Who: Fingon, Maedhros, Glorfindel, Stefan, Harry, and Wax What: Harry invited the elves to see the prisoners...Fingon makes good on a promise Where: Where the prisoners are being held When: Saturday Night Rating/Progress: Violence and Death/Closed except to responses
There had been many days between Harry's invitation to visit the prisoners and the acceptance from Fingon to Harry alone. Indeed the Wizard stood in a precarious position, between those that called for fair hearing and those that threatened to withdraw the most valuable assets from the people. They were not Fingon's people. He was a kind King, beloved by his people, remembered for his goodness and love of all in equalness. He had waited as Harry had bid him, but his word would stand strong. The promise of a King stood as resolute as iron.
He walked, less inhibited now by his injury, flanked upon each side by Glorfindel and Maedhros. They flinched not an inch away from their King as they were led into the dungeon of sorts that the prisoner's had been kept within while those above sorted the details of the crime. Fingon's eyes cut to Harry, stoic as the Wizard opened the magical cell to those awaiting their visitors, and for a moment, Fingon paused to sum them up for what they were.
Their appearance was deceiving, for they were but women who might have been passed a million times upon the street. Yet before the King of the Noldor, they were the murderers who had stolen the very precious life of his brother. His head tipped faintly as he passed the Wizard, drawing a breath as though he might have spoken to them, but stilled within the air. There was naught to be said to them. Only their knowing eyes betrayed them, for they looked upon Fingon with a recognition that fueled his resolve. They had known Turgon, and so it was no shock now that such a creature stood before them.
The softest sigh passed his lips, for he knew his plan had been well conceived. None had suspected, and now that he stood before them, there was but the moment to act. What was a sigh became a breath he drew deep in his chest, and from his right hip, he drew the knife which would be their ending. There was nearly not the time for the light to glint upon the elvish blade before he'd stepped behind the first woman, drawing it across her exposed throat with such precision that it might have been a kindly thing. The blood rushed forward in warmth, staining the floor in a surreal moment of realization. Yet before an act could be made, nor the first body collapsed, he moved with grace to the second prisoner to repeat the action. The barrier wavered, sending a shiver through his body as his deed was complete.
The first fell, face forward, and barely a breath behind, the second, crumpled upon the ground with little more than a choking which flashed through Fingon with long despised memory as he stepped free of them and the pooling blood. His eyes once more passed over the Wizard and the company behind which had accompanied their visit. The lawman and the Vampire who had suffered a loss so similar his own. His expression held no guilt, but empathy for the immortal.
From his hand he passed the blood stained blade to Maedhros, his closest ally, knowing well his path would dare not be hindered now. Nearing Harry, he spoke but a single thing, leaned close with gentleness yet chilling apathy for what had been done. "Your time was up."