Findekáno│Fingon the Valiant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
utulien_aure) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel2017-07-03 03:41 pm
utulien_aure) wrote in hadriel2017-07-03 03:41 pm
Entry tags:
002; [VIDEO]
[Fingon's sitting by the lake, his harp already our and positioned against his shoulder. He plays absently as he speaks, changing chords and melodies as though he's not yet sure what kind of song he wants.]
This city never does run out of surprises, does it? Pleasant, unpleasant, liable to get us all killed....
[He shakes his head, smiling grimly]
Still, as deaths go, I've had worse.
Among the Eldar, deaths are often met with the laments of those left behind-and why not? We celebrate every other event in song, and we must deal with grief somehow. There are thousands of such songs now, celebrating both the greenest youths to ever hold a blade and high lords who kept dangerous posts for centuries on end.
But there are a few exceptions. Sixteen years ago, at the height of a terrible battle, the High King of the Noldor rode out to challenge a god to single combat. The king lost that fight in the end, though he managed to give that god seven great wounds before he died. No songs of his death were sung in his kingdom, for the grief of his passing was deemed still too near.
And, I suppose, people may have wondered what madness had struck him in his last hours, to run headlong into death as he did.
[He plays a few more chords, ]
I tried my hand at it, a few times. I served at his right hand for four hundred years; if one of us could have managed it, it ought to have been me. But nothing seemed to fit, no matter how I worked. And eventually....well. There was still a war on, and ever fewer of us to perform his tasks.
And then the city returned him to me, at least for a time, along with others whose losses cut near as deep. I know they were memories, not the real people. But as resentful as I am for the trick, I am so glad to have seen even their ghosts again. I think...I needed to hear what they had to say. What he had to say, about why he chose to die when he did. And, in a strange way, I am grateful for that.
[His playing grows louder then, more complex and challenging.]
My father's lament...I do think I'm ready to pick up the task again. That is something, at least.
This city never does run out of surprises, does it? Pleasant, unpleasant, liable to get us all killed....
[He shakes his head, smiling grimly]
Still, as deaths go, I've had worse.
Among the Eldar, deaths are often met with the laments of those left behind-and why not? We celebrate every other event in song, and we must deal with grief somehow. There are thousands of such songs now, celebrating both the greenest youths to ever hold a blade and high lords who kept dangerous posts for centuries on end.
But there are a few exceptions. Sixteen years ago, at the height of a terrible battle, the High King of the Noldor rode out to challenge a god to single combat. The king lost that fight in the end, though he managed to give that god seven great wounds before he died. No songs of his death were sung in his kingdom, for the grief of his passing was deemed still too near.
And, I suppose, people may have wondered what madness had struck him in his last hours, to run headlong into death as he did.
[He plays a few more chords, ]
I tried my hand at it, a few times. I served at his right hand for four hundred years; if one of us could have managed it, it ought to have been me. But nothing seemed to fit, no matter how I worked. And eventually....well. There was still a war on, and ever fewer of us to perform his tasks.
And then the city returned him to me, at least for a time, along with others whose losses cut near as deep. I know they were memories, not the real people. But as resentful as I am for the trick, I am so glad to have seen even their ghosts again. I think...I needed to hear what they had to say. What he had to say, about why he chose to die when he did. And, in a strange way, I am grateful for that.
[His playing grows louder then, more complex and challenging.]
My father's lament...I do think I'm ready to pick up the task again. That is something, at least.
video
But even missing them dreadfully isn't going to get him to stop teasing Turgon.] He's had so much time to perfect that look on the rest of us. Poor monsters, they must have had no idea what hit them.
Would any amount of time with them have been enough? When everyone in Nevrast left for Gondolin.... At least then, I could hope that they were safe. [Shaking his head, clearly thinking and look how that turned out.] We can still say now that the worst is over for them.
Isn't it always?
[A dry smile] After the work Celebrimbor put into repairing that helmet? I would hate to make him go through all of it again.
Thank you. I may be here for a few more hours, but I'll be back for supper. It sounds like we'll all have plenty to discuss. Would you like me to grab anything on my way back?
video
No, no amount of time would have been enough. [ Gondolin, right. Curufin had never thought that was a good idea, not when his thinking was distorted by the Oath, and not in retrospect, when his thinking was clear. But nobody had asked him for his opinion. ] I guess so. If they were really just illusions, ghosts created by our own minds, then their disappearance does not matter to them, only to us. And as for our real relatives. . . I suppose they must be safe in the Halls of Mandos.
[ Little, sad smile. ] The silence left by those who have left us. . . yes. Always. Even in the midst of a crowd.
[ Laugh. He likes the dry humor. ] Celebrimbor wouldn't mind. He's the most tenacious smith I've ever known.
Then I'll see you at supper. And yes, we should all talk. You can grab anything you'd like to bring back. Whatever it is, either Cel or I will know how to cook it. [ Grin. ]