hadriel | We called upon ourselves the Everlasting Dark if we kept not our oath [ audio / video / action]

[ On the seventeenth of March, Curufin collects his harp and flute and picks a nicely reverberating corner of Sorrow's temple. He sets up his phone and then begins to play. If there are other members of Team Sorrow who can make music, they are welcome to join him, and in that case, there will be multiple instruments playing. Imagine any or all of the following: Peter Kater's My Beloved, Georg Deuter's Dämmerschein, or Deuter's Moon-silvered Clouds, except played with harp instead of piano.

What this music means to Curufin is the hour of his life when that life was coming to an end. He got himself and two of his brothers killed while attempting to destroy the Kingdom of Doriath, in order that he might keep a disastrous pledge that should never have been sworn in the first place. And, of course, he slew a lot of innocent people before he and his brothers died. He dimly remembers, as though it were a painful dream, the departure of his spirit on the winter wind, on a day in which there was a blue sky and vast white gray-edged clouds drifting above the forest, first under the sun and then by moonlight. He remembers his sorrow and that of the four brothers he left behind to weep and to bury their family. And he remembers his grief because now there could never be a reconciliation with his estranged son.

Elves have a certain magic -- they describe it as putting their thought into all that they make. This goes for music as well as for material artifacts. Curufin, as well, has a gift for casting a dark spell on others, transmitting a dark dream to them. But the dream he transmits here is dark but not evil, only profoundly sorrowful. It is not a sorrow without hope, however, because he himself is no longer hopeless. His post-death experiences have given him back his heart, and so his vision has a thin gleam of something positive in it.

Any listeners who are susceptible to this kind of performance will feel their own emotions, of course, emerging from their own experiences. It could be memories of loved ones cherished and lost, or other experiences of being grief-stricken. How they react is up to the individuals who hear. They should feel free, if they wish, to let him know how the music affects them. ]

[ OOC: Whoever wants their characters to be directly affected by this magic is free to do so, but of course it is not obligatory. Curufin's not a bad musician even without the magic. Also, OOCly, if your character tags in and allows himself or herself to become sorrowful, I will send Curufin to your post to experience the emotions of your character's team, or it can happen in this log. Fair trade! Everybody benefits. XD ]

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(His self-esteem has been dismantled - rightly so, he thinks. Oh he knows his talents - his gifts - but he refuses to let himself be too prideful. Or...prideful at all.)

I am not sufficient. (The silver of his eyes lightens and he touches Curufin's hand, examining the fit with satisfaction.) I can tell size by sight, though my previous rings could expand or contract depending on their owner.

(He smiles slowly, shyly, setting his harp aside so he can return the embrace with a small sigh.)

[ And Curufin will make it the aim of his life to nurture his son so that he can eventually regain that self-esteem. ]

You are sufficient. [ And he smiles into Cel's eyes, seeing their silver beginning to shine. He has always loved those pale gray eyes, how they catch the light, how they show emotion with such subtlety and such expressiveness. ] You are a craftsman of great talent, as I have said.

[ And he wraps his arms around his son with care and great affection. That small sigh he can feel as though it moved his own chest and not just Cel's -- so connected does he feel now that they are together again, and reconciled. ]

Thank you again, Telpë.

I must find a gift for you, too.

(The smile leaves him flustered, the silver of his eyes brightening as his emotions clear. Curufin has a strong effect on him; every smile, every frown, every gentle word is engraved on his heart, remaking the pieces Sauron had left behind.)

I learned from the best. (He rests their heads together, sensing his father as clearly as Curufin senses him. They are indeed reconciled; there is not an ounce of anger in Celebrimbor's heart.)

I have my gift. (Cradling the back of Curufin's head, he kisses one of his temples, giving him a shy, thrilled grin.) You are not cold or angry; you have not shut me out or pretended I deserved what befell me. I can live with you as if none of it happened. There is little else that could make this life better for me.

[ Curufin is very much aware of how much weight his words and actions carry with Celebrimbor, and even the subtlest of his expressions. He remembers this every single minute of their time together, and he strives to give what will be useful to his son in his quest to regain himself and to find healing. ]

And I suppose that in time, you too will become a teacher of smiths, and pass on your skills. [ His forehead is now tipped against his son's, and he enjoys this precious moment. ]

[ Softly ] I am honored, my son, that you see that as a gift. I see it as simply what is owed to you, what was always owed to you. You are an adult now, but I am grateful that you are willing to give me a second chance at being the parent I should have been all along. That is your gift to me, and I will think of it every time I look at or wear this beautiful ring.

[ And he'll keep thinking about a gift for Cel. A material object is a token of affections that would be felt even without the gift, but to give a gift is a kindly gesture all the same. ]

We called upon ourselves the Everlasting Dark if we kept not our oath [ audio / video / action]

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