she stopped fighting what would she have? She no longer knows how to sit still, she's lost the ability to feel at peace. She knows she wouldn't be happy. Even if she returned to Valinor, she wouldn't be happy. How could she be? She felt so alone.

There is a part of her that now thinks she may never be truly happy, never healed. She feels lost, more so now than ever before.

Faderift Setting PSL GO

Doriath / Himlad -- close encounters!

no subject

no subject