WHO: Elenwë and Turgon WHAT: Talking WHEN: Late Wednesday evening WARNINGS: It's gonna be sad, probably STATUS: Closed/Ongoing
For weeks, Elenwë had been terribly worried about Turgon. Her husband had always been a man who kept to himself, and he had never been particularly cheerful. He was a serious man, full of deep and serious thoughts, and she loved that about him. But in the past weeks, he seemed to have fallen deeper into his sad melancholy. So deep that she could not even rouse him from it, when she had always been able to before. It pierced her heart to see him so despondent, and her own mood had fallen lately in response to his depression.
Tonight, she was on edge, pacing the room back and forth, waiting for him to return. He had not told her where he went tonight, and while that in itself was not unusual (they did not belong to each other, after all), it was getting quite late and she could not help but worry. There were evil things on this island the likes of which they had never faced, and the thought of her beloved falling victim to one of them made her stomach ache in fear and concern. Or perhaps he was sitting somewhere, alone, crying, without her to comfort him, and that was wrong too. She was his wife, and she loved him dearly, and more than anything she just wanted him to come out of his sadness enough to talk to her. Was that so much to ask?
She went to the window and closed her eyes, concentrating on seeking his fëa in the darkness. She was not like the Lady Galadriel when it came to though transference, but she hoped she could at least feel him somewhere near, and know that he was still alive. She exhaled deeply as her spirit found his, and she found that he was at least physically unharmed, and nearer than she had thought, although she could not pinpoint him exactly.
"Turukáno," she whispered to the empty room. "Let me help."