❧ video; 01

[firith]

[ Tiny, delicate little hands are the first sight to be seen when the locket begins to broadcast, closely followed by a pair of bright grey eyes. A fairy flutters from Thranduil's arm to sit on his shoulder and, pointy-eared as he is with a river of pale blonde hair (not to mention a crown of red berries and leaves), they make a fine pair, though neither of them appears particularly human. It isn't locked to one court or another, singularly because he isn't aware it can be, displaying the brilliant golden walls of a private solar in Caer Glaem. A king's chambers.

The feed shuts off abruptly.

Minutes later, it clicks back on to the sound of the tinkling laughter of the same fairy; someone is clearly learning how to use the locket's functions via trial and error. Judging by the first glimpse of him, he needs the practice. The third time he speaks, the message runs along the screen like a river of inked words taking form: A charming tool. And they will be able to respond in kind, you say? I think I will, yes. How do I —? Ah. Thank you, little one.

Fourth time is a charm; the locket is held at arm's length, affording the best view yet of a fascinated elf. ]

I am Thranduil, Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen, that which is the Wood of Greenleaves in the land from whence I hail. I would welcome those with greater knowledge of the Drabwurld and the creatures within it. Well do I understand the nature of being summoned thus — that is not a point of contention for me, as it is with many of you.

[ The fairy shimmers insistently, drawing a glance. ]

Lothdithen will visit any who wish to further discuss with me the matter of the war and lead them to where I will be in the castle until nightfall. The library will suffice with its maps of where we might strengthen this fortress with our differing experience and arts.

[ There is no thanks, no goodbye. The feed simply ends with the tone of one who is not accustomed to bandying idle words. ]

Comments

[lastoftheline]

You overstep nothing. [Celebrimbor's words are quiet as he looks steadily upon Thranduil.] You love your son, and want to protect him and I can see nothing remiss in that. Not to mention that we appear to be on the same side. [There's a tightness in his chest that Celebrimbor ignores, but he twists at the ring on his thumb, pad of his other thumb pressing into it hard enough that stamped lettering makes an impression in his calloused skin.]

[firith]

[ Celebrimbor's tenseness is like a river under heavy Mirkwood boughs, hard to espy but every sense tells Thranduil it is there. ]

We are. [ Said with certainty, to cement that fact. ] I cannot imagine belonging to the Unseelie.

[lastoftheline]

[Here Celebrimbor turns wry once more. I have not spoken with a single one, nor have I heard much about what makes them so different, so I have no such feelings. [He turns serious again, turning to business.]

I warn you, if you want quality plate, it is not something I spit out in a week. It will take me time. I need to find both a forge and quality materials. [His grey eyes burned into Thranduil's, the previous care flaking away to ash in the face of this new project.] I said that there was no harm in you asking this of me, but this is no idle task that you put upon me.

[firith]

[ Is that so. The topic moves on at Celebrimbor's discretion, and Thranduil inclines his head respectfully as he keeps pace with it. ]

For plate of your quality, I would have my son wait an Age.

[lastoftheline]

[The corner of Celebrimbor's mouth curls up with that, bordering on smug, and certainly pleased.]

Glad to know my craft is appreciated.

[firith]

I will not be telling Legolas in advance, of course, or you will never have a moment's rest again.

[ For real. ]

[lastoftheline]

[Celebrimbor pauses, eyes narrowing for that name was familiar...He starts when he remembers where he heard it before, in the feast of course.]

Impatient? [He shakes his head a little.] I believe I met your son at the welcoming feast. I could...see what you mean.

[firith]

[ He tamps down on his smile after it ruins the line of his mouth for a moment, another nod given. ]

He sailed west to Valinor prior to his arrival in Caer Glaem. What time he spent there has been ... encouraging.

[ Thranduil glances back to Celebrimbor after a pause where he wonders just how wise it was to let Legolas go running rampant across a supposedly peaceful isle. Mirkwood was as different as could be, little wonder he has grown restless with paradise. ]

May I ask what he said to you?

[lastoftheline]

[Now Celebrimbor's smile fades, the corner of his mouth tensing, the pain creeping back to the edges of his eyes.]

He told me Eregion fell. [His words are flat, without ornament or adornment.]

[firith]

[ Having adopted the idea it is far better for everyone not to go around informing people of their future-past, he makes a mental note to tell Legolas to stop mouthing off about things too. Little late, in this case. ]

Many places have changed. [ Perhaps he can ease the topic down safer routes. ] It is now the Fourth Age and my realm is all that is left of our people, save a small colony in the south founded by my son before he sailed.

[ The last of the House of Feanor and the last Elvenking. ]

I am the eldest.

[lastoftheline]

[Once again Celebrimbor's mind casts back to what Charles had mentioned, a place without magic, where they were nothing but stories. A different place, or merely a different time?

His mind shies away from that though, focusing back on Thranduil.]

The weariness...must have been very great. [His words are quiet. He had rarely felt that weariness himself despite his age, only in the quiet moments as he thought on his family, and wondered what they could have built if they hadn't come in bloodshed and ruin. ]

[firith]

It is not. [ A courteous correction, one that almost surprises himself. ] For therein lie my Arts, of endurance and protection. That the time of the Elves in Arda has passed does not touch me, for I love my realm and people as ardently as ever I have.

[ A dismissive cant of his head. ]

Perhaps in another seven-thousand years I shall feel differently. I may yet. My son has grown restless in Valinor and longs to return to my Halls, so there I will await him and we shall watch from the forest as Men grow.

[lastoftheline]

[The Sindar were meant to endure, after all. He should have known better.]

You are very lucky then. [He vents a small laugh before continuing on,] Somehow I am not surprised that he is bored there. My...[The quickest pause as he glances at Thranduil again, before forging on,] father and uncles would always speak of it with longing, and yet it never appealed to me. We faced so much strife and pain in Middle Earth, but it isn't that what life is? To simply....idle our endless time away, [He shakes his head Even if I simply spent the time forging, what's the point of it, if it won't have a use?

[firith]

[ He catches the faltering, giving no look or comment on it. To bring up Celebrimbor's family and why they haven't any right to miss lands such as Valinor is a can of worms that the Elvenking can do without. ]

I feel much the same. My father was not of the Undying Lands, nor my mother. A paradise has no need for me and I do not tire of life. My realm lies next to a town of Men that has suffered a rise and fall only to return to its former glory like the bricks of an elfling scattered and piled high once more. Peace and idleness are, as you say, very different.

[ A pause. ]

My wife was lost in the woods. I would not yet leave that place.

[lastoftheline]

[Celebrimbor's breath very slowly trickles from between his parted lips, and he nods, carefully as this piece of knowledge is given to him.]

I see, I think. [His voice is soft.]

[OOC: Oh god I forgot it was my turn on this I am so sorry. If you want to drop it, nbd, I understand.]