|Chel (ex_faramir486) wrote in nocturnes,|
@ 2008-01-30 13:16:00
Ithildin: Tuor & Turin
who: Tuor and Túrin
where: er...outside Menegroth?
The yards and garders surrounding Menegroth fill Túrin with a certain sense of daring--wanted, as he believes he is (footsteps send him diving for underbrush); as well as washing him over in memory. With a bitter twist of his lips, he continues down his path and finds himself at the entrance to Thingol's halls.
"Halt! All ye who go...er--" Tuor's recitation is broken by a yawn, and when he opens one tired eye, he grins lazily. "Well, look who it is, the Yetti."
"Oh--the Golden boy. Hullo, Tuor."
"Golden and still glowing, I'll have you know." Leaning one hand on the handle of his handy dandy axe, Tuor slouches even further, if that were possible. He appears to be the only "guard" on duty. "Here to see Her Queenship?"
"Mmm," he waves a hand in dismissal. "She's got enough on her mind. But you." Now, toeing at the axe he raises a brow. "...compensation for something?"
Eyebrow arch. "...this coming from someone whose weapon was strangely sentient?"
"That's rather low," breathing shallowly, he crosses his arms. "Be nice. You were in Valinor."
"If anything, that tends to drive one battier." With effort, he sits up and leans his axe against the wall, stretching out his legs before him. "This is me nice. However, there is also no line too low for me. We all know this."
Not being able to help his eyes that roam the surroundings warily, he turns back to his cousin and lifts a hand. "And here I was, praying for a miracle."
"You ask far too much of me. And geez, you look like a bandit. Here, sit down. Have a drink. I found Thingol's wine cellar. Life is good."
"..I haven't been here last since I killed an elf. Reason enough, hmm?" he mutters, waving the wine off.
"Oh please," he scoffs, taking a draught. "Anyone who remembers that is either dead or is riding a wooden pony. You're perfectly safe."
So then, he swipes the wineskin from his cousin's hands. "If you say so."
"Hey!" Bereft, he lounges back, put out. "Well, I say so. And if you don't believe me, I guess you'll just have to see for yourself."
"...so I should loaf around and wait for someone to walk up and throw me in prison. You know the elven ones," he gives his arm a nudge. "Dank but terribly well decorated."
He nearly falls over. "Well, you know the elves. Can stay in a small room for centuries on end as long as they've got something pretty to look at." And, forgetting that Túrin has taken his skin, pulls out a flask from his inner pocket. "And for Ulmo's sake, no one is going to throw you in prison. You're more paranoid than the old man, and look what happened to him."
"...what did happen to him?" he asks, in a soft voice, taking the flask as well.
At first, he doesn't notice until he tries to bring the flask to his lips and looks down at his empty hand in surprise. "Either the stress has gotten to him or someone finally took a bat to his head. But in any case, he's barmier than a barnacle. Thinks he's a farmer-cum-dragon-slaying-knight. I think he's just read your story one too many a time."
He has a sudden vision of Thingol tottering about the hall on a stickhorse with a frying pan for a helmet and covers his mouth with his forearm to keep from choking in laughter. Then, solemnity settles across his brows once more and he gives his cousin a sullen look. "...I resent that."
Grin. "It's a fine image. I point out dust bunnies in the corners for him to slay."
"You're terribly sadistic. I would give him beams of light to chase."
"Well, it's not like he's got a proper staff. And since Ninny's made me Lord of the Janitors, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone."
"She must be ever so grateful."
"Valar knows with all the regular menagerie she's made of this place? It's filthy."
In concordance with his statement, he drops both wineskin and flask on the ground between them. "...janitors clean."
"Well. This is why I have underlings."
"Flies and maggots?"
"Are we not all Eru's creatures?" Warm, fuzzy smile.
"Come off of it." Muttering something akin to 'bleh', he settles back and watches his winesoaked vision swim.
"You think in a thousand plus years, they would've properly cleaned the joint," he begins in a philisophical tone, "but you take a walk down in some of those inner caves and you better have a breathing mask on you because it's absolutely toxic in there."
"Probably something Beleg did--" he waves his hand, watching it still circle when placed in his lap. "Haven't been this shitfaced in some time." Sigh.
"Well...that's some really fermented wine."
"No kidding. What's got you on that, anyway?" Yawn. "...is it warm?" Gathering his threadbare cloak around his shoulders, he leans his shoulder against his cousin's and feigns sleep.
"Do I look like a pillow?" He makes an ineffectual shove and instead, sprawls himself, spitting out Turin hair caught in his mouth. "You need a haircut."
Catching himself on the stone wall, he pulls back up and snorts. "I think it adds to my image."
"What? Abominable..a.ble....Abominableable snowman?"
"Pshh. Come off your high horse, Mr....high horse...man." He frowns. "Anyway. I've got Thingol working so well, I think I'm up for a promotion soon. Mmm, I'll put in a good word about Keeper of the wine cellar."
Smirk. "...it's very breezy up here," he insists, pulling on a curl. "Besides. I think anything would be better than Keeper of the Lord's dust bunnies and royal chamber pot."
"Oh, well now chamber pots are a special case. I tell him those are poisonous swamps that must be drained for the fairies to flourish."
"...you must be your father's pride and joy."
"He ought to be thankful he got a son who didn't royally fuck himself over at any rate. Common trend it is in the family." A shrug. "Though I've got to be careful with what I say, otherwise Idril will try and join him and...yeah." Weary sigh.
"What? The grand and glorious line of 'fucked' that our family is? Pfft," he scoffs. "...isn't she all flowers and sunshine?"
"I suppose it's better to be a 'glorious fuck' than a golden shmuck?" He laughs. "Flowers and sunshines and puppies. I'm buying her a plastic ball for her begetting day."
"Depends on who you speak to. And really? Saves on flowers and jewels."
"Well, she gets sad when the flowers die. Jewels are too risky as she tends to lose them...everywhere in friggin Arda. And she's just discovered bubbles, but cries when they pop. So. Hence, plastic ball. Roll it across the floor and she's entertained for hours."
"And this is Turgon's daughter. The pride of Gondolin. Must have been some place." Raking his fingers through his hair, he straightens and nudges a stone out from under his leg with the toe of his boot.
"Hey now, what she may lack in...eh, mindfulness, she makes up for with a big heart. And enthusiasm." Glancing over at his cousin, it still gives him great satisfaction that even slouching, he's still taller. "But man, Gondolin. Collective I.Q. range below the 70's. Great place to really shine, ya know? They just loved me because I could read."
"Must have been why Ulmo chose you," with a prod to his cousin's shoulder, he stands and steadies himself against the wall. "With all those...talents. Mmhm."
"Slim pickings, granted. But, I tell you this cousin-mine, get yourself a god's favor and the world is your open oyster," he muses with a dreamy smile, looking up at Túrin. "But I s'ppose it's time you do your Robinhood thing. You know, because you're being oh-so-persecuted."
"I'll have you know--" sigh. Feeling his face begin to redden in anger, he counts to three and takes a deep breath. "It's not worth it. I'll be around."
"Off he goes, like a thief in the night. To vanish iniquity and fight the good fight," he says fondly, lifting a hand. "Off you go. Don't stay a stranger, stranger."
"And you, Sir Poet-Janitor-bitch of the Gods-Cousin of all Trades," and with a bow, he turns on his heel and begins to meander back over the path from which he came.