|Chel (ex_faramir486) wrote in nocturnes,|
@ 2008-01-30 13:17:00
Ithildin: Fingolfin & Nienor.
Who: Fingolfin and Nienor
Where: Throneroom of Menegroth
When: After Fingolfin meets Ereinion
Still vaguely irritated from his encounter with Ereinion, Fingolfin freely strolls into Menegroth, giving the Sindar guards withering stares. But, they make no move to stop him.
Idly counting the columns in a hallway, Nienor pauses before a dusty tapestry, frayed around the edges by the hands of time after making sure her iguana is walking somewhere nearby. Quietly observing the scene of battle woven with thread and wool, she hears the faint footfall of someone approaching and assuming it to be a guard, simply states over her shoulder, "…please don't step on Galadriel's tail."
He halts in his tracks, eyes immediately searching for his blonde menace of a niece...and then the rest of Nienor's words catches up to him. Tail? Blink. "--Pardon?"
She points at the polished floor with faint remains of dust [that she tried to get rid of, hands and knees soaked in soap water along with the guards] where the emerald green iguana is walking around languidly. "That's Galadriel," she turns and nods as familiarity sinks into her vision. A smile. "--hullo."
There are no words for how utterly amused he is right now as he follows the iguana's progress across the floor. "The semblance is truly amazing. Good afternoon."
"He's beautiful," she nods with some subdued sense of pride that arises from the fact that she truly admires this creature enough to find any resemblance between him and the elf he is named after. "How do you fare? I see the marks of the birds are gone."
"A good washing cures all," he murmurs, lounging against the stone wall and crossing his arms. "I am...suffering under the burdens of family reunions left and right. You're doing rather well here, I see."
"I've braved to face the only family I know so I'd say...yes, quite well." Here? No. "Here is nowhere." She ends up raising her fingers as if to dismiss the last statement and plants them over her lips, shaping a smile into nothingness. "How many have you met from your family?"
"Most recently? My grandson. Scion of Kings." He snorts softly and slides down the cavern wall to the clean floor. "But he's really just a little shit."
Following his lead, she promptly lowers herself on the floor and pats the aged marble once to get Galadriel's attention before looking at him solemnly as she asks, "So he's...half and half?"
Meeting Galadriel's reptilian eyes as the iguana slinks over to them, he considers this. "30, 70, maybe."
"30% scion of kings and 70% shit? I'm sorry for the kings."
"Mmm, thank you then." The iguana puts a foot on the toe of his boot and pauses in all its infinite patience. "I like this Galadriel better."
She nods, keeping her eyes on the iguana before she starts laughing softly. "At least this Galadriel doesn't want to join Doriath and...Lórien to make a United States of Artanis."
"Or has my grandson in thrall long enough to suck out all his blood," he adds miserably.
"Maybe he is willingly allowing his blood to be sucked," she voices her opinion as she reaches out and places a comforting hand on his shoulder before withdrawing it. "Can't he make his own decisions?"
"...on such limited brain capacity? Probably not. And I am loathe to consider the alternative if so."
"Then perhaps he cannot be helped. I mean, there must be a modicum of motivation in the person to better theie circumstances otherwise all foreign help fails," she punctuates her words with tiny movements of her hands through the air before clasping them in her lap and nodding firmly. "Don't be sad. I do think it is not your fault he is too far gone for sanity."
"And truly, I would attempt to cut my losses, were it not for the fact he has the Noldorhim crown and wants to give it to the less pleasant Galadriel." Sliding his legs to his chest, he wraps his arms around his knees. "United States of Artanis? Try United World."
"It'd be a...bizarre world. I'll run away and hide," she comments with a slight shake of her head while looking at the floor in thought, idly curling a strand of golden hair and tossing it away from her forehead. "It won't be fair but I bet Galadriel won't think that."
"Oh. No. I suppose she would think herself a fair and just ruler over all," he muses with more than a little cynicism gracing the lines of his mouth. "...she's up to something. Well, she's always up to something, but now especially."
"Would it help if I never got off the dusty throne in here?"
"...would you accept a personal guard?"
She leans closer and whispers to him in a secretive tone with a tiny smile, "I would but he might tire of guarding a mad mad impersonator queen who makes everyone wash their hands before they eat."
"We'll see," he states, a brow rising in cool challenge. "Madness is purely subjective, Nienor."
"Perhaps you haven't seen through the eyes of those who say it isn't." A hand stretched out towards an open window as if to point out the world, she sits back with her head against the cold stonewall and watches the iguana trying to pass over Fingolfin's boots. "...but I agree. I'd rather be honest in madness than be false in wisdom."
"...I think it's rather why I'd see you take an Elven throne over anyone else."
She ends up laughing as he speaks, a timid sound that reverberates with genuine amusement. "Have you seen Lord Thingol lately? That is the sort of madness I fear."
"And yet somehow strangely fitting in a grand, karmic way of things," he says quite happily, urging Galadriel over his boot so he can stretch out his legs. "Where is our esteemed dragon slayer?"
"...somewhere telling the guards about his pig farming days and sudden ascent to knighthood, I'm sure. He asked if he could join the guards and I allowed him."
"You know, that fabrication is surprisingly not far from real life," he jokes, laughing softly at the image nonetheless. "I'm sure he's entirely grateful."
"I hope he doesn't get himself hurt. Because then I won't be able to say that the takeover was not hostile." A thought turns into a nervous smile and she rubs her temple, trying to hide it. "...I hope Doriath doesn't crumble."
Shifting a little, Fingolfin knocks on the cold stone wall of the cavern experimentally, though he knows perfectly well what she really eludes to. "Mmm. Good, solid elements here. Strong from the inside out."
Quietly she studies the movement of his hand before asking in a soft voice, "would you have come here if your home was still standing?"
"Honestly?" He turns back to her. "Probably not."
She holds his glance for a moment before placing a hand just above her heart. "Me either. Sometimes I think the Valar are most unfair."
Gaze, unbroken, he only silently lifts his own hand, mirroring her gesture with heavier solemnity. One word. "Yes."
"Should we care that they don't care?"
"And what would that get us?"
"Nothing," she murmurs half-heartedly after a long pause. "Nothing in the final sense of the word. But I'll tell you - they make good tartgets to receive my anger."
"Aim, shoot, hit. Bullseye." His hands and arms fluidly mimic the archer motions, feigning some distant prey in the flickering shadows. "Now. Defy fate."
Reaching up her arm, she curls her fingers into a fist as if catching a handful of air before bringing it for him to see. "My arm can only reach this far. But defying fate? Now that's something I can try my hands at."
Drawing a finger across the plane of her open palm, as if all the secrets of the universe were hidden in its lines, he nods once. Utterly certain. "I think, Comrade Nienor, you've already made a good showing."
Hesitating a little, she bites the corner of her lips before taking his hand and closing his fingers as if securing them around something worth a lot more than merely invisible feeling. "Thank you. And you, Comrade Nolofinwë, though far from home, I'm glad you came after all."