eachdraidh | 004 | video

[ Sif is not bothering with trying to mask the marks of grief on her face, the shine of unshed tears in her eyes and the dark circles underneath them. She is tired, and there is little sense in pretending as if she has not been touched by recent events.

When she speaks her voice is flat and a little huskier than usual, but her words are uttered calmly and without hesitation. ]

I know not what friends he made in this place, but he always had a particular gift for making people think well of him so I suspect it was no different here, and so in case he is missed by some of you I must inform you that Thor Odinson is no longer in this realm. I know not why it could not hold him but... he is gone.

[ And what does that even mean? Is he dead? Is he back home? Is he stuck somewhere in limbo?

And what is she supposed to do? Hold a funeral? Some sort of ceremony to honor his memory?

She sighs, finding that there really is no more that she wishes to say even if some part of her thinks that perhaps she should. ]

That is all.

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I do.

I am sorry I cannot come to you there. But you are not alone. I will send you something.

I know I am not, amil. Where are you now? Caer Scima?

The Station. It seems the easiest place to meet those willing to help with my commission.

[ Speaking of the commission... ]

Maglor told me about Celegorm... Is there anything I can do for you?

Sweet child. Will you share your memories with me?

[ This is for Nerdanel's ears only, and so Sif makes the conversation private. ]

Would you like me to do it now?

Only if you wish to do so, Elenmahtarwen. They can be difficult, and I will not force them.

It is alright.

[ She shifts around a little, making herself more comfortable in her seat. ]

You should know that... I recently learned what he did to Legolas, and I have been very angry with him since. I am not sure how our next meeting would have gone, had there been one.

[ Yes, she is assuming that Nerdanel knows what her son did, because Mother bloody well knows everything. ]

I thought that we were friends. Good friends, even. When I was traveling with Legolas he dragged me out for hunts, away from the crowd to ask endless questions about me and my world. He couldn't get enough of stories, it sometimes seemed. I remember he would often punctuate his words with little touches, as if his hands were a part of his voice and he needed to brush them over an arm or a hand to truly get his meaning across.

[ She hesitates a little, but then keeps going. ]

We danced during Samhain, and there was an odd shift in the mood. It was more of a chase than a dance, really, and when I caught him... I held him fast against me, and my fingers were in his hair. I pulled his head back to expose his throat, as if perhaps I meant to bite it, and he... asked me not to stop. I am to this day not sure exactly what it is that he wanted from me on that night, for I let him go, and that was the last I ever saw of him.

It was that very night I saw him much like the boy I held so close. My little golden one, so different from his brothers... For a short time, he was my boy once more.

But what wormed itself into him, what twisted his mind and heart to wreak such with those clever hands I taught so well... He knew he had changed. He feared it. He wept in my arms asking if he had become a monster. He was not, but one turned him to dark purposes, and again did another. And I shall ensure none forget what it means to be in such service.

[She seems calm, certainly, but there is something about it that feels far too eerily like the deadly calm before a storm bursts forth.]

[ Sif knows that calm well, it is not unlike her own steely resolve before she goes into battle. ]

Do not break yourself to accomplish it, amil.

Edited 2014-12-09 00:10 (UTC)

It is art, child. It will not break me.

No, it is vengeance. I see it in your eyes.

[ And while retribution is certainly a sentiment that she can respect... she still worries. ]

[A pause.]

Dearest Elenmahtarwen... You are well-versed in many disciplines. What study have you made in art?

Not much. I have little gift for such things.

[ Art is, in a way, creating life. Sif is an instrument of death. ]

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