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eachdraidh2014-07-15 08:24 am
orcsurfing) wrote in eachdraidh2014-07-15 08:24 am
memory. open to both courts.
[ All around is white, snow whips across the picture along with long strands of pale golden hair. A pace or two away a couple figures stand huddled together, pressed against a wall of a mountain. Two tall men, four hobbits whose heads barely stand above the surface of the snow, A DWARF* that stands a little taller yet still, and a greying man dressed in greys in a pointed hat. The image, oddly enough, shows them from somehow above all. ]
If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you.
[ For some, perhaps a familiar voice, for others perhaps not. Light of heart and little troubled by the storm. The man in the pointed hat answers him. ]
If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us.
[ But no matter the wizard and elf exchanging jabs at each other, there are still Men with ideas here. One speaks: ]
Well, when heads are at a loss bodies must severe, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder or rock down yonder. It was there that the snow first began to burden us. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.
[ Another - the tallest - answers him: ]
Then let us force a path thither, you and I!
[ And for a moment there it seems that would be the end of the conversation, the camera - so to speak - follows the toiling men, the way they work through the snow with great trouble yet also with some success. Yet not before long, Legolas speaks up again, his voice rising easily in the noise of the snow storm. ]
The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow - an Elf!
[ With that said, he springs forth nimbly. The camera briefly showing his feet on the snow, sinking but only a little, leaving little imprints in the cover of snow. And he runs light and easy. ]
Farewell! I go to find the Sun!
[ He says with a last look to Gandalf first, then to the toiling men, Aragorn and Boromir. For them, he has a wave of a hand, before he speeds off. ]
( ooc; paraphrased book excerpt, sassing off to a maia, have at! visual aid, I mean what. *blanche is a loser kill me now I FORGOT GIMLI )
If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you.
[ For some, perhaps a familiar voice, for others perhaps not. Light of heart and little troubled by the storm. The man in the pointed hat answers him. ]
If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us.
[ But no matter the wizard and elf exchanging jabs at each other, there are still Men with ideas here. One speaks: ]
Well, when heads are at a loss bodies must severe, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we came up, turned about that shoulder or rock down yonder. It was there that the snow first began to burden us. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more than a furlong off, I guess.
[ Another - the tallest - answers him: ]
Then let us force a path thither, you and I!
[ And for a moment there it seems that would be the end of the conversation, the camera - so to speak - follows the toiling men, the way they work through the snow with great trouble yet also with some success. Yet not before long, Legolas speaks up again, his voice rising easily in the noise of the snow storm. ]
The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow - an Elf!
[ With that said, he springs forth nimbly. The camera briefly showing his feet on the snow, sinking but only a little, leaving little imprints in the cover of snow. And he runs light and easy. ]
Farewell! I go to find the Sun!
[ He says with a last look to Gandalf first, then to the toiling men, Aragorn and Boromir. For them, he has a wave of a hand, before he speeds off. ]
( ooc; paraphrased book excerpt, sassing off to a maia, have at! visual aid, I mean what. *blanche is a loser kill me now I FORGOT GIMLI )
no subject
It is... different for you, perhaps, who was born and grew on Middle Earth, where the battle against the great enemy coloured all things.
But I grew to my majority never knowing darkness or pain beyond that caused in the hunt. For greater than a thousand years it was so, strife utterly unknown to me. And when it came, it came so greatly, princeling...
So greatly. So terribly. The red blood of my father's father pooled against the marble. My sword reddened to my wrist with the blood of elves. The fires we started. The fires which burned us. Why, I wondered, when the whole host of the Ainur stood to prevent it? To protect us? To avenge us? I had lived so long in peace, the violence and cruelty were beyond maddening.
At length I remembered the hunts in which I rode alongside Oromë himself. I remembered the beasts that fell beneath his lance, each great and worthy, each driven at last to succumb to their wounds. A hunter does not care for the cries of agony or pain his prey may make. Not wolf, not elves, not men, not even Eru's first creations. They hunt, prey falls, blood spills, and the world keeps turning.
I would rather be a hunter of any sort than a beast waiting to be devoured. It was a hard lesson, and I wish, I wish with every fibre of myself that it had left a scar for me to touch, to feel, to see. So that I knew the pain was more than in my head and in my heart, and that I had survived it.
no subject
But words come all the same, quiet, a notch breathless as his heart hammers away in what feels like the vicinity of his throat. ]
That you were made capable of such cruelties, the marks you have left on the world around you. Burned ships, mauled and bloodied bodies of the elves, all those you have scarred.
They are not yours, never will be, but they are out there and they are as physical as any others.
[ And oh how this dull ache that runs all across every single line drawn on his back reminds him of how real these scars are, the memories of the time - always, always vivid and clear - adding a sting, sharpness like the a lash of a whip anew. ]
no subject
All that I do is a reflection of me.
[ Pain, yes, but no regret, nor hesitation. He exhales a sigh, and the sound of his headshake carries. ]
Keep your star close. If it remembers your better memories so well, it should be counted precious; and perhaps it will give you more light to see by in the growing dark.
[ And his locket clicks shut ]
not here.
It doesn't. Instead it's lowered and put away, like the comfort that washes up his senses with the sudden deafening silence.
He was never here, yet the air felt thicker, tasted of copper, though there was no blood filling his mouth this time. Legolas too shuts his locket, ignoring the odd, incomprehensible ache in his breast and heads out to find something to put his mind to other matters. Lighter. ]