memory. open to both courts.

[orcsurfing]

[ 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 )

Comments

written

[walkingarsenal]

[Those poor hobbits. Still, despite the recent few worried, exhausting days, this scene brings a faint smile to Fíli's lips by the end of it, though he isn't sure what exactly the locket is even doing, let alone how or why. Lifting it closer to his face to peer at that dwarf in particular, he watches with interest.

Afterwards, he dictates a remark:]

How your companions must have envied your light feet.

Re: written

[orcsurfing]

[ Curious! That Fili would contain himself to text and no more than this, but Legolas won't insist. There must be a reason for it and perhaps it is not for him to know. He responds in kind, of course, dictating text for the locket to send over. ]

Sadly it is not a skill one can learn! I would have, otherwise, for a pitiful sight they made at the time.

written

[walkingarsenal]

[You're a bro, Legolas. He is grateful that his friend writes back; for now, it's easier.]

An elven secret, or simply a feat unique to elven feet?

[... That looks slightly silly written down. More than likely, it would have sounded sillier spoken aloud.]

But all of you made it past the mountains?

[orcsurfing]

[ Rhymed! Legolas even parrots it out loud for amusement before shaking his head and responding again with text. ]

Elven feet unique feat,
is to step on all in a way most discreet.
No matter the weather, no matter the ground,
our feet are light and leave none for the hound.

[ This was terrible, Legolas stop. ]

We have not made it over Caradhras, but were forced instead to go through Moria beneath it.

[ The memory of Moria still... makes his skin crawl, in all truth. The Balrog, Gandalf's fall, all of it. ]

[walkingarsenal]

[Now he might be sorry that Legolas' words reach him as silent ink. That little poem nonetheless prompts another smile, one of genuine amusement. Perhaps elven feet were not thought of as so discreet when they stepped on dwarven skulls that one time, but they were light even then and left no visible tracks, no matter the ground indeed.]

You are a poet, Master Elf.
Much have I learned in but four lines.
... Though I cannot say the same of myself.

[Then Moria sinks in.]

You were there? In the halls of Khazad-dûm?

[Or the city's ruins. But what of Durin's Bane, and the orcs?]

[orcsurfing]

[ Had it been anything but text, Fili could hear the laughter in Legolas's voice too. Genuine enjoyment of this conversation and the banter. ]

Practise and time is what it takes,
to master the words that one dictates.

My simple rhymes are hardly poetry, Master Dwarf!
A true bard of the likes of Lord Maglor would shake his head in great embarrassment.

[ That enjoyment even manages to soothe a little this unpleasant feeling in his gut when he remembers Moria. ]

We have walked the old grand halls, indeed, we have faced the hordes of orcs that made their home there and we have faced the Bane of Durin as you would call it, the Balrog your people unearthed once upon a time.

[ The bane of the elves as well. A creature of darkness and flame, one thing ever to make his arms go slack on the bow. But before he finishes, he adds one more thing: ]

Gandalf has defeated it, however, at a great cost to himself yet not one that has taken him from us for good.

[walkingarsenal]

I suppose it's best not to ask what Lord Maglor would think of my rhymes.

[For a time, he is quiet, taking in Legolas' response. There is a twinge of something uncomfortable, something guilty, even though no one meant to awaken that terrible creature (just like no one meant to awaken Smaug). He wonders what Gimli thought when he set foot in those halls (no doubt he'll know someday).

There is something else that stirs, too, and it isn't a longing to see this lost kingdom of old for himself. It's a pang of homesickness, but not for any place that Durin's Folk has yearned to reclaim.]

Your detour ended well, then, for all of you. I'm glad to hear it. [Not that he can hear anything.]

[orcsurfing]

And yet I am certain he would enjoy the songs you could share.

[ Once more they thread the thin ice of what Legolas feels comfortable sharing and what he thinks should remain unsaid. At least for the moment. Perhaps one day Fili will learn of his fate, his brother's fate, his uncle's fate, but Legolas would not want it coming from him, if he could help it. ]

At the time we had not thought so, we had thought Gandalf lost to us, though time proved us otherwise.
And ever am I thankful that it had.

[walkingarsenal]

[Songs... Truthfully, he wouldn't be opposed to that. Kíli might enjoy it as well, and Fíli opts to focus on that thought, although more and more questions need to be put aside.]

If only there were fiddles to find at the Station...

Would Lord Maglor share his poetry?

[orcsurfing]

I would think so, and also I would think it would do no harm to ask!
Likewise with finding a fiddle at the Station, there are a great many things here.
It may be a matter of knowing where to look, perhaps!

[walkingarsenal]

Then, if we stumble upon a pair, perhaps we ought to set aside a day for songs and rhymes to trade.

[orcsurfing]

This matter, I should think, is not a mere "perhaps," but instead what we ought to do for certain!
It would be my pleasure to share the songs of my people with you, and to listen to you sing and play.

[walkingarsenal]

It would be our pleasure to listen in turn. We'll make it a goal to pursue in earnest.

[orcsurfing]

As we should. I am ever glad we agree on this!